The rules regarding my current state of affairs

I'm 30. I'm living in the home my husband grew up in - in the very room he inhabited as a child, in fact - with his family, until we can find a place of our own. I have no job. I don't really have any job prospects. Therefore, in order to avoid major catastrophe (which could involve multiple, daily trips to Dunkin' Donuts among other atrocities) I've decided there have got to be some rules. 1. I will wake up at a normal time, "normal" defined as 8 a.m. or earlier. Just like people who work.

2. I will put on normal clothes every morning. Here "normal" could include the tracksuit I got for Christmas, but does not mean mismatched sweatpants and sweatshirts, or anything else that might prompt the words, "Um, are you going to go out in that," from J.

3. Watching my new DVD of the first season of "The Hills" is ok during the lunch break I shall grant myself each day, but only during my lunch break.

4. My lunch break will not span two or three hours.

5. After searching for jobs for countless hours it is ok to play solitaire or write some emails to friends for a little break, but it is not ok to fall into a depressive slump and declare myself unfit for the world of employment, so maybe I should just eat this entire bag of Hershey's Kisses...?

6. Nobody likes a whiner.

Farewell, twenties

Tonight is my last night as a 29-year-old, and more importantly, as a person in her twenties. I thought maybe I'd spend the day somehow paying tribute to this grand decade. I don't know what that would entail exactly, but, much like when I was 19 going on 20, this seems a monumental birthday in that I feel I'm leaving an entire era behind. When I wake in the morning I can promptly begin using the phrase "When I was in my twenties..." to start sentences and truly, technically, mean it. But I actually spent my day in the car with my dad running errands and talking real estate, taking a nap, and tonight, knitting on the couch, sandwiched between my husband and my grandmother, as if the entire day was almost a subtle mockery of my getting older, except for the fact that I had a nice time.

I'm having nice feelings about turning 30 in general, to tell the truth, despite all the comments. "Are you ready to turn 30??!!" "30-years-old OH MY GOD!" I know it's a big deal and all but instead of being worried about what a big deal it is, I kind of think it's awesome. Like, that 30 is going to be the most radical year ever. Better than the being in my upper-twenties. More interesting. More fun. More meaningful. More productive.

And, ok, even if 30 isn't a life-altering year for me, at least I'll be able to hang out with all the other 30-year-olds who I know have got to have some secret club or something. We'll laugh about how silly we all were back when we were in our twenties. They'll welcome me with open arms and we'll revel in our grownup-ed-ness. "Congratulations," they'll say. "Welcome to the big time."