Picture this . . .
Me, alone in the car, listening to the radio.
Driving through Lake Oswego at about midnight last night.
Heading home.
I am singing along with Joan Jett, and when I say I am singing along?
I mean I am . . . fucking . . . singing . . . along.
Turned that knob all the way to 11, and I am fucking singing along.
I am Joan Jett, baby! I am all dancing in my seat and smacking at the steering wheel and generally making a fool of myself. But no one can see me . . . no one can hear me . . . I do not even care.
I am invisible and all powerful!
And wait! Over there . . . who is that delicious sexy boy?
I saw him dancing there by the record machine
I knew he must have been about seventeen
The beat was going strong
Playing my favorite song
And I could tell it wouldn’t be long
Till he was with me, yeah me
And I could tell it wouldn’t be long
Till he was with me, yeah me, singing . . .I love rock n’ roll
So put another dime in the jukebox, baby
I love rock n’ roll
So come and take your time and dance with me
I am a terrible singer, by the way.
But the yummy boy next to the record machine? He is entranced. I will have him.
Happy sighs.
That song ends and the next song comes on.
And people? The next song is the best late-night car song ever! Perfect for making an idiot of yourself when no one is looking! Perfect for singing loud and foolish! Perfect for dancing in your seat! Perfect for being all sexy and powerful and AWESOME!
Hot Chocolate’s disco anthem . . . You Sexy Thing.
OK, I was over the top with Joan Jett, but now?
A whole new level of topness.
I am singing this song like I am in a stadium full of people, and I need to connect with each and every one of my adoring fans. I am oozing sexuality. I am dancing arms and wiggling ass and pounding fists and shaking head. I am on fire.
I was all lonely, but now? I believe in miracles because you came along and you are giving it to me. And it is fucking awesome. You are kissing me and holding me and we are making love and I do believe in miracles and where the hell did you come from, anyway? You are a sexy fucking thing, and I do believe in miracles and you are all angelly! Seriously, where the hell did you come from? Damn, you are sexy!
I am taking some liberties with the lyrics.
I am a sexy fucking thing.
Driving through Lake Oswego at midnight. Alone. In my minivan.
Shut up.
I was rocking the minivan.
Did I mention the construction they are doing? Late-night construction so as to minimize interference with day-time traffic.
No big deal . . . just have to slow to like 5 miles an hour to squeeze past the construction crew and their machines.
When you are driving at 5 miles an hour in a straight line?
There is really no need to hold onto the steering wheel.
So my arms are in the air and I am singing and dancing and alternating between BEING the sexy thing and FUCKING the sexy thing. Either way there is fucking. Either way is awesome.
I believe in miracles!
Since you came along . . . you sexy thing.
OK, and right about here is where I should have realized that slowing to 5 miles an hour to pass a construction crew?
Meant that I would be passing a construction crew.
Slowly.
With my stereo turned up so loudly that the minivan is vibrating with Hot Chocolate ecstasy.
Me screaming all musically about the fucking I will be doing with this sexy new stranger who has made me all religious and miracle-believing.
My arms in the air and my ass wiggling and my head keeping the beat.
Sigh.
So at this point, I make eye contact with one of the construction workers.
Fuck.
And it is extended eye contact, because I am driving excruciatingly slowly and because he is at one point so close to the right hand side of my car that he could reach out and touch my window.
I am still singing and dancing, by the way.
I am just now also staring into the eyes of a laughing man with a bright orange vest.
Who luckily did not have a video-camera.
I do believe in miracles!
Hee hee!
So this morning?
I went to find a video of Hot Chocolate’s You Sexy Thing.
I have watched the video three times already. I am hypnotized by the lead singer’s pants.
They speak to me.
Seriously.
I have got to get Mark a pair of pants like that.
Swoon!
Hilarity, thy name is Kris.
I’m proud of you for continuing the rocking, despite the slow speed and presence of other humans.
Rock on with your bad self! [I know I do]
There was just no way to switch over to innocent minivan-driving Mom staring straight ahead.
And damn, but that was a good song!
So fuck it.
And rock on!
Yes!
BAHA!
I rock out in the car too. sometimes to showtunes. once, I was stopped at a stoplight and forgot my window was rolled down aaaand I was singing at the top of my lungs. the car next to me? applauded. APPLAUDED! but they also laughed. humph.
If there was applause?
Then you are AWESOME!
All I got was laughter.
Probably because he was so flustered by his attraction to me.
Yup . . . I’m going with that.
Happy sighs.
well naturally he was so attracted to you. dur.
Dur?
Snort!
You will love this. So we have a jeep. In the sumner the to goes bye bye. In the winter I drive the pick up. One day last summer I forgot I was driving the jeep and started busting out Funky Cold Medina complete with hand motions. I was so into I didn’t notice anything a miss until I noticed my niece was on the floor hiding..
