I know it has been awhile since I have written and for that,
my adoring public, you have my sincerest apologies. If you remember, I had a career curve
ball. I decided to use my time off
wisely. I went to Dallas… I lunched with
old co-workers, went to a funeral, played with all my friends babies, visited
friends. I took a week off. When I returned home I started my job quest
in earnest and 1 week later, I was working at a place called The Planet.
Now, some 6 weeks later I am sitting on a flight to Las
Vegas staring out the window and watching the sun slowing set. I find my mind
drifting. It drifts to wonder if the two
pilots sitting next to me will ever stop talking, if the baby two rows back
will ever stop crying (side note… I totally have some Benadryl that I could
give it) but mostly I am wondering if Baby and Johnny made it.
So… I’ve gone to work at an IT company. I know nothing about IT. I am surrounded by people crazy smarter than I
am. I love it. They are also crazy younger than me. The other day I said “Crapper John MD”
instead of crap… and my coworker (who I call) Mensa Kevin didn’t know there was
a major television drama called Trapper
John MD. That was way before his time.
Moreover, and more tragically, today, he told me that he has never seen
I know, without a doubt, there is no one my age that would
ever admit to that. I was traumatized by
Johnny: What are you doing here?
Baby: I carried a watermelon
It is still the way that I imagine love will happen for
me. Meaning, someone will get preggers,
I’ll have to step in for them on Dancing with the Stars, and we’ll fall madly
in love. Except that the assholes on
that show are all skinnier than me, and frankly a lot girlier than I am. However, I digress.
What I started worrying about was whether Baby and Johnny
lasted? I suppose that’s a sign about
where I am in my life… that I can’t just enjoy the romance – I wonder what
happened when they had kids, moved to the suburbs, when they bought dancing
classes for little Johnny instead of a trip back to Kellerman’s, and what
happened when Johnny was always out late dancing. Does this mean that some part of my romantic
nature has died? Have I replaced butterflies with worry warts?
I remember when we rented Dirty Dancing from the National Video on Trinity Mills. We also rented Can’t Buy Me Love. Elizabeth
and I pulled out the sofa bed in the playroom and watched them both
endlessly. And when I say endlessly, I
truly mean that. We watched them at
least 100 times. Shortly after the 100th
viewing is when Big Sara realized we still had them and came close to murdering
us for the $150 late fee. But watching Johnny pull Baby out of the corner,
boldly stating that he always does the last dance of the season and then
singing “Now I’ve had the time of my life”… well it was worth every penny to
I guarantee that, in my real life, if some guy pulled me out
of a corner and then demanded that I dance in front of a crowd, I would kick
his ass. I would seriously be a new kind
of angry. That’s what doesn’t make sense
to me. Why is it so great in the movie
and so terrifying in real life? Why can’t we just leap off the stage of life, as
I suppose we cannot because the realities weigh us
down. The responsibilities keep us from
frolicking in creeks with Patrick Swayze.
If we let go, even once, will the rest (the life ever after) seem like a letdown?
I do not have the answers.
As always, I am sending this out to the cosmic void. But this time, I am sending it out with a
My request is this, cosmic void…If someone pulls me up from
a table, says that “No one puts baby in a corner” and asks me to dance… don’t
let me think, don’t let the butterflies get replaced by worry warts.
Just let me dance.