rollercoaster monday (a tease of something yesterday)

i don't know if it was becuase today was totally lame and long. (reconciliation of mundane forgettable speaker bureau programming IS very fulfilling and everything. . . ) or if it's a side effect of that nasty heavy chipotle i consumed for lunch. (mother fuckers forgot my chips.)  or a post delayed reaction to this past weekend's full moon. (bitch didn't even leave the apartment once. apparently, i'm really lame and old now).  or just. ( . . . ) something. (what).

but. (it's true, today was weird.)

i felt like dirt. (flopped on my bed and groaned, the minute i walked in the door. tired, sad, burnt out, def no energy).  then i didn't.  (??? and this was after an hour long grocery shopping spree where i blurted to carrie every five minutes, "I'M GONNA THROW UP!")

without even realizing it, i just leapt out of bed and entered some sort of teenage trance. pumped up the gaga. (yeah yeah yeah, I DO mean lady gaga, what you gonna do about it).  loud. danced with the kitty. lip synced in my mirror. (WITH my purple round caboodles hairbrush, thank-you-very-much). full out dance party. took a hot, steamy, sudsy shower. and sang my goddamn guts out. tone-def as all hell. (i'm sure my neighbors were happy i left my bedroom window open tonight).  not giving one shit. just jumping, leaping, whipping my newly dyed red loxx up in a high-top pony tail. (i looked really pretty, trust me).  dancing with the kit some more (she actually didn't seem to mind, really, i think she was more put off by me smiling).

now i'm curled up in my bed, cuddled in my fave neon pink/blue t-shirt and hot pink butterfly shorts. (so what if i dress like alicia silverstone in clueless, you can suck itttttttt). still shimmying my stress away. (well, at least my feet are). not caring about this or that or worrying about dumb garbage. just wondering how long i've had all the words to "monster" memorized. (probably for a few months or so).

should i be creeped out that at age 26, i'm still jumping up with joy for pure, unapologetic pop candy?

fuck, no.

i wish i could do this more often. at least once a week, if not nightly. but that's prob pretty unlikelly.

this impromptu dance party took me back, very briefly, like a flirtation of my teenage years. the brief moments i've managed to forget that weren't so boring and dramatic. i've neglected to remember my hours of one-girl dance parties, leaping and frolicking in my bedroom sanctuary, screaming from my gut the angst of tori amos, the demanding, riotgirl alterna-goddess lyrics of veruca salt, yelling myself hoarse to the growly poppiness of garbage. ok, so maybe lady gaga is a bit more sugary than what i'd belt out to 12 years back, but who gives a shit. i'm still on a bit of a high and i feel better than i have in, well, i guess hours.

delayed 2010 goal: have more one-woman dance parties.