Dancing Makes Everything Better

 

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Image: Pixabay – Geralt

Despite my heavy love for rock and metal, I am an excellent dancer. I was born in 1973, so my ears were blessed with everything from the Bee Gees to The Cars to Dokken to Slayer.

 

And I can dance to all of it. Because dancing makes everything better. If you’re in a bad mood or feeling down, I challenge you to put on any song you like and dance to it. How could you be bummed out and dance at the same time?

You can’t! There is no way someone could be sad or mad or upset or depressed while dancing. It goes against the theory of dancing relativity. Okay, so that theory doesn’t exist, but if it did, my statement would be the basis.

You cannot be sad while dancing.

The first time I danced to anything was in my crib as a baby when I wouldn’t stop crying. My grandmother told me I was wailing and wailing and she had two choices: smother me or soothe me. She took the little Fisher Price music box on the dresser, wound it up and threw it in my crib.

I stopped crying and started kicking my feet and smiling.

So I guess the first time I danced was before I could walk. And I still love it. Every day on my way back and forth to work I have the radio turned up loud and sing and dance in my seat to get through my grueling one hour commute (two hour round trip).

Even when I used to drink and go to bars, I always made sure I was at a bar that had a working jukebox or a live band because the music made it better.

Music is life. Dancing is a close second.

I’m still writing the NaNoWriMo 2017 novel.

Keep on keepin’ on friends! What are you working on this month?

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/dancing/

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Dear Me – A Letter to My Fifteen Year Old Insecure Self

So I came upon this post courtesy of the talented Jeff Goins.  Listen to me, I “came upon.”  The truth is I follow his amazing blog and even bought his book “Wrecked.”  Check it out.  You can thank me later.

The gist is this:  Write a letter to your fifteen year old self.  Simple!  What would you say to yourself?  What would you tell you to value?  What would you tell you to not get in such a tizzy about?

After you write your letter, link back here to the Friday, September 14, 2012 post.

Annnnd, one more thing before we get started… Check out Emily Freeman’s book Graceful (for young women).  I plan on it!

Dear Me:

Hey.  I know you’re sad and you feel misunderstood and you’re lonely. I get it.  But I have to tell you that you looked for love in all the wrong places.  Turns out, you may have been an ugly duckling (all skinny and gangly) but you filled out quit nicely.  You always had a problem with anger, but it suited you well and really calmed down after 30.

Oh, and by the way, you’re an alcoholic.  Yeah, it turns out, after a serious run in the dirt, it is a blessing in disguise.

So here are my tips to you, lassy:

1. Boys are not everything.

2. Follow your dreams, no matter what your dad says!

3. Stop frowning!  Gram is right, your face really does stay that way.

4. Please stop cutting yourself. The emotional scars heal, but those scars on your wrist will be there for life.

5. You have great thoughts, don’t be afraid to voice your opinion.

6. No one is watching you.  Okay, maybe one or two people here and there.  But not everyone all the time.  Get over it and be silly!

7. I know you like to think you know everything.  You don’t.

8. You should listen to the adults in your life more.  They’ve been there and are so not blowing smoke up your arse.

9. Stop being such a people pleaser!

10.  You have an amazing smile!  Smile more. Frown less.

With much love and admiration,

The still crazy head banging chick you grew to love.

Friday Fun – Where I’m From

4517 Mercer StreetGood morning!  Thursday I was reading Jenny Hansen’s blog and came upon this fantastic post! You can find her “where I’m from” post by clicking on her grand name right up there. Go ahead!  Click it!  The original idea and post comes from here, found on the amazing blog of Sharla Lovelace.

I am from AM/FM radios, from Sunkist orange soda and chalking in the street with slate.

I am from the city of neighborhoods, banging on heater pipes, close-knit neighbors and the smell of chemical plants mixed with fresh-cut grass.

I am from the dandelions treated as high-class flowers, penny candy stores, cassette tapes and playing “suicide” wall ball.

I am from Gram’s house for every family holiday and big noses along with long legs, from Patti and Jim and Arvilla and Barbara.

I am from the grips of procrastination and alcoholism.  I am from huge hearts and a great love of nature and living while letting live.

From “it gets better” and “you’re worth it.”

I am from being baptized Catholic while never living in the Catholic traditions. I am from going to a Lutheran church with my Gram almost every Sunday and thinking how ginormous the minister looked.

I’m from Philadelphia, Somers Point, New Jersey, Italy and Russia.  I am from spaghetti and meatballs, potato salad and kick ass hams.

From the romantic trysts of Jim & Patti on the sun-baked streets of Bridesburg, the coal miner’s daughter who told me grand stories of upstate Pennsylvania and a grandfather who lost two of his fingers in a coal mine at the CCC camps back in the 1920’s.

I am from these two beautiful people. That’s where I’m from.  Where are you from?