Play on, playa.

I'm not even sure this is worth a blog, but I couldn't quite wrap my brain around this.

I went home on my break to eat and feed the dogs. I turned on the TV, and Jersey Shore was on, so I left it, because I'm not home long enough on breaks to actually get into watching anything.

Two of them were having birthdays. One of them (Pauly D) mentioned that it was his 31st. I actually had to stop and rewind Tivo to make sure I had heard him right. 31? SRSLY? THAT'S MY AGE. I looked the guy up on the Google, and sure enough, he's 31. In fact, he's a few months OLDER than me.

Now, to be clear, I don't really approve of any of these people, but FWIW, it's awesome that he's able to hang with all these early-to-mid-20s guidos/guidettes. It also makes me feel somewhat justified in my opinion that we (my friends and I) are at prime partying age.

A couple of years ago a friend commented that she wanted to go out and party (while we were in St. Louis) but didn't want to go to the Landing with all the "barely legals." Um...my 20-year-old self could only dream of some of the partying I've done in my late 20s/early 30s (thanks, derby). We're finally old enough to have a little bit of self control and to have learned where that perfect drunk stage is so we're not sloppy and stupid (unless we choose to be). Dance clubs should love us, and we shouldn't be afraid to love them.

I might also add he's one of the younger-looking ones in the house. Guess all that hard living really gets to some people. So play on, playa.