When I moved in with my current boyfriend, he joked to his friends that I moved all his stuff into storage and replaced it with mine. But I’m only joking when I say “current boyfriend.” He knows I’ve had many and he’s the one. At least, the last one. But I did move all his stuff into storage.
By the time I was 45 I didn’t have that urgency to find “the one” and I had pretty much stopped dating. When you’re middle aged and you’re single, one has to realize that two will not make your world complete. You’re it and you’re going to be what sustains who you are and your growth and that’s going to have to be okay. I don’t mean to say Luckily I was passionate about life and what I was doing. Luck had nothing to do with it. I had approached every phase and decade of my years with gusto and I plowed through self-help books, spiritual practices, took care of my body (especially after those Ecstasy nights!) and I generally heeded the good angel’s advice being whispered in my ear. But it was only luck that brought me my David.
As I stated before all of my friends love him and when they want to get together with me they will text or call him first because doing hair, speaking engagements, blogging, writing new books, pimping my ebooks, and cocktail events & charities are keeping me busy.
David’s 50th birthday was March 10th so the months leading up to it were all about planning a nice low-key party with about 70 friends and as many of his family that I could cajole into coming to the city. I knew my birthday was coming up, May 28th, and I had made my vague plans for it because I’m a planner. (A planner is an asshole who doesn’t trust anyone else to do things the right way—his way.)
I think David’s party went well. My close friends who were able to make it said they had a lovely time and David said so too. I haven’t talked to David’s family yet, they all live about an hour and a half out of town, a smog-free place called Sycamore and they don’t Facebook, tweet or text me much. But I think they had a good time the two hours that they were at the restaurant I rented out. (I’ve come to the conclusion that Sycamore folks don’t venture out of Sycamore for extended periods of time nor respond to texts, Facebook invites or messages, emails, Eventbrite invitations and calls or requests from the outside world. I only had about 5 firm RSVP’s from Sycamorians about a week before the party.)
After the planning and actual party for David is when I turned into a dude-bitch. I’m not trying to make dude-bitch a catch phrase but it’s kind of funny to read and it makes me chuckle as I’m reminded by remorse that I have to constantly apologize for my 50 bitterness. When David had written his thank you notes and the dust had settled in our apartment from his birthday, my birthday was going to be the next event that we’d be doing together. And when I called off my original trip with my buddies, I went to plan B, which was get out of town and go to L.A. to hang out with my old friends. And then I cancelled Plan B because I didn’t even feel like seeing them either because I began to get this feeling that I wanted to just spend my birthday alone.
Please don’t make the obvious female hormone jokes. Just insert “dude-bitch” here.
Alone. I have never been alone. Ever. Ever. Ever. I’ve had groups of friends. Boyfriends. And, had I stayed in California, I would have had a huge Catholic Mexican family to spend every birthday, holiday and milestone with for the rest of my life. But in Chicago, since I was 30, it’s always been my friends and we’ve all spent the past 20 years celebrating something or another, yearly, monthly, and sometimes weekly. I’ve never really been alone.
But approaching 50 is different and if I didn’t have David, I would be alone. But I’m very thankful that he’s put up with and, to my knowledge, has been mindful of that weekend of wicked mounting threats should he throw me surprise party or trip. And I’m thankful that he’s the one and is respecting my need to take 50 on the down-low and I’m fascinated that you are so happy that you’re now 50; and you were even excited to get your AARP card! I will never be that happy–to be 50.
David, I know you were a little scared that I was going to zing you in this blog. Although I do not look forward to 50, I’m glad I get to do it alone, with you. And I love you and I’m so glad you escaped the extraordinary gravitational pull of your hometown. That’s not a joke. People from Sycamore don’t usually move away from their greater family. (But your shit has to stay in storage.)
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