cra·zy/ˈkrāzē/ – 1. mentally deranged, especially as manifested in a wild or aggressive way. 2. extremely enthusiastic. 3. (of an angle) appearing absurdly out of place or in an unlikely position.
It is said that believing that you are going crazy is a good clue that you are sane. Whew! I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I have wondered about my sanity. I am the first one to admit that I have some very low lows and very high highs, but remain fully functional at all times. For the most part, I believe myself to be highly emotional, sensitive and passionate. I have been told that “passionate” is just a nice way of saying “crazy”, but if that is the case, so be it. I feel most everything very deeply. On any given day, I can cry at the drop of a hat or find myself having a laughing fit for no particular reason. I remember sitting in a coffee shop with a friend one evening, laughing uncontrollably for quite a substantial length of time. He simply looked at the confused waitress and said, “No more coffee, please.” Something had struck me as funny and it played over and over in my mind leaving me in a state of uncontrollable laughter. I also remember this happening in school. It was the 6th grade and we were all being held after class for some nonsense. We were to sit in silence for some particular length of time and I found it to be funny. So funny, that I started to have a laugh attack. I remember several of my classmates holding their hands over my mouth because the teacher was getting more and more angry at my behavior and was adding time to our punishment. I simply could not stop laughing…and then I did. I always come back to a level state of mind and behave like the good girl that I am. I get my chores done, take care of all that needs to be taken care of and go on as if nothing ridiculous has happened like me laughing or crying for no apparent reason.
I have also noticed that I have a heightened sense of sexuality. Ever since I can remember, I have been a mind slut. Even though I was a virgin until the age of 20, didn’t even date, I had a very dirty mind and put a sexual connotation to most everything. I have also managed to pass this affliction to my children. Just today, my son and I were walking pass an adult toy shop in the city and I was like, we should go in there and explain that you are my son and we are a very close family just to see their reaction. We didn’t, but I’m almost certain my kid would have gone along with it.
Many moons ago, both of my kids were so very done with Christmas decorations. They could care less if we put up a tree or a single strand of tinsel. They would whine, “Do we have to put up Christmas lights?” To which I replied, “It’s not like I’m asking you to do it in the nude or something, just help me.” To which they replied in whiny voices, “My mom makes me put up Christmas lights in the nude.” From that moment on, it’s been a family inside joke and I warned them, someday someone is going to take you seriously and you’re going to get me in trouble. Never happened, but still.
All of this “crazy” behavior of mine is heightened tenfold when I have a drink or two. I enjoy a beer or a glass of wine, but my poison of choice is a dirty martini, straight up with blue cheese stuffed olives, extra olives please. When made properly, they are mother’s milk to me. They go down way too easily, but I am usually able to limit myself to one or two, especially if I will need to drive. Last night, I was a little naughty…let me explain.
I was to meet my friend and brother at a nightclub to enjoy some music. When I got there, there was a line to get in. They had arrived early and it was standing room only. I had come from work and it was cold out, so I was like, yeah no. Instead, I sent them a text message that I was going to the bar at the corner and that they should enjoy themselves. If the line went down, I may join them, but I was not thrilled at the idea of standing after a long day at work, nor do I enjoy crowds. I sat at the warm cozy bar, contently sipping my dirty martini, straight up with blue cheese stuffed olives, extra olives please, but even though I had eaten, it went right to my head. I didn’t get drunk, but I was starting to feel very good, confident and well, sexy. I started to text message my “drug of choice” for a “hit”. He responded with the words I needed to take me to the next level. If I could, I would have climbed through a virtual reality wormhole to be at his side and do unspeakable things, but I couldn’t. So, instead I sat alone at the bar, doing a little dance in my seat and pretending to watch the college football game on TV. Maybe people would think I was getting into the game when in reality, I was getting into the thoughts going round and round my head.
I decided to order a second martini and a glass of water, because after all, I am a good girl. My “drug of choice” had informed me that he was going to bed, so I wouldn’t have anyone to play with any longer, but that didn’t stop me. One would have thought that I had been slipped some ecstasy because I was beginning to feel an uncontrollable urge to touch and be touched. My self confidence was through the roof, but looking around the bar, I didn’t see any potential playmates. I decided to try and join my friends at the nightclub. The line was gone and they had gotten a table and were saving me a seat, so I decided to join the fun. What a wonderful atmosphere. I felt like I was walking into a movie and this was the big party scene. Jazzy dance music playing, sexy soft lighting making everyone look delicious and before I even knew it, I had ordered a third martini.
