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April 3, 2009

A SAD little sparrow.

Last week, Wednesday I did something for myself that I have been working up to for quite a while, I went to an introductory dance lesson at a local dance studio. I have been so chicken for so long, I think was waiting for someone to push me into it. “Susan for the love of Pete, you have been bemoaning the fact that you Loooooooooooooove to dance and have no one to dance with because ‘woe’ and ‘skreechy’ and ‘oh how you miss it like an amputated limb’, just get over yourself and go already!”

So I built a really big ladder and got the hell over myself.

I found this place that is convenient, well respected, close to the house and that I have been not so secretly lusting to enter their doors for about five years. I looked up their site online and they had this little coupon for 30 minute introductory lesson for twenty-five bucks.

Which I totally already knew about after giving subtle hints to loved one(s) for a while like pointing to the coupon and shouting, “I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE THIS FOR CHRISTMAS!” Also, see above, wanting to be pushed into it so I could be all, “Hey, hey now. I know, I know. YOU really miss seeing my awesome ass out on the dance floor. So, sure, I’ll do this for YOU. Because I’m giving… I am… a giver*.” (*May also be classified as a little passive aggressive.)

So finally, on a random Wednesday, I called the studio, talked to their supervisor/manager person and was, OMG I was so chatty, it was like if you took about eleventy Teddy Ruckspin’s (removed the evil first) and then injected them with high levels of serotonin (and crack) and pushed PLAY. I was all THAT girl. “Hi, um, yeah, I would like to make an appointment for the introductory lesson? There’s a coupon on your website? I LOVE YOU! PLEASE MAKE ME FEEL WHOLE AGAIN!” But a little less crazy.

Oh, who are we kidding here? I was completely unhinged. But holding it in, barely.

The woman was so generous with her time and nice and very accommodating. I mean shit, with this economy, I am sure that “Ballroom Dance Lesson Tuition” is right up there with “Healthcare” and “Food” for people’s top three must haves. I mean, it is right there on Maslow's hierarchy of needs:

Physiological Needs
Safety Needs
Ballroom Dance Lesson Tuition (also known as Needs of Love, Affection and Belongingness)
Needs for Esteem
Needs for Self-Actualization

Right. So… she asked when I could come in. I played it cool, like it didn’t matter.

I went in as soon as I got off work (after I let out the dog of course… and changed my shoes, I’m not a complete, needy, loser…. Shut up.) and I was so excited to get in there on that hardwood floor I had to sit in my car for a minute and just kind of rein myself in so I could have at least a decorum of modesty and decency.

Sure, so after I got out of the lady’s lap she had me fill out some paperwork and then she introduced me to this perfect gorgeous specimen of a man. I’m guessing (and was hoping for) completely gay. He was tall, lean, lithe, graceful, beautiful hair, super hero smile, dark and handsome. I was immediately smitten. Let’s call him Johnny Bravo, JB for short.

JB and the lady went over my paperwork and he asked me a few questions and then offered me his arm and escorted me out onto the dance floor. We did the patty-cake hands, as opposed to the frame arms, so he could judge how well I follow and take direction. We chatted as we went about doing simple a simple two step. We moved onto a waltz and then into a rumba.

There was another couple on the floor doing the most incredible bolero…

And I wanted to watch them so much, but I was extremely enthralled in Johnny Bravo’s feet as he would say, “Have you ever done the X?” I would reply, “I’m not sure, show me.” So he would show me once then we’d talk as we worked our way around the floor. He went through about four or five styles of dance and then he said, “I want to try swing with you. You mentioned that you had jitterbugged before but the swing is the basic step to that and you pick up everything else quickly, wanna try?” I was sweating and smiling and I nodded and said, “Yep.”

As we walked over I made sure to mention, “JB, what I have done in the past is a down and dirty redneck bar brawl jitterbug. Nothing like what you would see at a dance competition or Dancing with the Stars.” He laughed and said it would be fine.

JB selected a song and we danced/walked to the other end of the floor away from the bolero couple and he put his hands out in front of him, fingers together and pointed at one another like he would be lightly cupping a steering wheel at nine and three without his thumbs. I put my hands into his like I was dipping them into Palmolive (you’re soaking in it… bitches). And he smiled at me. I said, “No patty-cake?” he replied, “I think we’re past that.”

