(This will be my last post about my birthday, I SWEAR. I fear I'm turning into one of those people who's like "Omigawd! It's my birthday month! Are you able to come to all 12 of my celebrations?!?!!")
On Saturday night, a wonderful, saintly visitation from the heavens (aka. a "babysitter") arrived, allowing us to drive to Hollywood for a fabulous evening of adult fun.
We ate dinner with friends, drank, chatted, spied a bona fide movie star (Helen Mirren looks HOT in person. GO old broads!), and bar hopped (Does one bar, after dinner and before the dance club, count as a "hop"? When you're 35, IT DOES.). No one needed their mouth wiped or the dolly's diaper changed or a book read to them afterward (Can I get an AMEN?).
We then went out dancing at a club where I can guarantee you, no one in the crowd knew what a "snack trap" was or had recently sung all the verses of "On Top of Spaghetti". After sizing up the empty dance floor and my ticking babysitter clock, I took a deep breath and headed, with T, to the dance floor. It felt so good to be dancing.... for the first 3 minutes. Then it felt ASTHMATIC. I was WINDED, people. I have NEVER been winded on a club dance floor before. It was truly sad, fun and exhilarating but sad.
It made me resolve to step up my workouts. No more wussy, 20 minute, sweat-less elliptical workouts for me, man. I've got to make sure that the next time I get on a dance floor -probably not for another 2 years but still!- I'm a little better conditioned.
It all just served to remind me of what I truly know for sure: (Watch out, I feel an Oprah moment coming on) we all need joy in our lives. And dancing is the surest, fastest, bestest path to Joy-with-a-capital-J for me.
My man has been chasing some joy lately; CG has started flying lessons. To see his face afterwards is a thing of beauty (uh- hard core, studly, MAN beauty, that is.). The boy is LIT UP like a Christmas tree. We all deserve to have things in our lives that make us feel that way. And dancing is it for me.
So I hereby resolve to get my butt on a dance floor sometime in the next.... 6 months.
Oprah would approve of attainable goals.
4 comments:
That sounds like an absolutely perfect birthday celebration.
Shake your groove thang!
Oh gosh, my birthdays lately have sucked- I was on bedrest during my twenty first, having a miscarriage the next year, and two weeks postpartum this year.
Next year: Dance club! Sounds awesome!
Ok, how is it that I haven't heard of your blog??? We read, like, the exact same things. In fact, the first book you listed (Middlesex) is what I'm reading RIGHT NOW. Want to be spit sisters?
Thanks for stopping by my blog. I've got some catch-up to do...
PS. I would send you snow if I could, especially come, say, APRIL when spring has arrived EVERYWHERE but here. At least for now the snow is fun... =) ("Here" is in Minnesota. BRRRRRR.)
DH- Wow, poor you! Your last few birthdays sound less than great. Here's hoping your next one is spectacular. I highly recommend dancing, though you're still young and able to shake your groove thing without needing some arthritis medication and an asthma inhaler like me over here.
MG- I listed Middlesex first because it is my ALL TIME favorite book. I truly adore it. So specific and unusual a story and yet so universally true, don't ya think? *spit* (I just spent WAAAAY too long trying to figure out how to spell the sound you make when you spit and FAILED.)
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