Archive | June, 2008

This Week’s Dance Solo

Loyal readers know that I’m a bit obsessed with So You Think You Can Dance. (SYTYCD from here on out.  That’s a freakin’ long title.) I am not, in fact, a dancer.  I know, I know.  Pick your jaws up off the floor.  Try and suppress your shock at that confession.  But much like Paula Abdul cannot sing but yet is a judge, I am also quite the armchair prima donna of SYTYCD.

I was going to try and insert the pic here which is a gratuitous reminder of just how important that show is to me, which is to say it was the pic of my encounter with the Emmy-award winning Wade Robson. My husband loved me just enough to give me the opportunity to drag my very pregnant carcass to a dancer’s workshop he put on, and can I just tell you that I now know what heaven smells like? It smells like a very sweaty Wade Robson.

Pic is here. I also have a family pic of myself, the Wade, The Boy, and Bryan (and, actually, fetal Binja), but it is not electronic. Because it is locked in our fireproof safe.

Anyway, my absolutely favorite thing to do is to TiVo SYTYCD and then watch it afterwards. Then, I like to pause it before the judges begin their critiques of the routines and see how much I can predict. And you know what? Nigel and I channel eachother.

Sidenote: I COMPLETELY MISSED THAT SYD CHERISE PASSED AWAY. Between her and George Carlin, it’s been a sad, sad week. Which one of my idols are you gonna take away next, huh? Jim Henson?

Wait, WHA?!

So I wanted to share this with you because I literally watched this routine, like, eight times. I was just SO moved by it. These new choreographers, Napoleon and Tabitha, do such AH-MAY-ZING things with hip hop. Like, listen to the words of the song they’re using and then.. I dunno, those wacky kids.. they CHOREOGRAPH. To THE LYRICS. Which, I think, makes the routine so powerful.

So my clip this week is Napoleon & Tabitha’s choreography to Leona Lewis’s Bleeding Love, as performed by Chelsie & Mark. Enjoy.

 

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Update

For the Romanian reader who type “my webbed toes” into a search engine and got pointed here, I’d like to think that you got what you came for.. but have the sneaking suspicion that you were disappointed.  I apologize and will strive to provide more of what my audience is looking for.

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Really Fast-ish

These are conversations Bryan and I have a lot.

Me: And I said that you bitched about shaving your head and I was all, yeah, well, try shaving these italian body parts EVERY FRICKIN DAY, and then I’ll cry you a river, big boy.

Bryan: I’m just saying that maybe you don’t shave every day.  So don’t go there.

Me: (gasping) BRYAN!  Why are you calling me fat?!

Bryan: I.. what?  When did I..?  I wasn’t.. I didn’t say..

Me: Jesus.  I just had a BABY, for crissakes.

Bryan: Well, why are you calling me old?

Me: Why are you saying that I smell bad?

Bryan: It really hurts my feelings when you make fun of my stump like that.

Me: I find it hard to believe my third nipple is just now bothering you.

Bryan: How are you going to bring up my webbed toes AGAIN?

Me: That one boyfriend of mine LIKED my unibrow, thankyouverymuch.

Bryan: Talk to you later, choke-a-bitch.

Me: Love ya, Fister.

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Playing Catch-Up in the Blogrolls

Okay, first and foremost, I know Jamie warned me about it, but I sincerely thought it just wouldn’t happen to me.  What in the HELLFIRE is up with my period since I had the Mirena IUD emplaced? (That’s engineer speak for “baby stopper shoved up into my love canal”.) The insanity and sponteneity of said period is driving me bazonkers.  I will have my period for five hours a day, every day.  I shit you not.  Why would I kid about that?  It’s certainly not funny, nor is it entertaining.  And let me tell you what, it puts a serious DAMPER on any other sponteneity, if you get what I’m saying.

On a separate note, disaster was averted yesterday.  When we packed up our bedroom, we had (at most) three boxes.  All three boxes were packed and unpacked before Bryan’s parents came to visit.  Guess what I COULD NOT FIND ANYWHERE?  Um, that would be my sex toys.  Yeah.  I know.  So the panic of having conservative Baptist in-laws in a house with renegade sex toys was enough to give me an ulcer.  Last night, a phantom box surfaced that had been stuck in a distant closet.  And voila!  I have succesfully avoided my stepson using it as a light saber in front of company.

(So far.)

Horrible, non-existent segue: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!!

I am seriously staring at this screen because I am just so needing a break from work.  I haven’t talked about my new job a whole bunch on here because I am so busy doing it all the time.  Literally, I MADE myself leave work yesterday at 4:30, picked up the babeh, hung out with him until he went to sleep, and then logged back on and worked for another two and a half hours.  Then I got up this morning and logged on at six.  And I will have to make myself leave again tonight at 4:30.  I know this is par for the course on a brand-new program that I’m developing processes for, but it’s draining in a way for which I wasn’t quite prepared.  A day or two with NOTHING to do would do me a world of good right now.  So, maybe, in September or thereabouts.

I did not mention one glorious thing that definitely deserves a kudos: when I got home this weekend, Bryan surprised me by having painted our bathroom.  While it had been a ghastly 1992 hunter green with a mint green rag-rolled “faux finish” (that is in quotes because, DAYUM, why would anyone do that?), and while it’s a fairly roomy bathroom, the dark color combined with the lack of natural light was just stifling.  So the warm butter yellow color brightened it up TREMENDOUSLY, and I will make art work for the bathroom tomorrow night at Book Club.

Intrigued?  You should be.

 

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More Droning

First of all, head’s up: my K on my keyboard is not working well.  So there may be an errant K here and there.

Secondly, as I was driving in yesterday, I heard a Fox News radio blurb about Bush (Dubya) visiting the flood-ravaged Iowa plains.  The reporter said, “With his sleeves rolled up, Bush promised immediate help to the area.”

I remembered Bush making that same visit in late September of 2005 to Mobile, since he still couldn’t get into New Orleans.  I remember laughing that his sleeves were rolled up; you know, like he was actually going to dive in and lend a hand.

I was angered when I heard this yesterday, not because Iowa doesn’t need the help, but because I was just hitting I-10 when I heard that.  Seeing desolation all around while hearing promises of immediate relief irritated me.

We drove around a good bit today, viewing the damage from the safety of our rental SUV.  I asked that we not visit the 9th; that, I couldn’t handle.  We saw several houses with the orange DOA numbers on the front.  It’s enough to leave you speechless.

It’s just a surreal world here.  Half million dollar homes sit empty, while the white boxy FEMA trailer sits in the front yard.  Entire shanty towns of Coleman tents reside next to parking lots crammed with Hummers, Mercedes, and BMWs.

I’m doing my part to sustain the local economy.  I’m eating my weight in bread pudding and crawfish.

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