I hit the freeway by 10:45 p.m. and was rolling back to Aggieland, shaking off the bad mojo like stray raindrops. My earlier fears that the roads would be swarming with drunk revelers were wrong, probably because I was a bit ahead of the ball drop. I spotted lots of state troopers on the way back too, and felt in good hands. I did play a tearjerker M. Ward tune called "Sad, sad song" (so appropriate, you have to admit) about 10 times, but then expressed gratitude to the world for allowing my bad dance to be not merely mediocre bad but stunningly bad. If it had been merely so-so, I would not have these stories and images burned into me. I wanted a bang, not a whimper, and I got one.
That long drive back contained a gift, too.
Let me back up 24 hours: on Wednesday night, Dec. 30th, I traveled the same stretch of highway, as we returned home from the airport in Houston, kids snoozing in the middle row. At practically the same hour, 11:30 p.m., I was amazed to see all of the fireworks stands open for business, even though I was the only traveler on the road that I could see. I was the only traveler, yes, but the parking lots were full, and the lights were on. (In our county, at least, fireworks can only be sold outside of city or town limits, hence the remote rural locations packed with 12/30 purchasers). I figured out that it must be a New Year's thing. Sure enough, it was.
On Thursday night, as I burned rubber back to Bryan, I witnessed my own personal fireworks displays on the horizon. No fewer than 5 mini-shows were put on for my pleasure. It was private ... and festive. I ate salted pumpkin seeds, drank vitamin water, mentally backed up my macabre dance observations, and listened to some Erasure, Coldplay and Paul Simon after I'd had a good cry.
I also did some thinking about what comes next. Brainstorm mode. Bulleted list of ideas. Plans of attack (or retreat?!?). Thinking, thinking, thinking. Didn't want to abandon my resolution to be open to whatever is next. That's happening, whether people are getting married at dances or not. But clearly, some supplemental ideas were needed.
My options -
Go online
Go to more SA activities
Find other, less strange SA activities
Make some single friends in the area so that when I next hit that Galleria-area stake center, I can help broaden Myrna's social circle
Become famous so that interesting SAs will find me (the most appealing and least realistic of the bulleted ideas, frankly)
Let friends set me up
Let strangers set me up
Become my best self by living Oprah for a year (somebody beat me to it)
AND
Try very hard to enjoy where I'm at, trusting that the Universe will provide what's next (definitely the most needed, and perhaps even less realistic than becoming famous in 2010.)
One of my definite plans of attack is to plan an awesome karaoke party, maybe for my birthday this summer. I love singing karaoke and listening to my friends sing it too. And I have this love despite only going to a karaoke place once in my life. When I examine this dream party, I realize that it has very little to do with dating, but it would still be super fun. Maybe I could include an air band competition for the non-singers? Lip sync-ing? Mock wedding at the end?
I want to dance more, too. Am trying to broaden my range of rad urban moves. Would like to dust off the tap shoes too. Right now, it's just me and my living room mirror, but that's groovy too. As I danced last night, clad in red pajama bottoms, I got to dart to and fro while my kitten chased a tree roach, and I played my funky-n danceable iTunes "Hit it" playlist.
Here's my absolute favorite song (just sound/no video) about NOT having fun at a dance/party/night out. Check out the lyrics, 'cause they are hilarious, and we expect nothing less from They Might Be Giants. I especially chuckle at the lines about not having anywhere to put your stuff. I suppose there are people who genuinely enjoy this kind of environment, but I believe there's plenty of posing and pretending too. Heck, I was pretending at the stake center, and the music wasn't even loud enough!
If I were at a club with friends I adored and awesome music spinning nonstop, and it was smoke-free and scuzzy dancing-free, then yes, I'd be Lohan-ing on the tables. (Not really!) But I'd love it. Loud music is perfect for dancing, yes, but not for posing.
Or praying, as I was forced to do on New Year's Eve!
They fixed up the corner store like it was a night club
It's permanently disco
Everyone is dressed so oddly I can't recognize them
I can't tell the staff from the customers
Baby check this out, I've got something to say
Man, it's so loud in here
When they stop the drum machine and I can think again
I'll remember what it was
You have to carry all your things
You can't misplace them
There's nowhere to place anything
Baby check this out, I've got someting to say
Man, it's so loud in here
When they stop the drum machine and I can think again
I'll remember what it was
They're all shouting something at us, waving and pointing
They revamped the airport completely now it looks just like a night club
Everyone's excited and confused
Baby check this out, I've got someting to say
Man, it's so loud in here
When they start the love machine and I can love again
I'll remember what it was
Baby check this out, I've got someting to say
Man, it's so loud in here (repeats)
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