Not Panicking. Yet.

Adios, my dear 20s. It's been real. From LA to SF to Dallas, two degrees, several apartments, a few roommates, countless friends, some real weirdos, lots of hot messes (mainly in the first half of you, 20s), skydiving, motorcycle rides, marathon running, not giving my mom a heart attack, and touring a bunch of other cities, states and countries along the way. We had some grand old times, didn't we?

Let's see. I'm holding down a job (knock on wood), I know not to wear Ed Hardy, I can cook more than mac-n-cheese, and I have not been knocked up, on accident or on purpose. I write thank-you cards, stock money away in some adult-like retirement plan and I can order beer in three languages. I think I'm doing pretty well.

Maybe in my 30s I'll learn to dress myself with things like chunky necklaces and shirts that aren't marked as "tees." In my 30s I'll bust out that food processor I got for Christmas (!!!) but I will not stop drinking milk from the carton, I mean come on, let's not kid ourselves.

Onward. And upward. But not outward. Definitely not outward. Going to need to get that running thing going again.

No regrets. And only looking back on the good times.

Also, I share a January 20th birthday with Rainn Wilson and Bill Maher. Win.