“You’re so lucky!  I don’t even get invited to clubs or parties anymore!” remarked the mama friend who  is staying with me when I told her I was invited to this party at an upscale club on Friday night. 

Well, I usually don’t either.  The only parties I get invited to these days are kids’ birthday parties.  My “cool” days are somewhat past me.  I dropped out of the hipster scene right about when I got pregnant in March 2005, so it’s almost been four years since I’ve been connected to that world.  But I have kept in touch with this guy from grad school who moonlights as a DJ, and so from time to time I get these invites. 

Usually, I just hit delete, feeling like it’s not worth the expense or effort.  But this past Friday, for some reason, it seemed appealing.  My friends are still staying with me, so I have built-in, free child care.  Why not go?  I would have a small window in which to get my groove on: from the time that Sami went down until his middle-of-the-night waking, which occurs anytime between 1:30 am - and who the heck knows.  I wavered a little bit in my decision, feeling as old and uncool as I do these days.  But I skyped with Man on the Horizon that evening and he encouraged me to go.  So with the blessing my of long-distance love, I made an effort.

After Sami fell asleep, I threw on an LBD, black tights, and some high-heeled ankle boots.  My friend, who used to be a Mary Kay consultant, did my makeup, and I took my smokey-eyed, lip-lined, mascara-ed self out on the town.  I was supposed to meet up with a girlfriend of mine, but she never materialized. 

At first, it was weird being at this upscale club in a warehouse downtown…by myself.  Leaving the house, I thought I looked pretty fly, but then there were all these women there in stilletoes and skirts that just barely covered their asses.  My LBD didn’t look so L after that.  I looked around and didn’t see anyone I knew, except for my DJ friend.  We exchanged pleasantries, but he was busy DJing and couldn’t really talk much. 

I became aware that I was getting all stressed out about being alone and feeling slightly dowdy, so I asked my mind to chill out and decided to allow myself to relax into the experience.  The music my friend the DJ was spinning was just awesome - a mix of Latin, Arabic, and hip-hop.  It had been so long since I was in the presence of music so loud you can feel the beats reverberating internally.  I was set to dance - date or no date, friend or no friend - but then I come to find out that the dance floor upstairs did not even open up until midnight.  It was, um, 10:30 pm.  Oh well.  So I got myself a $9 glass of wine (is it just me, or is that crazy?  I could have a whole bottle of Yellow Tail Shiraz for that price, people!), and sat down in one of the only seats that was not blocked off for the VIPs and guarded by big guys in black suits.

The club was filling up.  Two of the stiletto -heeled women in barely ass-covering skirts came over and stood right by me.  Their thighs were basically at my eye level and I had to admire the total lack of cellulite they were rocking.  I didn’t know that was possible outside of airbrushed magazine photos.  The party was hosted by an Arab professionals’ group and were lots of cute Middle Eastern guys there - sigh.  I do so love dark-haired, dark-eyed, olive-skinned men.  But almost all of them seemed to be with dates.  I did notice a cutie who is not usually my type, being shorter then I am, but I loved his funky red skinny tie. 

Finally, people started dancing and the dance floor upstairs opened up.  I wasted no time in getting out there.  And who happened to join me on the dance floor but cutie-batoutie with the red tie!  I had a spectacular time dancing with him for an hour straight and found out that he bought his tie in Paris.  My DJ friend played some of my favorite Arabic grooves and I bellydanced like it was no one’s business.  My dance partner eyed my moves very appreciatively - in fact he couldn’t take his eyes off me.  I felt very sexy and attractive and alive.  It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way and I’ll say it wasn’t a bad thing.

But my mama self kicked in.  I looked at the time and I knew that I needed to get back to my little one, in case he woke up in the night.  So the party was just getting started, and I needed to leave.  I bid adieu to the cutie, and made my way through the thickening crowd.  As I ran into my friend (single/childless) on the way out, she was profusely apologetic for being late.  I honestly didn’t mind, though — it was good while it lasted, and I didn’t really need to stay much longer, night-waking kid or no night-waking kid.

I’m glad I attempted a departure from my usual Friday night plan of Netflix and blogging (not that there is ANYTHING wrong with Netflix and blogging).  Yet at the same time, I totally don’t miss that partying lifestyle.  I’ve been there, done that, paid my dues, and I’m at a different stage in my life.  I like my life the way it is.  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want someone to share laid-back or high-energy Friday nights with.  But for now, it’s time to savor things just as they are.