Cheez it – it's the dancing dimwit
Tonight after our disastrous dancing at the Cali wedding over the weekend, La Sooze and I dragged ourselves back to the dahncing studio for another lesson. Can't get enough. We just got back. Boy are my tootsies killin' me. We actually pre-paid for five lessons and so even though I was as graceful as Christopher Reeves on the ol' dance floor on Saturday I felt like I had to go tonight since, well, we're invested. This was all after I had sent my beloved La Sooze an e-mail today at work saying I will never dance again and that in fact I will never go to another wedding reception unless my own children are being wed, and even then I will not dance but instead sulk at the head table. But where was I tonight a 6 bells? Staring at myself in a room length mirror holding La Sooze's hand in a c-shaped cup formation, our bodies in a perfect V shape and our little Twinkle Toes instructor Al was reminding us that the steps for the swing dance are slow-slow-quick-quick-slow-slow. I like Twinkle Toes Al (TTA) btw, mainly because he is built like me – slight - and he dresses like he cares. He always wears a tie, for one thing, and last week he wore a short, soft black leather jacket with a zipper in the front. I expected him to bust a Saturday Night Fever move at any moment. See at this point, after our complete wedding reception flamenco flame out, I am somewhere in-between "F this crap" and "dammit I know I can do this and I will not quit." Of course I could keep saying the latter for another 5 or 10 lessons and I could still be the dancing dimwit and be like $1000 in the hole to boot. I don't know what to do. TTA said La Sooze and I looked much better tonight but then, TTA is getting paid to keep us coming back. A little complimento never hurts. If he had seen us Saturday, me especially, like a lame horse clumping around in my dress shoes, he might have suggested I take up watercolor painting. Next lesson btw is next week and we have to make a decision on whether to continue or not. Oh, and tonight we were talking to TTA about the fact that we really have no reason to dance anywhere if we do not have a wedding to attend and so he suggested we attend a New Year's Eve dance at the studio which features much rug cutting and plastic cups of champagne. Al said the age range at these swinging soirees "starts at 58 and goes to a woman who is 91." He did not start the age range at something general that I could relate to like "mid-50s." No, he specifically said "58" as if he knows the exact birthdates of every New Years attendee. This would, of course, make La Sooze and I the kids at the dance. And a 91-year old woman, eh? I'm sure she'll be calling out for some Lil' Wayne. Can't wait to shake a leg with that granny.
This whole dance thing reminds me of when I learned to play guitar, which was now about 10 years ago which means I didn't pick-up the ol' axe until I was in my 40s or close to it. I don't actually remember when I started. I am not one of those people who recalls specific dates and years in their life. In fact due in part to my superb alcoholism there are entire years I cannot recall. Gone. Like that. So when I started playing guitar whenever it was, I picked it up because it was something I always had wanted to do but never thought I possibly could mainly because I have zero musical knowledge and also because I have the hands of a midget. I had it in my head for some reason that you needed mitts the size of Johnny Bench, a reported homosexual, but nonetheless ol' Johnny boy could hold seven baseballs in one hand at one time according to a website about Johnny which mentioned nothing about his sexual orientation. But this was not true. I mean if you have huge hands and long fingers it would not hurt your guitar playing but it's not necessary. Not that I am a great guitarist; I am not. Not even remotely. But I did learn how to play a little. When I first started to learn I was writing songs that I could not actually play and so I would give my songs to a friend of mine who was vewy, vewy good on the guitar and I would hum the tune to him and he would play it and record them for me. This was terrific and really made me want even more to be able to play because I thought my songs sounded pretty good. Hate myself, don't I? I am wondering if I can transfer this method to the booty shaking. Like, is there a way I could get Twinkle Toes Al to do this for me. Perhaps I could bring him with me to the next wedding and he could dance with La Sooze, or at the very least he could wear his little leather jacket and stand beside us and go "slow-slow-quick-quick-slow-slow" as I stumbled around and he could tell me continually to drop my hand so I can better lead my partner. This would clearly motivate me. Or perhaps la Sooze, a sucker for a buttery black leather waistcoat, might dance off with him forever thus freeing me of the pressure to actually learn. I am doomed by dancing.
