I'm freaking old

So I'm pretty much over the whole "Boo hoo, I'm 24" thing. However, nature has a seriously twisted sense of humor. Because the day after my birthday, I found not one, not two, but three gray hairs, thus doubling my lifetime gray hair total.

Then, last Friday, I had the worst hangover I've ever had in my life, and all I drank on Thursday night was beer. Granted, in massive quantities. Enough to make me think it was a good idea to hop (okay, be lifted over) a six-foot fence topped by barbed wire to go swimming at 2:30 am. Punishment for behaving immaturely and caving to peer pressure? Maybe. I really should stop hanging out with college football players...it's just that they're so cute...

Of course, on Saturday night I had three martinis and a shot in not much more than an hour thanks to the fact that my friends and I fortuitously wandered into an open-bar birthday party at Gargoyles on the Square, and I felt so good the next morning that I had coffee made and muffins in the oven by the time Jess got up. So maybe the complete difference in reaction is just my body's way of telling me to be a little more mature in my beverage choices (and my comportment). My liver says, "No Bud Light. Stoli!"

And back to the gray hair thing. Last night I was experimenting with a variety of different hairstyles to go along with my fall look. (Which is old school glamour meets rock star, or Gwen Stefani-lite, in case you were wondering...further evidence that I am entering the acceptance stage of adulthood as it involves a lot of lipstick, high heels, and dressing in a generally ladylike manner which is entirely devoid of short shorts, babydoll dresses, and anything that can be purchased at American Eagle.) Every time I changed my part, I found another silver strand. Minimum. I finally stopped counting. I give up.

At least my tenure working for Clinique ingrained me with such a proactive (obsessive compulsive?) anti-aging skincare regimen that I should be line free until I'm 80 or so. That's something, right?