I don’t consider thirty-one as old. I mean I don’t feel old.

Usually.

I mean, just the other day, my three year old said to me, ““Mommy, on my next burfday, I’m gonna be four, right? How old are you gonna be- Eleventeen?!”

Damn, I love that girl.

Sure there was a time when I saw thirty-something’s as early bird special regulars reeking of Bengay. I was a teenager, probably high on Noxzema fumes.

Though I would like to think that I’m still hip in some ways (never mind that my usage of the word “hip” already discounts all efforts). I have a blog. I talk on the phone with friends. I text slowly. I rock the skinny jeans with sheepskin boots. I even watch MTV (don’t judge). (more…)