Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Just one more dance...........Please!

I was thinking the other day....rare, I know....but, I was. I was looking at my worn shoes wishing I never would have stopped dancing Flamenco. You see, I started dancing Flamenco because I was getting too old to dance jazz anymore. No, what I meant was, I just couldn't beat out the younger girls anymore. They had the advantage over me just by being younger. It wasn't because I didn't have "it", rather because I was dancing with girls 10 to 15 years younger than I...little brats.

I was never very good, really. Not very technical, not very well trained but I could put on a show. I had likability. It was my saving grace. Technically, I stunk. Badly.

I started Flamenco classes in my 30's sometime. My cousin and I were coming out of a ballet class, another thing I wasn't very good at, and we walked around the corner to find a Flamenco class going on. I think it had just started but we stayed and watched the whole thing. I was itching to jump into the class but I waited a few weeks so I could get up the nerve to walk into the beginning class.

Not long after I moved into the advanced class. If you've ever seen Flamenco, you know that it is pure passion that moves the dancer. No passion, no dance. Well, either that or no audience. And once you've been bit by the Flamenco bug, girlfriend! You may as well just go out and buy your castanets, shoes and dance bag cause there's no known cure.

So I guess you might ask, after that last statement "soooo, why aren't you dancing anymore?" "Excellent question", she responds. The reason I stopped was not because I lost the love or desire for the dance. It wasn't because the younger girls were too much competition for me because this is one dance you can dance until the skin on your back begins to sag....Oooooh, yuck! I stopped because I was in a family way. Yep, prego!

Such a long time ago (Karina's gonna be 15 soon), yet I still feel it. The desire to dance. Of course, I couldn't get into my costumes even if I used a tub of axle grease. And the cost of new outfits would probably break the bank.

Truth is, I tried to get back to it by taking classes from a friend of mine. Something always came up to interfere. And then with the memory being gone like it is, I'm not sure if I'd remember where I was much less the steps. I can see it now: I step out into the spotlight, pose, turn, do some fancy footwork, turn again (what the heck!), and then right at the dramatic pause in the music.....where the heck am I? And why are those people staring at me like that!

Maybe it's not the saggy back that keeps you from dancing. Maybe, it's just life. Life changes when you have a start putting your own needs on the back burner sure you'll get back into the swing....15 years later....with he beginnings of a saggy back...Ahhh, the dream.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Darn good thing I like to laugh......

Because last night, I took a fall. I wasn't alone or in a dark place where no one could see me. No...I took a fall in front of a whole group of women. And let me tell was hysterical!

I remember watching someone fall about 20 years ago. And I remember it well because she did it in slow motion. It was like watching a sports game on tv when they sloooooooow the action down so you can get the full impact of what happened. The facial reaction, the eye's searching for help, the body acting like it knew what it was supposed to do but not able to function properly. I laughed until, well, honestly, until I almost did pee pee in my panties.

Last night, I go to a Bunco night for the first time. I'm not much of a game player but this is a group that meets once a month so I figured, hey, I can do that. I didn't know everyone there but I love to meet new people, so I wasn't too worried about it, and figured it would make for an exciting time.

So as Bunco goes (well, with this group anyway), when you throw a particular hand, you yell it out and a little bag with money in it suddenly becomes yours. The bag fly's around the room the entire evening and whoever is left with it at the end of the got it....gets to take the money home. Woo hooo!

Lucky me, I got a...well, I'm not sure what you call it so I'll call it the un-Bunco. I yell it out and sure enough, the bag comes flying to me. By the time I get it in my hot, sweaty little hands, someone else had already thrown an un-Bunco. This means I have to relinquish my little money bag. I'm confused. Do I give it up or turn and run out of the house, never to return. I had to think quick.....What would Jesus do? Too many woman, I decide to go with honesty. I half way turn in my chair and kind of toss that little bag over my shoulder to the table where the un-Bunco was thrown. And this is what happens when you're too lazy to get up turn around and walk the entire 2 steps it would have taken me to get to the very, very slow motion, I feel the chair going down...and guess what? Ahaaa. I'm in it....I feel as if my life is flashing before my eyes, my children were little, my first car, my last bow on stage, my first patent leather arms are flailing way over my head trying to grab What? The air? I look like a twisted, evil tornado, the Tasmanian Devil himself, the room is spinning, my legs are trying to follow orders from the brain but it's too late, the guests freeze in anticipation of my back breaking, hospital bound fall from greed. BUT i haven't hit the ground yet! Oh no, I finally get my head turned toward where most of the woman are sitting and see their faces, as they watch the only live action they've seen since the Olympics...and then THUD! I hit the ground. Only a sixteenth of a second has passed, and that's when I lose it. We all lose it! Uncontrolled tears of laughter abound. Can you believe they laughed at me!

