I had the opportunity last night to go out with Dear Friend Barb to, a place. Which shall remain nameless because even though the place might deserve to be made public, I don't want to offend anyone. Mostly the people who were there. I might want to mock them a bit (new side of her? you think) They are probably there again tonight doing pretty much what they did last night, last weekend and the weekend before that and will do on weekends for the next how ever many years. Suffice to say it's an Elk, Moose, KofC, AOH or other type of private venue.
Let me be clear on this. I have no problem with private clubs of any ilk or purpose. No, I don't belong to one and last night may be the short of why.
So. Barb wanted to go see her hear throb Siggy. I wanted to stay home and watch 'Life'. But it was not to be. My conscience got the better of me and I told her I'd pick her up at 6:00 pm.
We drove north to the next state and were duly impressed by all the campaign signs along the roadway. In NH campaign signs are a way of life. Life Free or Die. What's that saying, 'New Hampshire leads the nation'? or something like that.
I can tell you I now know why we are in such a mess.
We arrived at the hall, paid our $10.00 entry fee for a light buffet and entertainment and an additional donation to the 50/50 drawing which at the end of the evening was $165.00. We met up with friends of Barb's from the private 'French Club' she belongs too (shaking my head here) and all had a hello, nice to see you, anyone like a drink moment or two. It was roughly an hour until entertainment time and I found myself drinking not one, but two Corona Light beers with lime. I rarely drink and when I do it isn't beer, so I'm fairly certain there was something in the air last night.
The tables began to fill up with people of all ages and fashion sense. From 'old hippies' with tie-dyed tees to country hunks to trucker types and middle aged school teacher looks ... fashion of every type and sadly size was there. Long hair, straggly hair, pony tails and racing insignia caps, beards, no beards, John Deer RULES! Key chains ... the kind that go from there to here or here to there. I have to admit I was dressed down for me. Neatly pressed jeans with a tailored shirt, earrings, necklace and low black heels ... and my friends were somewhere in the same ball park.
We, of course, were totally in the wrong ball park and it was pretty obvious to all in the room.
Not one to miss out on a good time, when the entertainment started I sat back and enjoyed what I could see of the show after having enjoyed the light buffet which consisted of standard buffet fare, but very good. Siggy started singing and the young crowd started whining. Where's the country music? No Aerosmith? I think we took a step back in time and space.
Eventually the crowd had tossed back enough booze the kill a cow, elephant and donkey and they began to hit the dance floor. Unfortunately it was during the performance rather than the dance set and one guy actually hit the floor. Fell right off his chair. Weirder than weird ... he hopped right back up and ask some woman to dance.
I commented to Barb that one of the bad things about drinking and dancing is that the booze makes you think a) you can dance and b) think that you're as young as you used to be.
The woman who headed to the floor with the old hippie in the purple tie-dyed shirt that didn't quite make it down over his rather sizable beer gut taught us all how to do The Helicopter. What you do is have enough to drink so that when you start dancing and you can't get the beat all you have to do is put both arms up and out to the sides and spin slowly in circles while angling up and then down in an alternating fashion. Interesting step I'll tell ya'.
The Dervish was displayed by the man in the striped shirt who made me positively dizzy as he whirled by and whirled by and whirled by all the while dragging some poor girl as if she were at the end of a whip.
Hop, Skip & Jump Lady was so darned cute I wanted to go hop, skip and jump with her, but Barbara put her hand on my arm and shook her head, 'no'. Damn!
Our other friends are ballroom dancers and they were just having the hardest time getting any floor space. Due to age and physical limitations they opted to sit out after one dance. "Too scary", he said. He was being nice.
As the evening wore on the drunken men did what drunken men do ... they developed delusions of sexy and it was not a pretty sight. And to be fair to both sexes, the drunken women somehow thought their stumbly sashays looked, um, appealing. Not from where I was sittin'.
There was one couple dancing whom I thought would be perfect for a Cialis commercial ... and he knew he was gonna get lucky, but I think, honestly, he probably passed out soon as his ass hit the bed last night.
After an interesting and entertaining evening, what I'm now going to call, Two For One Night In Strangeville, I stood up, put on my jacket and started walking to the door. A song with a lively beat was playing and I found myself sort of walking, dancing ... Oh NO! I'm like them ... to the door ... No! No! No! ... and when I turned back to locate Barb ... Sweet Peas! There was a man dancing along behind me reaching out for my ... tail feathers!
I cracked up laughing because this guy was young and I'm pretty sure he must have thought I was his aunt or someone he knew ... or he was too drunk to see just how old I am. I shot back around the table, urged Barb to hurry up and we headed home.
Laughing all the way.