junecleavage

What does it mean when it is 9:45 pm on a Friday night and your whole house is asleep? Not to mention that you are just delighted to have five minutes of quiet, alone time? It means you're old, that's what. I am fucking old. I am moving into my 43rd year in a week and I am more excited by the sound of my fingers typing on the keyboard than I ever was about getting ready to "Freedom" by George Michael on club night as I played out the presumed steps of the evening before they occurred. Um, you caught me. I am not big into clubs. Or their nights for that matter. (divey jukebox holes are a whole different ball o' proverbial wax). But I DID used to get ready to go "out" to that song during the entirety of 1990-91 ish. "Out." Such an ambiguous term. Out was such a big deal back in the day wasn't it? Who was going, where they were ending up, whether you were there too, before, after or simply too cool to attend all together. Or maybe that's just me. Living in a variety of cities thrust me into their underbelly underground, as it will, if you are a me kind of person. So you fall face first into whatever scene happens to be. A me kind of person also happens to be something of a dick I have been informed. My husband told me so. He loves me anyway hallelujah - but yeah - I am sort of a dick. My dick-dome isn't nearly as bombastic as it was back in the glory (gory) LA days. Good gawd was I a fucking dick on wheels without a seat belt. But I do have this tendency to get completely wrapped up in my own fantastical epiphany du jour just long enough to appear dismissive and aloof to anyone who might have something of their own to add. And here I am, as it is now nearing 5 until 10 pm on a Friday night amidst my dickiness, my dog and the refrigerator ebonics typing away to a masked and potentially dicky audience. Welcome, have a seat. Will a Guinness do ya?