Coming Out of the Closet...

...the AGE closet, that is. Let's face it. I am getting old.

In the last few months I have found myself in serious "Holy Crap, I really AM getting old" moments. The moments look like this: me enjoying drinks in bars with friends, engaging in a nice conversation with a guy, and then several drinks and hours later -- witnessing the transformation on his face, as he realizes (and I realize) simultaneously that this indeed is not a conversation between two people that could lead to a date...instead it's a moot conversation between a baby and a babysitter. I'll give you one guess who the babysitter is.

The warning signs of said transformation usually involve him saying something like, "So what are you, like 23 years old?" or even worse, "My GPA is 3.94 and I'm finishing my program in '08." To which I respond with a carefree laugh while tossing my head back then taking a deep swig of my drink -- when inside I'm really screaming, "NOOOOO -- I'm 379 days away from turning 30!" or "You didn't even have your driver's license when I graduated from COLLEGE!"

Whatever happened to those fun moments when you'd get hit on by an older guy, and even if you weren't interested, telling him your age was a subtle way of making him feel like a million dollars? Now when I tell guys my age I feel like it's that momentary sense of guilt you feel when you're raising an old magazine above your head about to fatally swat the fly cruising your kitchen counter -- an unavoidable strike at the innocent.

My friend says that maybe I should reconsider the bars/restaurants I've been going to. I'm not sure what my alternatives are at this moment - nursing homes?