She gets me.. babe..

My (unfortunate) name is Karen and I am a Gay Man.

Or, at least I WAS, for two and a half hours last night, celebrating a somewhat  early Valentines' Day with a somewhat late booking to see "The Cher Show."

"The Cher Show" turned me from a mild fan to a fanatic, warbling and humming  her hits on a non-stop loop and eating up everything on Wiki like it's a Super Bowl spread full  of fun finger foods.

This is what happened to us last Spring in Memphis--we went from Boomers who knew some Elvis songs to crazed fans once we stepped foot into Graceland.

Spontaneous planning sometimes reaps the sweetest fruit. 

 Earlier in the week, we realized there was nothing to see at the movies--we've seen every Oscar nominee--(and I'm still rooting for "American Fiction" or "The Holdovers") so Jim decided to see what was available at local theaters and using his genius powers for making things happen, secured two pretty good orchestra seats for a nearly sold out show. 

The night was awesome from that first bite of the Burnt Onion Burger,  eaten in a sports bar in a college town where everyone in there was young enough to be our grand kid, thus not appreciating all the great music from the 60's-80's that was piped in, making conversation impossible but  so worth it.

This playlist made us  as weepy and nostalgic as all those lucky Boomers who turned on David "the asshole" Letterman that time  to see that spontaneous performance from Sonny&Cher, having us all longing for our youths and our beginnings.

Of course I always  knew about Cher...I remember her spite costume, presenting as a tarantula because she didn't receive a deserved Best Actress Oscar for "Mask." 

(She'd give a very convincing, award-worthy performance  thanks to a very wealthy plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills if "Mask" was released today) 

 I remember holding hands with Jim during one of our first dates, smiling and shedding a few happy tears as she made Nicolas Cage "snap out of it!" in "Moonstruck", knowing she would dress tastefully for the Oscar she was virtually  guaranteed.

I remember being at Woodloch one year, when the Scavenger Hunt  required a male member of your team dress  as Cher, and how hilarious our friend looked draping a pair of my blackest pants over his head, playfully tossing a pant  leg over his shoulder ala Cher, and wearing the only glitterly thing I brought with me,  He looked more like Cher that I ever could, and we got some valuable game points to prove this.

I remember penning an original feminist icon musical at summer camp, and blackening my hands as I attempted to dye a bunch of twine with the black ink so my camper could sing her heart out as "Cher Bono Allwoman."

That was then, this is now. 

Now is time to celebrate Cher, all Cher, all the time.

 I want to grab some bell bottoms and boas and belts, and I want to sing about "Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves" ( an apt description for the doctors I tend to  see) in my alto voice that is lower than the actual Cher's.

The costumes in last night's show were as alive as the songs and the choreography and all the deadpan humor.

It was a great way to celebrate V-day..

Thanks Jim, for giving me this terrific night.

If I could turn back time, I wouldn't. 

I don't like to think of all those yucky guys I knew in my twenties.

You, sir, make me BELIEVE.