Beautiful Mount Airy Lodge

Beautiful Mount Airy Lodge
The beast is not gone and I am actually shaken up by myself. Damn damn damn girlfriend – you are one scary, crazy bitch and you need to get it together – how much stimulation, activation, attention do you really need? I realize – intellectually – that I am volatile and need to keep a lid on myself. I am completely normal – in my own normal – as long as I am occupied and don’t drink more than a glass of wine.
Chris and I go for a weekend getaway in early November. It’s nice – relatively. The moldy smells are gone – no more champagne glass tubs or heart shaped Jacuzzi’s with leftover fluids of thousands of fun-loving, money-pinching guests. Now it’s a cookie-cutter robo-resort with a casino. We don’t care. We came to just have a getaway. Chris and I are enjoying each other’s company – we are laughing in the car and soon I have him singing along with him ‘ beautiful mount airy lodge’ – Chris never sings – he’s in good spirits even though he hasn’t been able to gamble because all the damn blackjack tables are some sort of specialty table like Texas Hold ‘Em, Hold ‘Em Down the River, I don’t know what – but there are 3 regular black jack tables and they are full – so we play table slots. I don’t know how to gamble so this is fun. We eat at the restaurant together and chat about life. We are getting along great and enjoying each other. Spending time in the room, reading magazines, being lazy, watch a movie. We stay two nights. One night would have been enough. There’s not enough to do. The second night we order room service for dinner. I get two glasses of wine with my hamburger and fries. We watch a movie with our dinner. I am not unhappy with this mellow arrangement. Not until the wine kicks in. Chris is mellow. It gets to be about 8 pm and Chris is getting sleepy. Not me – the wine has kicked in – two glasses and I’m energized. Chris says he’s going to sleep. I say I’m going to stay up and watch TV. We have a suite. Fucking bitch. I know I’m not going to watch TV. I’m going to wait for him to be good and “out” and then I’m going to go to the dance club that I noticed while we were walking through the casino – it doesn’t open until 10pm. I don’t think (1) Chris would stay up that long to take me and (2) he doesn’t like to go out dancing rarely, if ever. I tiptoe into the bedroom and get one of the fancy dresses I brought along. What a joke. Who dresses up to go to a casino anymore? I brought these two dresses to wear to the casino. The first night I wore a LaScala $700 dress with 4 inch strappy sandals to dinner. Walking through the casino to the restaurant I looked completely out of place among all the sweaty people in sweatpants, jeans, baseball caps, sneakers and tracksuits. I don’t give a crap. I have nice clothes, I like to glam it up and I will. So I did.
I get the black BCBG strapless, skin-tight short dress and 4 inch sandals and sneak out of the bedroom pulling the door closed behind me. Look at the clock. One hour til the club opens. Time to max out the makeup. My heart is not even racing. The wine is long gone but I’m on a mission so I’m running on adrenaline. I have a plan. Ta-da. Glamorous. 10pm. Down to the dance club. Oh my freaking lord – I am so damn damn damn damn damn damn old. When when when will you Kathleen realize that YOU are not in your 20’s even if you can dress yourself up!???? So the guy at the door to the club looks at me and smiles. He id’s everyone. He asks for my id, which I left in the room – I only have money and my room card. I say seriously – my id is my face – will you just look at my face!!!! You can see how old I am – I’m smiling. He says it’s okay – you look great – I have to id everyone but you can go in. shit. Well, it’s better than going back to the room.
And I’m here!!!! Music . I love music. I love dancing. I walk to the bar to get a glass of wine. Hooray – immediately a man asks if he can buy me a drink. I’m out of my fucking fucking mind. I’m married!!!!!! No, thanks, I got it – I buy my own drink. But, he’s my age, so I start to chat. The dance club is a Mount Airy dance club – just a room with music – and oh, young girls dancing in a fake cage on a small dance floor where I later bump into someone who wants to knife me either for bumping into her or for looking better than her because she’s in her 20’s and I’m in my 50’s. Whatever.
Bar guy asks me if I want to sit with him and his friends on the couch on the dance floor. Sure – why sit alone – and I want to be on the dance floor and I will need someone to dance with. Sure. I don’t say any of this out loud. My mind is always buzzing and working. Joe? Who remembers? A revolving door of people I meet. Joe is there with a group of guys from Long Island who bussed it in for a golfing day at the Resort. Mount Airy does have a beautiful golf course, I’ll give it that. We chat about Long Island, towns we know, yada yada yada. He asks me to dance. Yay – dancing. Swoosh, sway, dance. I dance with Joe. I dance with Joe’s friends – maybe 3 of them? I dance with the 20 something sitting to my left – a big, sweet-looking, quiet, black young man, I dance with a 30 something Rasta guy. I have a posse. My entire time in the dance club I have one glass of wine. I’m here to dance! Some song comes on and I raise my hands up over my head and jump to the music – my boobs pop out of my dress. Not all the way – just my nipples and just my dance partner – Joe – sees – it’s quick – and we both catch it quick. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Now I look like a fuck up. To everyone including myself. Stupid dress. Big damn boobs. Time to go. I feel too close to the edge. Scared. I say goodbye to Joe. I go back to the room. Chris is still asleep. I carefully hang up my dress so it looks unused. I wash off all my makeup and get rid of any evidence that I’ve gone anywhere and go to sleep. The next morning I’m shaken as shit – what the fuck Kathleen?image


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