As We Close This Chapter...

As the moment I've been in denial about creeps up on me from the backside, I would like to take a moment and reflect on my 20's and all that decade consisted of for yours truly.

The year was 1998. All My Life, by KC and Jo Jo was at the top of the charts. I was not yet of legal intoxication age, however, Deerpark Tavern didn't know that. Well, they knew it a couple times, when I went from being Shania, age 36, from Maryland to Felicity, age 23 from Long Island. Anyway, minor details. I was driving a Honda Civic hatchback. I was dating a bald guy who loved to work out so much that he was losing his neck (and subsequently, lost me - not in his neck, just in general). University of Delaware was a rockin' good place to be. I was doin' lots of drugs, getting it all out of my system (or into my system, if you insist on being literal). I was having a grand olde time. And my boobs were pretty fantastic.

1999. More of the above. I turned 21, and celebrated by renting a convertible and driving to the beach with my girlfriends. Except for the fact that it was the middle of May, not warm, and it rained the whole ride down, so basically, the convertible was a wash. But minor details. I spend the year single, "exploring my options."

2000. I graduate from chaos. Enter more chaos as I move to NYC in a UHaul. My bed, my computer, my bong. Well, that's a lie. I left the bong at school for the next lucky soul. Woo hoo! NYC! I have no job though. This doesn't go well. I realize that I am living in a shitty 5th floor walk up with a bitchy girl and I have no money because I don't have a job. But then I get a job. Woohoo!

2001-2004. I pretty much just have a great time, with the exception of World Trade Center bombing, crazy musician boyfriend who likes to sit in front of my building with his guitar 'serenading' me, living in an apartment across the hall from a major drug dealer (not the good kind of drugs, unfortunately, the scary kind), and then finally moving into my own place. Albeit, it was the size of my bathroom now but it was all mine and who cares if I lived next door to 400 Chinese people in one tiny apartment (all with their shoes out on the mat in the hallway). It was mine. And it was great.

2004. Dating kinda blows. I know I'm cute, why are all the guys I meet either lunatics/manic/OCD/addicted to something/obsessive? I am over it. But then I make a funny friendsterette, and after love at first martini I declare myself taken.

2005. Move in with friendsterette. He has a dog and he's funny. He makes me cry. From laughing - he makes me cry from laughing. It's amazing.

2006. More friendsterette. We move to the 'burbs. Oh my god, I get bigger sunglasses so people don't recognize me because I am now that girl I swore I would never be, living life like suburban barbie. My favorite friend, my gay husband, my dear dear TDF passes away. It's the worst time of my life. I can't take the pain, I feel like life has been sucked out the door. I recover, I realize that he is still with me and he teases me when I am showering and he can see my ass got fat and he also teases me when I get my eyebrows waxed. So it's good, he's still with me, in spirit. I tell friendsterette he better marry me for movin' me up to Wisteria Lane. I get engaged! Woohoo!

2007. Ette2. Gets. Married. I become a WIFF. Or a WILF. Either way, I now have turned friendsterette into husbandette and it's a beautiful thing. We go to Hawaii. Kvetchette is born!!!! Life is good!

2008. I start to notice a little wrinkle by my eye. It has become an obsession of mine. I apply creme to the area constantly. I start worrying if I am getting enough fiber. I floss. I write down the days of my cycle in a calendar. I buy gas twice a week for my big rig. Basically, I have become a suburban loserette.

And here we are, and this is my final week of my 20's. And I'd like to say, thanks for sharing it with me. 20's, I will miss you. You've provided me with the good, the bad and the ugly. I am celebrating by going to Vegas to slut it up with husbandette for a few days - really party like it's 1999 (literally) before I come home and join AARP.

30 better be good or some one's in trouble.