-The first day of freshman year, I sat in my dorm room as everyone else on the hall moved in. Each time I heard footsteps, I cocked my head to listen closely in the hope I could glean any evidence that my new neighbors were female, hot, and promiscuous. I was eighteen at the time and had never before felt such anticipation. Eleven days ago, as the last seconds of my twenties ticked away and I prepared to celebrate my thirtieth birthday, I can’t say I felt the same level of excitement. I was both nostalgic and apprehensive. In fact, now that I’m thirty – wow, it’s weird even saying that – I feel a bit self-conscious. Like the next time I get drunk before noon or bang a chick whose first name I’m fuzzy on, I’ll somehow get reprimanded for behavior inappropriate for a thirtysomething. Even though I’m equidistant from both, I just feel a lot closer to twenty than I do to forty. Thirty gets a bad rap – but I’m not ready to give up the good life.

-Hitting on chicks younger than me has suddenly become slightly awkward. “Oh, you’re twenty-one? Cool. I’m twenty-nine,” sounds fine – something about us both being twentysomething is strangely comforting. But even though the age difference is the same, saying, “Oh, you’re twenty-two? Cool. I’m thirty,” just sounds so very wrong.

-I have some friends who are still trying to figure out what they’re doing with their lives. I hope they realize that thirtysomethings don’t have that luxury. If you’re going back to grad school and you’re older than thirty, congrats. You’re that weird old dude.

-I was in New York a few weeks ago and ended up at this NYU house party. That’s the kind of thing that doesn’t happen in LA. You can’t just stumble into a UCLA party without looking like you did it on purpose. People will ask you how you got there. But in Manhattan everything is fair game. Me and my buddies were welcomed with nary a glance. Of course, we said we were twenty-five.

-People keep telling me that your thirties are the best years of your life, and I believe them. The only problem is that I was told that about my teenage years and my twenties. I smell a conspiracy. If fifteen years from now someone tells me that “life begins at forty-five,” I think I’ll know the jig is up.

-You know how you can never tell a kid’s age when they’re between, say, six months and twelve years old? I’m finding I have the same problem with twentysomethings. I’ve already completely forgotten the benchmarks. A chick tells me she’s twenty-six and I don’t understand why she looks at me curiously when I ask if she just graduated college.

-Females who are in a relationship when they turn thirty are like a ticking time bomb. I don’t care if you’ve only been dating for three weeks, if you’re together when she crosses that threshold, you can bet she’s wondering what’s taking you so long to pick out a ring.

-Obviously, I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking about age. It has varying effects on me. When I see someone older than my parents working as a cashier, it makes me depressed for about a week. On the other hand, I recently spent some time with my 97-year-old, wheelchair-bound grandmother, and noticed she was wearing Nike socks. Just do it, Gram! I guess, as they say, age ain’t nothing but a number. Unless that number is thirty and all the UCLA chicks are staring at you.

-As always, here are some random things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-Whenever someone at a wedding remarks, “Wow, this ceremony is going quickly,” rest assured it will last at least half an hour longer.

-Having a high alcohol tolerance is more of a curse than a blessing.

-Ever ask a stranger to take a picture, show him or her where the flash and zoom are and how exactly to line the shot up, then return to pose with your friends and say to yourself, “There is no fucking way this is coming out”?

-I’m positive that accidentally swallowing a pill with warm water instead of cold water immediately eliminates the effectiveness of the medicine.

-Why does my car dashboard have the latest in futuristic gadgetry but an analog clock?

-Success means being the last one connected to the conference call.

-When a reality show contestant becomes a reality show judge, isn’t that kind of like a Ponzi scheme for talentless people?

-I feel like my laptop warns me with triple negatives: “Click cancel to save and exit or OK to continue and cancel.” Wait, what?

-Ever load up Excel or whip out your trusty calculator to perform addition or subtraction you think is complex only to realize that the answer is something even like 100?

-And, finally, the morning of my thirtieth birthday I woke up late, fielded calls from my family and friends, and measured my self-worth by the amount of Facebook wall posts I received. The fact that my twenties were over still hadn’t fully sunk in when I rolled downstairs to get the mail. As I was returning to my apartment, something caught my attention. I don’t know if it was a certain sound or smell, but something told me to backtrack down the hall. And that’s when I noticed that I was getting new neighbors. I stood there stealthily for a while, trying to distinguish between potential tenants and mere movers. Memories of my freshman dorm came flooding back. I saw a flash of pink here and a glimpse of high heels there until finally there was a confirmed sighting: two chicks, cute, and promiscuous. (OK, I’m not sure about the last part. Yet.) But while their appearance next door made me think back, it also caused me to look forward. Sure I’m thirty – wow, that still sounds weird – but the halls of my life will always be filled with new neighbors moving in and new opportunities to be had. So thirtysomethings of the world, unite – it’s gonna be one hell of a ride. And if not, well, I heard your forties are the best years of your life. Fuck me!

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