Twenty-five is the gateway age.

The early twenties are gone and the late twenties are just a cake or two away.

I now feel elderly at undergrad parties, and I’m okay with this displacement.

I did my time and I loved it.

Now though, I prefer a couple happy hour drinks, a movie and a good night’s sleep in preparation for a productive Saturday that usually starts with a cup of coffee and yoga class.

To my undergrad friends: I am sorry for any damage your keyboard suffered as a result of that last sentence.

In truth, I began mentally preparing for 25 on January 18, 2009.

I took 24 seriously. I knew it was the end of my early twenties. And both my bank account and my liver suffered the consequences of Las Olas many times as I adjusted to my relocation from Melbourne to Fort Lauderdale.

“The bars are open ’til 4? And you can drink on the street?!?!?! Oh my god!”

If I had a dollar for every time I shouted the lyrics to a Journey hit downtown while drinking a $4 beer, my mom wouldn’t have asked me, “Do you need money?” when I volunteered to pick up a milkshake from McDonald’s for her last night.

I had some fantastic times as a young, 24-year-old professional.

From the infamous dance-dance-fall-off-the-stage-and-somehow-land-perfectly-in-heels dance move to the fall-into-the-bush-that-had-been-nursed-back-to-life-for-3-weeks-and-instantaneously-lose-dinner evening, there are some great stories that I will go to great lengths to hide from my future children.*

And in that same vein of reflection, I recall the big plans I once had for this birthday.

First, Vegas. Then D.C.

But as January 17 drew closer, I changed my mind. On the tail of resolutions for 2010 to be a year of financial, professional and personal growth, it seemed a little counterintuitive to spend +$500 to transition from 24 to 25 in different scenery.

So I made the call. I would go out for a few drinks on Friday and then spend Saturday in Titusville with two of the craziest party animals this planet has ever seen – my parents. But even those plans changed. My dad had to have another stint put in, and while this procedure was deemed “commonplace” and not much to worry about, I replaced my Friday evening plans with an earlier departure.

Prior to my 2.5 hour drive home, I had a nice workthday.

I knew a cake was coming – primarily because EVERYONE gets a cake. So after a delicious sushi lunch on the house (complete with two special rolls rather than one special roll and one glob of rice with tuna – my usual order when it’s coming out of my account) I asked a coworker to just tell me when it was cake time instead of following the usual procedure of “everyone meet in the break room at 3 p.m. and then someone go tell Birthday Person that HR needs to talk to them and divert them into the break room.”

I’m not sure how my coworkers knew I would nearly faint at the sight of a Cookie Monster cookie cake.**

My Halloween costume was probably a solid hint.

Other cake preference indicators may have included:

• My tendency to giggle anytime someone says, “You need to clear your cookies,” and then give my best “COO-KIE!!” impersonation

• My defense that he is not actually a monster at all, but rather, a kind, loving, somewhat irrational, blue, fuzzy friend

• My admission that one Sunday afternoon (or Friday night) I watched every Cookie Monster YouTube available

I don’t know what gave it away. But I did learn that I am the most creative cake cutter ever born.***

And now, just 3:17 away from year 25, I listen to the commentary of an NFL playoff game, occasionally interrupted by my dad’s snoring.

Oh wait, we’re awake. A commercial break switchover to Nancy Grace caused the awakening.

Damn Nancy Grace, stirring shit up.

But really, I’m thankful for the nice, casual entrance into a year that I’m sure will be full of activity and growth. It’s fitting. My dad’s procedure went smoothly, as expected, but it did add perspective. It gave a more selfless feel to a birthday I once thought deserved an over-the-top celebration.

And hey, who says you can’t do Vegas on your 26th birthday?

A couple updates:

1. As expected, my birthday began with Captain Zoom calling all commands for a message to Jennifer – both from my parents and via voicemail from my brother. This guy probably thought he’d only have to sing to me from age 4-6, but that’s not how we roll in the McCoy household. Seriously, we probably owe the manufacturer money because that cassette cost $3.64 in 1989 and it’s been blared over our household intercom system every year since.

2. I received a Microsoft Paint birthday cake the size of NYC. Would anyone like to help me eat the digital leftovers?

* Children = cats

** As a coworker pointed out, this was irony at its finest. Cookie Monster on a cookie cake. He must choose whether he wants to live or to fulfill his desire and in turn, eat himself. I cannot get over this. Years later, I will reflect and giggle. Most likely, this reflection will take place during a very, very inappropriate time.

*** Make your reservation now. Available for birthdays, bar mitzvahs and any other Jewish celebrations.

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