I'm at an age where I'm struggling with how I'm going to handle this whole fakakta aging process. While I already dread looking in the mirror and seeing my mom's face on top of my shoulders (no offense mom, I love you, but I never knew you as a hot 22-year-old), I'm also conflicted over what to do about it.

I live in Los Angeles. Should I capitulate and start booking appointments with Beverly Hills' finest nip/tuckers? Should I jump on the Human Growth Hormone bandwagon with the rest of the scared-to-become-geezers crowd? Should I move to a small town in Podunk, where people (hopefully) don't worry so much about such trivial matters? Should I just be grateful to be alive and concentrate on more important goings on, like the atrocities in the Sudan (and maybe get George Clooney to like me as an ancillary fringe benefit)?

It's all very confusing because I don't want to be vain. I've never been vain. In fact, I have long prided myself on being a wash n' wear, this is my face, take it or leave it kind of gal. But now that I've reached an age where most are seeming to "leave it," it's unsettling -- and the fact that it's unsettling is further unsettling.

Working in a business where I'm continually bombarded by articles about women dropping thousands on cosmetic procedures to "look like BARBIE" should make it easier. These women are (in my mind anyway) pathetic with a capital fake boob P. How could I possibly want to emulate them? Why can't they be happy with what they were born with? Why would they risk their lives -- or even their credit scores -- to mess with what Mother Nature hooked them up with? But then, minutes later, I'll see before/after photos of some 40-something celeb who looks just a little less haggard and my mind will swing over to "hey, I'm lucky to live at a time when I can actually do something to keep Father Time's paws off my face for a little longer" and I'm back to feeling conflicted.

Do you guys grapple with this? How are YOU planning to handle gravity messing with your jowls? I'd love to hear. Who knows, maybe we can arrive at a sane game plan together. Barbie be damned.