A few weeks back, I stopped by Skippers Smokehouse up in Tampa to check out Rosie Ledet and the Zydeco Playboys. It was on the way back from my best friend’s wedding celebration. My fun factor was zapped and I was such a weanie I didn’t even dance.
Didn’t. Even. Dance.
WTF?
I’m wondering how, if Rosie Ledet’s good-ole girl groove couldn’t get me on the dance floor … what precisely is it going to take to jump start my juju?
This IS NOT how I thought I’d start off 2010 — particularly not when I went on record for the whole wide world to see and read — proclaiming THIS was the year I was going to have some outrageous fun. We’re up to Day 42 already and I’ve had what I would call REAL fun all of six or seven times. I’m just slogging around and I can’t believe it, to tell you the truth.
Sure, I’ve had lots of good days and nights — good conversations, some good meals, some nice moments of satisfaction, even some moments of hilarity and lots of laughter. But the kind of fun I vowed to have in 2010 was meant to be at a whole new level of experience: laughing so hard your gut aches; experiencing the thrill of doing something you’ve never done before (like zip lining which I STILL haven’t done yet). But the thing that worries me is that it’s almost like I can’t even get in the mood for fun. And no one around me can either.
I met up with a few friends last week and we all sat in a bar having a drink and I’m telling you, the energy level of my friends — all smart, fairly-good-humored women (yes, I’m including myself in that mix, if you don’t mind) was so BLAH BLAH BLAH, I thought I’d fall asleep. I’m sure they felt it too. Heck, maybe I was the one putting them to sleep. All I know was this: it wasn’t fun.
It’s nearly 930 on a Thursday night and I just finished re-hanging the shower door (and fingers crossed it doesn’t come off again) and I’m thinking … really … where the hell is my MC Mojo?
If anybody finds it, will you send it back?
Pronto?