Just Dance

I don’t have time for a hobby, and I REALLY don’t have time for an obsession. Yet, obsessions happen.

I have always wanted to tango. I love tango music and I remember looking up classes in New York back in the early nineties. But it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I actually tried it for the first time. On impulse, I texted my saucy tanguera friend Jamie Rose (author of the awesome book Shut up and Dance) and said: I want to dance. A mere few days later I was taking a private lesson at a dance studio in Koreatown (that’s a pic of me dancing with my teacher Moti Buchboot).

It felt like no less than a dream come true for a moment, to finally be dancing the elegant moves I’ve only ever attempted in my fantasies. For about fifteen minutes I was convinced I was a tango prodigy… then it got really hard. Since then it’s only gotten more challenging, more frustrating and paradoxically more satisfying.

Let me clarify that Scott is not my tango partner. I’m flying solo. He couldn’t be more supportive, but he’d rather stick pins under his eyelids than spend hours a week partner dancing. It’s not his thing. Let’s just say that Scott is to tango dancing as I am to Rush music. Still, he knows that if I’m doing something that makes me feel happy and sexy, it can only benefit him in the long run.

My neighbor Suzanne told me that I was demented, trying to make time for tango as a busy working mom. I don’t think it’s any more demented than, say, scrapbooking. It seems valid to prioritize being present in my body and dancing to music that resonates with my soul. If it means we go out to dinner yet another night a week because I don’t have time to cook, so be it. My kid barely eats my cooking anyway. If it means my house is a wreck, nothing new there.

I also think that it’s a fantastic spiritual exercise to be a beginner at anything. To learn to love yourself through the stage of really sucking at something new. And to do an activity that forces you to connect to yourself and to other humans on this planet.

In short, I’m hooked.

Here are my first pair of Comme Il Fauts- the Jimmy Choo of tango shoes. SO worth the shin splints. Tango!

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Goth Weddings and Patrician Sex Dreams

Back now and settled after the last of the book tour/wedding madness week, which took me from NY to Vegas to Portland to SF- to land back home with a deafening crash.

Saw some theater, lost another Literary Death Match, went to a goth wedding and a burlesque wedding (same corset did double duty), met up with Scott for a night in Vegas, was interviewed by Erin Burnett on CNN, saw old friends, met new friends, took a friend’s kid out to dinner and bought him a mojito (I swear I’m not this old), went crazy and ate bacon and wedding cake, spoke at a luncheon with Jamie Rose and Christina Haag (who wrote a memoir about her relationship with JFK Jr- I totally had sex dreams about him that night), went line dancing, and had to follow a yoyo performer with my reading about a car wreck.

And with all this, my favorite part of the trip might have been all those hours in the air. Because when I’m flying I read. And reading- that’s my first love. Reading is the thing that got me into this whole mess in the first place.

…with Jamie Rose and Christina Haag

…with my NY guuurlz: Amber Lasciak and Catharine Dill