My Love Affair with Jazz

A-a-a-awhhhh. . . jazz. Forget whatever I said in my profile. . . there is no music but jazz. The honeyed tones accompanied by solos on romantic instruments, the excitement you can feel building in your toes all the way out to your arms. It gives me tingles in all the right places--more than tingles, actually, the fervor of it crawls all over my body. It's like all of those cliche occurences--maybe a first kiss--(although I never had a 1st kiss that wasn't staged--maybe like the 20th kiss?)--the way you feel when the man you love is down on his knee, and you know this time it's the real thing--no, I know, the way you feel reading Twilight. This is the music I can sing my heart out to. . . the stuff where I absolutely must get up and dance! Throw my arms up in the air! Puckishly run my fingers through my hair, and ignore the strange looks from the cat. Honestly, how can you not seductively sway your shoulders at least a little to "Girl from Ipanema?" "Everything" by Michael Buble is my favorite. There aren't many songs that make me quiver and shriek (much to the amusement of Joanna) everytime I hear them, but WOW! that song is exciting. ("Hey Ya" by Outkast does too, for some odd. Go figure.) That man is aptly named. "Buble" That's just what happens in my soul when I hear him sing. It "Buble-s." (not "bubbles," "Buble-s"--and don't forget the capital "B"). "Sway" makes me want to don a red sequined dress with a form-fitting skirt--slit to my knee on one side, long sleeves, thick red lipstick, fake eyelashes, and a large white flower in my hair. Mmmmm. . . and black stillettos. And of course I'm being twirled and dipped by my handsome husband--wearing an open white dress shirt and a black fedora too low over his eyes. . . and suspenders. Suspenders are hot. Can you see it? I want to go dancing!