No, I’m not dying. Just inching closer to death with age, like everyone else is.
I turn 40 today. But I absolutely, positively refuse to accept being 40 until 7:32 p.m. My birth certificate is an official document, and that’s what I’m sticking with. So, for the next few hours, I’m clinging to 39, my 30s in general and whatever else I can dig a claw into.
Somehow, I missed the note about age bringing wisdom. I fell victim to the dreaded surprise party Saturday night and got totally played. I had no clue, concept or theory, which means it was a success. Huge props to my girlfriend and my ex-roommate and good friend for putting everything together.
Age definitely brings lack of energy, though. It’s early Monday afternoon as I type this, and I’m still shot from Saturday night. And for the most part, I stuck to my plan to drink only Guinness or Irish whiskey, although a shot or two of dreaded Jagermeister may have snuck its way onto the menu toward the end of the night.
I don’t feel any different. I think the only reason I’ve thought about 40 so much is that everyone has done nothing but remind me about the number for the past few weeks. Not that I’m complaining: When you break your friends’ chops as much as I do, you have to be able to accept it in return.
I mean, really, what’s the difference? I can still play softball. Even if I lose a little more speed, I didn’t start off with a hell of a lot, anyway. I gave up football two years ago. On a good night, I can still drink 20-something punks under the table. My life will be no different after 7:32 p.m. than it is now or was yesterday. As the old cliché says, “It’s just a number.”
Saturday night’s party was unreal, though. Once I got over the shock of how completely suckered I was, I was amazed at the number of people there, and how generous some of the gifts were just blew me away. I don’t want to leave any out, so I’m not going to get into a list, but I have to mention two — two bottles of Johnnie Walker Blue. Wow! I’m seriously humbled.
What can I say? I guess I’m just getting a little contemplative with old age.