Wednesday, January 12, 2011

When I grow up I'm going to get drunk and go dancing

What do you do when you're turning 35? THIRTY. FIVE.

First you have a heart attack and wonder what the hell happened - because dude, 35? That's FOR SURE grown up material. I can't start sentences with "When I grow up I'm gonna...." anymore. I need to buy sensible furniture and think about how much I'm putting into RRSP's and eat bran everyday.

Put another way - 35 is a whole 'nother AGE BRACKET. I've gotten used to ticking the "25-34" age bracket when I sign up for something. It's a nice age bracket. I remember being 25. That means 34 isn't so old right? Since they group us in with the 25 year olds...

Age bracket of 35-44 is a bit lack-luster. It's boring grown-up-ville where I buy Cheese Whiz and worry about the weather and forget to sign permission forms. I'm mere steps away from getting a sensible haircut!

And so - this weekend... I've gathered some good girlfriends. I've rented the largest suite Pantages Hotel has to offer. I've bought a cocktail dress that (sort of) hides all my mom-body-frump. I have 4 pairs of shoes/booties/shabooties shortlisted for consideration. I have the spa booked. I have dinner at a fancy-shmancy "Supper Club" booked. We are on the guest list at a dance club where we've been promised not to be the "oldest" people in attendance.

We will be pampered. We will drink. We will laugh and dance and talk and dance. And then we will drink some more.

I'm terrified of leaving my bebe overnight when she doesn't take a bottle and is a total mom-suck. I'm terrified that I don't have the stamina for a "session" after becoming so old and decrepit. I'm terrified that I will not be able to pull off the electric blue tights that I plan on wearing.

But I'm looking far too effing forward to it all to let it bother me that much.


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