Sometimes, I have a bit of a one-track mind.

I really want to learn to dance to zydeco. Have I mentioned this before? I really do. I must admit that it started when I heard the Paul Simon song "That Was Your Mother," and then it hugely intensified when I saw a few people really do it well. There are plenty of videos of it on youtube, but although I've seen people dance it well in real life several times, I have only found one video of the dance being done justice. Unfortunately, it's pretty much the worst quality video imaginable. I have a feeling I've posted it before, but whatever. Friends, I give you "Harold & Mandy dancing Zydeco":



There are a couple of others that are good, but not quite magical...

Here's Harold and... some other chick I don't have the name of,

And here is a clip of a guy and woman dancing zydeco, though their frame is really weird here,

And HERE is a video of some footwork. Really, aside from the general fabulousness, it's the spins that are my favorite, and it's the floating-across-the-floor heel-knee-toe-turn-slide stuff that I can't wrap my head around. Good gracious.

Lastly, this was one of my favorite songs long, long before I ever even heard the word zydeco. I had never seen the music video before just now:






PS: if you go rifling through the zydeco dancing videos on Youtube, you may notice (as I did) that there are lots and lots of videos, posted by different people, of the same couple dancing at random festivals throughout Louisiana. They don't always show up at the beginning of the video, but they usually dress to match each other, they always wear cowboy boots, and they always have enormous belt buckles. It's pretty awesome.

David sent me some letters, and they arrived today. I nearly had some sort of hysterical fit as I realized what they were and tried to get the envelope open. They go back  to early February, and extend up through two days or so ago. I was very glad to get them, but at the same time, I think my stress level has risen considerably. He said good things. He made good points. There are good reasons for us to be broken up right now. But their being good doesn't make me like them, and it doesn't make me want to be with him any less. I hate that tight feeling I get in my chest, from the skin over my sternum straight through my ribcage and my heart to the skin behind my spine.


In other news, Turbo Tax "does not recognize" my username. You know, the one that's the same as my email address, the one I used to log in two days ago, and the one Turbo Tax just emailed me five minutes ago. So that means I can't finish my taxes, and I can't file an extension either, unless I go through another website and, you know, PAY AGAIN. I hate everything.


Here is what I planned to write about today, before I got home and read a bunch of letters and discovered that Turbo Tax sucks more than expected.

Here's what I do at work:
set up cases
tray fish
wash dishes
cut fish
operate cash register
make prepared items
>cole slaw
>crab cakes
>shrimp cakes
>seafood gumbo
>lobster bisque
>she-crab soup
>cocktail sauce
>tilapia provencal
>cocktail shrimp
>and so on
stand behind the counter and stare into space
sit on the floor and stare into space
text
cupid shuffle, practice belly dancing when no one is looking. It's like a variation on stealth disco.

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.