T'was the Night Before Christm...I mean Vegas...
...and all through the house not a creature was stirring not even my Mom. Yes my Mom, not only because she enjoys a geriatric bedtime (love you mom) but also because I don't have my own apartment these days. How cool am I?
But I digress, back to the story...
...my showgirl dresses were hung by the closet with care, in hopes that the DJ would...ok I tried, moving on.
Let's get down to it - I'M IN A GLASS CASE OF EMOTION.
It's VEGAS man and there are expectations - you must have the best time ever because if you don't, you're a straight up loser. Like, you have to, like, have at least one biiiiiiiiiiiiillion pictures and videos of you and your #squad doing the most #epic things on Instagram, Facebook and Snapchat, or like, who are you? Did you even go to Vegas?
Let's be real, this worries me some. My window of opportunity to take advantage of the many wonders Vegas has to offer seems to have disappeared quicker than the loss of my dignity between the ages of 21-27. Thus, the glass case of emotion.
Times have changed, I have changed. I don't know if I should be proud of this but there was a time I could stay out until the bars closed and make it to work a few hours later. It wasn't pretty and certainly not responsible, but it was doable. Now, not so much.
How rough is it these days? Exhibit A: A few weeks ago I watched two old friends perform at a bar. This was preceeded by a ladies dinner to celebrate another friends birthday. So as you can imagine, there were libations and it became a late evening on a school night (as I like to call it, although I'm far from my school days). Guess what? I didn't die, I didn't get sick, I wasn't a mess and yet somehow I felt like I got run over by a truck from my tippi toes to the top of my pounding head.
This actually wasn't my aha! moment. I realized things had and were continuing to change a while ago. But it was another data point along my brief life graph confirming that yes, my mind, body and soul were in fact moving on with or without me. Cue U2.
Reality check numero uno: my true self tolerates way less booze and self destructive behaviors while needing far more rest and exercise.
Then what's a hip grandma supposed to do in Vegas? Accept and adapt, be honest and confident. But most of all, set no expectations about how you should feel/think/act during this time. No, I'm not saving lives. I'm fully aware that going to a bachelorette party is not too much to ask. But instead of letting my old vices play a trick on me, I'm going to acknowledge my newfound wisdom. It's a bit uncomfortable and I'll probalby be a lonely wolf, but that's A-OK because it's who I am and what I value in the long run. The instant gratification days just doesn't serve me anymore.
So I guess I won't be pullying a full-on Weezy, except for being mad awesome, hanging with VIPS and dancing on elevated surfaces. That will never change. There will also be vitamins. I've got some for the morning AND evening. Holla. I might even try to sneak in a workout and down some Diet Coke's. But let's be real, I'm by no means a nun and miss Britney (as in Spears) might deserve a drink or two.
Joke's aside, it's going to be tough being surrounded by people with a different mind set but I'm going to do my darndest to meet myself where I am by accepting this new reality, adapting to my surroundings, being honest with myself and others, doing so with confidence and finally, free myself of expectations.
It could really stink being responsible or maybe end up surprisingly refreshing. Who knows, I certainly don't, but I plan to find out.
Wish me luck! I'll report back in a few days. A (mostly?) sober Vegas might actually be quite interesting...
PS - Remember the fab five when trying on a new look: Accept where you are, adapt to your surroundings, be honest with yourself and others, own it with confidence and free yourself of expectations that inhibit possibilities and transformation.