The third martini. It had been a very long time since I had indulged in a third martini, but I had nowhere to be, no worries about trying to drive home under the influence, what harm could one more martini do? Mother’s milk, but this one was more potent. No surprise considering I was in a nightclub famous for being a former hangout of Al Capone. Cash only, so I knew I wouldn’t be having another, but I found myself consuming it like the owl in the infamous Tootsie Roll Lollipop commercial. “A one, a two, (big slurp) three. Three slurps to get to the bottom of a dirty martini glass. The olive’s briny juices dancing on my tongue, delish! I was done and my already heightened senses went into overdrive.
There was this man standing by our table. I was never certain if he was looking at me or my friend, but I dared her to walk past him and run her finger across his abs. She refused, but I put a lot of consideration into doing it myself. I think the only reason I didn’t was because my thoughts were all about wishing I could be with “my drug of choice”. From here on forward, I will refer to him as Michael. Michael is the man I met on the internet over a decade ago. Long story short, he would say jump and I would ask, how high? Until one faithful day, he became the first man I would utter the words, “Fuck you!” to and I walked away. Par for the course, our story didn’t end there, but he went on with his life and I with mine on very different paths, but there is no denying the “passion” we share. By the very definitions one, two and three listed at the beginning of this piece, our relationship is “crazy”, but crazy in a very good and intoxicating way.
With Michael on my mind and a third martini pulsing through my veins, I hit the dance floor. I may not possess proper dance techniques, but I can move and move I did. When I dance, it truly does feel like no one is watching and I don’t care that I am not a thin beauty. Instead, the sexual beast that I am emerges and steals the floor. I’m assuming you’ve seen the movie Dirty Dancing. Remember the moment that Baby walks through the room where the hired help are dancing for the very first time? How they are all bumping and grinding against each other? Yep, that’s me, but I’m by myself. I do crazy hair flips and move my hips that would make the judges of Dancing with the Stars give me scores of 10, 10 and 10! I was in my element, my own little world, but I did notice this particularly handsome young man dancing very near to me. If I didn’t know better, I would say he may have actually been sort of dancing with me, but not really. That would change.
It was the final song of the evening and my friends insisted that I dance one last time. I had been drinking water which was diluting the effects of the third dirty martini, but my sexual sense were still in overdrive. I wove through the crowds and got right up by the stage and basically, took center stage with my dancing. One might say my moves demanded attention and they got what they deserved. In one foul swoop, the young man who had sort of been dancing with me, grabbed me and we started to cut a rug. I’m not one to be led, no matter how hard I try, I end up leading and he wisely followed along. He spun me, I spun him and we did our Dirty Dancing best to wow the crowds. I could hear his friends be like, “Whoa!” with what all was going on and I love it! I felt free and sensual and although my pacemaker felt like it might pop right out of my chest and lay there throbbing on the floor, I kept going and going and going until the final note was played by the band. Completely out of breath, I managed to whoop and holler as I applauded. I was a hot sweaty mess, but I felt so good, alive, crazy alive!
The handsome young man asked me to take a picture of him and his friends in front of the stage, to which I obliged. It took several tries, the first attempts included my hand, but when I got the hang of it, I was like, “Make love to the camera boys.” and they smiled, such beautiful smiles. Gosh, I really hope they remember me, because I will remember them. I left the nightclub feeling supercharged, wearing my black leather jacket and while strutting to the door, the young man grabbed my arm and thanked me once more for the dance. “My pleasure.” I said with a smile, and headed out into the night.
I drove home safely, cranking the tunes and I had a window open, not only to help me stay alert, but because I felt crazy good! So sexy, so in control, so passionate about everything I have ever been and everything I have yet to be. I thought to myself, “How am I ever going to be able to top this night?”, but I will. I know I will. Maybe it will be with Michael, that would be nice, or maybe on my own, but I will top the feeling I had last night, the adrenaline rush, the sexually heightened, wanting to touch and be touched feeling because I am a passionate woman. I am always a passionate woman who loves deeply, will laugh uncontrollably, cry at a drop of a hat, dance like no one is watching and I will do it all on my own, no third martini required.
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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