He said the steps to me and let me watch his feet for a few seconds; triple step, triple step, rock – triple step, triple step rock… then I joined in and we were talking and I’m guessing he forgot that this was an introductory lesson because we actually started dancing, real honest to God dancing. He spun me and I caught his lead hand exactly where I was supposed to and he laughed out loud with joy and called for his supervisor. He said to me, “I bet you spin like a top.” I truthfully told him, “Well, I used to but I am not so sure anymore.” He said, “Well, we’re going to find out… “and he started spinning me and doing arm moves and turning himself and laughing like a kid. It was FUCKING awesome. The boss lady came out and she was grinning from ear to ear. I asked her (as JB and I danced), “Why are you both so happy?” She replied, “Well, this isn’t what Johnny Bravo gets to do during a normal introductory first lesson. He’s actually getting to dance, and it looks like you are having a pretty good time too!”

I was y’all. I had actually forgotten the joy. I knew that I missed it but I didn’t remember how much fun it was. I was sweating like I had just run a 5K and smiling like a lunatic.

JB twirled me at the end of the song and then hugged me. He thanked me and I profusely thanked him and supervisor lady asked me over to talk to her. I went and got a little sip of water and sat down with her. She said that Johnny Bravo had suggested a certain package of their dance instruction because I had so much basic knowledge and that I followed really well.



She started talking price.

Y’all. Oh, Good Lord… the pain in my heart from it breaking and shattering all over the floor into a million bajillion little pieces of disappointment and yearning was so intense. I had no clue, not an inkling of an idea that it was so expensive to… dance! When I was a kid, it was like $40 bucks a month per style of dance… unless it was twice a week lessons then it was double that. In college, it was the price of admission to the bar. Or gas money to get somewhere that didn’t charge at the door.

This? This is like a freaking car payment. A NICE CAR payment. For 8 lessons in a month. Four private, two group and two … something else. I forgot the last part as my brain exploded and part of it leaked out of my ear canal to sit upon my defeated shoulder like a little sparrow.

A SAD little sparrow.

So when Mister got home that night after a loooong day for him (it was 11:30 pm… he’s normally in bed by 8:30… 9 pm tops) I asked how his day was, “Long. Over. How was your dance lesson?” I replied, “Fabulous.” He didn’t pull any punches, “How much.” And then? I folded like origami paper.

I am currently in search of a “less expensive alternative” and will keep you all posted as my quest continues.

April 15, 2009

Late Bloomer

Good Tax Day to you! Unless you have already filed for an extension, then I say… Way to work that procrastination! Kudos!

I have a bunch of stuff to go over with you guys. I know that I promised more content this month, but apparently I was lying. Well, not really. This is the second post and it is only the 15th of the month! Woot! I could post another one in a week or so and completely blow the previous eleventy months out of the water, no? What do you mean… No…? Fine, yes, baby, I still love you. It is just that, well… your ass. It’s gotten really… HOT! And I just can’t keep my mind off if it! Rawr!

You all know of my preoccupation with my teeth right? And yes, it is a complete diversionary topic to keep me from getting all bajiggety about my multiple chins and how my skin has decided to send me a big ol FUCK YOU in the form of massive oil production. Which, I have to say, is mighty sexy… in a bottom of the chicken bucket greasy kind of way. If you know what I mean… and I apologize for the mental image if you do. More on the skin later.

The teeth. Alright. I have wanted bright, white, shiny, straight freaking Super Hero teeth that make an audible “DING!” when a starburst of sun glints off of my right canine when I smile winningly at you, and I have wanted them forever. Well, forever is kind of misleading, as I basically had a gorgeous smile until about 10 years ago and THEN about six years ago this freaking space began to spread my two front teeth apart. I grind (mrawww!) my teeth together at night and the result was my lower jaw was crowding up under and behind my upper jaw and the upper jaw was all, “fine, let me just get out of your way here…” and the result is a less than attractive smile. I feel like if I left the shit alone, then in about another 3 to 4 years I would have been able to bite a pumpkin through a chain link fence. Hot, right?

