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2003-08-11 - 9:03 p.m. When asked my age today I proudly proclaimed, "I'm thirty," only to realize that I am, in fact, thirty one. What's more, I have been for nearly four months but my mind has yet to concede this fact. I realized that having spent the better part of my twenties awaiting (with dread) this milestone it seems inconceivable that it should come and go so quickly. I mean, if I spent ten years building up to it shouldn't I at least get half that long to get used to being it?! Therefore I have decided to revert to the Olde English version of counting and call myself One and Thirty, which to my slightly deranged mind seems unquestionably younger. That will keep me covered for the next few years until I am "half past thirty" by which time I will undoubtedly be well into my countdown for the next (unmentionable) milestone. I must say I enjoyed thirty. I relished the opportunity say, "I'm thirty years old, I don't have time for this kind of bullshit" anytime I felt someone was being immature. It just doesn't have the same zing with "thirty one" or even "one and thirty" I'm sorry to say. Ah well. . . One day I'll be too old for this numeric-age phobia bullshit too. . . and sooner than I think. � 
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