I turned 39 a few minutes ago. At least as far as the calendar is concerned. If you want to be a stickler about it, it won't be for another 18 hours or so. I don't remember the exact time. I didn't have a digital watch then. (Or now, for that matter.) It's the last year I can be 30-something. I'm OK with that, because that was a crappy show. Deb has already made her famous chocolate chip cookies in honor of the event, so our plans for the day will involve cookies, lunch out somewhere, and more cookies. Sounds pretty darn perfect to me!
Next year at this time, I'll be cursing at turning 40. Because it just sounds old. And in 2012 when the Mayans come back from the dead and their gods kill us all, I'll be 42. Assuming they wait a couple months before they snuff out all existence. If you're a Douglas Adams fan, that age is significant. If you're not, then it isn't.