Chauffi said, "Since I returned from Wisconsin I�ve had a hard time adjusting... I had my world turned around for a weekend, where the old rules didn�t apply and I was suddenly thrust into the limelight, where I felt sexy and cool and amusing and now I�m back to my regularly scheduled programming..."
Were truer words ever spoken?
It seems that more and more in the last couple of years, I'm relying on my passport for a good time. Is it coincidence? Or does my domestic life suck that hard? I hate to give the latter notion any credence, but the idea that I'm lacking something at home both terrifies me and gives me pause to think.
Of course, why waste time thinking of a solution, when I can think of good and wonderful things instead? Things like great, warm clouds that hit the icy air above the heads of the horses that pulled our giant sleigh. And tucking my feet under the hay in the sleigh bed, and drinking my Bailey's, and not feeling the cold at all. I want to think about our laughter again, as branches of flakes fall down upon us, and I want to listen again to Minarae telling me the story that preceded Petrouchka putting his knee in the snow.
Right now, I've got the perfume of homemade Italian ragout swirling around me, a standard Sunday smell that starts at seven in the morning but dates back a thousand years. Really though, the crisp, clean smell of fresh air and snow is in my head, and I'm flitting manically from one group of revellers to the next, soaking up as much of their energy as I could. I'm basking in Kari's sweetness and marvelling at Jen's moxie, and flirting shamelessly with The Jason. I�m popping a cheese curd in my mouth, and turning to whoever is nearest and exclaiming, "My God! Have you tried this yet?!"
Right now, I'm sitting with bad hair and no makeup in front of an ancient computer, but really I'm on a chartered bus, riding through the dark towards our next chapter of fun. Jake is saying something dirty, and I'm chuckling, half-asleep and half-awake and wholly happy. Conversations ranging from American Idol to Lambeau Field to the magic of booyah are swirling around me, in between choruses of Baby Got Back and Sweet Caroline.
... so good, so good, so good...
A week ago this minute, I was already riding the skies, headed for home, but right now, in my head, I'm drinking something on ice, and saying good-bye to my inhibitions. I'm joining the throngs on the dance floor because Jessie is commanding us to bust a move. I'm wondering whether to ignore the fact that I can't carry a tune in a bucket, and actually get up there and sing. I'm lighting cigarettes that I forget to finish smoking, and I don't ever bother to sit down, preferring to lean against tables and jukeboxes and bodies before jumping up and dancing again.
Right now, I'm dancing, because in my head, I'm in the limelight and the old rules don't apply.
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