The Older I Get

Ah, birthdays! When I turned 5 years old, my parents had my birthday party at McDonalds. When I turned 13, I had a girls night party in my basement. 5 teenage girls, a camera, and non-alcoholic champagne. (Those are some crazy pictures.) When I turned 16, my dad planned a huge event that involved traveling to important spots where I grew up, Hershey's kisses, and a police officer. (long story) When I turned 21, my parents threw a surprise party for me at Pantara's Pizza (seriously, a pizza place??) When I turned 25, I partied all night at straight clubs, gay clubs, east side clubs...until daylight. When I turned 28, we partied at home with friends. The house was decorated with snow flakes and the party was DJ'ed. Age 29, Olive Garden. Age 30, An Italian restaurant.

And 33, at home. With my boys and a good book.

I'm not sure how I feel about getting older, because that party girl is still inside of me. A little part of me wanted a party, but on a Sunday night? Not always the night people say, "PARTY!"

Plus, that party girl at the beginning of the night thinks she can go all night, like the good ole days and is tired by 9pm with an aching back and dog tired feet. Party pooper. I seriously, am not enjoying this getting older stuff.