Falling Forward

I am highly disturbed. I just watched an HBO special about getting older. Whoa. Oh. My. God. Girls who are 25 are getting botox. Women who are 60 LOOK 25. Stretched faces and unnaturally wide eyes and lineless faces. I knew all of this (I think), but to see it on my 42" plasma (thank god not high definition)... it made me cringe (for about an hour and a half - that is a lot of cringing).

Of course, once it ended, I ran straight to my bathroom mirror and inspected my face for lines. And immediately doused myself in lotion and anti-aging skin cream. And practiced looking incredulous without moving my forehead.

AARP Has Come Calling

I came home a couple of weeks ago I opened my mailbox and pulled out, well, the mail (shocker, I know). I sorted through the pile

• AT&T bill


• Crate & Barrel catalog


• Bed Bath & Beyond Coupon (YAY! I also then proceeded to search through the waste bin by the mailslots to find the discarded coupons. I mean really, who throws away COUPONS that NEVER go bad?!?!)


• People Magazine


• AARP Packet

Wait. What?

Yes, a whole packet asking if I would like to join the AARP community and subscribe to their magazine.

Thoughts flew through my brain on the elevator (as I hid the packet between the 10 Bed Bath & Beyond coupons and People magazine).

How did they get my name?

Why do they think that I'm old enough to be part of the retirement community?

I fell into a deep depression for about one minute, ranting and raving throughout my one bedroom apartment. Then I remembered - while I'm only 2 years away from turning 30, I'm 20 YEARS AWAY from turning 50!

Even so.

I promptly through the packet into the garbage and then swiftly tied up the trash bag and threw it down the shoot.

Out of site. Out of mind.

The Scariest Part of the Gym

It's not the boot camp class. Or the camel toe I get if I pull my spandex shorts up to high. It's not the sweat stains, or the germs on top of germs on top of the mat that I use to do my pushups and situps. Lately, the scariest part of the gym is when I have to input my age.

It used to take many finger punches to get to my age. Now it's about 3 or 5. I'm at 28 before my finger even gets warmed up! Sometimes I think about lying and putting in 21. But then I feel guilty. As if the treadmill is going to know and, in retailiation, speed up and cause me to trip and fly off the moving object.

So I never lie. It's too risk. And I now slowly punch the button to get to my actual age before I begin trying to jump start my ever-slowing metabolism.

The Girl Who Never Grows Up

Brooke Greenberg is the size of an infant, with the mental capacity of a toddler. She turned 16 in January.

This story made me stop and reflect on my steady spiral towards 30 - and makes me feel grateful that I have the option to complain about it.

After Shocks of Turning 28

Three weeks, 2 days, and five and a half hours after turning 28 years old, I've been diagnosed with a plethora of problems including, but not limited to:

• Sciatica - often associated with the elderly, this is a pinched nerve in my lower back that causes pain to spread into my butt and makes me hobble around after long runs and during rain storms


• Dermatitis - an extreme version of dandruff; the doctor told me it was unacceptable to live like this (I honestly didn't think it was THAT bad) and gave me an unlimited prescription for special shampoo


• Early Onset of Periodontis - the dentist is usually my safe haven, a place where they endlessly compliment my smile and my teeth; this time, although they did bestow glowing praise, they also let me know that I have the beginnings of gum disease. I'm currently at a level four, but if I get to level five they'll have to... The sentence was never finished, the hygenist just shook her head ominously

And those are just the highlights. Seriously. What is going on? I'm on the fast track towards old age and I'm only 28. Or perhaps, this is older than I had originally thought. When I tell the 23 year olds in my office that I'm 28, they stare at me in shock and say, "OMYGOD really? You're 28?!" Which is a compliment in one respect (I'm assuming they think I look like I'm 25) and an insult at the same time (Apparently 28 is a crazy age).

And maybe it is. I remember when I was 23, I called my dad to tell him about my boss. He asked how old my new boss was. I was like, oh she's older, like 30.

I want to tackle my younger self and knock some sense into her. But I'm worried I might inflame my sciatica in the process.