So this lawyerly group to which I belong here in Middle Nowhere, not the local bar association, but similar, has this big bash every two or three years.  This is my first year in the group, but one of the group’s gala years.  They announced the upcoming gala about six months ago, began soliciting contributions, etc., etc.    Once I became aware that there would be a band, I started getting enthused.  Because, while I’m a pretty good lawyer, a decent mother, and competent enough at various other life tasks, one thing I know I’m damn good at is shaking my thang on the dance floor.

If the music is good and the dance floor has enough people for flow, but not so many I’m getting stepped on, I can go dance and be wholly within myself and outside myself at the same time.  If someone wants to dance with me, fine, but it’s totally not necessary.  I can get on a total body high that lasts for as long as the music does.  And look good while doing it (or so I’ve been told).

Sadly, once one has left school and the various dance related events there, and if clubbing is not an option (the clubs around here seem a leetle scary and little too young and meat-markety), all you’ve got is weddings.  And by your mid-30s, the weddings are fewer and no one seems to be throwing dance parties at their houses (keeps the kids up).  So, I was really looking forward to dancing last night.  I even had the best ever ‘dancing while dressy’ outfit ever.

See, I don’t like dancing in dresses – either I’m tripping over a hem, or if I’m shaking it down, all you see is this bell shape swaying that can’t quite keep up with the music.  So my outfit was black flowy pants, slit up to the lower thigh, with rhinestones running down the side.  Throw on a matching top with rhinestones at the waist and neck, and bam, I look good and I can move even better (if I do say so myself).

So there I was, at the party, having a good time,  there were people in the group that mr. jolt had taught that he could catch up with and the people I knew in the organization.  The band, which seemed pretty good at the start, played jazz for a few hours during cocktails and dinner.  Then they moved some tables out of the way, so the band could crank it up.

That is when mr. jolt realized that they had no bassist.  The keyboardist was filling in that sound, but couldn’t quite pull it off.  Combined with the fact that they did not play one damn thing past 1981, it made for an evening of ‘okay’, when I’d really been hoping for an evening of ‘get down’. 

Requests were futile-they either didn’t know it or claimed to have already played it-the liars.   And, hey, there is a ton of pre-1982 stuff that’s good, but most of it requires some bass to hold the funk ya know?  I mean, Superfreak and Play that Funky Music just are not the same without a good downbeat.

Ugh.  A classic case of way too high expectations on my part.  If I’d gone to the party expecting a dreary time, I probably would have had a blast.  As it was, I spent the last half of the evening moving without grooving.

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