Health and Fitness - A Story With an '80s Vibe
I like to exercise frequently, and when I’m in my sweat mode, I like to listen to great music from my beloved 1980s. I also like to cut loose and act a little goofy once in a while. You will live longer and healthier if you stop being so darn serious and take some self-imposed kooky detours. Have a little fun with me this week as I ride down an alternate path of musical creative chaos.
Here’s my tribute to the 1980s songs that I listen to in my fitness center or while I am running outside. It’s just a crazy little story I wrote with 1980s song titles mixed into it. Yeah, I’m gay, but I just wrote it like I was straight. I was in the mood to be like the other 90 percent tonight. There are some fag hags who need hope!
See how many awesome songs from the decade of the big-hair bands you can find in my yarn. I counted 69 songs, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking! Lights, camera, action …
So I’m sitting around with my family and friends and discussing my life in a northern town. I tell them that I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. My pals laugh and say how one of those West End girls will take a chance on me and before long I’ll be walking down the aisle with Rosanna or Sara in that white wedding dress.
I know this modern love is tough, but I want it to show its true colors and be just like heaven. I don’t expect any girl to come to me with open arms and passionately sweep me away on one of those endless summer nights. My sister Christian informs me that love is overrated and that it’s the end of the world as we know it. Believe it or not, she’s head over heels for this Air Force Major Tom; but she’s quite the coward of the county to admit it.
Then there’s my mother, who thinks that some guys have all the luck and no one is to blame for my predicament. She wants me to take that long overdue vacation to a great paradise city in the Caribbean to think things over. She then reminds me of all the fun I had on my favorite trip with my best friend’s girl with those mysterious Bette Davis eyes. That one night in Bangkok had me dancing on the ceiling! It still cuts like a knife to know that I took her away from my pal Mickey in the heat of the moment. My dear mother beseeches me to listen to my heart and to pray to God to send me an angel.
Then there’s my big brother, who is convinced that I’m a borderline personality after my failed romances with Gloria, Joanna, and Billie Jean during that cruel summer long ago. He’s just a gigolo who’s usually too busy in his bisexual loveshack with Jack and Diane to take on me and my concerns about this crazy little thing called love. He always asks me, “What’s love got to do with it?” He really would be pleased to see me connect with that anonymous private dancer at the Copacabana. He handed me the number 867-5309 that he conveniently copied from the bathroom wall. Thanks, now there’s always something there to remind me of his special night on the town.
My dad proved to be no help, either. He tells me that girls just wanna have fun and will hang all their dirty laundry in some centerfold for opportunities and the chance to make lots of money for nothing. I tell him that he’s wrong and that I’ve been in love before and that it hurts so good to go against all odds to find that special someone. I could just tell him that I wanna be a cowboy and forget all about girls, but I’m sure he’d just throw a cherry bomb on that idea!
Oh, what do they know? I’m just lost in love and if I listen to all their rubbish they’ll make me lose control or go insane. I need a fast car to steal away from this ship of fools and cruise down the boulevard with my heartache tonight.
I’ve purloined my brother’s bitchin’ Camaro in lieu of Dad’s little red Corvette, and it’s onward to the excitement of Electric Avenue for me. I look out the car window while listening to the old time rock ’n’ roll and see that shining star that gives me hope for Xanadu after all. Yes, that eye in the sky smiles down on me and gives me the promise that someday I’ll have that special gal next to me, all wrapped pretty in pink. Promises, promises!
Ron Blake is a funny little fitness guy who likes to write funny little things. You can send Ron any funny little suggestions or comments to firstname.lastname@example.org.