Saturday, March 27, 2010

On hula, and how I jumped the track.

I have been watching a lot of belly dance and hula videos on youtube* today.  I have been a little infatuated with the idea of belly dancing for a few days, having read Snake Hips: Belly Dancing and How I Found True Love,** but I have now realized that I loved belly dance mainly because I love hips. (Please note the mock seriousness in my voice throughout this paragraph.) I have now decided that I love hula instead. This is for reasons which are much more worthy than the aforementioned "hips are awesome." Firstly, hula--or at least the stereotypical hula dance--reminds me of water, and I love water. Secondly, hula actually means something; belly dancing does not. That is, belly dancing does not mean anything unless you count "look at me, ohmyGod, I am so sexy" as "something." I'm not trying to bad talk belly dancing. I wouldn't at all be surprised if it did have some sort of deeper meaning, back in the day. However, today it's pretty much just a sparkle competition for people with shimmy skills. Not that I have anything whatsoever against sparkles or shimmy skills. I'm just saying that I don't think I could stand up in front of anyone and bellydance without feeling like a moron. Hula, or at least this hula:

is a dance that has some dignity and purpose.*** I could perform that, I think, without high levels of embarrassment.

In other news, my mood today has been pretty patchy, and said patchiness has been directly related to the going-to-RMA/not-going-to-RMA issue. I woke up in the morning convinced I shouldn't go, and then I spend the day until about 2:00 feeling very bleak, and defeated by the whole issue. You hear that "breaking up is hard to do," but people aren't usually very specific about why. Turns out that not knowing where you stand and not knowing how the hell to act are pretty painful things--or, as my mother would say, not having appropriate boundaries can really mess you up.
Eventually I did perk up a little. Ironically, the perking up happened around the time that I cut, not the shit, I guess, but maybe the piss, out of the first two fingers on my right hand. To defend my honor as much as possible, I feel the need to say that this happened because my fingers slipped off the end of the knife as I was pressing it down to cut the butter I needed to make imperial sauce, and not because I made some other stupid knife error. Turns out the tip of a chef's knife is nearly as sharp as the blade. Go figure. Anyway, my boss, who had acted like a bit of a jerk earlier (in my opinion), was nice about my having bled on his chef's knife. This redeemed him in my eyes for the day, and distracted me enough to get out of the "I am doomed and defeated" hamster wheel I'd been running in my mind all morning. Work was busy today thanks to pre-Passover traffic, so it was good to be able to smile rather than shoot death glares.
Unfortunately, by the time I finally got home around 4, I was feeling good enough to think that hey, maybe driving up to old FroRo in the rain, drinking with my so-recent-I'm-still-bleeding ex-boyfriend and some other guys, then driving back the next day might not be such a bad idea after all. I mention this to David. He says, "get Jr and drive up!" and that he thinks "it would be fun." Not that there is anything wrong with those ideas, but I am clued in that we might not be on the same page. At this point I am again having second thoughts. Fourth thoughts? Anyway, several more hours of slighly less intense, but still painful, feelings of defeat and confusion ensue, at which point I decide to stay home and decide to take a nap.
Note: during all at-home periods of defeatedness and misery, I am watching sexy ladies shake their hips on the internet.

Later: Arise from nap! Eat Gorton's fish fillets and mom's broiled potato and turnip slices! (Don't underestimate the deliciousness of mom's broiled anything, okay?) Watch NCIS! Return to youtube!

A small victory of today: my mentee has consented to my coming to her house tomorrow afternoon and attempting to make frozen yogurt. There was a backup plan, provided by the lovely Sara, in case I failed to find the pieces to the ice cream maker, but luckily some considerate angel (probably myself, actually) placed them all together in one place--near the freezer, no less! And anyway, Chloe ate all the bananas.

Aloha, friends.

*I've said this before, and I will almost certainly say it again: I shudder to think of what life would be like without that website.

**Written by a friend of a friend! And well written, and entertaining to boot!

***In case anyone noticed and was tempted, don't hate on Lilo and Stitch. It was a good movie, and this is a good dance, and the source (assuming they made up the dance for the movie, which they probably did not) isn't the point anyway.

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