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 July 9, 2007
DAY 161  |  July 9, 2007
Remember how I ran away (well, pedaled away) from the bike guy a few days ago? Well, I was in midtown on my way home when I bumped into these guys outside a bar, and they invited me in for a drink. I decided to follow through with my vow of being open to meeting new people and went inside.

Big mistake of the week #337. One man was from Oz and the rest were Irish. I wanted to listen to their travel stories, but all I got was the Aussiesí hand on my ass. And he had a wedding ring on!! I grabbed my bag and walked out of the bar as he yelled, ďBut you didnít even finish your drink!Ē Listen buddy, just because you buy me one drink doesnít mean you get free reign on my assóit takes at least six. Just kidding!

Iím sure this is one of many lessons Iíve yet to learn about being single in the city. Iíve changed my mind again: I donít have to talk to anybody I donít want to. And I reserve the right to put my boxing skills to use if anybody touches my butt without asking.

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