DANCE

Sometimes I wish I could dance. Really rip it up on the dance floor. Most times however you’ll find me in the corner sipping a drink or after too many drinks
flailing my arms about in a way that can only be described as totally scary. As of late I have also adopted somehow my mother’s signature dance move-clapping. Move to the left-clap. Move to the right-clap. Scrunch the shoulders-oh yeah. I’m white. Get down.

My friends Wendy and Jenna are great dancers. Sexy dancers if you will. My boyfriend can also cut a rug in a natural, cool, sexy way. Needless to say I am totally jealous.

A few years ago a friend of mine took a hip-hop dance class. Partially for a joke but also for a good work out. After talking it over with her I decided to sign myself up-in the privacy of a totally different gym than hers. I had high hopes that I would walk in like the uptight white girl that I am and leave as loose and limber as a backup dancer for Britney Spears. No chance.

When I arrived at the class I was a little early. The room was everything I’d imagined it to be-floor to ceiling mirrors, wood floors and a booming stereo system. I walked into what appeared to be the last lesson finishing up-the teacher an Enrique Iglesias looking guy and his student some hot Asian chick in striped leg warmers. I watched as they grinded on top of one another to the beat. They were truly incredible. It was like watching people have public sex.

When class started the room began to fill up with seven to fifteen-year-olds. I started to get flushed in the face, my heart racing. I must be in the wrong class. After approaching Enrique I whispered, ‘Hi…sorry to bother you…I think I might be in the wrong class…” But I wasn’t. I was in the right class and once I found that out I hid in the back. When the music started these kids broke into moves I’d only seen in music videos as I struggled to keep the beat. Self-conscious the entire time, I couldn’t achieve what I had come there to do which was LOOSEN UP. Nor could I shake off the stares from the others around me wondering who brought their uptight babysitter to class.

I haven’t given up on my dream to one day be a good dancer. However for now it will remain something I do in the privacy of my own home. And this is a good thing. For all.

DEAR JANE-OUR CAT

Dear Jane-our cat,

You are cute and you are fuzzy. It is 4:25am in the morning and for some reason I can not sleep. Things are brewing in my head and my stomach is doing flips. Being up late at night can feel so lonely sometimes. But no! Thanks to you it is not. You are sitting one inch-not even-from the keyboard as I type this. And while most times that is very annoying right now it is not.

You are sitting in a funny pose, like a dude watching Monday night football with a big belly hanging out with a remote in hand. Your ears perk up when trucks drive past acting as if for a moment they might stop and drop off a giant delivery of FREE CAT FOOD at 4:25am just for you! Yes you! You are like yuppies waiting for their
Fresh Direct. Currently you are staring blankly at the bright computer screen in the dark while I type. Hey, are you reading this?

I want to thank you for being so badass. You are not one of those cats that is too cute-ok maybe you are-but perhaps what I mean is dumb. You don't always need me as I don't always need you. If I am gone for a day or two when I return it brings
me joy to see you pretend you are pissed but still can't help purring and rubbing against me. Even on my bad days you let me come home and pick you up and spin you around and dance with you in my arms singing songs that make no sense such as, 'she likesssss it...she likessss it....' even though that may not be true.

Before you I'm not sure I was ever a cat person.
Often I am glad you are not a kid.

PLAN B

This week I had the pleasure of celebrating and mourning the move of one of my best friends, B out of NYC. While I am so thrilled for her the selfish side of me will miss having her around. She is pregnant with twins and it’s wild how fast our lives seem to be moving-in a good way.

All week I kept drafting a goodbye letter that could never seem to happen. Rushing out of work to head to the restaurant I decided I’d write the letter on the subway. On the subway I took out the stationary only to realize I didn’t have a pen. Anyone that knows me knows that I always have a pen (or 20) in my bag. Finally I sealed up the blank piece of stationary and put it in it's blank envelope and gave it to her. The obvious symbolism being I couldn’t say goodbye because it wasn’t.

B looked great. Dressed all in black with a fantastic chunky red necklace, long beautiful hair and a beautiful bulging belly. When people say pregnant woman have a glow I now know what they mean.

I think B had a great last night in New York. Our other best friend Pita joined too and we had a fantastic meal at 71 Clinton Fresh Food B had a $200 gift certificate and in typical generous fashion she shared it with us. I'd say she left New York with a bang.

At dinner we talked about college and guys and work and life and goals and even how one breastfeeds twins in something called a ‘football hold’ which sounds quite challenging and aggressive. Each of us took turns getting teary throughout the dinner. I forgot my camera. Anyone that knows me knows I always bring my camera.

The highlight of the night may have been when B took out her wallet, turned it over, dumped out it's contents and distributed among Pita and I:

-25 Metrocards
-Duane Reade Phamramcy discount card
-Membership to the Met
-Membership to the NY Public Library
-2 Macy's Bridal registry cards with a few bucks left over on them

When B and Pita got into a cab and took off into the night I think I finally let it all out. I made a teary call to E.

E: How was your night?
Me: It...(sob)...was...really...(sob)...nice.
E: You ok??
Me: (sob)...yes...i...am...(sob)...fine.

To calm down I rattled off to him, course by course, ingredient by ingredient what I had off the menu.