To start, I am 38 years old, in case you were unaware.
I have very little problem with aging. In fact, I embrace it. I felt very awkward and weird until I was about 30, and I am loving this stage of my life far more than I did the previous few decades, likely because I have found a well of confidence in myself, due to things like feeling secure in my writing. I have grown as a person more in the past 8 years than I did in the previous 20, and I am, frankly, very proud of myself. So, aging does not scare me.
Terrifies the crap out of my husband, though. He threw his back out not long ago and couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that he just cant lift 150 pounds anymore. Kevin also has an aging issue, hoping that he is long gone before he ends up in a nursing home or something. I personally think nursing homes are going to be rocking when were older. I mean, it’s not like you turn 65 and have to take up knitting and backgammon. Were gone have Xbox tournaments in our nursing homes, guys. But I digress.
So, being 38 and aware of my health and such, I am usually comfortable with my limitations. However, this weekend, there was no time for limits.
Let me tell you briefly about Nick. Nick and I went to school together since PreK, and he was Kevin’s other best friend when we were kids. We grew up together through Kev, and by high school, we had become very good friends. Nick’s greatest talent is music, specifically the drums. He has been playing since he was a kid, and sometime around the turn of the century he started his first band, Lurid. I was a fan, though their music was a little heavy for me, but I went to dozens of shows. Later, they disbanded and he formed Mad Yellow Sun, a band I liked much more, so I attended most of their shows. After a while, Nick needed to progress, so he packed up his things and moved to Hollywood. Ever since, he has been teaching music and performing with various groups and touring the world playing his favorite instrument. I could not be prouder of my friend.
Anyway, a few months ago, Nick sent out a Facebook invite to a show he was doing near Buffalo. He was going on tour with one of his bands, and I was of course excited to see him. Thing is, it fell on Friday night…the night before the suicide walk, which was at 8am. “I can do it,” I tell myself. “I’ve done it before!”
Yeah, at 20, you idiot.
First of all, I woke up Friday morning and immediately made myself throw up. Why, you ask? Think of it as a preventative measure. I wasn’t about to have some crap sitting in my stomach all morning only to flare up and make me sick on this, the day of days. I took some Zofran and some Xanax and drank some coffee and was fine. It was a good sign.
Around 530pm, Kevin and Johnny came over to pregame. I went and got ready, taking a shower and getting dressed and putting on actual makeup. I learned who my true friends are when I applied new foundation and Mark and John said I looked great, but Kevin told me “I cannot let you leave the house like that.” Always got my back, that one. As I reapplied, I thought of all the nights spent on someone’s kitchen floor getting ready for a “Nick show” back in the day. I was momentarily grateful that it no longer took me two hours to get ready, though, even with the makeup reapplication.
Eventually I was on the road, but, as it is when you are trying to be 20, it was one damn thing after another. First, my sister, who was supposed to come, lost her ID. Then my cousin decided to stay home. Then Bern found ID, but didn’t go because Erin stayed. Then my lighter died, so I had to get a new one. Then, I had to go to the bank. Then, I had to drive to flippin Tonawanda, which is a good 30 minutes from my house in South Buffalo. By the time I got there and found parking I was terrified I was late. Alas, no.
I saw him standing there talking to a group of people I don’t know. I waited for a lull in the conversation, and then said “Hi, Nicki.”
Nick’s reactions to seeing someone he misses are intense. He is a hugger extraordinaire, and has the ability to make you feel as though you are the most important person in the room. Which, I suppose is a good quality for a performer, but when you’re his friend, it truly is a genuine moment. He tells me his mother is inside the bar. Now, let me tell you about Joanne.
