Dirty Dancing is on. Man, I love that movie. Good music. Great dancing. Happy little storyline. I’m one of those people who has watched it a million times. Yes, Baby, lose that virginity to the sizzling but brooding Johnny. Dance your butt off.
I have a thing for dancing in movies. It’s an escape. Pure entertainment. Give me Grease, Saturday Night Fever, Chicago. (As I write this, a friend of mine is meeting John Travolta. Do I want to smack him or what?)
I went dancing for the first time in a while with two friends last week. It was so much fun! Actually I’ve been out dancing more times this year than I had been in the last five years combined. It’s like I’ve reconnected with the rawness of just letting yourself move to the beat. There’s nothing like it. I lose myself. My all-time favorite is dancing to 70s and 80s stuff like Michael Jackson or Abba or Madonna.
Ooooooohhhh. I can’t wait to go again. Probably in a few weeks. In the meantime I’ll settle for unleashing some moves in my house to release some stress. Maybe some Ricky Martin. Look out. There’s no stopping me.
Nobody puts Baby in a corner.
