Obsevations from the Cheap Seats

So I went to my first ever country music festival this weekend.  I knew one artist.  In fact, I had several of his songs on my iPod.  He didn’t sing any of the songs I knew.

Another artist sang a song I knew, but it was a cover of a pop song.

I truly went to spend time with friends…and people watch.  God help me, the people watching.  Wife told me I had resting bitch face for 6 hours and did it hurt?   I had to explain I had a great time, I was simply in a trance.  She’s afraid my face is going to freeze like that.  I assured her, I am almost 46, if it hasn’t yet, it’s not going to.  Then she pointed out a wrinkle across my nose and now, I deserve a present.  It just better not be Botox.

Anyhoo…let me present my thoughts, not necessarily in order…

  • Why does anyone make the fat girl carry all the food from the concession stand?
  • There sure are a lot of high heels here…at an all day musical festival.  Someone is gonna end up with “grocery store feet.”
  • There are A LOT of tight shorts here.  Like, A LOT.  These women look like sausages.
  • Why is everyone wearing cut off jeans and why are they cut SO SHORT?!?!?  it’s awkward.  Crap, eye contact. 
  • Oh, the leggings…so tight, I can see through them, tucked into the boots…oh, and she isn’t wearing underwear. Crap, we just made eye contact.
  • How many of you twits decided to forgo the bra?  Is that a country music thing?  No bras?  There’s so much side boob.
  • Speaking of boob…those are HUGE!!!!  seriously…my back hurts for you…they look like they need stilts like the houses on the beach. Whups…she bumped into me with those things…well, me and three others, I think she knocked a child down.
  • Is she REALLY pole dancing on the row sign?  Because, awesome and bad.
  • Damn…drunk guys can’t hold their beer.  Seriously, I have seen more drunk dudes spill beer than drunk girls.  Guess we ARE the superior gender…INYOFACE!!!!
  • Did they just break up?  I think they did?  She is pisssssed.  Cool. Wife has told me for the 4th time to quit staring.  Doesn’t she know me?
  • There is an astonishing amount of fake tanner.  And bronzer.  Hope no one sweats, this could get ugly.
  • Are those two dancing?  Dry humping?  Both?
  • I didn’t know they made jeans that tight.  For guys…I can coun- nevermind.  Wife needs to quit telling me to stop staring.  I can’t help it. 
  • Oh, that’s nice, they cleared an area OVER THERE for line dancing and two stepping, so please, just stand in front of me and dance…
  • Oh…that’s cute…for the 15th time, they are going to try to two step.  neither of them has rhythm, but never give up…just move OVER THERE.
  • DAMNIT, how do I not have my phone handy for that EPIC 15 second dance routine???  Because it’s soooo common to see a 65-year-old woman with a cane and a sturdy buzz getting jiggy with it in front of me to ZZ Top’s Sharp Dressed Man?!?!  Damnit all!!!
  • I am spending an inordinate amount of time watching those two guys work on those three girls.  It’s sad and they can’t dance. (side note: they never got digits, never got laid, BUT the ladies did get free beer, lots of free beer)
  • There should be a clothing drive at music fests to replace all the ripped jeans.  That can’t STILL be a style, right?  Who said the 80’s is dead…????
  • Should I tell that man that no man should ever wear white jeans, that tight.  With cowboy boots.  and a tank top.  never.  ever.

I am still using my eye drops because I was afraid to blink and my eyes dried out…or just seeing all….that…requires much washing.

when’s the next one?  cause I.can’t.wait.

Now I’m me.

At dinner the other night, the question came up “are you doing what you always wanted to do?”

Then I answered, “no, I wanted to be a nurse…”

I’ve thought about it and I want to change my answer…

Yes.I.Am. 

When I was 8, I wanted to be a Barbie.   When I was 13, I wanted to be a teacher.  When I was 18, I wanted to be a nurse.

At 20, I wanted to be a mommy.

At 21, I became an office manager/accounting/bossypants person. 

At 35, I became a single mommy.  I also became my true self.

At 41, I became her Mrs.

I realized that things in my life made me take different roads, to change who I was, so I could adapt to a situation.  I learned early in life to always be pleasing.  To always accommodate whatever someone else wanted.  It defined me for my teenage years and my early and middle adult years.  I don’t think I actually ever did anything FOR ME, until I hit about 40.  

Let me tell you, it’s been empowering and uplifting.  It’s been terrifying and at times aggravating.  I find it easy to slip back into accommodation mode to avoid conflict, to make others happy.  And to be honest, I feel yucky when I do it.  

I can look back at significant moments in my life when I reached a fork in the road and took the road that I felt I was supposed to take, rather than the road that my instincts told me to take.  Eventually, each time I took the road that I wasn’t 100% about, it blew up in my face.  Most times, spectacularly.  Only thing that I could do at that moment was pick myself up and dust off.   

As I’ve gotten older, I have learned to trust my instincts.  The last time I didn’t trust them, it cost me dearly and I still feel from the fact that instead of trusting my “gut”, I kept it to myself…and it blew up.  

I’ve spent a lot of time not talking, not blogging, not journaling, just being alone in my head, trying to figure shit out and heal. And re-learning what I’ve spent years practicing…to just listen to my instincts.

At 20, they told me I could handle being a mommy.  They were blessedly right. 

At 21, they told me to take an office job that has led me to a career filled with people and experiences I wouldn’t trade.

At 35, it led me to independence and a new found strength. It also led me to my coming out and eventually my wife.  

No, I’m not a Barbie, or a teacher, or a nurse.  But I’m the best me I can be. Loud, bawdy, quiet and shy.  I’m all of that and more.  
Soon, it will lead me to finally do something I have dreamed of since I was 12, I will become a  writer, hopefully a published one. It is the most terrifying thing ever, but it’s my dream and I plan to do what I always wanted to do…I don’t know what I want to say, but surely, I have plenty to say, right? 

Then the next time I’m asked if I am doing what I wanted to do, I can say  without any hesitation “yes I am!”