am i old? wait...don't answer that.

I am 36 (and three-quarters). I have a husband, a kid, a house, a job, and way too many pets (two dogs is two dogs too many, just ask Richard). But, about 90% of my social life is related to spending time with my brother and sister, who are 28 and 25, and their partners, roommates, and friends. (The other 10% of my social life seems to be spent sending facebook messages and blog comments to Jocelyn, who is 23.) And I love this, I really do. But it is sometimes weird. I worry about turning into an old person who is trying too hard to be young and cool and fun. I think I am having an early midlife crisis, probably. I have always been the responsible older sister -- I even drove the carpool when I was in high school, for god's sake. I got married when I was 23, while living in Cecil County, MD, the pinnacle of all that is cool (if you are into Wal-Mart and hunting). Suffice it to say that I did not spend my 20s in hip cities with roommates and trolleys and bars. But maybe I am not so old and desperate -- maybe 36 is the new 26? I don't know.

I do know that this past weekend, after a really long work week, I wanted to go out and drink many beers. So I called Margit and made some plans. I met up with "the kids" (Margit and Marianne, Andrew and Brian) in West Philly and after making and eating some delicious soups (a creamy delicato squash, and a fresh corn chowder -- yay Clark Park Farmers Market) and hearty grilled cheese sandwiches (thank you crusty artisan bread and fresh tomatoes from Andrew's garden), we hit the town.

First, Bob and Barbara's, a hipster dive bar festooned with PBR paraphenalia. I drank several "citywide specials" -- how can you say no to a can of PBR and a shot of Jim Beam for $3? (as a side note on this portion of the expedition, if you are a really overweight guy, don't wear a big football shirt with the name "Jibbles" written on the back -- it's not a good look.) Then, when the boys pussied out at around midnight, Margit, Marianne, and I headed over to the Gayborhood and hit a piano bar (duh) and then the famous lesbian bar, Sisters (finally, after all these years of hearing about it, I witnessed the magic in person). The girls wanted to give me the complete Philly experience, so after closing, we took a cab to South Philly and joined the long line of drunkards at Pat's, for the ultimate hangover prevention -- a "cheesesteak wit whiz." For you west coasters (jocelyn...whatever), that's a cheesesteak with fried onions and yummy yummy cheesewhiz. mmmmmmmm. We then took a cab back to the girls' apartment (during the cab ride, I made Margit text me a message reminding me to see if "Taxicab Confessions" is available on DVD from Netflix...makes it sound like things got racy in cab, doesn't it?) where I crashed in their roommate's bed (thanks Chelsea) at around 3:30 am. Amazingly, when I woke up the next morning, I was not hungover -- I fully credit Pat's for that.

Long story short, I had a really good time. But was it weird? Should I be hanging out with other moms, drinking cosmos, and playing Bunco instead of hitting hipster bars with 20-somethings, drinking cheap nasty beer and making fun of guys named Jibbles? (At the very least, I think I should stay away from the PBR in the future -- it was not friends with my intestines.)

So let me know what you think -- am I a desperate old hag or just a 36-year-old who is young at heart? All opinions are welcome. Unless you think I am a desperate old hag. Keep that to yourself.