OOooh . . that is an awesome story!
The girls freak the fuck out when I dance and sing in the car and they are also in the car.
So fun.
Oh, and now I want to hear Funky Cold Medina.
Hold on.
Funky Cold Medina.
Click it, people.
Awesomeness!
I’m not saying anything.
I’m just picturing it.
You are a dork.
Picture me awesome, then.
I am so fucking awesome.
Plus dorky.
I have SO done this in my minivan…only I was rapping(in my oh-so-painfully-white way)…and the song title may have had the word “pimpin’” in it. I avoided that road for months
Yes, my dancing?
About as white-girlish as you can get.
yay!
Plus also, just dropped you from my dance card. Think Jagger. Think you coulda had it.
Oh, I could still have it.
You know I could.
You’ve got 2 show me you want it, babe. Can I sing “under my thumb” all night w/o you going all feminist on me? Will you watch the “single ladies” vid ad nauseum 2 pick up some moves (& pleeze, get out of the T’s & jeans & dress like Beyonce)?
I cannot be contaminating the white-girl awkward beauty of my dancing with Beyonce-type moves.
You’ll just have to appreciate me for me.
Think Elaine from Seinfeld . . . with lots of giggling.
I am awesome!
Unfortunately, Elaine was exactly what I was thinking of. Was married to someone with that dancing “style.” Offensive to my aesthetic standards.
So sad, then.
It’s off.
Guess I could give you lessons. Please review “Dirty Dancing” before our first lesson. Esp. the lake scene.
Nope.
No lessons.
I am all good with the goofy over here.
but the goofy might entail unacceptable risk on my part, especially if you are dancing the goofy right against my strong, supple body. Some form of indemnification?
Nope.
You take your chances.
I laughed out loud for this one.
I totally rock out in the car too. And if people watch? That just means I have a real audience in addition to my imaginary one.
Seriously, right?
Life is too short to not occasionally put on a show.
Oh.My.God.
Anyone reading this who did not know about the Spinal Tap reference must IMMEDIATELY source it out on your local internet-movie-providing-thingy.
go now!
Hubs is constantly adjusting the levels, balance, fade whatever on his car stereo. All I care about is that mine goes loud enough so that I don’t have to listen to my own god awful singing.
I can’t help it, car dancing is in my genes, (or my sparkly striped pants!)
That is a FABULOUS scene!
A fabulous movie.
I need to watch that again.
Spinal Tap . . . go, people.
Oh, I love rocking out the Mom Boat. I can kinda sing. Kinda. While I have not ever serenaded construction workers, I have inadvertently butt dialed people whilst rocking out. Which is not a whole lot better. *sigh*
I never talk on the phone in the car. Not ever.
So I have been saved that particular humiliation.
Which is fine, because I find enough other ways to be humiliated.
Hee hee!
Minivans were made for sexy, stadium-style, fuck-me singing.
Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself every time I drive alone.
And sometimes with he kids in the car.
Then I definitely take liberties with the lyrics.
Fuck-me singing!
Yes!
Sorry, construction worker guy.
Hee hee!
Don’t apologize to him.
You very likely made his night.
You sexy thing.
Yes, that’s the version I prefer!
Yay!
I am all full of fantasy over here!
You got the head banging in there too? Just trying to butt dance and chew gum at the same time would have had me in the ditch.
OK, I was driving at 5 miles per hour.
No way to crash, babe.
No way.
My boys, at the ripe ages of 6 and 2 get mortified when I rock out to Bon Jovi in the car. But it’s BON JOVI. I must, must, must rock out to Bon Jovi.
The imagine of you in a mini van, rocking out, locking eyes with a construction worker for an extended period of time, and continuing to rock out while he laughs has me thinking SNL skit for sure. Tina Fey would do awesome with that skit!
Oh, that would be awesome.
And Tina Fey would make an awesome me!
It would be like a dream come true for her.
Or me.
Ahem.
I once got caught by a former high school classmate rockin’ out at a stoplight.
good times.
YAY!
What is life without a little awkward thrown in?
Boring, that’s what.
I’m here to be the voice of reason.
Vigorous seat dancing is sure to quickly deteriorate those cardboard seats. Or catch them on fire.
Just sayin’.
Also, I love that Joan Jett song.
You are the voice of reason?
I am doomed!
Snicker.
I suppose I’d be aging myself if my loud radio sing alongs were to ACDC
ACDC?
Awesomeness!
Swoon!
she was referring to a rock group, not your prior lifestyle
Prior lifestyle?
Snort.
You are all fantasied up over there, young man.
You’re lucky that when you searched for a video of that special song? A youtube video of your version did not pop up as a result. Try again tomorrow, just to be sure. I know I will be ;)
Hee hee!
I did check.
Just in case.
Ahem.