Well, I Believe

Now Boarding... First Class and Elite Access

There is a line in Jerry Maguire that keeps running through my head.  “First Class… it used to be a better meal.  Now it’s a better way of life” 

In the past few weeks, I have come to understand exactly what that means.  You see, I moved to Houston.  (In case you missed that posting).  I back to traveling some for work, but now I fly Continental.  At Continental, I have no status.  That was only on American.  They loved me on American.

I’ve been learning what it’s like to be normal.  Well, normal in the sense of travel not normal in the head.  They charge for the exit row.  They charge you for checked bags.  They don’t really give a shit about you.  Not in a bad way… like it’s not bad customer service – I just don’t exist to them.

I do not get that extra little piece of carpet in the special line for me to board anymore.  My bags don’t get loaded specially and I can’t board early to ensure that there is bin space available.  Upgrading, forget about it.  It’s lucky they even know my name.

I suppose its Karma.  For all those times that I took it for granted on AA, that I could just glide in at the last minute and grab that better seat, and that I could cut it close since there were special lines for me.  Hah!  No more.  Travel karma is biting me in the ass.  At least for the next 20,000 miles.

Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

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 Dirty Dancing.

I know, without a doubt, there is no one my age that would ever admit to that.  I was traumatized by the statement.

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 100^th 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 me. 

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 Baby does?

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 request.

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.