Do you ever feel stuck? Like you can’t get out of your own stupid way? And that the thing that is not going the way you want it to in your life is at least partially because of your own dumb decisions?
I’m trying not to be. There’s a whole lot of me telling myself to get my crap together. And then actually trying to do it.
Over the weekend John and I took our annual trip to Charleston. We do it every year instead of buying Christmas gifts for each other, and it happens to coincide with the long MLK weekend and Charleston’s Restaurant Week. We went to Husk and Peninsula Grill and were able to utilize the discounted menu to get tastes of the high end restaurants for a lower price.
Husk was delicious. Having heard mixed reviews on the service and the food, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But everything-the service, the food, the atmosphere-was excellent. It made me feel sad for the people who haven’t had good experiences there. I also walked through the restaurant with my Spanx showing. I debated as to whether I care. It was a hot second before I decided I didn’t.
The following night we met up with Sarah, Mark, Dixie and Daryl. We played like we are very fancy and had a pre-dinner drink at The Thoroughbred Club at Charleston Place Hotel and then went on for supper at Peninsula Grill. PG was good, but maybe I’m just bored of steakhouses (Oh, good gracious, I just got on my own nerves with that comment. Please forgive me.) Because even at the lower Restaurant Week prices, I didn’t think it was extraordinary. I did, however, try a bite of their famous coconut cake. It was pretty great.
And then we stopped being fancy and went to an establishment where they encourage patrons to dance on the bar.
And oh. Dance on the bar we did.
Though I’m pretty sure most would have preferred to see the barely legal servers in tiny clothes dancing up there Coyote Ugly style, instead they got some fluffy gals who are closer to 4o than 30. I personally busted out all of my Just Dance moves. And the crowd
went wild did not throw their beer bottles at me. I also counted it as a win that my sometimes klutzy self did not fall off of the bar. Go, me.
I got to do that booty shakin’ with two friends whom I’ve known since we were literally all babies. I love them so.
Now I’m back home to my own babies and reality and trying to get my crap together. But in my mind I’m still dancing on the bar, not caring one iota about what the growling troll voice in my head is telling me.
Let’s do this.