As of today, I am officially not young. I don't feel old per se, but I am supposed to be a real adult now, no longer a member of the American royalty of youth. For a lot of my peers, this milestone is depressing, a full stop in their telegrams. Although I must admit it hasn't quite sunk in yet, I definitely haven't been affected this way.

I have been searching myself for signs of aging, though: some crows feet, maybe, a few extra gray hairs. There are some really subtle things I've noticed, like the fact that my skin is a lot dryer than it used to be. Why am I peeling when the humidity outside is 900%? The stretch marks aren't really helping either. So much for those stylish little bikinis and midriff shirts. You can visit Piedras Blancas, California to see elephant seals on the beach. (By the way, go if you can and take the drive up Highway 1 to San Francisco).

But really, it's not so bad. I haven't been consumed by anti-aging cream fever yet. I'm actually still wrestling with the oily skin demon lingering from my long-gone teenage years. What I'm praying for is that I won't ever need to be dealing with both at the same time. I actually saw a commercial for a combo cream that said something like, "Wrinkles and blemishes at the same time? Who knew?!" Could we elevate the paranoia even more, please?

I don't much care about those things, anyway. After all, I've already roped in a husband and been making babies. Ha ha ha. Ha. Ha?

What I am more concerned with is that my time on this earth is limited and I need to be doing something constructive with it. Speaking of which, maybe I should get started now...