What’s wrong with me? Whenever anyone has ever asked me if I play a musical instrument, I have only one answer prepared, which is seldom ever appropriate to use. Though entirely accurate, people are usually offended by this response.
This is topical, I swear. I went to the Orbit Room tonight with some musician pals. Inevitably, someone asked the question. I answered with a demure “I sing a little”, but that’s not what first popped into my head.
Maybe it’s the heat. Or the sudden cavalcade of sun-dresses. Or the simple fact that I feel completely and utterly free. Whatever it is, I danced up a storm tonight. People, if you want to feel alive and happy, go to the Orbit Room on a Saturday night and check out the A-Team. You will have to dance, and you will also sweat up a storm, but if you’re like me you won’t stop grinning the entire time. I was toe-taping at first, but it quickly turned into a booty-shaking frenzy, and I felt like I was fully and completely in my body. I also felt like that for a little while on Thursday night. Both moments have yielded a fantastic, full-body glow. Thank you to all parties involved.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am gloriously happy. I have no idea what’s in store for me, but I am ready and willing to enjoy the ride, and every cliche I can make you gnaw on along the way.
I introduced my incredible sixteen year old cousin to Zepplin last week, and I sincerely hope that I rocked her world a little. I feel like Zepplin and Rick James are my soundtrack these days. If you can imagine that mental landscape, I’m sure it involves fun fur and sunburned, freckled shoulders, bare feet and ice cream, huge gold hoop earrings and terry-cloth tube tops, roller skates and leopard print sheets. Bubble gum and chocolate-covered mushrooms.
It’s so late, and I don’t think any of this makes sense.
The summer of Cat has begun.