Okay, so I just turned thirty-silly and next year I’ll be thirty-sexy and then I’ll be thirty-great and finally thirty-fine. Then 40, which is just 40… ’til the fun begins again at forty-fun!

And so on.

Love love love love love aging. I’m very good at it. I especially enjoy thinking of how much cooler I am at my age than my brothers were when they were my age nearly 20 years ago. When I post the photos of my (*ahem* You will SO read my MySpace event invitations from here on out, missy!) birthday party, I’m going to mention that I love living in a time, a place, a career-path that not only embraces youthful adulthood but enables it.

I so don’t miss being an actor. That stupid fucking checkbox is obnoxious and part of why commercial casting is something that makes me feel unclean.

(Oh, and your BF is so very funny. When do we schedule the Tana’s? Anytime now, right?)

[That’s now like saying "all the kids are above average." What? How is that again? If everyone over 40 looks like they are 30 -- well, than that is what 40-year-olds look like!]

What is disconcerting for me is that I do look very young, but professionally I am an analyst, so I have to project — and earn — expertise and authority.
Most of my work is online or on the phone — but people who meet me immediately adopt an attitude of, “Hey, you are pretty smart for such a young kid.”
Then when they learn my age — which I never attempt to hide — well, than “pretty smart” is no longer all that impressive. What might sound wise from someone

Just to rant: I’m a knitter and in my knitting group there’s a woman who is 35–every single chance she gets she brings up my age in relation to her age and how OLD she will be when she’s my age. It’s all so tiring. I feel bad for her, though–because she’s so hooked up on it that she’s not enjoying life as it comes.

When I was a teenager, I was miserable. I kept hearing that youth was the best time of life and if that was the case, I just wanted to off myself right then because I was miserable. I asked my mom about it and she said that she wouldn’t go back. She said that she has enjoyed every age more than the last and to this day, she says the same (she just turned 59).

So, even though I’m approaching 40 (I’m 37), I’m not worried. I’m excited for my sixties because if they are anything like my mom’s, I’m going to have a rip-roaring time!

When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
– Mary Oliver

I’ll take “amazement” any and every day.

Christy - Yeah, ageism works both ways. Unfortunately, old people like me just aren’t going to feel sorry for you. Fortunately, we forget things a lot. So if you wait long enough…er…what was I…? Oh, yeah. Pork *is* good, but you shouldn’t eat it too often.

BF - In September. Make great note of it or forever suffer the consequences of my aged wrath.

Peggy - Odd but true coincidence: I just got my first official MILF mash letter today, although as an unofficial fan of fresh testosterone, I’ve had my share of young uns. And I ran into the same perverse discrimination among men whom my shrink deems “age appropriate”, although never when they ran into me in person. It is my glorious revenge to pass them onto our younger sisters, who will squeeze their wallets dry and run away, laughing all the way to the pool boy’s North Hollywood love shack. A dish best served cold, indeed…

I’m 37, and I don’t look it.

But, I’m not an actor and don’t have to worry about casting agents so I don’t care if some starfucker thinks I’m too old - I’m just a cable monkey, after all, and as long as I don’t show up to work drunk everyone’s happy, right?

But a funny thing happened to me when I did decide to stop lying about my age. I became, well, not a MILF, since I don’t have kids, but an object of desire to extremely hot younger men who think I’m sexy and want my thang.

Hey, I’ll take what I can get. Especially since guys my age think I’m used up (”I’m sorry, but I only date women under 30.”
“But you’re 48!”
“Yeah, but I’m rich.”
“Screw you”)

But the younger ones… they worship me..

Yeah, I’ll take that.

Thirty-fucking-seven.

Yeah, I’ll definitely take it.

26. XXVI. (woohoo a 26-year-old who knows roman numerals, strike up the band!)

i never lie about my age, but i often want to for the opposite reasons. i can’t wait until i’m 30. i have all kinds of complexes about my age. ‘people don’t take me seriously.’ ‘i can’t be any good until i’m in my 30s.’

not to mention, socially i’ve been told i’m not allowed to “play with the big kids” on more than one occasion because i make them feel old (yes, they’ve even said that to me.) i got kicked out of a writers group of very talented 40-somethings for no substantial reason and i’ve come to believe the co-leader (the only one, apparently who wanted me out) found out i was 15 years younger than him and didn’t want to endure any constructive criticism from someone in diapers.

and i’m a small-chested brunette, to boot. who is also too tall to wear my 3″ heels on a date with the average-sized manboy. but not tall enough to be excused the faux pas for my supermodel potential.

and i was just thinking at the grocery store how unfortunate it is that having a personality seems to be paper money in hollywood.

good god. this should probably be my own blog entry. maybe i will begin a serial on my blog that’s only purpose is to react to yours. let me think of a catchy title.