So the Silent Auction came, and went. And it went fine. Better than fine. My sweet friend Gillian gave me an out, told me that if I didn't want to get on stage with her, that was ok. Love her. And I bet, for the first few rounds of Jenny and Gillian time on the stage, she was wishing I'd taken her up on that offer. I stood there, like a mute trophy wife, watching my sequin-clad friend do all the talking. The lights were bright, I could feel a trickle of sweat creeping down the small of my back. She was all brave and bantery (or is it banty, Gillian?), working the herd and acting like it was an every day occurrence, to be standing on a stage talking to a good sized crowd. A crowd which included the principal of our school, several teachers, some of the more beautiful parents (the ones I see at school and wonder, how is it possible that we are in the same universe, pretty person??) and my former BFF, Big Red.
I started to feel all angsty, imagining Gillian complaining about me afterward: "Did you see her just standing there staring out into the crowd? Did someone give her a xanax and not tell me?". And so the next time we got on stage, I sucked in some air and grabbed the mic. I imagined that we were doing the NPR show from SNL, you know, the one with Ana Gasteyer and Molly Shannon doing low-talking into the mics, chatting with Alec Baldwin about his Schweddy Balls? What the hell was that called....AHA Delicious Dish. Anyhoo. Once I started, it was all ok. Gillian and I were funny and I think we did an awesome job. I was scared shitless to get up and do this, for lots of reasons (the fact that Big Red was in the audience was particularly terrifying. She scares me.) but dammit, I did it.
The night, prior to that, wasn't so awful. I walked in with my date, Perry Menopause. Perry was sweet and gave me a big giant zit on my cheek in lieu of a corsage. A zit that taunted me as I looked in the mirror after my pre-auction shower, saying, "Hey, Jenny. Hey, over here on your left cheek. I bet if you worked on me a little bit I'd go away before the auction. Come on, just give me a little squeeze. You know you want to." My life is rife with bad decisions, and the decision to work on that zit is one of them.
At one point in the evening, someone's husband (won't say who, but she reads this and knows who it is. He's awesome and I still love him) said, "Hey, you have something on your face....oh...sorry. Is that a pimple?". God bless him.
Luckily one of our school moms is a pretty famous make-up artist and had a couple of her protegees on hand, to spice up the make up of anyone who needed/wanted it. I'm sure I made their night when I brought my sorry ass and my giant zit up to them and said, "Please cover this for me." I wanted to add, in an Elephant Man voice, "I AM NOT AN ANIMAL" but made a good decision and didn't do it. The young hot make up girls spackled me up good.
As far as feeling ALONE, yes, I did have a few moments where my friends were off chatting in foursomes with their husbands and another couple, and I was just sort of standing there, half-pretending to look at the auction offerings, half wondering if it would look totally pathetic for the Lonely Only to load up a plate of hors d'oeuvres and find a nice dark corner in which to stuff her pie hole.
But those moments were few, and passed quickly. I was once again reminded of how blessed I am to be surrounded by so many wonderful people. I got hugs from dear hens, shot the shit with some fabulous husbands, met several new friends. I talked at length with the one woman who knows exactly what I deal with every day, the only other divorced chick I know with four kids. One of my biggest cheerleaders/supporters/all-round good friend shoved her copy of Tina Fey's new book, Bossypants, into my purse, and I'm kind of embarrassed to admit it but I'm looking forward to this child-free weekend so I can crack that sucker open and devour it. Love me some Tina.
Thanks to my friends, and to my decision to say screw you to stage fright, not only did the night go well but that funky cloud of Depression Lite has abated a bit. I feel better. Not 100%, but way more than I did just yesterday. Even my zit is smaller today.
And in case you're wondering, no, I didn't go all Wedding Singer on the crowd last night. I did, however, reference the fact that I'm a single mom so shaving is a foreign concept...please don't ask how that came up. It took two barbecued meatballs to get over that one.
Of course, when I got home, the kids had ransacked the house. I had hoped that they'd be able to spend the night at Big Daddy's house, but when that option was presented to them, they went ape shit en masse. So I was greeted with a kitchen Armageddon scene (seriously, every single glass was used. And all the butter was gone. I don't even want to know.) and did one of my "crazy person cleaning and bitching" rants, but all in all, I found myself quoting Ice Cube:
I got to say it was a good day.