Yesterday I turned 35. My kids think it’s a BIG birthday, but, alas, the big one will actually be arriving 5 years from yesterday. Truthfully, though, the thought of 35 would have sounded so incredibly old to my 16-year-old self, but at 35 I feel, well, young.

And pretty damn fabulous, if we’re being honest.

The 20s ain’t got nothing on the 30s, man.

I’m smarter, healthier, happier, better than I was in my 20s.

I still don’t know how to wear eyeliner without looking like a lady of the night, but there’s still time to work on that one.

So, I turned 35. Fairly quietly. There was no cake or fan fare. There were no elaborate gifts or cards or parties or trips to Santa Barbara. There was just the usual everyday that ended with pasta dinner and a play with the loveliest of friends. There were sweet tweets and Facebook wall posts and texts and IMs.

And it was good. Nay, great.

(BUT THERE WAS NO CAKE! Call the wahmbulence)

Here’s a fun possibly little-known fact about me: I’m obsessed with showtunes and musical theater.

No really, I am.

West Side Story, Jesus Christ Superstar, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, Ragtime, A Chorus Line, Guys and Dolls, Hair, Les Miserables, Annie, Grease, My Fair Lady, Annie Get Your Gun, Chicago, Hairspray, Fiddler on the Roof, The Music Man, The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins, Miss Saigon, Phantom of the Opera, Wicked.

I’m a fan. Except CATS. I cannot stand CATS.

Because of this not-so-hidden obsession (at least if you have ever ridden in my van or been in my house while I was in the shower) seeing The Book of Mormon at The Princess of Wales Theatre (Canada, yo!) last night was a perfect way to spend my birthday evening.

Even if there was no cake.

Honestly, I knew very little going in—other than it was “OMG IT’S SO GOOD ALI YOU WILL LOVE IT!”—but I was still slightly taken aback to see these adorable crisp-white-shirt-wearing Mormon missionary men standing outside of the theater. It first I thought that perhaps they were part of the show, hired to stand outside and take photos with fans. But indeed, no, they were proselytizing. I found this fascinating—of course I did. All religions, all beliefs, all of it, it’s all incredibly fascinating to me. I mean, I’m the one who chats up the Jehovah’s Witnesses outside my door (I had visitors just this morning, wanting to talk about protecting myself from crime and about how cute my puppy is), remember?

“Would you like a pamphlet?”

“Uh…”

“You should take this. It will explain the show to you.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Please read it. PLEASE.”

“I will. I promise.”

And I did, during intermission.

I absolutely loved the show. I laughed—a lot, I smiled—even more, I clapped my fool head off, I downloaded the soundtrack in the car on the way home.

I might be listening to it right now…

And I might be trying to find some damn nut-free birthday cake already, because this is getting ridiculous.