Friday I'm in Love: The First Week of July

Hi, internet! I've missed you. I've been doing all this real life stuff - this is my birthday and anniversary week, plus the 4th of July. And the big kids had their first swim meet, too. So, this week I'm loving real life. . .

We went to Rocca, my favorite restaurant, for my and my dad's birthday.

We went to the park.

The team won their swim meet, but I don't know how the kids did. They had fun, though.

We went to my hometown 4th of July parade.

We went on a hike.

Ironflower did not want to come - she had the strength of will to pout the entire time.

I learned it's hard to capture fireworks with an iPhone.

This is the best one that does not have Hot Guy's head in it. 

Twenty-One. . .Times Two

Happy birthday to my Dad, who has graciously shared his birthday with me for more than half of his life now. Yikes. And happy birthday to my aunt, who always manages to wish me a happy birthday first. 

Today I am 42. I've been obsessed with the idea of being 42 for months. I haven't been sure why, as I'm not a huge fan of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

But it hit me last week. 42 is the double of 21. Which means I've been drinking legally for half my life. When you add in the 7 years I spent drinking illegally, you could say I've been drinking for two thirds of my life. Even though I've totally slacked off in the past nine years.

Er, I mean, I totally quit drinking each time I was pregnant. As you do. But even as I excitedly re-introduced alcohol into my life after each birth, I became a little less enamored with it. Drinking makes me (more?) self-involved and loud, neither of which are excellent parenting traits. Plus, hangovers.

If I had always gotten hangovers like I do EVERY SINGLE TIME I drink now, I never would have spent my twenties and early thirties in all those bars. But since I did, and technically it's Teaching Tuesday, I do have some drinking advice. . .

1. Dancing on tables is fun. But not if you are wearing a skirt. And if you are too drunk to remember what you are wearing, it's time to go home.

2. Shots are the devil. Sure, they may look nice and fruity. They may have been bought and/or made by your dearest friends in the world. But they will fuck you up.

3. Absolutely nothing that you believe to be true about yourself when you are drunk - whether positive or negative - is really true. You are not the funnier than the stand up comedian, you are not a better dancer than everyone else there and you are not going to die alone, eaten by your cats.

4. It's fine to let strangers buy you a drink - if you can watch it being made by a bartender. It's not fine to let strangers, acquaintances or that guy from work bring you a drink. People are shady, and roofies really don't have any taste.

5. No one ever looks as hot in the morning.

6. Don't drink on an empty stomach. Sure, it sounds like a good idea - fewer calories, the booze hits you sooner - but if you miscalculate and wind up puke your guts out drunk? You'll wind up dry heaving. Ugh.

7. Puking the night before and then sleeping for 12 hours only seems to help the hangovers of those under 40. Just FYI.

8. If you are hoping to make new friends or meet someone with whom you want to have an actual relationship, getting drunk is not the way to do it. Getting drunk is for bonding with the people you already know.

9. Flashing and/or mooning people seems funny until one of them takes out a cell phone.

40 Is a Gift

I'd been planning this post in my head for weeks. It was going to be about I don't feel 40, how much cooler past milestone birthdays were and you know, how I'm old now. Last weekend, though, my Dad pointed out that 40 was much better than the alternative. My Dad, who has been stuck sharing this birthday with me for the last 40 years (Happy birthday, Dad!), did not say anything directly about how I'm not old compared to him, or that getting older is much better than death. He just tossed off his point casually and let me think about it.

He's not really a tell you what to do kind of Dad. He never told me to start a journal, just gave me a beautiful embossed notebook for my 16th birthday. He mentioned how much he loved Catcher in the Rye and gave me a copy, but he didn't tell me I had to read it. So of course I did read and love it. He didn't even tell me to like Bruce Springsteen (RIP, Clarence Clemons), he just made sure that was the first concert I went to (Born in the USA, 1985, Giants Stadium = Awesome). He never told me what I should think about current events, never forced me to read the paper or watch the news. He asked me what I thought, though, and it really bugged me when I had no idea what he was talking about. That still happens, though now it's more likely to be about bands I've never heard of, not current events.

So when he mentioned the alternative to 40, I nodded without thinking about it. I put it out of my mind completely. Instead I focused on all the things that sucked about being 40 and how I could write a funny post about them. Then I was talking to Hot Guy last night, and my misspent youth story involved a bartender at bar we used to go to, who died a few years ago. Well before he turned 40. And that lead me to thoughts of high school classmates who also didn't make it to 40. And I remembered my Dad's comment and realized that I was being a total asshole. 40 IS really better than the alternative.

