So, not only did I survive the 37th birthday rager mentioned below, I actually loved it. Amidst the mass craziness, I rolled with a small bubble of friends. A good percentage of them even connected with the mid-90s hip hop that I “dared” people to request from the DJ so I didn’t have to. Mid-90s hip hop is my safe place. I know the words. I can do the running man.
Furthermore, I juiced for liver health the entire month of March with the obsessive fervor that only an Aspie can pull off, and I enjoyed 2 ½ drinks with minimal hangover consequences thus.
So, I call shenanigans on 33 is the Happiest Age article that virtually every major news site ran yesterday. For me, 33 was a sucky age. It involved chronic vertigo, anemia, loads of barfing and an insomniac preschooler who trashed my house. So far, 37 not only brings oodles of 90s hip hop, but also health that borders on good and an almost-7-year-old who sleeps 11 hours a night and cleans the house for fun.
As my favorite Chinese YA author says, “Year of the Dragon, baby!” It’s a good year to turn 37!
What’s your happiest age? Why?