-The first day of freshman year, I sat in my dorm room as everyone else on the hall moved in. Each time I heard footsteps, I cocked my head to listen closely in the hope I could glean any evidence that my new neighbors were female, hot, and promiscuous. I was eighteen at the time and had never before felt such anticipation. Eleven days ago, as the last seconds of my twenties ticked away and I prepared to celebrate my thirtieth birthday, I can't say I felt the same level of excitement. I was both nostalgic and apprehensive. In fact, now that I'm thirty - wow, it's weird even saying that - I feel a bit self-conscious. Like the next time I get drunk before noon or bang a chick whose first name I'm fuzzy on, I'll somehow get reprimanded for behavior inappropriate for a thirtysomething. Even though I'm equidistant from both, I just feel a lot closer to twenty than I do to forty. Thirty gets a bad rap - but I'm not ready to give up the good life.
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