And I'm really lucky that my Dad is here to point it out.

I love you, Dad. Happy birthday.

Thirty-F**King Nine

Er, I kind of missed True Confession Tuesday this week. And then I forgot to blog yesterday. Do you think I can blame old age? I'll be 39 tomorrow.

Thirty-fucking-nine. I would much rather be forty. Forty is the start of something. Who knows what will happen in my forties? Look at most of the Desperate Housewives stars. But thirty-fucking-nine, that's an ending. Not only of my thirties,  but of my entire youth.

I read InStyle (yeah, I still read it even though my current version of style is to wear a shirt that doesn't have a stain) last week and there was not 1 trend that I hadn't already worn before.

I'm overly excited to go to Ikea today.

Instead of just keeping in touch with a few select people from high school, I am now friends with a ton of them on Facebook. And I enjoy hearing about their lives. Because I have forgotten how much they may have annoyed me 21 years ago.

When I stay up really late, it's because I'm reading.

People born when I graduated from high school can now drink legally. So, if I had gone in a different direction in high school, I could go out drinking with my kid.

When I diet for a week, I do not lose 5 pounds.

After 20+ years of dyeing my hair for fun, now I actually have to dye it. Because I'm too young to go gray, right?

The only thing I'm too young to do is join AARP.

My first class of first graders has graduated from high school. Actually, so has my second class. Crap.

The President is 10 years older than I am. Ten years! That's appropriate dating age. Unless you're 16.

I am now more comfortable wearing a bra than not wearing one.

I remember what life was like before the internet. Hell, I remember life what life was like before cordless phones.

I can't remember how to use all the features on my cell phone.

I can remember when Charlie Sheen and Tom Cruise were hot, though.

In short, I would prefer it if you didn't mention to anyone that I'm 39. I would like to be described as "40-1".

Thanks.

Also, if you would like me to have a happy birthday, you could sign up for my rss feed over there on the right hand side (uh, it's still there, right?). Or link to me. Or both. :) Hey, if you can't shamelessly ask for attention on your birthday, when can you ask?

Thank You, M.

The worst part of living in New Jersey has been my lack of friends. I miss my friends in Kansas City terribly. Most of the people I keep in touch with (or would like to keep in better touch with) from high school no longer live in Bergen County (take that as you will).

But on Sunday I went out to lunch with M. As M. pointed out, we are probably each other's oldest friends. I have known M. since tenth grade, which makes our friendship over twenty years old now (M. doesn't look like she has been friends with anyone that long, though, she looks just like she did when we graduated). M. lives about forty-five minutes away, which makes it even more challenging to get together than it should.

Anyway, M. wanted to take me to lunch for my birthday. Michelle is sweet and thoughtful like that. Our budget has been stretched so thin since we had the kids I can't remember the last time I bought a non-family member a gift. But M. wanted to take me out anyway. And she also bought me this lovely perfume just because she knew I'd never buy it for myself - when money's not tight we buy toys, of course. How sweet is that?

But even more than the material kindness was the way M. and I could just talk and talk and talk about anything, even though it's been months since we've seen each other. I had almost forgotten what it was like to hang out with a non-family member that I didn't have to be my "social self" for - it was so wonderful. But even beyond that, since I do at least talk to my KC crew pretty regularly, it was great to be with someone who knows all of my stories, even the ones I've forgotten.

So thank you M., for lunch and perfume and for being such a terrific, veteran (not old!) friend.

So Now I'm In My Late Thirties

I turned 36 yesterday. That's like being 18 - TWICE. Half a lifetime ago I was still able to vote. I was going to write that I don't feel 36 - until I realized that I don't know what 36 is supposed to feel like. I am wiser than I was at 18. And saggier too, of course.

Sometimes I imagine conversations with my 18 year old self. Mostly they involve me shaking her and saying, "Your body is great enough to wear a bikini, dammit! And yes, you can study abroad, dammit! And don't date anyone until you're 30!" But if I remember anything about myself at 18, I'm sure I wouldn't have listened. As for my 18 year old self, I can only imagine comments like, "How did we get so fat? Why didn't we go to law school? Our kids are SUPER-CUTE!"

Generally, I like being in my thirties. I don't need to be cool or hip anymore, but I can be if I want to. I know myself so well. I don't really care what other people think as much. And I now have a good excuse for dying my hair. But 36 feels like the first bell toll for forty. And I'm not sure how I'm going to feel about my forties.