Btw as I'm writing this tonight I keep getting up and grabbing handfuls of Cheese Nips from a box I have left open on the kitchen counter. I do not have them beside me here at the table where I am writing because I do not want to keep eating them, but I am totally compelled to do so. Delish. I was just thinking though that there is a distinct taste difference between Cheese Nips and Cheez-Its, both of which are little cheesy crackers with the nutrition value of a shoe. I could not possibly describe this difference except maybe to say that the Its actually taste somewhat like a dried up piece of cheese with salt on it, and the Nips taste more like a Friday night when I was a kid watching black and white television with my parents. In the spirit of full disclosure I am usually in the tank for Cheez-Its, but La Sooze recently bought the Nips instead and now I'm fully engaged in and stuffing my face with them and there are orange crumbs all over my keyboard. I may have to reassess my cheese cracker preferences when this is all over.
So listen I am tired and may try to go to bed tonight before midnight. As you know from our story La Sooze and I got in vewy, vewy late Sunday from Cali, like 1 in the morning Monday actually if you took Daylight Savings time out of the equation. When we got home neither of us had eaten dinner and so we did then, me taking to the house chicken legs and barbecue ribs my Cali aunt AK had made while I was there and packed for us to take home. This is my favorite all-time dish btw, total comfort food. Then I went to bed with a bellyful of ribs and chicken. Last night I also stayed up past midnight because La Sooze and I wanted to catch-up on the episode of HBO's Boardwalk Empire that we had missed while we were traversing the country in the belly of an airplane tube Sunday night. Boardwalk Empire btw is an awesome show. If you are not watching it you are less a person because of that.
Anyway the one thing I have not mentioned to you about our trip to Cali is that we left God View last Thursday with three people – me, la Sooze and Daughter Shannon – and we returned with just two. Daughter Shannon remained in Cali where she is spending time the next couple of weeks with my family, specifically right now in Irvine with my cousin Kathy Mary who I adore, and her terrific hubby Rajah and their stunning children Meg, Jen and Johnny Boy. Shannon is just chilling and doing some family time which is awesome since these are my blood relatives and so they can reinforce for her that I am not that much of a complete nut job and that there are others out there similar to me. Well they are not exactly whack jobs of my caliber but they can at least understand why I am this way. Few others do. Anyway Shannon, my boobala and first born and only daughter, is now nearly 23 years of age. I, of course was married by the time I was 23, though it would be more than a decade before I would actually grow up. Anyway, despite her great maturity and adulthood and the fact that we don't really see her that much at home, I have to say that I miss the little nipper. Shannon is just a great person, sweet and funny and smart and so damn easy to be with. I like being around her. I spoke with her today and she is digging the Cali vibe and weather and family as I do, but I still miss her. She is, after all, a key member of the Fab Five and right now with Little Kev in Syracuse and Sean the Chief in Boston, La Sooze and I are temporarily childless. Strange. This is another reason I want to go to bed early. I have nothing else to do. No kids. La Sooze is over at her mom aka Mema's apartment watching a television show they watch together each week and, sadly, I have now finished all the Cheese Nips. Dammit. Maybe I'll ring up Twinkle Toes Al. I could use a little rumba to complete my night.
|Timberland Snow Boots |
April 28, 2012 09:48 AM PDT
To be honest. How nice! Very good, and we share information! Too amazing things. Thank you for your masterpiece, worth reading.,754297,http://thornton.blogdrive.com/comments?id=453
|Lora Fabio |
November 10, 2010 09:12 AM PST
I LOOOOVE (operatic soprano high octave) Cheez-Its! So delicate and flakey and, most importantly, salty and greesy tiny morsals of delight. Chees Nips...not so much. I'd have to be starving and no other choice in the pantry (which is silly because I wouldn't buy them and put them there) to eat those nasty dry tasteless excuse for a tiny cracker snack.
About the dancing story: ha-frickin-larious btw. But seriously, I am a teacher of singing. So I really want to know if you 2 are practicing at home. If I know Stark you have wood floors in the house somewhere. (A mirror wouldn't hurt the process either) You cannot expect to improve, build confidence, get comfortable by going to class once a week. That wedding must have felt akin to your first recital after only two lessons. Who could blame you for freezing up like a deer in the headlights? You can do this. End of lecture.
My morning routine: Put the tea pot on to boil. Check email. Check bank account. Drop tea bags to steep. Check Facebook. Commence drinking of the tea. Then with hopeful anticipation go to the Nation.
Thanks for being the cherry on the icing of the cake of my morning. Love ya. Mean it.
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