It came and it went, but I'm still savoring it. Not so much the turning thirty seven part, but the general birthday, gift-getting, it's-all-about-me parts. On April Fool's Day I celebrated 37 years of ME.
After work on Friday I met Brenda and some friends at Dip, a fondue joint on Third Avenue. Not bad. I opened gifts. Not bad either. Dinner was supposed to be the entire evening, but after I had consumed about five manhattans, Brenda said: "it'd still be fun to go to Toto". Toto of course is the karaoke studio that I frequent, generally with these people or with friends from college. Well, Patrick, upon hearing the word "Toto" went ballistic, and insisted that we go.
I'm now a couple days into thirty seven, and my back hurts. But I'm also easing into the good years. By that I mean the good "day your birthday falls on years". When your birthday falls on a Friday, it rocks because you have the whole weekend to follow. Saturday is a little better because you don't even have to show up for work. Sunday is good, but the idea that tomorrow is Monday is always hovering around, harshing your birthday mellow. And, of course, birthdays on Mondays always bring me down, as the song should go.
Thirty seven. It's young, it's old, it depends on who you're talking to. It is what it is. A number. I don't know why we obsess about age as we do. I'm alive, I'm happy, and I had a good time turning 37. What else ya want?