Last night, we did the unthinkable for people our age: we went out partying on a Monday.
My friend M. was turning 40 and he rented out a downtown lounge, BLVD, for the occasion. "It might be Monday, but we gonna party," said the invitation.
Down we went to Bowery and Spring, worried a bit that my husband's straight-from-work suit might not be cool enough for the scene. No need for concern, as most guests at a 40th birthday party aren't really hipsters - turns out most of them are coming straight from work too.
It was a great time! The drinks were flowing, I saw friends from college that I hadn't seen in ages, we talked about exes and babies and missing teeth (the kids, not ours)and whether we'd rather go to Italy or Paris for our own 40th birthdays. Above all, we couldn't stop complimenting each other: we all agreed we looked better than ever (and that's what's really important.)
M. was in party-mode, having a great time but a bit dazed by all the walks of his life coming together in one room: grammar school, high school, college, graduate school, LA, Brooklyn, family, friends.
His trusty DJ (who played at his wedding too - yes, this is the second post that includes a loyal DJ) got everyone out on the dance floor -- Jay-Z's Empire State of Mind, Stevie Wonder tunes, and my favorite to watch, The Electric Slide. I so wish I could join in with the gang, moving in union, effortlessly. Unfortunately, choreography has landed in the same part of my brain as rules to games, how to do Excel spreadsheets, and reading music. I can't retain it.
It didn't matter. I was happy as could be watching M. and his beautiful wife electric sliding their (I should say "his" or I'll hear it from the Mrs.) way into 40.
Happy Birthday!
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