As there has always been me, Kevin, and Nick, there has also always been my mother, Sharon, and Joanne. Sharon is Kev’s mother and I have always thought of her as my aunt, and another maternal presence in my life, as she helped raise me up as much as my mother helped raise up Kev. Then Joanne, whom I because close to during my very tumultuous teen years, and a time when I felt like I couldn’t express things to my own mother. She stepped in and filled that role whenever I needed her to. She always was there for me, and for Kevin as well should he need her. She still calls us her “babies.” A while back, Jo got sick. She has been battling some vicious cancer for a couple years now, and I haven’t been able to see her because she lives in North Carolina. So, to hear she was mere feet away at the bar was incredible news, just as good as seeing Nick play again.
After greeting everyone and freaking out over Joanne being there, I ordered a drink and posted up by the window to take in the scene. I need moments like this in crowded places, so as to keep myself grounded and not panicky. An older gentleman sidled up beside me and started chatting me up. After a little conversation he tells me that he hopes I’m not “weirded out by the old guy hitting on you.” I tell him I’m not, and I’m flattered, but taken. He smiles and tells me to have a good night and is on his way, and it makes me realize that this never would have happened if I were 20.
First of all, I didn’t have the confidence then that I do now and probably wouldn’t even have registered that the guy was interested. Secondly, he never would have spoken to me because that would mean breaking me away from the pack I traveled in once upon a time. If I’d had half a brain back then, I would have got a drink and stood alone for five minutes. Could have met a guy instantly! Again, I digress…
Eventually Nick goes on and plays better than I’ve heard, because it’s been like ten years since I saw him perform last. I started to feel woozy mid-set, however, and went out for some air. Jo was also outside feeling icky, and I told her I had to go. I felt bad leaving early, particularly because I would have liked to spend some more time with Nick and her, but I couldn’t risk illness. My attempt to relive my 20s wasn’t over yet. I drove home and took my meds and went to bed…eventually. I was weirdly amped up and tossed and turned all night.
I don’t know how I woke up at 7am feeling well, but I did, and it was a miracle. 8am found us out the door and headed downtown, and I thought of things like how I used to go party all night and then work a shift the next day. How crazy! I was so tired, and a little hungover. Two beers might not be much for most people, but I am a lightweight who barely drinks, and I was feeling those Blue Moon’s from the bar that morning.
The walk was lovely. It was bigger than last year’s experience which was significantly downgraded due to the pandemic, but it was still fairly small. They spaced everything out nicely, and staggered arrival times for participants, so it wasn’t too crowded. I raised 710$ this year, and was congratulated by the registration lady. They gave me a t-shirt, they took our picture, and we walked around and looked at the info tables and basket raffle and such. Then, we took a little walk, not as much as I would have liked to but as previously stated I was hungover and also my leg was killing me for some unknown reasons; probably the boots I chose to wear the night before.
Then, back to the car and home again and change of clothes and pack a bag and time for the St. Patrick’s Day Parade. What’s that you say? Its’ September? Well, that means we are halfway there, so let’s do it up right!
Except they didn’t. I’d like to say it was fun, and I guess it was to see people out and to be out myself, but the parade itself was lame. Usually the best one (when held on actual St. Paddy’s Day,) this was just kind of sad. It was a handful of families, a couple of bars with floats, a single pipe and drum band, and 4 politicians (and not even the one I’m voting for.) Add in three fire trucks and a weird procession of Jeeps, and you have the entire parade. No real music, no dancers, nothing. Yawn.
Speaking of yawns, by the time I got home it was around 2pm and I was exhausted, I watched a little tv and then passed out on the couch. I spent 20 hours acting like I was 20-drinking and partying and not sleeping and overexerting.
And it was a blast, but, as I stated in the beginning…I like my 30s. I like the pace I’ve got going here, and I hope it continues into the next decade. As much fun as I had in that 20 hours is also as much exhaustion as I faced. I have to face it-I am a one event per 24-hour period person now.
Still, it is joyous to grab those little moments where you can remember yourself in your youth, and I felt that this weekend, particularly on Friday night. For a moment while I listed to Nick play, I’m sure, that in the right light, you could have sworn I was only 20 years old.