“I Wanna Dance With Somebody” ~ Another WTF? Friday

“I Wanna Dance With Somebody” ~ Another WTF? Friday

  • I love the lengths that the dearly departed go to in order to communicate with us!

“Oh, I wanna dance with somebody
I wanna feel the heat with somebody
Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody
With somebody who loves me
Oh, I wanna dance with somebody
I wanna feel the heat with somebody
Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody
With somebody who loves me”

This week has been …interesting.

You see, I talk to a dead person, a woman who happens to be my muse, all the time. This week it turned from singular to plural.

I officially talk to dead people.

It started innocently enough at a lunch on Tuesday with my bad-ass, no-taker-of-shit friend, Kim. Since becoming friends we found out that at the same time I was managing a jewelry store in Beverly Hills she was at William Morris agenting a Diva who was at the height of her career.

I like to think it’s the same thing.
What?
Is it not even remotely the same?

Listen, it’s my blog and I can dream.

Anyway, we were getting caught up, sharing a Chinese chicken salad at Joan’s, and right in the middle of her recounting a story about the screenplay she is collaborating on about her life working for the Diva, I interrupted her.

Me: (Salad spilling out of my mouth) Oh, oh, remind me to tell you about my dream. Whitney was in it.

Kim: And you’re just getting around to telling me this now?

Me: I know! I forgot, but your story reminded me.

Kim: Go on. I yield the floor.

The dream went like this: I was in a theater at the invitation of my good friend Tom Hanks ;-).
It was some kind of talk he was giving and although we were likethis I was not special enough to be seated close enough to him to breathe his air. While I was busy trying unsuccessfully to convince people “I’m with Tom” from my seat in the nosebleed section, a woman in a white evening gown stood up about ten rows in front of me. Besides thinking she was a tad overdressed, I recognized her.

“That’s Whitney Houston”, I said to no one in particular.
“It can’t be…she’s dead” they responded.

At that moment our eyes met and she started her way up the aisle toward me. When she got to my row I stood up because, Yo! It was freaking Whitney Houston!

“I think it’s high time we met”, she said handing me an autographed 8 x 10 picture of herself.

“Oh shit. you too?” was all I could say.

Back at Joan’s, Kim sat across from me dumbfounded. “I can’t believe you’re just telling me this! I have felt Whitney around so much lately and now she’s getting in touch with you!”

She went back to her story about hearing the song I Wanna Dance With Somebody, one of Whitney’s greatest hits, playing in her head day and night. “She wants it at the end of the screenplay”,  she announced with conviction. “It took some convincing of my collaborator but just last night, at my (and Whitney’s) insistance—we wrote it in.”

Whitney had a few more things to say to Kim at lunch. It wasn’t creepy at all. It was cool. She was…cool.

The next day, this bright orange sweater (in the picture above) caught my attention as I was perusing the racks of a second-hand store I’m currently obsessed with. When I read the large white lettering I gasped! I mean, what are the odds? Then I texted Kim a picture as fast as my fingers could type. Excited, I walked in a twenty-foot circle waiting for her to respond. About five minutes later she did.

Kim: wtf?
Me: Right?
Kim: She’s stalking you.
Me: I think that was for you!

That gave me a genius idea. I walked back over to the rack to grab the sweater to buy it for Kim. She could wear it to the movie screening! (With a designer skirt and wildly expensive shoes, of course.) Except…

Me: Kim, the sweater isn’t there!
Kim: Where is it?
Me: I have no idea! I went back and it’s gone! I’ve looked everywhere and there are only three other people in here and they’re nowhere around me. Wtf?
Kim: Corkie, solve the mystery.
Me: I can’t! It’s gone.

You guys, did it really exist at all?

I have a picture…

Carry on,
xox


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My version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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