Thirty three and the Thunder Chief

Yesterday I turned 33 years of age. Thirty-something. The same age as Jesus, so I’ve been told. Thirty two was a little ho-hum. I think 33 is going to be THE age to be this year. It’s hip, it’s in, it’s the new 25 except with more defined love handles and thicker, coarser ear hair.

This year there was no planning. I decided yesterday morning during the drive to work that I just wanted to go out for steaks for dinner. I texted Elise to tell her we had reservations at 7 p.m. at III Forks. Then I pretty much forgot that it was my birthday for the remainder of the day. I even missed 2:51 p.m., the exact time that I was born. I haven’t missed 2:51 p.m. in I don’t know how long. I didn’t even realize that I missed it until much later in the evening.

Jenny was kind enough to come over and watch Maly for us so Elise and I could go to dinner. Dinner was okay. Elise had the 8 oz. filet cooked medium. I went for the 10 oz. medium rare. We shared a bottle of wine (don’t recall the name) and just talked. A couple times during dinner I lost hearing in my left ear, so I would just look at Elise and nod as I pondered the sensation of the left side of my head feeling like it was under water.

It was nice, just her and I out alone, although the majority of our conversations were about the Zombie Eater. That little kid is our world, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. We’re charged with preparing her to make her way, understand, discern, interact and change the world. I think that’s what most parents want to do.

We were home by 9 p.m. Jenny hung out with us for an hour or so before going home. Elise got Guitar Hero World Tour for me which I’m hoping to spend substantial time with this weekend.

All-in-all, good birthday. Thirty three is going to be a good one.

Oh, and “33 and the Thunder Chief” is what I always heard in AC/DC’s song “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”