Past Your Optimus Prime

"Have you ever felt past your prime?" I pose this question to a couple different people, prefacing it with assurance that this is not a matter of age; it's a matter how you deal with life.

The answers are different than I had expected. Texting the question over to an older male friend who had also recently been through an extended breakup, he answered socially and sexually: something to the affect of having his own home, great job, and an extraordinary libido or something. . . whatever, guy. Posing it to a girlfriend of mine as we gossiped in her car on our way to "buy things because we are acting out," I get the response that most reassures me: (without hesitation) "Oh my God, I felt like that earlier today!" Although we might interpret the question differently (I mean, hello vague-ness), she still takes it personally. So have you ever felt "past your prime?"

For me it's about not doing the things that used to make me happy. Minor things like not singing or reallly dancing anymore. Major things like having crushes, not being jaded, not feeling old, unattractive, not interesting, wasting away... etc. But I guess these could just be chalked up as girl things. Whatever that means.

But that kind of changed this weekend. We were having a big party on Saturday night, so my friends were mostly taking it easy Friday night. Trying to take my general ickiness into my own hands, I decided to head home for the night. Home is only an hour away from apartment, so it made sense to head there. My roommate, who is going through a terribley prolonged breakup, didn't want to be left here alone, so when we woke up Friday morning, and I said I was thinking about going home, she threw out the "I'm coming with you," and that was that.

My home is incredible, by the way. And my bed is one step above incredible. We get there, there's Chinese food waiting for us, I get to hug my mom, and I get to sit in my bed and eat and drink and chill out in front of the tv. Talk about getting away.

At the apartment, getting ready is a major task because we can't dress too much alike or too differently (I've only recently started to notice this because I have never been girly in the fashion sense... not even close). We also have to dress accordingly to the venue of the night-- no hoodies at the club, no dresses at the dirt bar (I say "we" but I don't really mean it: when you have no real fashion sense, you just wear whatever you want... so I guess I get to call the shots a lot when it comes to what "we" wear).

At home though, we took our time, we slowly got around to showering, dressing, and such. We only had a few clothes with us (okay, "going out" clothes), so picking an outfit was easy. We pre-gamed while watching Aladdin, most definitely in the top 5 of all time greatest Disney movies. We laughed, we sang, we quoted, we criticized, fantasized, and visualized (she wants an Aladdin, I want a Raja... is that weird?).

We stroll out to the bar. I decide to give her the taste of Worcester-- meaning I take her to Irish Times and Leitrim's. Irish Times is all right because you have the dark but clean rock club on the first floor, a loungey bar on the second floor, and then the overly loud club scene on the third. This guy, Chad Lamarsh, was playing on the first floor. I knew him because my favorite old manager at Strawberries was kind of obsessed with him. Pretty sure this guy's from Boston. He plays covers with his guitar this night, but I've heard him with his whole band many times. My roommate thinks it'd be funny to hit on him. I encourage this wholeheartedly. I used to date "rockstars," but they are not my scene anymore, so this is extra funny to me.

I hang out with a couple kids from high school that I haven't seen in ages. One of them was the love of my crush-life from like 4th-9th grade. He has a baby now, and he says it's the best thing that's ever happened to him. I want to believe him with everything I've got.

When we're done with Irish Times (I really only like the bottom floor, although I love to dance), we head over to Leitrim's-- the dank, dark bar with much cheaper drinks. I know the bartender, and I love when he smiles and winks at me (it takes a certain person to pull off the wink successfully... because if you can't do it successfully... then it's just a mess). But anyway, when we walk into this bar, it could be the "CH3CH2OH coat", but we seriously feel like we own the place. We do the walk-through, oops guess my friends aren't here, let's go back to the other side because I know that bartender. There's an exceptional amount of dudes in this bar, and they're lining up to buy us drinks... luckily I'm driving.

Here is where we dance. And forget about everyone else. And I think that's what attracts them. We're so into each other, and it is fun. Whenever my eyes leave her, I catch glimpses of those looking at us. For the first time in a very long time I realize: I am back in the game.

This gorgeous kid talks to my roommate, asking her if I was "taken or single." She basically cock blocks me (I'm being vulgar for the funny, don't worry, I'm not like that.. haha) by telling him she's my girlfriend (the excuse given to guys you aren't interested in). After she tells me this, I tell her, "But I really think he's hot" (another phrase I would never use... "hot" refers to a piece of meat... okay, definitely relevant in this situation). She tries to fix her mistakes, but who wants to talk to a guy who won't approach you in the first place? How old are we? Although he was kind of gorgeous, so we can chalk it up as kind of cute.

And then a song from Jock Jams came on. And I almost die right there. It's the Jock Jams like, super mega mix... middle school dance nostalgia (I have a thing for Jock Jams and Coolio) ((in fact, I am going to spread a rumor that Coolio is playing UMass's Southwest Concert.. I figure if I say it enough, it has to come true)). We've befriended a group of frat boys from WPI, and I think we're they only ones doing the YMCA during this mix. And Sharon and me are the only ones who sing the "extra words" to the Hey! Song.

We are super fired up at this point (oh goodness... Jock Jams? Fired up?). We dance-dance like crazy. Like I haven't really danced in a while. The lights come on, and we are still rocking. It has been a good night. A random Brazilian boy pats the light sweat off of my forehead, I'm embarassed... but then he says,"One more..." and he blows down my (low-cut) shirt. I mean, his breath is cool, but... Hi, I'm Kristi, I don't know you, and you have a long, pretty ponytail, and you're mouth is awkwardly close to my breasts... Hiii. I am so taken aback by the whole situation, and I honestly didn't remember it until this very moment. Awkward.

The same Brazilian boy gives me a note written on a cocktail napkin: "I loved you... [some compliment and something about getting my number and lots of elipses]... just to talk..." In fact, he kept saying "just to talk"... sketch. Anyway, we headed out. I saw the bartender I know one last time (yeah, he winked... so solid). And I realized for real, I am back in the game, and next time Mr. Gorgeous gives me the eye, I have every right to walk up to him... or his friend to see if he's taken or single.

*girlish sigh*