My therapist had a cancellation for Wednesday night and I went. Though productive, it was oddly (for me, anyway) un-dramatic. And that's a good thing. I don't like drama. Which is why you are not going to believe what happened next. I know it happened because of the things we talked about in therapy (personal purpose), it's just that I can't yet figure out the exact relationship between the two things.

Anyhoo, the husband and I went to Karaoke (my idea on the spur of the moment). This may not sound like a big deal, but it is to me. I am people phobic, social phobic and I get stage fright. AND... I have not performed in public in several years. So Karaoke would be a good way to get back out there, right? No big deal for the husband, who is the lead singer and guitar player in a working band, but a big deal for me. But we went and we sang. I DID IT. I had a good time, too. Before we left to go, I was thinking that it's been too long. That I don't 'have it' anymore. That I had 'forgotten' how to sing, even. But I guess singing is like riding a bicycle. You don't forget. Your vocal chords, lungs and diaphragm remember for you and then they just take over (as do Jenny and the children). Which gave me the delight of discovering that some body memories are actually good. I never would have guessed that. And the evening was carried along by the same pipes that turned down a gig in Vegas because I was worried that such a scene would be a bad environment for my little boy (because I didn't understand that he was ALREADY in a bad environment because of the dirtball psycho ex).

And we met LOTS of nice people, too. The hub already knew most of them because he performs publicly all the time and because I swear to freakin' god he's like Ferris Bueller -- EVERYBODY knows him. The bouncer ran to him right away and said, "OMG, dude -- I thought you were DEAD!" WTF, right? Apparently, another man (who shares the hub's first name and is also a professional guitar player in a local band) has just died and the rumors have been flying. And once the bouncer found out that the hub still lives, he was calling everybody and their brother to tell them that Ferris Lives. It was a public celebration via cell phone in a Karaoke bar. Jesus H.

There were lots of nice people and I had fun and did not feel at all odd. The lovely bartender seemed to like me well enough. I'm guessing this because she rubbed her backside against my thigh in a very provocative manner and bought us drinks. Yes, Rambo was totally into it but... not happening, you know? Still, it WAS a very warm backside... just sayin'.

There were lots of young people around, too. It doesn't even make me feel old that I wanted to take them all home and feed them. Maybe they would like some roasted chicken and strawberry cake? I'm a very good cook. Anyway, the hub and I have a date with a young man for next Wednesday night. He is a sweet young man and a marvelous singer. And... the poor guy has just lost his mother. We want to go out more and we figure this nice young man might have a need right now to have his singing talents appreciated by some other older people, so we will be there since his mother can't be anymore. I miss my son so much. I want him to come home and eat a good home-cooked dinner with his sisters. I just want to hug him up and help him start again.

Before the night was over, the hub sang Freebird (by request) complete with lighter salutations. Which TOTALLY cracks me up. I don't like Freebird because I have heard it SO MANY TIMES that I can't stand it anymore. I remember I asked my husband what I should sing and he suggested my oldest 'staple' song. Which I rejected out of hand. I said, "No way. I have sung that thing so many times, it's like my own personal 'Freebird'. STG, if I do that one, I'll either fall asleep on stage or I'll puke."

And where did all the free drinks come from? Fuck if I know. (Nice-butt bartender? Baby got back!! Uh huh!!) But I do remember asking someone what was in one of those drinks. I think it was called a 'bottle-rocket'. Vodka was in it. And I drank it anyway? I don't even like vodka. But ya know what? I'm drunk and I'm going to bed. Sweet Dreams, babies. (And you would be SHOCKED how many young people appreciate old-school shit. And you would be even MORE shocked to know that my rockin' heart needs a cowboy bar.)