Watch Me Turn 30, by Holly C.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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 21, 2007
DAY 173  |  July 21, 2007
Hitting the gym, skipping dinner and heading to my friendsí place for an evening of wine and cheese is a recipe for disaster. Iíve never, ever been a woman who can handle not eating. In fact, if I donít at least snack every three to four hours, I feel like Iím going to die.

I canít believe Iím telling you this, but long story short, I drank too much and ate too little during our girlsí night in. Then I convinced my pals to go to a bar before immediately bailing.

This is the time when I want a boyfriend to pick me up and take me home. Instead, I rode the subway, fell asleep on some pour guyís shoulder, lost one of my sneakers from my gym bag, and made it to my apartment just in time before I crashed.

The next day I awoke with a headache and a nagging feeling that I did something ridiculous, but didnít know exactly what. Hey, if you donít remember, it didnít happen, right? That is, unless you have a camera for documentation. Where the heck did I get this cowboy hat and why am I taking photos of myself wearing it? Iím officially reigning myself in.

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