“SO. There is an IGUANA in my house!”
“Is he nice?”
“He’s meaner than cat piss, he’s small, like only a year old, and he can jump like those alien things?! whippy tail, hissing, trying to bite!”
“So you want the cage?”
“I can’t even catch him. The people who offered him to me last week lost him in their house. LOST him! I thought no problem, no lizard, no worries. They showed up ten minutes ago with the thing in a box and drove away smiling. We let him out of the box. We let him out of the box!!!”
“Umm, I’m afraid I have to get to class, but I’ll help S load the cage in the pickup and he can swing it by. Is that good?”
“Help me.”
“Get on a long sleeved shirt and some gloves. And remember it is much smaller than you. Don’t be afraid of it.”
“Okay. No fear! Just a lizard, moves like green greased lightning, wants to attack me, no fear. Hey, I miss you, have a good and fun class.”
“Good luck sweetie. He'll be over there soon.”
“Bye darlin.”
“Bye.”
The conversation was strange enough, and even stranger given I was sautéing zucchini and mushrooms in my underwear. When I hung up the phone I noticed a message from JJ, who had finished reading two books I had loaned her, and was begging for something else to read. S & I ate our quick dinner, I pulled on comfy dance clothes, & then we loaded the 4 foot by 2 foot lizard cage into his pickup. With suggestions from S, I grabbed three possible books. I packed my hip scarf, my zils, kissed my man, and jumped in the car, headed for JJ’s.
You might know me. I’m the blond in the red station wagon doing chest lifts and head slides while listening to Wire.
I am the fly
I am the fly
I am the fly in the
Fly in the
Ointment
I might just be the only person who finds this amusing.
Tebone was on the couch playing guitar & JJ was out back with N, who is recovering from surgery. And now I guess we have a book club thingie going, because The Sheltering Sky went into N’s hands now that JJ is done with it. Book swapping is fun, and it’s always nice to have someone with whom to discuss the text. I’ve never done a book club sort of thing before but it sounds like a good winter project. Meet over tea. Hmmm…
I had to leave Tebone, JJ & N because of my dance date with R & Jesi. We’re seriously working on our choreography, and have gotten more than half the song into a routine. I’ve heard the song lots of times, and it’s still interesting to hear, which is nice. I can’t say I’m sick of it, but I will say familiarity breeds contempt. This is a problem working intensively on choreographing one song—you hear it in your head when you brush your teeth, when you wake up, when you’re reading, when you’re eating, breathing, walking, laughing. It permeates the pores. At least it’s a good song, and besides, we look great, if I do say so myself. R & I are similar in size and height, and Jesi is about a foot taller than us. It’s very symmetrical, and that pleases me. We came up with some tricky stuff last night, and are going to work again this afternoon. We only have twenty more 8 counts, which translates into maybe two minutes left to choreograph, and plenty of combo moves up our long sleek black sleeves.
Jesi had to go to work, so only R & I went to class at the Eugene School of Ballet. It was a fun class, seemed like everyone was in a great mood. Only six of us showed up, the long-term regulars getting our bellydancing fix. Two of the women in class have been dancing for ten years or more. It’s one of the things I love about the dance; it takes all shapes and ages. It’s also the best way to dance without a partner, no worries about sweaty hands or bad breath, no stepped-on toes. I love to dance with my hubby at home, but let’s just say he’s not one who gravitates towards the dance floor.
In class we’re working on a group choreography to the song Ala de la Ona, which begins with this heavy sassy BOOM boom-boom BOOM boom drumbeat. It’s old fashioned cabaret music, like from 1920s Hollywood films about exotic gypsy belly dancers with bedroom eyes and veils and candles and long strong thighs. The song is short, not quite three minutes, but this means we have plenty of time to work on coordinating 6 dancers, both in body and spirit. And ego, let’s not leave out the ego.
In our class it’s actually the lack of self esteem that plays a bigger role than egotistical overconfidence. It’s a very supportive group of women who are comfortable with their bodies and have now been dancing together for at least two years. I’ve never been in another group of women where pre-class giggling conversations involve poking another woman’s buttocks, or discussing how best to make a bra so the boobs don’t fly around too much. We want to shimmy and jiggle, but we want our shimmies and jiggles to be intended, not accidental. It’s a great class. Aerobic, athletic, ass-kicking good fun combined with heavy velvet or slinky silk skirts, black eyeliner, coins, chains, and sparkly beads. What more could any woman want?
I returned home happy and tired and wired, and S popped open a bottle of wine & fed me sausage and gorgonzola cheese with some crackers. We sat and chatted. He told me all about the wild little iguana, how they got the cage into the room and then had to corner the nasty little bugger, leaping and springing and flaring his neck and thrashing his tail, and catch him in a box. He said the iguana was unnaturally fast, big long toes, spiny ridge down its back.
Sorry I missed the excitement.
