I would describe my style of dancing as, in two words, shock and awe.
Except that, of course, I mean that in the worst possible way. I mean shock as in "OH MY GOD I think that girls having a seizure" and awe as in "Someone call 911."
Why am I telling you this, I don't know. I guess it's just something that I've been reflecting about since I got back from Vegas. It was a good time. A really good time. And therein lies the problem. I'm not a good time girl. I'm just good, end of sentence. You know. Bed by ten, maybe stay up a wee bit later to catch the lead story on the news if I'm feeling kind of crazy. Brush and floss teeth every night before bed. Limited alcohol intake. Slow to thirty-- actually 25, just to be safe, in school zones. You know. I'm that girl. So what happens when you take that girl out of her very controlled and quiet and responsible life and plunk down in the middle of party central?? Well, a lot of awkward dance moves, that's what. And not only that, but everyone that was Canadian instantly became my new best friend. I was like "NO WAY, you're CANADIAN!!" and they could have been from some obscure town called Frankfurter, Newfoundland, but I'd be like feel this instant kinship, like "NO WAY!! I've ALWAYS wanted to go there!!" Actually ditto for anyone from any other country as well, my famous line from talking to someone from Saudi Arabiam "Can you believe how far apart we live geographically" and "So what's the deal with Saudi, it's like, war torn?? Or what?"
And I seem to recall dancing with some girl. And snippets of the convo come back to me in flashes, but from what I can recall, she may or may not have been in the Olympics(?), and I know that at several points throughout the night I referred to her as "an inspiration" and a "breath of fresh air". AND- she was Canadian!! And I think her name was Erika. Although I recall talking to another Erika. Were they all called Erika that night?? Anyways. It's a pretty name. I like it.
I guess I shouldn't dwell on my own self. Last time I checked this blog wasn't supposed to be all about me. Actually, wait, no it is supposed to be all about me. All right. Back to where I was then.
If there's one peice of advice that I'd wished I'd had going in, it's this: If a two hundred pound, six foot black man who appears to be quite possible intoxicated asks you to give him a hug (because it's his birthday) in the middle of a crowded casino when you're a five six white girl with arms like twigs, DUDE JUST KEEP WALKING. You will never, and I mean never, extricate yourself. Seriously, I was starting to get worried. And I'm beginning to wonder if it was actually really his birthday.
But anyways, as I said in the title of my last post, alls well that ends well. Here I am. Alive and well. And I'm not going to dwell on it. I mean, whats the worst that could happen there?
Onto other news. I've started a yoga class and it seems to be going OK. I had my first class a few weeks ago, and I have to say, I was a bit taken aback at how tricky yoga could be. It seemed the instructor was constantly picking on me "Randine, you're left arm needs to be higher" "Randine, widen your stance" "Randine, you're facing the wrong way now", "Randine, you're supposed to be using your LEFT elbow, no, no the LEFT, honey." "Randine- oh, for the love! Just let me come over there and pose you the way you're supposed to be!" Anyways, class number three and I think I'm noticing some improvement. She doesn't seem quite as exasperated with me at the end of the lesson, so that's a good sign. But still. It's hard. The words 'corpse position' at the end of the lesson have never sounded so good. And then I started to think. I like this corpse position. You just get to lay really super still on your back. And I started to imagine a convo with my husband "Honey, we should try this new sex position, the corpse position" and he'd be like "honey, we should try something different for a change" Because, I mean, hey. 3 kids. A full time job. Did I mention the three kids?? What can you expect from me at the end of the day??
And speaking of kids. Quick story. So I was talking to this girl from work and she was telling me about some friend of her and she was all judgemental about her saying she quote unquote "Spoils" her kids. And I was saying "Oh, I hate it when people do that... it's terrible" but inside my stomach was starting to feel a little sick because I was thinking "I'm that parent" I'm that parent that buys my daughter a Barbie in WalMart rather than face her whining and crying. I'm that parent that lets my kids eat popcorn for breakfast (only sometimes-- very rarely, OK, only once in the last, like maybe month). I'm that parent that lets my kids sleep with me and makes my husband sleep on the couch because the kids don't seem to want to sleep in their own beds and I don't really know what else to do about it.
But. They're cute and they're fun, and secretly, I WANT to buy the Barbie because it even comes with a little puppy dog!! I don't know. They may well be in therapy someday, but the way I see it, that's their problem, not mine.
I guess I'd best be going now, as it is almost ten and I do need to brush and floss my teeth.
Thanks for reading.
