It Was the Eighties, and He Was Down with the Ladies

I wish I could tell you that throughout my life, I have made only wise, non-impulsive, emotionally free decisions.

Ha!

There have been decisions made where I had no other choice, where life decided them for me or where I did the best I could do at that time.

And there have been the decisions where, having made them, we call ourselves graduates of the School of Hard Knocks. Lessons Learned The Hard Way 101.

Nothing brings technicolor flashes of memories to the forefront of my mind quicker than a blast-from-the-past song on the radio.

While driving earlier this week, with the car radio on good and loud in celebration of summer, “Funky Cold Medina” snuck on and slapped me between the ears like a wet fish.

Oh my precious of all things precious. I began shaking and trying to stifle my laughter at that awesome 3 beat intro because I did not want my three boys in the car to ask, “Mom, what’s so funny?”

Then I’d have to tell them the story of when I decided to try and get The Most Handsome Man in Milwaukee to like me.

Which, of course, is what ended up happening: him liking me, and me telling them this story:

One night while in college, as I was busy waitressing at the beer and sandwich place on campus, I looked up from my tables, curious about the buzzbuzzbuzz I heard going on at the front bar.

I saw a group of people gathering around, and decided to work my way over. That was when I saw one of the cutest boys I had ever seen: Mr. DDG-DropDeadGorgeous.

May I go on just a bit longer? Thank you.

He was dressed in his monkey suit, just getting off of work from wherever they were lucky enough to have this crowd-pleaser bartend. He came complete with a cigarette barely hanging onto his fabulous lower lip.

Sigh. Anyway, back to the story. I had just turned 21, so I was legally able to tap a beer, and felt pretty unstoppable in my role behind the bar. It’s a sight to behold, and a very powerful feeling, indeed.

This guy was causing dilated pupils all over the place. I knew I had just a small window of time to get some attention in, so I drew him a perfect beer; expertly capped with one inch of foam, and ice cold.

I set the frosty Pilsner glass in front of him, and walked away.

With someone this gifted in the looks department, I knew the less in-your-face adulation he had, the more intrigued he’d be.

I made sure I stayed too busy the rest of the night to come back again.

My evil/genius plan worked: DropDeadGorgeous waited around for me until closing time.

The end of the night at the bar/sandwich place is in move-’em-out mode. Everyone is pushed out the door, the place gets wiped down, you count your money, get your tables set for the morning shift and then you can sit around with your crew, feet up, nurse a rum and coke or brew and swap stories from the night.

Mr. DDG stayed. It turned out he was the lead bartender’s new roommate. All that coquettish work for nothing, I would’ve been seeing him over and over again anyway…which I’d find out soon enough.

As our after-hours party winds down, the lead bartender leans in to me, so close I can smell his Drakkar Noir, and whispers, “My roommate wants to talk to you.” Bingo! I felt like I had just won the lottery.

Someone this fine-I mean his face was a pleasure to the senses-had to be the coolest person to know. I had instant fantasies of all the cool things we’d do on our cool dates together.

You know those times in your life when things change too quickly-right in front of you-before your brain has a chance to think about what just happened? It’s important that you try and conjure up that feeling again, so you’ll get what I’m about to tell you.

The night is young (bartime young) and we’re all the bold, the young, and the beautiful; happy to be who we are, and it’s a weekend. It’s good to have times like these in your life, so happy and without a thought…and…then life plays its sense of humor. Hands you a situation just.for.you. Custom made because you’re so special, and you’ll blog about it 50 years from now.

I’m feeling good, relaxed, content, flattered, celebrate me! And, then, Tone Loc busts out on the jukebox with “Funky Cold Medina.” We all love this song, and some of us more than others.

My beautiful, handsome man TAKES to the dance floor, on HIS OWN, and busts moves that I have never seen on this planet before or since. His arms are swirling, and he is doing things that are usually reserved for those with dollar bills in hand. I don’t know where he just came from, but I am seeing gyrations like he is trying out for a Chippendale Rescue Ranger. All I can think is how much I feel like I am watching a documentary from my soc class called, "The Mystery of The Devil” – Part I.

Sweet heaven above, more fervent prayers have never been whispered from anyone’s lips as those leaving mine at that moment. “Please let him keep his shirt on, please let him keep his shirt on.” The horror of dress shirt buttons flying everywhere should this whirling dervish completely engulf himself in himself, were making my chest pound. Where to look, where to look? Eye contact was NOT an option.

Types of dervish:

• whirling dervish, whirler (noun)-a dervish whose actions include ecstatic dancing and whirling

The dancing wasn’t enough, the hands running through his OWN hair was not enough, nonononono! He had to start singing: in my direction.

At the part where Tone confides,

You know, ain’t no plans with a man
This is the 80’s, and I’m down with the ladies…

Mr. Chippendale whips his torso around, locks eyes, and says RIGHT to me,

“I’m DOWN with the ladies.”

You know, I just couldn’t hold it together anymore, right? I spit beer. I spit beer as if I were at a comedy club, with the best seat in the house.

Now, I enjoy beer spit-up moments as much as the next guy, but not in this case.

Bye, bye, Mr. Most Handsome Man in Milwaukee.

We’ll always have Paris…until you decided to go and make doves cry.

Blast from the past, over and out.

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Do you have a song that brings back ‘special’ memories? Just for fun, please share your story below.

Alexandra writes of life as the mother of three boys on her personal blog, Good Day Regular People.