24 and Unidentifiable

Nov 28, 2013 by

          “I lost my license!” I yelled to my two friends. My knees were pressed to the asphalt as I searched beneath cars for my ID. Picture a 24-year-old chick in a dress bent over the street in the snow. Classy.

          Giving up on finding it, I decided to play damsel in distress: “I’m sorry, I just lost my license! Can you let me in without it? It’s my birthday. I’m 24, I swear!” I begged the bouncer of the 25 plus club. Being without ID, I may as well have faked older instead of advertising that I was underage, but I guess my honesty worked in my favour. After debating with the guy beside him, who had just denied entry to another girl without ID, he let me in! Apparently, Happiness Tip #52 doubles as a key to entry (and not just to the CNE)! Ask, and thou shall receive. Live by it, peeps. (I found my license under my friend’s car at the end of the night, so I got the adventure of losing it minus the trip to the ministry and the cost of replacement. Love it!)




          As previously mentioned, in the past, I wasn’t a fan of my birthday. I had no friends other than Olivia to celebrate with, making it an annual reminder of my pathetic social life. This year, living The Happiness Experiment and no longer friend poor, I would not stand for birthday sadness. I decided to take charge of my birthday. I am awesome at planning other people’s birthdays. (By people, I mean Olivia. Re: no other friends for years.) Why not plan something for my own? I like small, so I didn’t want to do anything over the top. I simply wanted to have fun acknowledging it. Therefore, aside from the usual birthday visit to my parents’ house and midnight cake with Olivia, I had two friends over for wine and cannoli before heading downtown last night.

          I was absolutely touched that, despite their complaints in the weeks leading up to our late-night weekday venture, these pretty ladies were willing to go to such lengths for me as to lie to their boys, drive through the snow, and dance until past club close on a Wednesday. We stayed out so late that we had to politely be told to leave the place. Lights on and music off meant nothing to us. We were scattered throughout the venue, each in conversation with different people we had befriended for the night. (I scored a wingman from France! Upon hearing that I hadn’t met any guys of interest, this Parisian took me away from my friends in attempt to help me find one! He actually introduced me to another guy in the club that he didn’t even know! Dear guy friends/acquaintances, instead of scaring away my prospects when out with me, please take note.) By the end of it, nearly everyone in that club knew it was my birthday. (We’re social girls.) A lesson of 24: I have totes been missing out. Birthday attention is fab! Strangers hugging me and wishing me all the best? Amazing!




          The popular question of my second day as a 24-year-old: “Shouldn’t you be hung over?”


          I don’t get hangovers. I am blessed with energy the mornings after drunken nights. I walked into work feeling on top of the world today. That, friends, is how I do post-alcohol. The Thursday following a Wednesday of wine, Tequila Rose, and 3-am clubbing is no challenge for me!

          “You’re still drunk!” one of my co-workers laughed.

          I’m not going to lie. I was not 100 percent certain of my sobriety this morning.

Happiness Tip: Celebrate your birthday!

Previous: Year 24: Day One Next: To Maria, Love Maria

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