This morning, James went into work on our mutual day off to throw a celebrity kid’s birthday party. I’m not going to say much of anything, except that I passed Brad and Angie as they were on their way out (laden with Build a Bear bags and happy children in tow) and, my goodness, that woman is beautiful. And Brad’s tall.

And it was very nice to see Brad help boost each kid into their vehicle, while Angie protectively scaned the street for paparazzi (there were none, just me, trying hard not to drop James’ coffee, which was stacked on top of my coffee so I could futz with my phone). They love their kids, and they laugh with one another. That’s all you need to know.

Last night, I went out to dinner with The Girls. (Technically these are not The Traditional Girls, which will always be Maxine and Christine, and we will always be 22 and laughing in the face of Real Life together.) To be more specific, last night I had supper with Amy and Allison, of Amy Blogs Chow and That Girl Allison. They’re the New Girls. And our Mid-20s selves chatted at 44 1/2 about life and boys and how Freelance is great if it can pay the bills. I got to talk about my cats, the texture of the peppers under my crab cake and the zen approach I bring to dating after all the interesting mistakes of college.

When you haven’t related to other women over cups of cocoa in awhile, you forget how soul-soothing it can be to have other females close enough to pass twinkles from eye to eye.

I’m no Angie. On girl-dates, I talk about my cats and my boyfriend. My hair is not long and pretty, and I wore a turtleneck last night that reminds me a lot of the turtlenecks my grandmother used to wear. But Allison told me that my makeup looked really pretty, and it means something else coming from another girl than it does when James gets all goofy-faced and tells me I’m pretty. With James, it’s a sign of adoration. With other women, it’s a sign of mutual respect. (Allison’s makeup, as always, put mine to shame, but that’s another story.)

It was my first time meeting Amy, and she’s like what a cupcake would be if you could bring one to life, give it an adorable voice and a little bit of a head cold: She’s super-sweet, but has substance and the ability to fill you up with warm, happy feelings.

I’m starting 2010 making conscious efforts to let go of The Way We Were in hopes that I’ll find new happiness in the people I have here, now. I’m no Angie, but last night, laughing at dinner with Allison and Amy, I felt like an Uber Celebrity. Somebody chic and fabulous eating out in Hell’s Kitchen with other chic, fabulous women.

Of course I then went home and put on sweatpants and snuggled with The Cats. And that’s fine. I don’t suspect Amy or Allison would think any less of me for it (or for the fact that if we go shoot the park in a bit, I’ll probably change back into sweats for that, too).

I’m in my mid-20s and rewriting all the rules for my life. What could be more Uber-Celeb than that?

-M.