STARmeter up 165% this week.

Turning 30 was weird.

Weird only because it slipped by so quietly, seemlessly leaving my 20's behind in its shrouding wake. I turned around and the last decade of my life, like Keyser Söze, was gone.

Now that I'm on the other side, I realize that nothing has changed. ...Nothing but the number. That heavy, ominous number that looms about the head and in the conscious of young women everywhere. Like a stranger waiting in the dark alley, ready to pounce. You can recognize a woman nearing the end of her twenties by her eyes, constantly shifting, waiting for the attack.

I don't feel older. And I definitely don't think I look older. My face didn't suddenly collapse into a crinkly, Sharpei-like mess. I didn't wake up on January 3rd to find that *gasp*, I suddenly had cellulite!! And a POT-BELLY?!?!? WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?!

Yes, things are a bit....ahem..softer. It takes a bit more effort on the treadmill to notice a difference "back there". But that's how it always is after a gym-hiatus. I've been noticing the slow formation of "fine lines", as the ads for designer creams and polishes call them, for at least a couple of years now. That inner-tube of pudge that women have, has been a work-in-progress for a while. And the cellulite? Can't remember a time when I didn't have it.

So you see, these things didn't just happen.

As women, we for some reason believe that at 30, everything falls to pieces. At 30, you are old. And when you are old, you may as well be dead.

Why is this such a common belief? Why are women SO SCARED to turn 30?

It starts early, too. I remember being at my best friend's 24th birthday party, drinking one-too-many lemon drop shots in a rowdy, crowded bar, shouting to her over the music, "oh my GOD!! I LOVE that TIARA!! And ALSO, I am SO FUCKING JEALOUS you only JUST turned 24!! I'll be twenty-FIVE in like, a MONTH!! That's officially in my MID-TWENTIES and OLD!! AND ALSO?? Closer to THIRTY!! YUUUUUUUUCK!! AAAAAAAAAA!!! KILL ME!! YOU BITCH!!!"

*sigh*

There are a few memories like that, talking with girlfriends about the dreaded "three-oh", all of us cringing and making barfing noises. Drowning the thought in Cosmopolitans and Coach purses.

Men don't seem to have any issue with it. Turning 30 for them is sophisticated. They don't get "fine lines", they get wrinkles. That's good. Makes them look like they've lived a life of excess in the sun, laughing the whole time while surrounded by 18-year old Victoria's Secret models in bikinis, reeking of Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil. They don't get greys, their hair turns salt-and-pepper. That's great. Makes them look like George Clooney, dapper and forever (in their minds) a Bachelor. SUCH a turn-on for 18-year old Victoria's Secret models.

But while men await their day of glory with a regal air, they have no problems causing further panic and stress in the lives of their girlfriends and wives, with cheeky cards and gifts on their big day, "but honeeeeeeeeeey! That card was just a joooooooooke!!"

(actual card received from Nat on my birthday)

So here I am. Thirty.

And you know what? I feel GREAT!....but not any different than the day before I turned 30.

Or the week before.

Or the year before. Or the year before that.

I feel exactly the same as I always have. Which, don't get me wrong, feels a LOT different than when I was twenty. Back then I could drink my weight in alcohol, get up the next morning for class, then start drinking all over again. Shaking off any trace of a hangover in a couple of hours (whereas now it takes DAAAAAAYS). I could wear anything I wanted, eat anything I wanted, stay out in the sun, stand semi-confidently in fluorescent lighting.

What I feel like now, is...taller. More certain of myself. I stand with a bit more presence than I did when I was 20. Gone is that fear of the stranger in the alley. My eyes no longer shift. I no longer feel the need to make barfing noises when mentioning my age. Maybe that is the transition that happened over night, but everything else has been a slow and steady progression, done with evolving body and mind.

Just as aging should be.

So to all you ladies out there, guzzling your $15 cocktails in dark bars, clutching your sparkly, hot-off-the-runway handbag, do not fear. Though it is most definitely your right of passage to do so, you needn't fret. Not only is there no stranger, there is no dark alley. Turning 30 feels wonderful, with only shiny, well-lit passages ahead...

...and don't worry. The light is very flattering.