There's a line in the movie "It's Complicated" that I think about often. It's on Jane and Adam's first date, as they're in the car after the party they've attended at Jane's daughter's house. For the first time since they became parents they smoked pot, danced, acted like fools and had a rockin' good time.

Jane says, as they're in the car, 'fun is not overrated, is it?' 

It seems like almost a silly thing to say; of course fun isn't overrated. And I know I can't speak for anyone other than myself, but since I've been a mom fun isn't exactly on the top of my to-do list unless we're defining fun in some kid-friendly, obligation triggered, 'I'm pretending to be an awesome mom so this is fun, dammit' way.

Thank you to Gina for the pictures and to Gina, Sandra and Kristen for being such genuine and fun women to spend time with.
I'm such a lucky girl. Oh, and that last photo at the bottom? That's the morning after; I totally agree with Kveller and
her 'no more fakebooking' sentiments. This morning wasn't nearly as much fun as last night!

So while it hasn't been years since I've been out on the town, or to a concert, it's also not something I do often. Actually, it's something I don't do often enough, especially the part of taking time to connect with friends, let loose, belly laugh and dance until the music stops.

But last night was FUN. Last night was spent getting kinda-sorta dressed up, putting on eyeliner and lip gloss and meeting friends for fun, music and some good old fashioned rock star lust. Last night I left my mom self at home (for the most part; I had my boner shrinker moments (see below) that I'm not too proud of but hey–old habits die hard) and slammed some Patron, stood on my chair, sang like no one was listening and danced like no one was watching.

That's usually the part that trips me up; worrying that someone is watching. I like to think–in theory–that I let myself go at concerts or when I'm really moved. But if I'm being honest, I don't really. I'm usually too worried that I'll look stupid trying to dance when it's so obvious that I can't, or that I'll offend someone with my off-pitch attempts at singing. 

Some might say that last night's raucous good time was the result of the Patron, but I know that's not the case. Last night was so. much. fun because Maroon 5 was beyond amazing and because I was with friends who didn't care if I made a fool of myself.

In fact, Gina and I were both in love with a woman two rows in front of us. I never saw her face; I only saw her from behind. She wasn't decked out in sequined hot pants or shirts worn as dresses (not to be confused with a shirt dress, mind you) or the latest fashions as so many of our fellow screaming women were. She was wearing mom clothes, actually. And she didn't have a 'perfect' body or perfectly placed hair.

If any of that was in her mind, it didn't show from behind. What did show was that she was busy gettin' down with her bad self; she was up, dancing, twirling, waving her hands in the air like she just didn't care and damn if she didn't look like she had it goin' on. I can't image that she wasted one second thinking 'stop looking at me like that!' I'd venture to bet, even, that the only people in all of Sprint Center for her, her own company excluded, were the guys on stage.

While I'm not quite there yet, I danced. I closed my eyes and shut out everything but the sound from the stage and then, when I opened them back up, I screamed and jumped like a twelve year old girl at a One Direction concert every time Adam Levine did anything even vaguely Adam Levine-ish. I had more than fun. And Jane's right; it's not overrated.

I'm linking up today with Mama Kat's Losin It's Writer's Workshop, and my post was inspired by option number 1: Incorporate the phrase "stop looking at me like that" into your post.