When I was out for brunch a few weekends ago with a friend, we were talking about how, inevitably if you’re out in your sweatpants running errands, haven’t washed your hair and are wearing no makeup, the order of the universe will ensure that you’ll run into every single person you know.
It’s the law of ‘letting yourself go.’ At least, that’s how I’ve been thinking about it. Now that I’m puffy from the meds (a little still, but not so bad) and have chubbed out, of course, my life decides that now is the perfect time for a high school reunion. Over the course of the two nights, I saw no less than five people I had known in high school, all of whom I’d been just recently back in touch with.
And you know, as overwhelming as it kind of is, it’s certainly really wonderful too. I’ve kind of figured out that plenty of life happens: people get older, they have families, jobs, lives, but they never fundamentally change. All of the reasons why I loved and adored these people in high school are still there; it’s as if the spirit inside you, to use a totally cheesy metaphor, like a moth to flame, hovers towards people who you know will love and respect you right back.
I once had a totally ridiculous psychic who lived near my stepmother’s sister in a housing complex in Mississauga read my cards. Yeah, not even tarot cards, but regular old playing cards, which is fine. Not a single thing she predicted was even remotely close to being correct (that I can remember), with the exception of one thing: “Oh my gosh, look at all those friends you have, there are so many of them and, wow, they really love you.” Heh. I knew that it was total hogwash, but it was nice to hear. And I kind of wanted to make it a self-fulfilling prophecy—as any good psychic reading should encourage you to do. Ha!
Annnyway, I’ve sort of gotten over my own insecurities of how awful I look these days because there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. Well perhaps “getting over” might be pushing it, “sucking it up and still going out” might be more accurate. Because if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t have seen everyone on Friday night, wouldn’t have laughed, wouldn’t have danced around (with my pants on, no need to scare anyone), wouldn’t have remembered why it’s so fun to go to a rock and roll show in the first place, and would have been at home eating popcorn and watching all of the Batman movies on TMN.
And all in all, my RRHB’s shows at the Rivoli were great. It’s the first time in a long time that I left the disease at the door when I got my handstamp and felt like a regular person, well, a regular Band Wife. I dressed up because I knew I’d be seeing people I hadn’t seen in forever, I had my nightly 3 beer limit, which for someone who doesn’t really drink all that much, it was the perfect amount. Both FemBots shows were lots of fun, on Friday night there was a great crowd with hot dancing girls, which always makes a rock show great. Last night there weren’t as many people there, but the show was still good.
It reminded me that not only am I lucky to be alive but I’m kind of lucky to be me in a strange sort of why-did-the-universe-put-me-on-this-earth sort of way. Because it was a great to know that life pulls you and pushes you in certain directions, it gives you ridiculous diseases and all kinds of other tragedies, turns your head inside out so you feel awful, but it also gives you back some of what you thought might have been foever lost.
Annnd that’s enough of the feel-good, hippie, Ragdoll’s in touch with her feelings, bugger-ass post.