Thursday, November 12, 2009

Lost: MoJo...Possible Reward

Has anyone seen my Mojo?

I seem to clearly have lost it somewhere and in a failed attempt to remember what it was once like when I had it, I decided that going out on a "school" night was a good idea.

Harmless in theory really, a 30-something consenting adult without child for the evening. Working the next day sure, but a couple of hours to celebrate my heydays would surely not be punishable. Two or so cocktails do not equal hangover, I should be good.

Transport yourself in time to the Beachcomber, a South Shore staple bar for the past 50 years. Dark and wood-planked inside and notably themed by the musician’s of Yore and the Irish drunkards who have kept it afloat the past 1/2 century. This seedy place, of linoleum and bad lighting, filled with the smells of smilled beverages and pizza has been my Cheers for close to a decade.

It’s truly a place where everyone knows your name, and your refill is ready for you before you take the last sip of your previous drink. Where local bands get their starts and former greats have once graced the stage. I mean Jay Leno even did his stand up act here back in the day. (He is a hometown boy afterall.) Where bar fights, marriages and divorces have all started. Ahh, it's home.

So alas, as goes by this golden anniversary for a beachfront landmark, so is marked another anniversary. Good friends remembering 18 years of karaoke debauchery hosted by our very own dear friend. Usually such an event would bring out the masses, old and young alike to revel in this charismatic man who has been perverting the stage for close to 20 years.

And comes the 9 o'clock hour, the start of it all, guns ready to go off in ample celebratory nature, and.....crickets. Silence. The few, the far between, and I. Yes folks, a dead start to the night. I had convinced myself I was going to stay an hour. Show my adoration for my beloved comrade and bid him adieu. I mean, as a responsible working adult and mother I had to get home and in bed and ready for the new day tomorrow right??

Yeah not so much.

As the drinks flowed freely, (although after a while for me I did convert to water, since obviously common sense in age has reminded me that drinking and driving is definitely not a wise option) I started to remember how I rocked this place. How I seemingly owned this bar when I walked in. At least in my egotistical mind at the time I did.

I mean sure I still know mostly everyone, but that cool confidence I once had is gone. That crazy girl who would get up and dance, even if no one else was because I liked the song...or simply wanted to be an gone. A distant memory. No more mid-drif bearing tops and skin tight jeans. The cleavage however, will be ever-present until the day gravity decides to hate me and protests. (It is a diversionary technique in keeping all eyes away from the "Mama" region I commonly refer to as the Fanny Pack)

No more making the guys drool over me and having to figure out who the lucky guy would be that would get to try to take me home. Most of them not winning, but hey they got an A for effort. Not even a "Hey can I buy you a drink..." from a creepy bar guy anymore. I've clearly lost my touch.

I mean nothing. I sang my songs, I rocked it out sure. I saw friends I hadn't seen in ages and it was great, but then, I stood idly on the sides of the stage. Reminiscing of the old days. Talking about jobs, and kids. Talking about politics and Veteran's Day. I lost my MoJo.

I watched a group of youngun's, probably barely 21. Not a care in the world. They cared not what people thought of them. Not what they looked like, or how well they sang. They got up and danced whenever they felt like it. To the beats of their own drummers. And sure, some people scoffed, and yet I envied them. I was them once, carefree and confident. I had me some MoJo. I had me a lot.

And thus, though my antics were not crazy, and my alcohol consumption was limited, as I walked in my door at almost 2am, woke at 6:30 cursing my alarm as though it were out to get me and in a zombie state readied for work and battled traffic, I feel as though I were hit by a train and I haven’t slept in a month. Yes my friends, that MoJo, it’s gone.

If you've seen it, I'd like it back please.

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