Where do I begin?
When I moved to the mountains back in March, I found myself living too many miles from civilization with no decent take-out, no Barnes and Noble, and no friends. Just a bunch of chickens, my dogs, and my husband…a man who would rather socialize with nature than meet new people. Then, one night I decided to hit up the local pub on karaoke night, and the rest, as they say, is history.
I have friends. Oh yes I do. Friends who like karaoke, even if my husband hates it with a vehemence that I can’t quite understand. And on Friday night, I joined my new friends at a new karaoke venue where they introduced me to the joys of multi-colored Jello shots, and I fought off the advances of older gentlemen who wanted to twirl me around on the dance floor, even if that meant they may never have use of their toes again. It felt like I was in high school again. We giggled like a bunch of girls, singing songs and throwing back jiggly shots. Me and my new cougar crew.
Ok, forget I just called myself a cougar. I will totally deny ever having said it. Even if my kids secretly (or not so secretly) call me that for marrying a younger man. And don’t you dare tell those nice older men I wouldn’t dance with them because they were too old for me. The truth is, I wouldn’t dance with them because I’m a total klutz. It’s true. I’m gravity’s bitch, and she will never let me forget that fact.
Besides, I didn’t go to dance. I went to sing. And if I can be a rock star, even if it’s only one night a week, I’m all over that. Sometimes we all need an ego boost.
And a bag of burnt popcorn…because everyone who knows me knows I love a good bag of burnt microwave popcorn and a wine cooler after singing my ass off.
Yeah…life is good.
Until the next time…I’ll be trying to get the charred smell out of my kitchen.