I turned 34 this year. Yes, 34. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm in my mid-thirties and am no longer the young woman I used to be, and I'm OK with it.
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I turned 35. And in New York City, that's a prison term for the single and upwardly mobile, a death sentence for someone in media. When the clock struck 12, albeit digital, I remember checking my ID several times to redo the math.
But criticism aside -- and disagreeing with some, come on, those girls had jobs -- the true draw of "The Hills" was its ability to capture friendship in all its doom and glory.
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