But what they didn't tell you is that in real life, Anne was only six years older than Dustin!

Last night we had a little get-together at our house. As I sat there chatting and trying to keep Emily away from any more guacamole, it suddenly occurred to me that excluding myself, the average age in the room would have been about 24. If that.

I was actually having a heart-to-heart with people who could ostensibly be my kids. OK, well G/\R*E could, and Emily would be pushing it. Sorry Kiwi.

When you're old, people look to you for like, advice and stuff. But it still surprises me that I'm not in my 20's myself. I mean Anne Bancroft was FIVE YEARS YOUNGER THAN I when she seduced Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. I AM NOT THAT OLD! Am I?

(See, now, I've already lost my audience . They've never even heard of The Graduate. It's a classic, you whippersnappers. Rent it.)

The friends I have who actually are my age feel the same way, I assure you. The Singletons still size up 20-something boys as potential beaus, the Fashion Conscious can't decide between the Brass Plum or Savvy departments at Nordstrom, and the Hot Moms pick up an extra Boogie Board 'cause they can size up the surf in Maui better than their sons.

We are definitely not our parents. Generally, we settled down later, had careers before babies and still go to really, really loud concerts for fun (if your ears ain't-a-ringin', you weren't sitting close enough). We're officially the last year of the Baby Boomer, but identify more with Gen X.

But young as I feel, it makes me shudder to think how quickly time is going by, and how much more there is for me to do. I try to go with the flow for now, seeing as how I'm not even remotely what I thought I'd be at this age. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it's an adjustment.

I often think that I kind of lived my life backwards. I was so settled, so young, and had everything mapped out and decided by a far too early age. When I woke up and broke free, I decided to act my age and have fun. OK, I decided to act my age and cry every night over really crap boyfriends, but you get the point. And I of course never wavered from my "Brooke-the-conscientious-career-chick" role, but my social life was at least a heck of a lot more interesting.

One of the dangers of an extended adolescence however, is that you turn around and BOOM, you're forty. In my case, while I had finally settled my "relationship life", I was really questioning my career. How I ended up doing what I do (did?) is beyond me, but I do it, and do well at it, and I thought that would be enough.

It's not. Thus the midlife crisis/wake-up call/panic attack in the middle of the night where you can't breathe and Mr. Blogger has to bring you the oxygen tank to calm you down.

And thus the blog. But that's a whole other story for a whole other incredibly long post.

In the meantime, at least "Desperate Housewives" has made 40 semi-cool, and definitely hot. And the teenager-like oily skin that plagues me has also made me fairly wrinkle-free.

I'm also excited that we have FLOOR seat tickets to go see Depeche Mode next month.

But I'm considering ear plugs.