It took a while to regain composure. And THAT is why I lost. I'm sure the pot (money) was for me. If it hadn't been for that fall, I'd have walked out that door with a total $20 to my name.

Next month, I'm not falling and that $20 will me mine! Mine, I tell you..............

Monday, February 23, 2009

Am I just cheap?

Yesterday after church, our family went to lunch; something we typically do Sunday's after church. It's the one day we almost never cook at home.

So after we helped pack up our portable church we jumped in our cars and ran out to find a scrumptious lunch.

Stopped at a Peruvian restaurant. My husband jumped out of the car to get our name on a waiting list while the rest of us parked the cars. He grabbed a menu on his way out the door to tell us the wait would be 1/2 an hour. No problem. After taking a look at the least $15 a plate, we decided that for 7 people, it was more than we wanted to spend. We had a good laugh about this restaurant in a strip mall charging $15 a plate, and at least $9 for appetizers.

Next Peruvian restaurant. Parked, walked up, took a look at the menu on the window (Thanks for the preview people) and laughed again. Another strip mall restaurant $14.99 a plate. Thanks for the penny savings, and your honesty.

You know this driving from restaurant to restaurant is burning precious gas so, at the risk of sounding like we're just plain cheap, I'll tell you the truth. We left the cars and walked to the end of the strip mall and saved at least $38 by walking into that "if it's not all over your face" restaurant, Carl's Jr.
Here we were drooling with hunger, thinking it would be a nice treat to take the family to a restaurant, as opposed to a fast food place yet in the end, fast food won out. Really, we're not cheap but I wanna know, are these people nuts? There's absolutely nothing fancy about either of these places yet they're charging a pretty penny for their ugly little strip mall restaurant and obviously some body's paying. There were lines waiting to get in.

From everything I hear, this country is struggling right now. Unemployment is still on the rise, people are losing their homes, auto makers are trying to hold it together, we're holding on to our teachers by the skin of our teeth and people are paying $15 a plate for a strip mall restaurant. Hmmmmmmm

What are we (the Bozas) doing wrong? We're hard working honest people (well, at least most of the time). We certainly don't drive fancy cars or live in a luxurious home. We rarely visit a mall, and look will tell you, we don't buy expensive clothing, in fact, we rarely buy clothes. So how do they do it? The Joneses, I mean. I wanna know. I
really wanna know.

Friday, February 20, 2009

It's a Small World after all

So yesterday I go to work at the Spa where I started last week. During the interview process the owner and I got a little chatty and discovered that she's exactly two days older than I. I thought it was darn interesting but didn’t' take it any further. Just thought "what a coincidence" and moved on.

Yesterday afternoon I'm at work doing some paperwork when the owners daughter walks in and asks "Mom, why do you have this picture here? It's so old." Of course, being a woman AND nosy, I ask to see it. The daughter hands the picture over and as I look at it, I blurt out "I KNOW YOU".

Turns out, my new em
ployer and I went to high school together; go El Rancho Dons! We didn't hang out together but we definitely knew each other, and although we didn't know each other well, I knew her friends, she knew mine. What a laugh!

We sat th
ere and talked about "old times" and some of the fun things that took place during those years. Like, the day we had a "Walk Out" at school. At the appointed hour (which was very hush, hush), we all walked out to the front of the school and sat on the curb in protest of girls not being able to wear jeans to school. And the guys were out there too, you know, any excuse to get out of class. Of course the press showed up and eventually we were allowed to wear jeans. Sweet Success!

We swapped stories about school friends, climbing out of bedroom windows, music and
reunions. As the owner tells me about one of her friends, she says, "you know the one you massaged yesterday". Crazy! I knew this girl in school too but didn't have even a clue that I was massaging an ex-classmate.

Life is nuts, isn't it. We're
coming up on 36 years since we graduated. It's no wonder I didn't recognize either of them.
Not everyone can
look as youthful and gorgeous as me!