Mojo

Being as I'm on the upswing from my recent nervous breakdown, I have been thinking a lot about me- who I was, how I'm different, yada yada yada.

Then Alan and I went to the Tom Jones concert. Yep, you heard me correctly. Tom Jones and all his leather pants wearing, open shirt exposing, dirty mouth welshman talking, ways. See, Alan and I spent too much time on cruise ships, and somehow had become oddly fond of "What's New Pussycat" or more recently, "Sex Bomb." When I hear that song, I think of Dutch officers with no rhythm drunk off their asses trying to hit on women. It's freaking hilarious.

So off we go to this great outdoor theater thing...Think Ravinia without as much lawn if you're from Chicago. You know, old people with full candlabras and brie. And there were a fair number of old people there...being as Tom himself is no spring chicken. I think he's like 65 or something. Definitely AARP material.

Then Tom performed. And I have to say, I give the old guy props. I mean, this is the only concert I've ever been to where women swooned. And by swooned, I mean they flashed their tits and threw underwear on the stage. Really? Women do that? For Tom Jones? Are you fucking kidding me? They didn't even do that when I went to New Kids on the Block... then again, most girls there weren't wearing bras yet. But man, if we were...

So I'm watching Tom motion to his good ol' boy and women scream. He wipes his sweat with shirts, he sings. Man, he's got some pipes on him. And there's a part of me that says, "Good on you, Tom" I mean, wow- he's got some mojo. That's the only way I can describe it. Except when he danced. Ohh, that wasn't good. Stop dancing Tom... really, you're showing your age. Seriously, stop. Stop right now. Ow, my eyes. My side hurts from laughing. Stick to pelvic thrusting. Works much better for you.

Dancing aside, it's the mojo, baby. It's not just for Austin Powers. Tom Jones has it. It's that certain something that assures everyone you know you're the shit. You don't necessarily have to flaunt your fishizzle, it's just understood. You can read it in the way you hold yourself, talk to others, choices you make. Breast cancer aside- I definitely used to have it... how do you think I got all those stories I can't repeat in front of my parents? I think my mojo has hidden behind my chemo port. I can't seem to find it anywhere. And everyone has it, I know they do. So maybe it's time to embrace our own inner mojo...pelvic thrusting aside, of course. Unless you're into that kind of thing. In which case, call me later with the story.