Now We Dance

Tags

dancing old guys, Foolishness, fun

Tonight was one of this evenings that began with a song not just in my heart, but with music all around me.  West Chicagoland was sunny, the weather warm enough to energize me in that special way that only the anticipation of riding my mountain bike can provide.  I had the office to myself.  Pump It Up with Elvis Costello came up on my playlist, the volume insteadly adjusted in the upward direction.  I danced out of the office and out to my car.

This over 50 dad is one excellent dancer, by the way.  Believe me.  I am.  I would never fib about that.  Besides, I have been told so more than once.. and very recently.

Bike loaded on my car, I rocked all the way to the trailhead.  Elvis Costello gave way to Earth Wind and Fire who gave way to Chickenfoot.  I kept dancing, my mood soaring as I pulled into the trail parking lot and unloaded my bike.

The ride was unfreaking believable, 58 degrees at first pedal turn.  My friends, Greg and Estaban, were there.  I parked next to their cars, met them 2 minutes in.  Before starting the ride, I had pumped up the rear shock and used the auto adjust valve to dial it in.  My bike was responding, the handling just right, the ride fast.  The ride was 90 minutes of pure bliss.  Greg and Esteban are faster than I am, eventually rode ahead of me.  When I finally called it an evening and reached the parking lot, they were already gone.

I opened up my car, shed my hydration pack, gloves and helmet, threw on my hat, grabbed the key to unlock my bike rack, loaded my bike up.

And I began to dance.  A car pulled up with loud music playing, four high school girls inside.  They yelled out the car windows.

“Show us your moves!”

Who can resist that?  I had to dance for them.

There were no dollar bills involved.

I returned to the side of my car to shed my bike shoes and change into my flip flops.

“Hey mister, you’re really good.  Will you dance with me for my Snap Chat video?”

Of course.

Let’s hope that video doesn’t go viral.

In the Belly of the Syrupy Beast

Tags

Foolishness, substance, tolerance

Nyquil scares me.  Terrifies me.  And I like it.

Friday found me in one of those three foot thick head cold fogs, the kind where everyone I talked to had to ask “Do you have a cold?”.  That’s when I blow my nose into a Kleenex, wad it into a sticky little white and booger green ball, and flick it at them.  I’m a nasty person when I get a cold, my natural tendency towards playful obnoxicity (that’s now a word) amplified by the irritation of my swollen sinuses.  Normally, I avoid over the counter remedies, instead choosing rest and fluids over drugs.  This time I relented after waking up Saturday morning in worse condition than I had Friday.

I tried Nyquil.  One capful of syrupy sweet Nyquil.

Five minutes later I found myself waking up wondering where the last ten hours had disappeared to.  I flicked away the powdery crust that now lined my nostrils, the drool from a totally knocked out night’s sleep caked at the corners of my mouth.  Nick the Sheltie, peacefully guarding the opposite side of the bed, snorted as a dry snot boulder bounced off of his nose.  A strange haze filtered through my brain, the kind that threatens to stick around the rest of the day.  That haze caused my to bounce off of the door jamb on the way to the bathroom for the necessary dawn tinkle, the wet warmth greeting my bare toes before I realized that the tinkle wasn’t streaming straight.

I know.  TMI.  Just trying to make this blog real for you.

Nick, still snorting from the booger cannon barrage, waited outside the door for me.  He was growing impatient.  His human was moving far too slow this morning.  The ritual on any given day was for me to stumble down the stairs to let him visit the back yard for his dawn tinkle.

The dang Nyquil had really thrown me for a loop.  Nothing knocks me out like Nyquil had done the night before and I was still feeling the effects.  I had barely made it upstairs to bed at ten the night before, the Nyquil taking me to slumber very quickly.  Morning’s light had not roused me like it usually does.  It was nearly 8 AM, almost two hours past my normal awakening.

My head was usable, however, clear and my breathing normal.  I could literally smell the coffee.  Ahhhhhh.

The cold was back by afternoon, not quite as strong but still back.  I had my energy, performed my chores.  Ten PM approached and I heard the siren’s call of the Nyquil from the rocks of our kitchen cabinets.  Drrrrriiiiiinkkkkk meeeeeeee.

OK, it wasn’t quite that dramatic.  Truth be told, the stuff tasted like candy to me.  I wanted some more.

Ten hours later, another crusty haze.

So last night, no Nyquil.  I freaking tossed and turned all night.

Uh oh.  Time for the 12 step program.  I have a monster and its name is Nyquil.

Melancholy Melody

Tags

Foolishness, men and marriage

Cover for the Evanescence single “My Immortal”. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I am one melancholy dude tonight.

There is no real reason for the bummerdness (look it up).  One of the girls on AI tonight wrecked one of my favorite songs, My Immortal by Evanescence, so I just launched myself into a three video mini marathon of Evanescence.

Beautiful.  Haunting.  Yikes.  Depressing.  And dang does that woman have gorgeous eyes.

I had a girlfriend once who had eyes like that.  When she looked at me with those eyes, I dove in deep and hit bottom right away.

There’s an uplifting image.  Blue eyed brunette.  Nothing behind those blue eyes.

Come to think of it, there was another blue eyed brunette.  Short black hair with mischief in her blue eyes.  So much more there.  A lot of me was poured out in her bed.  My character took a hit.  I’ll never get that back.  I wish I had never said so what.

Whenever melancholy hits, this 51 year old fool goes back in time and moons over lost girlfriends.  Married 20 years and yet still not able to take back those pieces of my heart.  One has what is left.  Even then she keeps what I have given her on the shelf.  Sure would be nice if she took it down and dusted it off tonight.  It has been way, way too long.

Dang, this is a bit stupid.  Guys can be stupid.  We are born to be stupid, most of us, when it comes to women.  The irony is that I love to think back to the time when it didn’t matter that I was stupid, when I had my fill of what I wanted despite myself.. now just getting noticed takes every ounce of smart that I can drum up.  Stupid old men aren’t very attractive.

It shouldn’t matter any more, should it?  It does.  I want my wife to treat me like I am still stupid.  Oh, she treats me like I am stupid but, well, you know what I mean.  Nothing takes care of melancholy for a man than a bit of heavy breathing, plain and simple, given and not earned, just because I am still that stupid stud.  Those memories I moon over?   They are easy.  There.  So easily forgotten in a moment.  So easily remembered.  A lot of men want to recapture those memories.  Stupid, eh?

I started this blog with a rambling thought.  I really didn’t go any where with it.  Frankly, I’m not melancholy any more.  I just feel.

Stupid.

Time for a Weird Al video marathon (think I’ll start with Dare To Be Stupid).