The Birth of Twentyfive.net

My 24th birthday was one of the greatest days of my life. It just was.

I got up on time. Caught the Brown Line at Fullerton instead of Belmont. The first message on my voicemail when I got into work went like this: Hi Sweetie. Twenty-four years ago at 6:32 in the morning I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Happy Birthday.

My best friend bought me lunch. My firm bought me an ice cream cake. And my roommates bought me imported beers until 2 am in what was a refreshingly understated affair spread across only two bars in the neighborhood.

My 25th was different. The alarm went off at the exact same time as it had the year before. I got up to face Year Two in the same back office.

My buddy? Married and gone. The ice cream cake? It aggravated my blossoming acid reflux problem.

Evening brought a trip to the usual bar with the usual gang for the usual pitcher of LaBatt Blue. Across from me sat a great young woman that I wasn't mature enough to appreciate - and I knew it.

So at the end of the night I lied on my back, reviewed the day's events and exhaled deeply. I lacked the will to live - or at least to masturbate. (And if you're single and you can't even rub one out on your birthday, then what is the point?)

I spoke aloud. "Fuck. I'm 25. This sucks."

But why?

Instead of an answer, I found only more questions - questions like "Am I too old to accept money in birthday cards?" Or even worse, "Am I too old to expect, or even depend upon money in birthday cards?" Am I too old to have spoiled milk in my fridge - and know it? Or four open, one-quarter-filled spaghetti sauce jars?

Can pie be dinner?

Should I have a zero balance in my checking account the day before every payday? What's a 401K? And why do I watch VH-1 when I'm hungover instead of MTV?

Should we...(gulp)...still be playing quarters before we go out on Saturday nights?

The pondering of these questions triggered two weeks of now-patented self-absorption. Slowly, through a running dialogue with my colleague and friend Allyson (it was her desire to have my birthday night revelation written in frosting on her firm-sponsored birthday cake that tipped me off), I began to realize that just about everyone goes through these fazes over the course of their lives. Not only is it natural, but healthy.

So in honor of this lackluster birthday and the revelation it inspired, I offer you twentyfive.net - a place for everyone who asks themselves these same questions - regardless of age - to find and share insights about the answers. If there are any.