On Flipping to 33

So for the first time in my life, I actually don't like the fact that the number of years I tell people that I've been alive is changing. 33. How the hell did I get to be 33? 33? Sigh.

Somehow that's makes me feel middle-aged or something. Not "young". 33.

As I've been thinking about age today, one interesting thing about my age right now is the broad range of ages of women that I've been dating. I've dated women spanning from 41 to 23 in the last year or so.

Last night I was out in that dreaded Meatpacking District talking business and fun stuff with a couple colleagues. I ended up chatting with a woman at Pasti's (which is a great place to eat, but it's sort of just way too mainstream for this mainstreamly overly cool area -- don't you just love the irony of how I keep bashing the Meatpacking District as being "too cool for it's own good", yet I keep ending up going out down there. LOL).

She claimed it was her birthday yesterday. I asked how old she was. She told me, of course, that I'm not supposed to ask a lady her age. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyway, later she slipped and mentioned that she'd turned...18. 18?!

I could be her dad, techically. Holy cow! I'm old! When I stayed in Austin in 2001, I dated a 19 year old. I was 29. That was a pretty big gap. How funny would it be to date an 18 year old at my age. From 41 to 18.

I used to tell coaches and teammates who'd ask me what my range on the hoops court was -- not 20', not 25'. No, no. I always told them: two court lengths!

33. Bummer.