Me & Fergie Ferg Love You Long Time

You are the Dancing Queen,
young and sweet,
only seventeen
Dancing Queen,
feel the beat from the tambourine
You can dance,
you can jive,
having the time of your life
See that girl,
watch that scene,
digging the Dancing Queen

"Dancing Queen" by ABBA

So, I don't get out much anymore. It's understandable. Especially in the last year or so, I really haven't felt like a party girl. First I was bald - can you imagine? I don't think I have EVER heard the phrase "OMG,dude, look at that HOT, bald, older, married woman in the corner." Then, I sported the GI Jane cut for a while. That was fine, until very muscular women started winking at me (and there is nothing wrong with very muscular women who wink at other women, either, so let's not even start that debate. Just wasn't my focus, ok?). Finally I have enough hair that I can pretend like I intended for it to look this way. So, imagine my horror when I found myself in a social situation recently - a BAR nonetheless! No idea what to say. No idea what to do. Basically, just no idea! Let us go on a journey, shall we? Take my hand. I will be the ghost of lady's nights past....let's go back.....back.....back. All the way back to THURSDAY NIGHT!

OK - I started to turn down the invitation. After all, I just had reconstructive surgery last Friday. I currently have enough steri-strips and gauze pads on "the girls" to clothe a mummy(I affectionately refer to one of my girlies as John Wayne, since she has to wear an eye patch for a little while). Kevin looked at me rather knowingly when I asked him if he would throw caution to the wind and try not to worry about me too much - as if there's a market out there for married 42 year old women with post chemo hair, stretch marks, and one good boob. Plus, this post surgical bra coordinates better with a hair net, a set of clear gloves, and a name tag that says "Gertrude" than it does nightlife attire. Still, I've been stir crazy. It really seemed like a very innocent outing, too. Little music, couple of drinks, blanket under the stars, all my favorite bff's....great band...hmmm? Sounds to me like all the right ingredients for a GIRLS NIGHT! So, against medical advice, I lost the lunch lady bra for the evening, donned a uber soft and flowy sundress to hide my multitude of girl over 40 sins, slicked down my bouffant hairdo, and hit the road. Fasten your seat belts - it's going to be a bumpy ride!

The concert was GREAT! But ya'll know how it goes. After the party is the after party (don't worry, no hotel lobbies were harmed in this outing!)So...picture me and my bestest BFF trying to finagle a GIGANTIC cooler - I feigned injury so she had to do all the work! (I'm the dork that made homemade tuna salad sandwiches for everyone - with apples and walnuts no less - in case anyone got hungry. I'm still embarrassed just typing that line! Still - we did take sandwich breaks a few times. Ain't nothin' but a mom thang). We parked the cooler on wheels outside of the club, left our large blanket on top of it, and walked into....party central. Now, once upon a time, yours truly would have known EXACTLY how to behave. Why, I had a fake ID when I was 16 (Thank you, Debbie Talasek)! You could find me at Confetti's, Monopoly's, and especially Zebo's! I was a dancing queen. I could bat my eyelashes with the best of them. I was like Scarlett O'Hara at the Wilkes annual picnic when all the boys argue over where she was going to sit. I'll bet, however, that Scarlett wasn't walking around trying to count the heads of all the gentlemen who were theoretically old enough to be her children. Talk about depressing! Try striking up a conversation with someone (male or female) when their opening lines range from "Uh, have you, uh, like, heard of me" to "OMG so like my friend Whitney was talking to this ugly girl and she like rolled her eyes at us so like Whitney said oh no you didn't and then the ugly girl said bword lets take this outside and Whit said OMG your manicure is as nasty as you are and then the ugly girl went to find all her other ugly friends"......et al. You get the picture.

Dilemma upon dilemma. Issue #1: How to dance in place at bar. Good song comes on ("Boom, Boom, Pow" and I do know all Fergie's lines). See me standing there. Have NO IDEA what to do with my hands. Arsenio Hall whoop whoops? Raise the roof with palms up? 80's finger snaps? I just don't feel comfortable bending over and rubbing my butt on other women! That, however, seems to be the preferred mode of dance. So, I just sort of swayed softly from side to side, holding my big mom purse and smiling ever so sweetly. Besides, keeping my arms slightly bent means that you can't see my excess elbow skin - a true sign of someone who should not be in a bar. Issue #2: My age men should not be allowed in bars! PREDATOR ALERT! PREDATOR ALERT! Granted, there did seem to be a couple of really decent, nice folks there, but c'mon! There was a weird little old man TAKING PICTURES OF SCANTILY CLAD GIRLS WITH HIS CAMERA PHONE! Oogey! Don't worry - I was neither (girl or scantily clad). Issue #3: What to do on dance floor. I didn't dance, don't worry. Still, to get to the ladies room, one had to navigate through the center of the dance floor! AWKWARD. As you shuffle your feet with teeny tiny steps and try incorporating a Space Invaders inspired sideways crab walk to make yourself as small as possible, everyone mistakes this as an invitation to dance with you. Again, out of nowhere comes a cacophony of bent over butts and anonymous crotches - it's the attack of the nether regions! Run! Save yourself! Finally, I found a tiny, third-world-country type of unexplored pathway right next to the DJ's area. I would cling to his little podium and circumnavigate the entire area. Plus, on my way back at one point, I discovered that he keeps baskets and baskets of saltine crackers back there! Heck yes! Give me free crackers any day of the week! Cha ching!

Now, I'm not a big drinker. Too much and I just get sleepy, anyway. Thus, I won't be closing 'em down anytime soon. It is quite funny to be one of the few, the proud, the somewhat sober. Drunk people are very much like old people. They assume that you can't hear either and yell VERY LOUDLY AT EVERYONE. Drunk people start thinking that they are WAAAAAY more attractive than they actually are - unless the other party is also intoxicated. Drunk people either love everyone or hate everyone. Drunk female people think that you want to see their boobies. Don't worry, John Wayne, I'll keep all the crazy people away from you. It was FANTASTIC people watching! I had a great time on my lady's night out excursion. Hopefully I can do it again after John Wayne loses her eye patch. In the meantime, I will be practicing my dance moves. Next time, when I need to pee, watch out. I might break out the funky chicken, or cabbage patch my way to the potty! And......Mr. Radio personality, I know you only told me that I looked like Halle Berry after my friends informed you of all my tragic stories, but still - Thanks! Made my night!