I’ve always been a fan of a lively gathering. My university days were filled with raucous parties, colorful shots, late-night fast food runs, and stumbling into class (often hungover) in my pajamas. However, as I’ve transitioned into adulthood—or at least I’m trying to appear as one—I can hardly recall the last time I truly let loose. Now at 35, my options for a vibrant social life are limited.
If I’m looking to socialize beyond children’s birthday parties or those cringe-worthy product sales that require you to compromise your judgment, I find myself with two choices: First, I could venture into a dance club, feeling somewhat attractive, only to find that everyone else is in their early twenties—youthfully exuberant, with tight bodies, while I feel like a relic from an earlier era. I’d watch them drunkenly grind and whisper-yell, “Oh my gosh, I’m sooooo drunk right now,” while I quietly cringe. Alternatively, I could choose a quiet bar, where patrons sip martinis in muted lighting, resembling off-duty attorneys, while soothing background music plays, allowing for easy conversation.
Neither option satisfies me. I love to dance, but at this age, I risk being perceived as the awkward older person desperately trying to relive their past. While I appreciate a sophisticated drink in a refined setting, sometimes I just want to shake my (aging) hips to a good beat.
It’s a challenging predicament for those of us in our thirties. We don’t fit in amid a club full of twentysomethings, yet we still crave more than just soft jazz and overpriced cocktails. We may have more confidence than before, but navigating the social landscape can feel frustratingly complicated.
Isn’t it ironic? The answer is clear: A venue dedicated exclusively to thirtysomethings is essential. Picture a club where the dance floor is free of the youthful crowd, and ’90s classics play regularly—who among us can resist grooving to some Sir Mix-a-Lot? The venue would open at 7 PM, allowing us to enjoy dinner first because, by this stage in life, we recognize that drinking on an empty stomach is a rookie mistake.
Closing by 1 AM would be ideal since we have responsibilities—sleeping off a hangover isn’t feasible anymore. There should be enticing two-for-one drink specials because, let’s be honest, we have real bills to manage, like mortgages or the hefty fees for babysitters. A quieter area would offer a respite from the noise, which, let’s face it, can lead to headaches we didn’t have in our twenties. Bathroom attendants could be on hand, equipped with ibuprofen, hand sanitizer, and Tums. Plus, an onsite massage therapist for hire would be a bonus for any unexpected muscle strains from our attempts at dancing.
A complimentary shuttle service would be wise because we’ve matured enough to know that the least drunk friend isn’t always the best choice for a safe ride home. This would be a vibrant, magical retreat where we could embrace life with the youthful exuberance we once had, while still respecting the wisdom our thirties have granted us. We wouldn’t have to worry about looking out of place for choosing not to take one last shot or for heading home before midnight.
And let’s be real—I need a space where I can rap “Shoop” without receiving judgmental looks from those who were still embryos when the song was released.
Someone needs to make this vision a reality. The first round is on me!
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Summary
Thirtysomethings often find themselves in an awkward social landscape, feeling out of place in clubs filled with younger crowds or stuck in quiet bars. The solution? A dedicated venue for those in their thirties, complete with appropriate music, reasonable hours, and a welcoming atmosphere that encourages fun without the pressures of youthful expectations.