It's been more than a week since it happened, and I'm certainly not getting any younger (as you will soon find out), so I'm ready to share something with you.

Come here, a little closer: (In a whispering voice) I recently turned 24 years old.

I know what most of you adult readers are thinking: So what? Twenty-four? I'd kill to be 24 again. How could he possibly feel old atage 24? Even Ashlee Simpson columns are better than this garbage. But put yourself in my shoes before you write off my worries. You see, up until turning 24, I've still viewed myself as a "young person." It's kind of an indefinable classification, but for me, 23 was the mythical cutoff age. Anytime I felt like I was getting older, I always thought, well, at least I'm not 24. But that reassurance was gone faster than a Scooter Libby resignation.

Even though I had this perception in my mind of being old, nothing changed after turning 24. I still look the same. And when I say the same, I mean young, like high-school aged (on a good day). I still have people say to me: it's so nice of the Tribune to let high schoolers intern there when I'm out reporting for an article.

(Side note: Unfortunately, my recently attained haircut, which made me look even younger, didn't go away when the clock struck midnight on my birthday, either. For future reference: When the stylist breaks out the books with the pictures of different haircuts and all you want is your hair cut shorter, run. My hair looked like something out of the ‘50s, which was probably when the stylist started cutting hair.)

My parents definitely still look at me as a young person, if not a kid sometimes. My mother recently e-mailed me twice to remind me to get a flu shot. That I can understand I guess, but are e-mail reminders such as "wear a coat when you go outside, you'll catch a cold," "wash your hands, they're filthy" or "stop making a fool of yourself, I'm sorry I had you" really necessary? But I guess I ask to be treated that way when I still call my parents with simple questions, such as "what does adjusted gross income" mean on tax forms and "how does one make toast?"

So, if I still look young and people still treat me like I'm young, what is the big deal about turning 24? I couldn't quite explain why 24 was such a milestone, but I only knew that I felt older suddenly. Once you're not young anymore, you're not old, but you definitely aren't young (it's really quite simple).

When you're not young, you're supposed to start acting like an adult. That means dressing nicer (appearing like a homeless person is no longer acceptable). It also means using adult words, meaning "dude" is no longer an all-encompassing way to address someone. And eventually, it means really scary stuff like having kids (I don't even think I'm ready for plants) and, gulp, becoming a Kiwanis member.

I just don't think I'm prepared to stop being young. But 24 was telling me otherwise. Then, a simple online survey changed my whole perspective.

The survey asked for my age, and I started from the bottom of the list up, thinking my age group would come sooner that way. Not so. I scanned all the way to the top before finding my age group: 18-24! I was still grouped in with young people! And the lowest possible age group! My spirits were lifted. I immediately stopped the survey to call AARP and cancel my membership.

As it turns out, society does still consider me a young person. All it took was a survey to prove to myself that I wasn't done being young yet.

So I've got one spectacular year of being young left. Then, I'll turn ... I can't even say it ... twenty-f... twenty-fi... twenty ... quarter of a centur......

Dude, I love being 24.