So after begging like a turn coat double agent found rifling through the director’s wife’s underwear drawer, I got set up to have Invisalign braces. Here… look. CLICK FOR LINK And as of yesterday I am on tray six. They did a series of trays, for me… they designed 11 trays for my upper teeth and 9 trays for my lower teeth. I wear each tray for two weeks and I have these little button-like things attached to four up my upper teeth and two of my lower teeth.

Before I started the Invisilign thingies, I could fit a coffee stir in between the two front teeth with room left over for a small Barcalounger. Now? Nary a space baby. And I am only like half way through. They are throwing in the ZOOM whitening at the end and I am going to be all pageant-y smiling at everyone and waving like the motherfucking queen. I will, OH YES, I will wear mulberry wine lipstick again!

My skin. I don’t know if any of you have ferreted me out on FaceBook* or not or if you have seen pictures on Flickr or stalked me as I walked into my office building, but I am sure if you have seen me lately you have noticed/and or said to yourself… (or like my father said to me… on Friday) “Are you hot baby?” “No sir, I am fine.” “Well, you have this… sheen.” “Sweat?” “No, a sheen.” Which apparently is nice daddy verbiage for, “Damn, girl… you sure is oily.”

*Oh holy shit. FaceBook… gah. More on this later.

I have over 200 of those little blotter papers in my make up bag that I carry daily. I have pressed powder, I have loose powder (you slutty powder, you), I have mattifying gel, I have oil control moisturizer, I have used everything that I can, and yet, every two hours, you could ring out my face to lubricate Jeff Gordon’s chassis. (PS, Shut up… I am not a NASCAR fan, I just know who the man is because I live in Texas for the Love of God.)

So as Hotty McG, my dermatologist has been working on slowly but surely carving enough pieces and parts out of my poor translucent skin to leave me a pitiful little walking scar**, he has also diagnosed me with acne. Yeah, I know. I am so excited to have acne, braces and glasses ALL IN MY MID THIRTIES! Suck that puberty!

**Compared to my previous dermatologist this guy is not only hot, but brilliant with a knife. Where once I was all Frankenstein-y with my scars he has made the last … (geeze) seven procedures (after the biopsies come back dysplastic) look like wee little lines. LOVE HIM. Love. If you need a good dermatologist, message me. We’ll hook you up.

The only bonus that I can see out of the whole acne diagnosis is that he suggested a series of five microderm abrasions. Let me finish that sentence with a caps locky TO BE COVERED BY MY INSURANCE. Fuckin A, right!? So I had my first microderm abrasion on Monday.

Hi. Ow.

This shit is medical grade, not spa grade. Holy crap.

Whatever, I am going to have porcelain goddess skin on my face some day and my insurance is going to take care of everything but my co-pay. BONUS. They suggested the series of five (one ever two weeks and a day) then after the series of five, maybe one a month.

All dudes who have gotten this far in this entry, email me. I owe you a bawdy limerick or something. Seriously. A cookie? Whatever… you are a trooper. Congrats.

I have this list of shit to discuss with y’all… but I think I will cover one more thing and then wrap it up, because… I want to continue the whole Shelby and Tom series without turning into one of THOSE journals, but I kind of want to go there once, you know? I also want to talk to y’all about this weird deal that happens in my office when I wear anything slightly different than my normal black pants, black shoes, top (adult geranimals) bullshit. I also want to talk to you guys about counseling (we are really growing apart y’all, and I miss you) and…. Some other stuff.

One last thing.

My girl Fredlet*** and I were twittering back and forth about old lovers coming out of the woodwork in mass quantities and how FaceBook is enabling the whole thing. My favorite text from her (in reply to one of my wailings) was “Venus Retrograde is over by April 15th, but I tend to call it Penis Retrograde because that’s when all the old lovahs show up. ;)”

***Fredlet is smarter than all of us combined. Don’t fuck with her. She will ruin your credit and have you declared legally dead in six countries in about twenty minutes.

So I want to talk to you guys about that. I also have been reflecting and want to reword some of the things I said about one person in particular. Oh hell, I just want to apologize. I was wrong. We’ll talk about it later.

About April 2009

This page contains all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in April 2009. They are listed from oldest to newest.

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