I'm turning 40 this year. Forty. It's weird. I didn't think it would be. But it is. I don't feel forty, although, really, what does forty feel like? I keep reminding myself: Gwen Stefani...isn't she like 42? And SJP...way over 40. Jen Aniston. So yeah, forty is still super hot and cool and hip, although really, I know: perhaps using celebrities as a comparison as I approach this major milestone is not the most brilliant or rational of ideas.
When I saw today's Five For Five topic, all I could think was: 40.
Although I will still be in my 30s for more than half a year, it is looming.
I debated just posting a bunch of images that have been floating around in my mind: the perfect party dress, the perfect pair of shoes, me in the perfect party dress and perfect pair of shoes surrounded by my homies in Vegas...
Yep, I decided a little alcohol, some friends, my Hubby, and a room at the Bellagio will soften the blow.
If I'm gonna turn 40 (before any of my friends and Hubby, mind you), I figure I should do it Big. Grand. Loud. Over-the-top. Tacky, even. And preferably while holding a martini in a feathered cocktail dress.
I'm not really sure what the big deal is. I never really used to have an issue with age. But then again, I've never been 40. And it's not like I'm hiding it: if my friends didn't think it was waaaaaay too tacky, I would make everyone wear shirts proclaiming: "Liz is turning 40 and she is fuckin' fabulous." That's the theme, anyways. Yep. I have a theme. And before you think I'm totally nuts, seeing as it's in December, for heaven's sake, just know that the airplane tickets are already booked. So see? I'm not getting that ahead of myself. I'm not obsessing that much. So it's official: I guess if I have a non-refundable ticket (along with several others that will be flying over there with me), then I guess I really am turning 40.
So you'd think, as much of a ponderer as I am, that I would already have plans...big, big plans for my new decade. Goals, adventures... But nope, I haven't gotten past the shoes and the party dress. So as of right now, I'm gonna ignore the weird posing-questions-about-life-and-wrinkles-and-mortality-stage and just call this year's birthday an excuse for one hell of a party. I'll worry about the rest while recovering from my hangovers.