The Big 5-0

On Saturday we celebrated my friend Christine’s 50th birthday. As with most people who have made the passage to the big 5-0, the days leading up to and surrounding her birthday have been met with mixed emotions. Since I had history with those feelings, it was easy for me to commiserate as well as tell her that, although it can be a bitter pill, the taste fades, much like any other unpleasant life experience and that you can indeed find yourself looking back fondly at the transition and the personal growth as a result (let’s face it- if you are lucky enough to meet 70, reflecting on the emotions spent on 50 will seem somewhat comical!)

One thing that my local girls know how to do is party. Hell, we can make a party almost anywhere we go, which is one of the many things I cherish about this group of ladies. I think we became such good friends because we seriously don’t give a fuck if we are inappropriate or a bit too loud (yes, we are those girls). We never outwardly try to offend anybody, it’s just that… well… the topics of conversation can be a bit spicy for some and then when it takes a tailspin, alcohol typically is the culprit. Saturday we can blame it on the Casamigos Tequila. Damn good stuff I might add! And… uh… three bottles of wine, all consumed as we dined lakeside in Westlake, home to what you would call a rather uptight, conservative bunch (and I know I am stereotyping, but it’s my blog and I will just call it as I see it).

Not sure all of the four hours spent dining were the makings for a reality TV show, but certainly the last half was.  Kendrick Lamar playing from my I Phone and tequila shots; dancing and discussions of sexual fantasies.  We committed to a trip to Thailand next Summer and bought tickets to see Cher in Vegas in November. We laughed our asses off!  It was the best medicine for my friend who needed to escape the 5-0 cringe and for us to spend time feeling anything but middle-age women.

So cliche to say but age is just a number. 50 is just a number. The other day, Peyton asked me how old I thought my soul was. I told her 18 and I believe that. Days like Saturday where silliness abounds reaffirms it and I will never let that go.

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