Morning Thoughts: Bon Jovi can still make me cry - May, 2010.

I recently came across my old Bon Jovi greatest hits album. This is a) totally awesome, and b) dangerous. Because here’s what happens to almost-thirty-something’s when they get a hold of some rockin’ Bon Jovi: they go into their regular morning haunt and sit there, eyes looking out from the world of the ipod, and they start uncontrollably fist pumping and singing along like they’re in some kind of misguided karaoke competition, contestant count one. “Livin’ on a prayer” comes to mind as perhaps one of the best righteous ballads with which to rock out.

Before we get halfway there, I am living on a prayer. And then we get to “Always” and I, an intelligent, independent woman well past the “Untamed Heart” 14-year-old pining stage, begin to have trouble stemming the tide of just a really, really, really good cry. :)

It’s amazing how some songs have the ability to instantly transport one back to the sixth-grade roller skating party at the Shores roller rink, standing on the sidelines inwardly convulsing in sobs because the “couples skate” is happening and Whitney Houston is singing the theme from “The Bodyguard” and you are alone, gripping a carpeted wall. “You give love a bad name” comes on in my headphones just in time to bring me back to the present with its defiant anger and prevent a full-on emotional collapse. My mind drifts to the skating rink again…It’s okay that at the end of the night when you go over to the rounded couches to take of your brown suede rental skates you will be doing so alone. It’s okay that no boy ever gets up the courage to say “Hi”. But hey, sixth-grade self, it’s okay, the guy you want doesn’t even exist yet.

But then you begin to hear the strains of “Patience” by Guns n’ Roses as the lights turn on and as the few lingering couples do the last few loops on the baby blue skating rink floor your heart swells for a love that you long to know one day.

And then “Bed of Roses” begins on your ipod, and there you are: 28 years old and crying openly in Sweetwaters. Wiping away your errant tears under the scrutiny of a semi-concerned look coming from a frat boy sitting near you, you hide behind the bangs that you are shaking in front of your eyes in a lame effort to disguise the fact that Bon Jovi can still make you cry.

It’s enough to make you want to run over to where your man is working, take him in your arms and lay him down in a bed of roses.

You ankle it out the door and down the street, stepping in time to “Blaze of Glory”, your hips swaying to the dulcet tones of that kid from New Jersey with rock and roll dreams and what sounds like an entire gospel choir singing behind him propelling you onward.