Guess I can't be everywhere at once.
“Is he nice?”
“He’s meaner than cat piss, he’s small, like only a year old, and he can jump like those alien things?! whippy tail, hissing, trying to bite!”
“So you want the cage?”
“I can’t even catch him. The people who offered him to me last week lost him in their house. LOST him! I thought no problem, no lizard, no worries. They showed up ten minutes ago with the thing in a box and drove away smiling. We let him out of the box. We let him out of the box!!!”
“Umm, I’m afraid I have to get to class, but I’ll help S load the cage in the pickup and he can swing it by. Is that good?”
“Help me.”
“Get on a long sleeved shirt and some gloves. And remember it is much smaller than you. Don’t be afraid of it.”
“Okay. No fear! Just a lizard, moves like green greased lightning, wants to attack me, no fear. Hey, I miss you, have a good and fun class.”
“Good luck sweetie. He'll be over there soon.”
“Bye darlin.”
“Bye.”
The conversation was strange enough, and even stranger given I was sautéing zucchini and mushrooms in my underwear. When I hung up the phone I noticed a message from JJ, who had finished reading two books I had loaned her, and was begging for something else to read. S & I ate our quick dinner, I pulled on comfy dance clothes, & then we loaded the 4 foot by 2 foot lizard cage into his pickup. With suggestions from S, I grabbed three possible books. I packed my hip scarf, my zils, kissed my man, and jumped in the car, headed for JJ’s.
You might know me. I’m the blond in the red station wagon doing chest lifts and head slides while listening to Wire.
I am the fly
I am the fly
I am the fly in the
Fly in the
Ointment
I might just be the only person who finds this amusing.
Tebone was on the couch playing guitar & JJ was out back with N, who is recovering from surgery. And now I guess we have a book club thingie going, because The Sheltering Sky went into N’s hands now that JJ is done with it. Book swapping is fun, and it’s always nice to have someone with whom to discuss the text. I’ve never done a book club sort of thing before but it sounds like a good winter project. Meet over tea. Hmmm…
I had to leave Tebone, JJ & N because of my dance date with R & Jesi. We’re seriously working on our choreography, and have gotten more than half the song into a routine. I’ve heard the song lots of times, and it’s still interesting to hear, which is nice. I can’t say I’m sick of it, but I will say familiarity breeds contempt. This is a problem working intensively on choreographing one song—you hear it in your head when you brush your teeth, when you wake up, when you’re reading, when you’re eating, breathing, walking, laughing. It permeates the pores. At least it’s a good song, and besides, we look great, if I do say so myself. R & I are similar in size and height, and Jesi is about a foot taller than us. It’s very symmetrical, and that pleases me. We came up with some tricky stuff last night, and are going to work again this afternoon. We only have twenty more 8 counts, which translates into maybe two minutes left to choreograph, and plenty of combo moves up our long sleek black sleeves.
Jesi had to go to work, so only R & I went to class at the Eugene School of Ballet. It was a fun class, seemed like everyone was in a great mood. Only six of us showed up, the long-term regulars getting our bellydancing fix. Two of the women in class have been dancing for ten years or more. It’s one of the things I love about the dance; it takes all shapes and ages. It’s also the best way to dance without a partner, no worries about sweaty hands or bad breath, no stepped-on toes. I love to dance with my hubby at home, but let’s just say he’s not one who gravitates towards the dance floor.
In class we’re working on a group choreography to the song Ala de la Ona, which begins with this heavy sassy BOOM boom-boom BOOM boom drumbeat. It’s old fashioned cabaret music, like from 1920s Hollywood films about exotic gypsy belly dancers with bedroom eyes and veils and candles and long strong thighs. The song is short, not quite three minutes, but this means we have plenty of time to work on coordinating 6 dancers, both in body and spirit. And ego, let’s not leave out the ego.
In our class it’s actually the lack of self esteem that plays a bigger role than egotistical overconfidence. It’s a very supportive group of women who are comfortable with their bodies and have now been dancing together for at least two years. I’ve never been in another group of women where pre-class giggling conversations involve poking another woman’s buttocks, or discussing how best to make a bra so the boobs don’t fly around too much. We want to shimmy and jiggle, but we want our shimmies and jiggles to be intended, not accidental. It’s a great class. Aerobic, athletic, ass-kicking good fun combined with heavy velvet or slinky silk skirts, black eyeliner, coins, chains, and sparkly beads. What more could any woman want?
I returned home happy and tired and wired, and S popped open a bottle of wine & fed me sausage and gorgonzola cheese with some crackers. We sat and chatted. He told me all about the wild little iguana, how they got the cage into the room and then had to corner the nasty little bugger, leaping and springing and flaring his neck and thrashing his tail, and catch him in a box. He said the iguana was unnaturally fast, big long toes, spiny ridge down its back.
Sorry I missed the excitement.
Guess I can't be everywhere at once.
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