Miracle of miracles, I actually went out this weekend. And I do mean WENT OUT. Physically and mentally, sans kids and Husband. The cause of such an occasion was my sister had a birthday or some such nonsense. I should have warned fellow party goers that I have not been OUT in awhile. Yes, I really should have had more forethought and compassion.
For what unfolded was an unholy purging of all my pent up energy. Not too unholy though. I was da belle of da ball. Whatever that means. Here’s what I think it means: It means I was crackin’ jokes left and right. Receiving hearty laughs in return, mixed with odd stares. Dancing in the streets. Turning everything into a song, including “I have to go pee.” It was a catchy tune that got stuck in the brains of all those who were privy to my performance. Wish I could remember it now though. It was really good. I swear.
Most of my pictures turned out like this. I think it’s all just too funny not to share.
I can’t say that I was a one woman show though. Others who also had the propensity to act foolishly when surrounded by food and fun were my accomplices. We were running off pure joie de vivre, without the aid of spirits. I don’t drink. And I shudder to think what kind of semi-human thing I would turn into if I did. No. Apparently all I need to shed my awkward shy layer is a little Mexican food, and a waitress that speaks so quietly she could make a fabulous relaxation CD consisting of just her, reading passages from the dictionary.
You’re probably wondering what I ordered. Verde Burrito. Works every time. Of course I removed those green discs of blasphemy. Of course I did.
After we paid a visit to a local comedy club we made our way back to our vehicular transportation sometime after midnight. I may or may not have danced part of the way back, performing such dance moves as The Sprinkler, Spank the Monkey, and One That Shall Have No Name. It must have attracted some attention though because out of nowhere a car pulled up alongside us pedestrians. They seemed to be asking for directions. It was a harmless looking young couple so I approached them with an average amount of caution. Then they asked me where they could find a good place to make out. I thought it an odd thing to ask a stranger, but who am I to judge and stand in the way of love.
So I told them they might as well just stay right where they were if it was so important to them. They said they would prefer someplace where other lovebirds go too. Now I would be lying if I had told them I didn’t know of such a place, because I do know of such a place, in myth. Personally I’ve never gone there. Well, okay. I have gone there, but purely for the panoramic views of the city. I swear.
So not wanting to lie, I told them about the place. Then they wanted to know how to get there, and now I was getting fairly bored with all this communication and wanted to tell them to GPS it or something. They must have sensed my disinterested mood because then the guy promptly asked me if I would like to get in the car and show them how to get there and then we could all make out.
Dang my fiery dance moves. They always get me into situations like this.
You better believe I gave them a huge eye roll and exhibited signs of disgust. Lucky for them they drove off. Why are people such freaks? That’s what I would like to know. And I’m not referring to myself.
Anyway, to end the night on a high note, as we were driving home we witnessed three men dressed head to toe in spandex, one red, one yellow, one blue, frolicking across the dark deserted street. Did you know such a thing exists? A spandex suit that covers everything . . . ? I just never imagined the possibility or the necessity.
Then I realized that this tomfoolery is what I miss out on most days, as a married mother of two younglings. And most days I’m just fine with that. Some things are better left unseen.
Don’t you think so?