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 September 14, 2007
DAY 228  |  September 14, 2007
Okay, so I have a problem. I hate committing. Not necessarily to men or to jobs, but to plans. It took me 29 years to realize this about myself, but telling me that I have to be in a specific place at a specific time kind of stresses me out. And Iím not sure exactly why. Maybe itís because I have a tendency to lose track of time (whether itís because Iím caught up in a conversation or discovering a new running route or absorbed in a cool book).

Itís not that I donít like having plans. I like having lots of them. But, once Iíve figured out what they are, I like to leave them open and tend to think I can fit Ďem all in (Iíve been known to say Iíll meet my friend downtown for happy hour, hit a co-workerís birthday bash in Queens, then make it back out to Brooklyn in time to go dancing).

Maybe our actions are reflections of our minds: My head is always all over the place, and so is my schedule. Hmm, this is probably a sign of emotional immaturityÖBut I guess a lot of people take comfort in solid routines and plansóand thatís where Iím kind of a freak. Change doesnít scare meóit excites me.

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