I find, holding onto my last year in my thirties, the need to stretch out ones wings and feel hip again.
Following is the story of Icarus Thirtysomething and a night out with her friends...
A couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to go to see Morrissey (ex singer from the 80's band The Smiths). I went with my husband's best friend Jack (HUGE fan), and his ex-hipster-ish friend Sam. All of us thirty somethings with spouses and children who lovingly allowed us to break free for an evening of fun.
Of course in preparation for my night, I decided to search the attic for my Smiths T-Shirt from my clubbing days (I used to be somewhat of a punk in college).
Size MEDIUM? Ummm, ok lets give it a shot...ewwww...yeah that didn't quite work. Ok, lets try a funky dress.....ok, no I look a tad like John Travolta in drag from Hairspray... Ok, lets go with jeans and a black T-shirt, leave the crocs at home--that will do...not feeling as "hip" as I would like, but I am off to Boston....
So off we went, after debating bringing my husband's car, we decided to go with Jack's minivan since it had an "easypass" which would allow us to get through the tolls faster....feeling less hip by the minute. We pick up Sam, who is dressed ....how do I say this?...like he was trying a bit too hard to fit in with the Morrissey crowd; was he feeling the same anxiety?
The concert was great, an interesting crowd. As I peered around the audience I noticed a lot of women in black T-shirts and jeans, and tapping their feet to the opening band, sipping on trendy German beer nervously as if they would be discovered as suburban moms trying to recapture their youth, their size medium t-shirts tucked safely away in the past.
During the last song Sam and I were somewhat buzzed as we jumped up on our seats and started playing air guitar (VERY UN-HIP), Jack also participated. I then did something rather daring considering I was with my husband's friends. I pulled out my emergency pack of cigarettes that I usually keep in my desk at work. We all chuckled with glee as if we were doing something truly decadent. So Sam had the suggestion that after the concert (it ended around 10 pm) to go to a hip urban restaurant which features a hookah bar. In my very un-hip form, I asked "is that legal?" (after all, Jack is a police officer). "Sure its legal, Kate Hudson went there when she was here a few years ago." EXCELLENT.
So we went to the hookah bar for more cocktails and hookah (never quite figured out what hookah was). Sam mentioned my air guitar skills and invited Jack and I back to his loft to play Guitar Hero on Playstation. After struggling through a couple of rounds, Sam and Jack suggested picking a song in which I knew the basic rhythm of the song. The selection was a little slim but I finally found my song - it was Strutter by Kiss. I had the album when I was about seven (my brother belonged to Columbia record club).
Icarus's wings were now beginning to melt, along with my companions, Jack who was killing himself to keep his eyes open and Sam who was tending to his six-month old daughter who was up for a late night bottle. We dragged our tired thirtysomething selves home and I plopped myself into bed wearing my XL Morrissey T-Shirt at 3am.