Things I’ll never do again:

  • Think being 28 years old is…old.
  • Have a boyfriend. (A fact, that for the first time in my life, doesn’t send me straight to the Nutella jar wielding the biggest spoon in the drawer.)
  • Live without a Y2K-ready stash of tea stuffed into my kitchen cupboards. If the sun don’t shine 365—it’s the only way to survive Halloween through Independence Day.
  • Wonder what “Arnold Schwarzenegger: Encyclopedia of Modern Bodybuilding” would look like next to Mindy Kaling’s bio on a bookshelf.
  • Buy a new car without dealing with the old one first. If someone had told me even living in a nice neighborhood and driving by the oldie every damn day doesn’t prevent your battery from getting stolen—twice—I would’ve handled the transition much differently. Which brings me to:
  • Drive down 18th avenue and worry that there’s a tow notice on the woefully neglected Chrysler. (Thankyoubabycheeses!) Although apparently dreaming (nightmaring) that I find it on the side of the highway and rescue it, full of naive optimism that it’s changed its unreliable ways (??), isn’t off-limits.
  • Run to PDX BFF’s house on a Tuesday night for wine and gossip. If the 7 miles after her first move was nearly too much, there’s no point in discussing the 250 miles after her second. Happy legs, sad heart.
  • Purchase shoes marked less than $30 original price. The old adage “you get what you pay for,” is annoyingly accurate, and my feet will no longer stand for the abuse.
  • Wash my hands without the worry I’ll forget to put Eric’s money back on my finger. (But you know, I’m pretty OK with this one.)
  • Wait until the last minute to do my taxes. Because you can’t control if some IT jerk will decide the week of April 15 is the right time to perform “scheduled maintenance” on your student loan Web site, thereby c-blocking you from downloading your 1098-E.
  • Look back over the year and wonder if this is as good as it gets. Because I know it isn’t.