Watch Me Turn 30, by Holly C.
I'm a 29-year-old New Yorker who inherited this site from my pal, Holly P., to document the final year of my twenties. Right up until I turn the big 3-0 next January, I'll use this blog to indulge my inner-narcissist by voicing the good (I can date men anywhere from ages 21 to 50 without it being scandalous) the bad (I keep getting ma'amed) and the ugly (is it possible to get cellulite on your stomach?!). Here's to waving goodbye to my youth, accepting adulthood and remembering that every ending is really just a new beginning.
the photo for May 24, 2007
DAY 115  |  May 24, 2007
“High” and “happy” are definitely two words I’d use to describe the locals in Nimbin, a hippie mecca about an hour inland from Byron Bay. I rode a Technicolor bus with the word “Grasshopper” painted across it (I know, how dare I?) alongside other young backpackers more interested in smoking some funny stuff than learning about the communal utopia that inspired the town’s development.

When the driver pulled up in front of a popular stomping ground labeled “Hemp Bar,” he warned us not to eat too many “magic” cookies or else we’d end up just like a guy he had on the last tour: Hiding our faces in our shirts and beating our heads on the window pane for the entire ride home.

Curiosity getting the better of us, Amanda, Jen, Katie and I ran right through the hanging-beaded doorway to investigate. Toothless men with beards, cowboy hats and smokers’ coughs lined the dark bar. One of them held out a bag of weed almost as big as my backpack (I’m only slightly exaggerating). There were enough fatty joints rolled on the bar to tranquilize a small animal. Simply inhaling the secondhand smoke triggered the munchies, so we ran down the street to the cookie shop (I won’t say if they were magic or not). We giggled all the way home.

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