Now What?

It’s been a rather lowbrow weekend, no wine and cheese and limos this go round. Friday we were both tired from a pretty rough week and decided to stay home. Around nine I passed through the living room and so help me God, my husband was sitting staring at a rerun of the Wizard of Oz. I asked him if he’d like to go out for a beer. I went and put on my tightest jeans, high heel boots, and my leather jacket and we headed out to our local redneck bar, home of the lesbian midgets and coca cola cowboys. The band was advertised as country, so I knew what to expect. The guy behind us managing the sound system had on a bright gold shirt, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest and had used a great deal of styling gel on his long black hair. The band was nothing much to look at, just a bunch of random 40 to 50 year old men with guitars and hats, but when they started playing I sat up and took notice. The lead guitar had some real talent, the music selection wasn’t as bad as I expected, and a lot of it was danceable. When I say that I mean it’s stuff I can get my husband to stand up for. I have no criteria for dance music except I like to have a few beers first, kind of like stretching before a run. The waitresses at this place are easy to spot as they are all short and distinctively egg shaped. I wonder if the owner’s wife does the interviews. The one assigned to our table distinguishes herself by smiling a lot and pretending she loves her job as she sits down another bottle of Ultra. I spend the evening flirting outrageously with my husband and when we arrived home right after midnight we left a trail of clothing from the hallway to the bedroom.

I’m at the gym on the elliptical at eight the next morning when my daughter calls to tell me she’s driving home from her date last night. It seems she’s in love again and I get the details of how great he is. It delights me to hear the excitement in her voice and I agree to meet the man who cured her heartache. By the time I get home she’s already there, but getting ready to head out again for Raleigh to see her former housemate, Matt Kirshen who has been touring the US since he got eliminated from Last Comic Standing. We take time for coffee and more conversation about the new man and the plans for the day. She rolls her eyes that I’m going to the Harley Davidson dealership today because one of our favorite bands is playing. “Mom,” she says, “just admit it, you’re a redneck.” Thinking back to last night, I don’t waste my time trying to defend myself. I just point out to her that she’s flesh of my flesh.

I wake my husband around 11 Saturday morning and he comes in the living room soon after dressed and ready to go, reminding me that I’m suppose to be at a restaurant at 11:30 for a reunion with coworkers from my former job. I had totally forgotten, but am glad that one of my errands for the day is in that same vicinity. We mill around Fuddruckers and I introduce myself to all the people who don’t recognize me. I’m really questioning why I’ve decided to spend even an hour with a lot of people that I have nothing in common with except we were all there when the company ship went down for good. As soon as I can scoot our gracefully I tell my husband I have a 5 minute mission to get some fabric to make a new lining for a coat. Imagine my surprise when it took the better part of an hour. I have no idea how the store stays in business with its surly clerks, fabric cutters that don’t know how to use scissors, and a single check out line staffed by a manager who doesn’t grasp the technology of the cash register. The man ahead of me purchased about 30 pieces of vinyl remnants and each one has to be measured and the size and price recorded. He asks the clerk if he can get a discount on one piece because it has a discoloration on the end. I’m thinking it won’t really matter because the stuff smells so bad no one will get close enough to notice. I’m feeling increasingly annoyed with being trapped with these lunatics in fabric hell when my husband comes up behind me and starts some dance moves to the rock and roll tune the store has playing to entertain us. Soon we’re smiling and swaying together to the music. Vinyl guy is all but forgotten until we get behind him in the check out line. The manager tells him no discount because the stuff is already 50 percent off. She makes a big production of correcting the slip of paper with the measurements and prices and talks non-stop to the cash register. Oblivious to her annoyance, the machine continues to be uncooperative. The service has gone so far past bad that both my guy and I are shaking with laughter when we finally get out the front door.

A half hour later we arrived in Harley heaven, a place lined in black leather. Knowingly, I had picked my brown leather jacket so I wouldn’t be mistaken for a Harley mama. The band was as good as always, but without the beer and a small smoky sweaty venue, it just didn’t work. It was so cold I had to step back into the service bay behind the glass door while my husband zipped up his jacket and stood outside to smoke. I spotted the biker checking me out in the mirrored reflection of the door. He looked both ways, then stepped up to within inches of my right side. “Pretty good band, huh?” I glanced briefly in his direction and agreed. “Have you heard them before?’ Now this required me to actually speak, so I said yes and mentioned a number of places they play. My husband was watching all of this from outside and decided to come mark his territory. He slipped in and stood on my left and made some casual comment about the weather and the band. After a few exchanges the biker got the message and headed for the door. I slipped my arm around my husband and said,

“Good timing, darlin’”
“Yeah, I figured,” he replied. “But you might have gotten a bike ride out of it.”
“Well, he was cute,” I teased, “but kinda skinny.”

On the trip home we toured beautiful downtown C*lonial Heights, and had fun counting the tattoo parlors and payday loan stores. We just had time for me to make dinner and get dressed before we were back out the door for “our place”, the one whose name I can’t mention. We were joined by a friend from my husband’s job and passed a wonderful evening dancing to a super band, C@t Daddy (once again being discrete about names). My husband spilled the beans that I had a birthday so they played a song for us, “Wonderful Tonight” which got every person in the house on the tiny dance floor. I know, kinda sappy but he’s a born again romantic.

So today I clean house between spells at the computer, knowing that it won’t get done again for a few weeks after the surgery. I am keeping my focus on the results rather than the pain I know the procedure will entail, so when my friends ask me if I’m scared, I say no and mean it. It is the last step in a long journey and at no point in that time have I wavered or lost sight of the goal to reach a healthy weight and to be physically fit. Now I’m looking ahead to where I want to go from here. In the process of getting to this place I’ve learned a lot about my body and my mind. I know that by focusing on my appearance I have neglected what I can only call a more spiritual part of myself. I know I have been self absorbed, probably for the first time since childhood. I’m ready to let that go and bring a different balance into my life. I read over my weekend adventures and realize that while it was a lot of fun, I really have nothing of any importance to say. Now I’m a fun girl so don’t worry about me getting too serious, but I’m getting started on New Year’s resolutions in the next few weeks. I have a real good record on those as I have made them simple and doable, and I have always kept them. Perhaps I should start with the resolve to be a better blogger, check in on all my friends more often, and I don’t know, world peace maybe.