<p><a href="http://www.diaryofalatebloomer.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/grease.png"><img class="alignleft size-full wp-image-530" title="grease" src="http://www.diaryofalatebloomer.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/grease.png" alt="" width="283" height="182" /></a></p>

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<p>This past Friday night, I attended the <em>Grease Sing-Along.</em></p>

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<p>As a child, I was obsessed with the movie <em>Grease</em>.  And I do mean <em>obsessed.  </em></p>

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<p>I listened to the soundtrack night and day.  I locked myself into my bedroom for countless renditions of "Hopelessly Devoted to You".  Hell -- I still sing it in the shower every now and then.  (I can't believe I just admitted that.  Yes, I am a dork.)</p>

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<p>When I was in 6th grade, I had the grand ambition of staging a neighborhood production of <em>Grease</em>.  Humble young thing that I was, I cast myself as Sandy.  Olivia Newton-John was my idol, and here was my chance to sing and dance in her footsteps. </p>

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<p>Of course, none of the neighborhood boys wanted to take on the role of Danny, despite my assurances that there would be no real kissing.  Luckily, my next door neighbor, Sharon, happened to be a tomboy and wanted no part of parading around as a Pink Lady.  She volunteered to be Danny.  What a pal!</p>

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<p>After much begging, pleading, and bossing around on my part, the boys finally agreed to roles as T-Birds.  My sister landed the role of Frenchy.  I had no problem securing a waiting list of Pink Ladies, as every girl has wanted to strut her stuff as a Pink Lady at one time or another.  Except for Sharon and the tomboy contingency, obviously.</p>

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<p>Contracts were signed, and a rehearsal schedule was set.  (Yes, you read "contracts" correctly.  More about that in a minute.) </p>

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<p>I knew that I needed to write Olivia Newton-John immediately.  With the performance date lurking around six weeks away, her invitation needed to get to Australia ASAP. </p>

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<p>I visualized Olivia sitting in the front row.  I would reserve her the best seat in the house -- or in this instance, the play would take place in the garage -- even if it meant my parents sacrificing their seats for her. </p>

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<p>Mesmerized by my performance, Olivia would insist that my parents hire a private tutor so that I could follow her to Hollywood and star in her next musical.  As you may or may not recall (you are probably not as dorky as me), that next musical would have been <em>Xanadu </em>which makes me absolutely ga-ga when I ponder the what-could-have-beens. </p>

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<p>As fate would have it, my <em>Grease</em> dreams quickly crashed and burned around me.  My sister, as usual, started it. </p>

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<p>This time, it was a contract dispute.  The contract explicitly stated that the only excused absences from rehearsal were death of a family member or illness (with a doctor's note). </p>

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<p>Jenny (this was before her now cutesie-cool spelling of "Jennie") first claimed to have a sore throat, skipped out of rehearsal, and failed to produce a doctor's note.  Next, she refused to reschedule her conflicting piano lesson  and consequently received a second demerit.  Demerit #3 would equal a boot from the show, and an understudy was chomping at the bit to play Frenchy. </p>

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<p>Jenny was pissed.  Always looking for an opportunity to get her big sister into trouble, she bitched incessantly to the rest of the cast and ultimately staged a mutiny. </p>

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<p>I was devastated.  I was back to playing Sandy to a crowd of stuffed animals in my bedroom. </p>

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<p>To make matters worse, I received a reply from Olivia post-mutiny.  My heart raced as I tore into the letter.  Wait a minute -- There was still hope!  I could assemble a brand new cast with that Pink Lady waiting list, woo Olivia with my talent, and escape from all of this elementary school mediocrity. </p>

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<p>I devoured each and every word of that letter -- each and every word describing Olivia's love and commitment to animals.  And since I was a hopelessly devoted fan of Olivia's, would I please consider sending a donation to one of her animal charities? </p>

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<p>I mailed Olivia my hopes and dreams, and she replied with a form letter.</p>

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<p>Despite my extreme disappointment, I remained hopelessly devoted.  Being the little animal rights activist that I was, I hit up my parents for a donation. </p>

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<p>Fast forward 30 years, and although I am no longer <em>obsessed </em>with <em>Grease </em>--<em> </em>that would go way beyond dorky and be just plain creepy -- the movie and soundtrack still hold a special place in my sentimental and nostalgic heart. </p>

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<p>Have you heard about the <em>Grease Sing-Along</em> that was released this summer?  If it is not playing in your fair city, you can request it <a href="http://www.greasemovie.com/" target="_blank"><strong>here.</strong></a> </p>

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<p>I convinced my friend, David, to go with me.  David is always up for a challenge.  My nickname for him is "Captain Adventure", as he jets off to remote and exotic locales to escape civilization a couple of times a year.   We're not talking about the sipping cocktails in a Fijian hut kind of escape.  We're talking about side-stepping Komodo dragons, free diving with sharks, and swimming in alligator-infested waters kind of escape. </p>

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<p>Obviously, David's masculinity is never in question, and thus he doesn't hesitate to sing along to "There Are Worse Things I Could Do".  I think he may have drawn the line at "Look at Me, I'm Sandra Dee" though.  Hey -- every man has his limitations. </p>

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<p>I knew that on the 1-10 scale of fun-ness, the Sing-Along would more than likely rate a 9 or a 10.  But I'm going to go ahead and give it a 20. </p>

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<p>We had a BLAST!  The theater was nearly full, it wasn't just the chicks singing (the guys crooned along just as much), and it took me back.  Waaaaaayyyyy back to the happiest of childhood memories. </p>

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<p>My advice?  GO!  You will not be disappointed.</p>

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<p><strong><span style="color: #993300;">Wop baba lumop a wap bam boom!</span></strong></p>