I just realized that I never talked on here about the fact that I HAD AN ARTICLE UP ON JEZEBEL! šŸ™‚ I did. It was pretty cool. And if you missed it, I thought I’d let you know about it here. It’s a piece called How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Getting Older, and in it, I talk not only about how and why I’m not afraid of getting older, but why I’m looking forward to it!


I’m 34. I’m fat. I’m not married. I’m childless. And for those of you whose first instinct was to go “Awww” ā€” are you kidding me? Save your deep concern for the homeless and the terminally ill, will you? Geez.

Believe it or not, this isn’t a tale of woe.

My mother gave birth to me in 1979, when she was 44 years old, and I think this has shaped my entire outlook on what a woman’s timeline is “supposed” to be. My parents were the same age, a good ten years older than any of my friends’ parents, but it was never something that affected me when I was growing up. You often hear people say that they don’t want to have children when they’re “too old” because they want to be able to “keep up” with their kids…but my parents managed just fine. To be fair, I was a writer and a nerd, so there was less running around and more writing Star Trek: The Next Generation fan fiction for me anyway, but still. We traveled as a family. They each entertained and played with me in their own ways. They loved me and cared for me. Plus, I had the added benefit of a brother and sister who are fifteen and sixteen years my senior, which was like having another set of younger, hipper parents who took me to to Debbie Gibson and Paula Abdul concerts.

For the entire article, and to leave comments at it, CLICK HERE!