how the hell I did it, but somehow I made it through the 40th birthday weekend. Actually, now that I think about it, I do know how. Their names are Mandy, Joel and Matt. Add a sprinkle of Pam, Dan, Julie. Stir in a bit of Laura, Kelly, Amanda, and Brian/Ryan and you have the recipe for a fabulous 40th birthday weekend extravaganza. It was perfect, except for the actual turning 40 part.
I went north to Chicago to spend the weekend with my smart, funny, pissy cousin Mandy and her husband Joel. Joel doesn't like to be in the blog, so you'll see Joel's name more than necessary. Joel.
I was 5 when Mandy was born and I think my heart knew her before that. I have a feeling we played together in wherever we were before we made our appearance here. Our laughs are similar. Hers higher, mine lower but the same rhythm. She rolls her eyes and has little patience for passive people and doesn't suffer fools well either. We're connected from before we even were.
I went up Friday afternoon and met Mandy at her work and we promptly headed to The Purple Pig for drinks...at 2 in the afternoon. Two filthy martinis made by cute bartender James later and we headed for a little bit of shopping. Word of warning, shopping after vodka ends up with an outrageously expensive yet gorgeous impulse purchase. The guilt induced by that purchase will cause you to need to drink more.
And that we did. We met Joel for more drinks, in a ridiculously overcrowded bar where one had to shout to be heard. (See that, I AM 40!) This is where Amanda and Brian/Ryan first made their appearance. Brian is his real name, but I thought it should be Ryan, so I changed it. It was my birthday, I was allowed. Amanda was this sweet, smart, young woman who had one of those perfectly timed dry, quiet senses of humor. I liked her immediately. Brian/Ryan was more "I'm here, let's get to the drinking". Did I mention these people are in their mid-twenties? Oh yes, that's what this old gal wanted was to be 15 years older than the people she was drinking with.
After leaving that bar and Mandy having an altercation that involved a revolving door and a step, we headed to the next place. That's where Laura and Kelly entered the scene. Laura was a tough read to begin with. I wasn't sure if she loved or hated me. We Haggards are affectionate and immediately interested when someone new shows up (probably because we're bored with each other), so we can be a bit to take. After a very brief adjustment period, Laura even hugged me. I dig her. She and Kelly the dancing queen are good people. I bet in 10 years Laura could be running the world.
We finally settled at a bar that alternated between smelling like a kitty litter box and roasting turkey legs. There is no logical explanation for the two smells coexisting except a mass hallucination. This is where it happened. Where the clock struck midnight and I turned into a 40 year old woman. Oh hell.
I was trying to embrace the impending age change the entire night. I kept talking it up in my head, trying to pretend it was something to look forward to, but I soon discovered two very important things about myself: 1. I know when I'm lying. 2. I'm bad at embracing stuff I don't like... dirty puppies, strangers and 40.
People told me that I wouldn't feel any different. Clearly those people are crazy or suffering from dementia, because for the last minute I was 39 I felt something slipping away. I felt a shift and a change. Not unlike Mandy being thrown suddenly out of that revolving door (Joel is innocent I tell you!) I could see it coming, but had no power to stop it.
Those sweet kids (I get to call people that now) that were with me for that passing from my thirties to my forties were relative strangers to me, yet they somehow were the perfect people for me to spend that time with. They were youth and smarts and impassioned and impatient and marvelous in the moment. They reminded me of twenty something me. They reminded me of how good a place that kind of unfettered belief that you have forever feels. And they included me in their moment. They were the perfect cast of characters for that night.
When I was counting down the last 15 seconds of 39 in that loud bar where we were shaking our asses and pretending to do shots (too damn old for that mess), I told myself to just stop and look at it as if I was going to write it. It's like you see in a movie where the volume is lowered and the lights seem dimmed and one person isn't moving. The difference is, there was no slow motion. Nothing so much as paused. Girls were flirting, boys were buying drinks for those flirty girls. People were dancing and singing and laughing. And then I was 40 years and 1 minute old and I was the only one who knew it.
The next day was spent nursing the Queen Mother of all headaches and then heading to my cousin Danny and his wife Julie's for a birthday party for their kids. Along with my Auntie Pam, they got me a perfect little red velvet cake and kindly only put one candle on it. But then they sang that damn birthday song to me. Danny tried to stop them, for he knew better, but there is no thwarting people who are determined to make someone blush. Truth is, I didn't even mind the singing much.
Matt (who is my cousin and Mandy's brother and JOEL'S brother-in-law), Mandy, Joel and I headed out to dinner. (A quick little thing about Matt, he is who I'd be if I were fearless. When he heads that bravery and strength in the right direction, as he is doing, he's unstoppable. I think he was in the spot with Mandy and me before we were Elsie's grandchildren.) We settled on a dark, loud Mexican place with perfect margaritas and some of the best food I've ever eaten. Also Chicago's best flan 2009 with a candle in it for dessert. Joel asked who won 2010, but no one knew. This is where the actual time of my birth came. Somewhere after the flan but before we finished our drinks.
See my dad felt that your time of birth was the most important part of the day. Mine is 11:11 pm. That meant for 24 years of my life at precisely the time of my birth, my dad wished me Happy Birthday. He'd whisper it to me at night when I was little and he'd call me when I was older and out instead of safe at home in my bed. I've not had one of those phone calls from him for 16 years now, yet somehow a tiny piece of me hopes for the phone to ring at 11:11 and him to say "Happy Birthday babe." Maybe that piece of hope I feel, that skipping a beat my heart does at that time is him. Perhaps he's there between 11:10:59 and 11:11.
Instead it was Matt smiling his ass off telling me that I'd made it. The time came and went and I looked exactly the same. And let's all get real here, I can be 40 all damn day as long as I don't LOOK 40. I don't know if I feel 40, because I'm not sure what that is, exactly. Maybe it's feeling old enough to know better, but also knowing that sometimes it's not the end of the world if you don't do better. Maybe it's stopping to just look around and realize how good that moment is instead of just letting them pass assuming you'll get another one just as perfect. If that's 40, then I think I'm decidedly 40 and I don't mind that bit of maturity at all.
So my little hellions this is the last you'll hear of my turning 40. I promise. You know I can't guarantee I won't complain about the side effects. Especially if gravity keeps being such a bitch to me. I'm still not happy about this whole being in my forties (because I am after all 40 years and 3 days old). It's not exactly fabulous but then it isn't exactly hell either, but maybe that's just because it's all still very fresh.
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