35.

I turned 35.

THIRTY FREAKING FIVE.

Which is half-way to 70.

And everyone dies at 70, because I read the obits, and that seems to be the median age.

So in my head, half my life is over.

But really, it's just getting started.

(Depends on how full we want to fill that glass up…and my glass is always full.  Literally).

 I have always been someone who looks forward to birthdays.

I like getting older.

I really do.

I feel like the worse I look (gravity is a real pain in the ass…on my ass), the better I feel about myself.

I like the confidence, the wiseness, the friendships (old and new), the appreciation, and the contentment that comes with getting older.

I like my kids getting older.

(NO DIAPERS).

I like Ry older. 

(I am a sucker for gray in a beard).

I like it all.

And I especially like an excuse to celebrate with some of my favorite people that I have known forever…for an entire weekend.

These peeps.

They are the real deal.

We have been smitten with each other for an eternity.

We have seen the best and the worst of each other.

We have laughed and cried.

We have witnessed every milestone, good and bad.

(Some of these poor people have endured me for 28 years!).

And we still love nothing more than to just be together.

Reminiscing about it all.

And although, at 35, I may still yearn for white baseboards and crown moulding, I will never need to yearn for best friends.

And that makes me think maybe I'm doing something right.

35.

Halfway to 70.

Someone better start writing the rough draft of my obituary.

And please stick a picture of me in a bikini next to it.

In my twenties.

Not a picture of me after this weekend.

In fulminant liver failure.

(The ascites and jaundice are quite unbecoming, and the encephalopathy is permanent…but well earned).

DISCLAIMER:

"R" rated Lyrics in this song.