Do something different with your life

Long ago (in a galaxy far away), I used to sometimes go-go dance with my friend Tim’s band*.  (I sort of wrote about it here).  He asked me to be in one of their videos, and I did, and now, something like 15 years later, here it is.  I never thought I’d end up on YouTube.

I used to have a VHS tape of a concert with the actual go-go dancing on it, but I think my former husband may have taped a soccer game over it.  Or something.  I haven’t seen it in a very long time.  I used to get so nervous before the shows that I’d have to have a
couple of shots of help and a beer chaser.  It was weird to be on stage
as — of all things — a go-go dancer.  I’m not really the type.  It was as fun as it was weird.

I still have that outfit in my drawer.  The hat, too. 

It doesn’t freak me out that it is so tiny and will never, ever fit on my body again.  But it does make my head spin that Lex, at T-minus 25 days to 11 is closer in age to me when that video was made than I am now. 

Dude. 

I think I need to go lay down.

Not too long ago, I found a cassette tape that Tim gave to me when they were trying to pick songs for an album.  He handed them out to a few people to get feedback; a test audience of friends.  I have a tape deck in my van, and for days this summer when it was hot, I drove around with the windows down, singing along and being nostalgic.   I thought about when we met at the coffee shop we worked in.  It was 1989 or 1990.  Long enough ago that when I told people I had a job as a barrista they didn’t know what the hell I was talking about.  I was his assistant at the espresso bar in the mornings, and we were a damn fine pair.  We’d watch for the regulars to park out front, and they’d glide in, hand over their money, say good morning and take their drinks from us without even slowing down.  To this day I will see regulars around town and I know them by their drinks (Hey!  It’s the double dud lady!  A double dud is a double, decaf, nonfat latte.) 

We had to get there at the crack of crack, and after the morning rush, we’d clean up and restock and talk.  Tim was a huge Beatles fan.  The hugest, because he had this.   I remember that when I’d take a shower after work, it always smelled so good when the hot water would hit my head.  I think there was so much coffee oil in my hair that the hot water running off me was coffee.   And, I often think of the time that he sang to me as we stocked the fridge one day — got a whole lotta milk whooooooo! got a whole lotta milk —  Hearing LedZepplin now makes me want one of Tim’s cappuccinos.  NOBODY makes one like he does.  NOBODY.

*Tim — if you are reading this, would you email so we can go to a movie or something?  I miss you.  It’s been way too long.  Stupidly long.

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