The Best Things Happen When You're Dancing...(most of the time)

I love to dance. I have been known to bust a solo move every once and a while, but mostly I enjoy dances that come with a predetermined set of steps. This allows for someone like me who is not naturally blessed with good coordination to feel like Ginger Rogers when lead by the right partner. There is almost nothing that feels as good as coming out of a complicated sequence of steps and managing to land on the correct beat. I often wish I had been born in the 30s or 40s when knowing how to dance was the norm instead of reserved for a select group of people who are trying to keep a lost art alive.

Almost every Thursday night this summer, my sister and I have donned our dancing shoes and headed out for a night on the town! It is nearly impossible in this day and age to find any gentlemen willing to accompany us, so we usually go ourselves. I actually prefer this, because there is no better way to learn style and new moves than by dancing with a dozen different men each night. Some of the best dancers I have met have been easily double or even triple my age, and I love being asked to dance by some of these guys who have actually lived during the time when swing dancing was popular. Not only do these men know how to dance, but they also generally have a certain air of chivalry about them that seems to have long ago gone out of fashion.

I thought that this may have been the case when a man who was easily 75 years old approached me and asked me to dance last night. I cannot speak to his dancing skills in his younger years, but the summary of his moves now seemed to consist of him standing still and spinning me around until I was so dizzy I could barely stand up. I felt lucky when he threw in a basic step or a quick wrap so that I could orient myself to the room for second. After the song came to an end, I thanked him for the dance and quickly hopped up onto the edge of a wall to get my bearings straight. I felt certain that he would not have the wherewithal to make the necessary 12-inch bounce in order to join me on the wall. I was wrong. He jumped right up next to me, much too close. As I uncomfortably tried to move over, he proceeded to croon "Teach Me Tonight" into my ear in a loud and off-key fashion. Luckily my sister happened to come over at that moment, and he decided that he'd like to dance with her.

I thought that we had successfully lost him after the band stopped playing, but suddenly he appeared out of nowhere to put his arms around both of us. We tried to squirm away, but to no avail. He planted a wet kiss on both of our cheeks, one after the other. Eew. I don't mind dancing with older men, but I definitely draw the line at letting them kiss me! Perhaps next week I will try to stick to with the 60 and under crowd...

Outdoor Adventures

It seems that we have had an unusual number of breathtakingly gorgeous days this summer. (Perhaps this is not the case; it may be that in summers past I have been working too many hours a week to even notice.) Although I have never considered myself to be a great outdoorswoman, I have of late found myself with an insatiable desire to spend time having fun in the sun. Last week, for instance, two of my dearest friends and I decided to celebrate the Summer Solstice with a round of miniature golf. (Real putting-not the kind with windmills or anything!) Although it took us several holes before we overcame the temptation to hit our golf balls squarely into the sandtraps, we were eventually hitting somewhere remotely close to par. Fortunately, we had plenty of time to improve our techniques and line up our shots, as the double-dating group ahead of us seemed to find their horrible shots an irresistible turn-on, and couldn't seem to keep their minds on the game or their hands on their golf clubs. Hopefully we will be positioned behind a less amorous group next time.

After mastering (well, close enough anyway) miniature golf, I decided it was time to dabble in the water sports arena. On Friday afternoon, a few of my best girls and I hit the lake in our rented kayaks. I had always been reticent to try this particular activity, as I do not historically have good luck in watercrafts of any kind. (When my friends and I have gone canoeing in the past, I've been deliberately placed in the middle, where I am not responsible for paddling, steering, balancing, or performing any other necessary function.) However, I surprised myself and managed to avoid capsizing all together! Friday was a fantastic day to be out on the lake, enjoying the company of some of my favorite people, the quiet water, and the warm sunshine. I'm definitely going kayaking again soon!

Today, I was quite literally off to the races! I spent the afternoon outside at Canterbury Park, betting on the horses with either the strangest names or the worst odds. (I like to cheer for the underdog, ok?) I was doing pretty horribly until race number 10 when Miss Blueberry Juice and Sociabull came though for me for the big Exacta win of $9.50! Until that point the only investment that had actually paid off was my ice cream sundae. Although I did not seem to be lucky in picking the big winners, I had a great time, and definitely won the prize for "Most Enthusiastic" when my horses finally did take 1st and 2nd.

Next weekend will be the true test of my newfound identity as outdoors girl, as I am headed up north with 5 fellow CDers to go camping at the base of Spirit Mountain. I have been camping many times before, but usually end up falling in the river, collapsing the tent, or gagging when it is time to wash my dishes in the icky camping water. Perhaps this will be the year that I finally prove my worth as a fellow camper! (Just in case all else fails, I'll bring my guitar and sense of humor so I can at least provide entertainment value!)

The Soundtrack of My Life, Part II

Buying a new CD is always an interesting study of my mental state. The song that will most often jump out at me as my instant "favorite" is the one that pertains most closely to my life's situation at the time. Somehow, that one song always just reaches out and grabs me, and I have to listen to it until I have every single word memorized and can belt it out with the proper depth of feeling. That very thing happened to me this week when I first started listening to the soundtrack from the musical "Wicked." Although I was initially drawn to the CD by the snappy little tune of "What is this Feeling?", it was the poignant lyrics and melancholy melody of "I'm Not That Girl" that kept me clicking the backtrack button on my CD player. The lyrics are as follows:

Hands touch, eyes meet
Sudden silence, sudden heat
Hearts leap in a giddy whirl
He could be that boy,
but I'm not that girl

Don't dream too far
Don't lost sight of who you are
Don't remember that rush of joy
He could be that boy
But I'm not that girl

Every so often we long to steal to the land of what might have been
But that doesn't soften the ache we feel when reality sets back in

Blithe smile, lithe limb
She who's winsome, she wins him
Gold hair with a gentle curl
That's the girl he choose
And heaven knows,
I'm not that girl

Don't wish, don't start
Wishing only wounds the heart
I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl
There's a girl I know, and he loves her so
But I'm not that girl.

It seems that my life so far has been an unbreakable pattern of me not being "that girl." This is very difficult for someone who has actually been waiting to fall in love since the first grade. Everyone tells me to wait, to be patient-he's out there. And maybe he is. But if he isn't, how can I go about convincing myself that "I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl?" I certainly don't want to spend my whole life wishing for something that is never going to happen.
(Editors note: I'm laughing at myself just a little bit right now because sometimes I think I sound like I'm 54 instead of 24.)

I don't even mind being single that much, most of the time. I have about the most amazing friends that I could possibly wish for. The problem is, I long to love that one someone so much that I have given my heart away to several people who didn't actually want it. Each time I have been rejected has left me with a more deeply held belief that I am, for some reason, unlovable, or at least, undatable. My heart has been wounded so many times that I almost wish it would stop bouncing back. I have sworn off romantic love more times than I can count. I've tried to remember that "wishing only wounds the heart." I'm tired of being hurt. I'm tired of feeling that for some reason I don't measure up. But as a friend reminded me last night, I am choosing to feel that way, and that is the only part of this situation that I actually have the power to change.

I wish I could put up a wall around my heart that can only be broken by that one right person. The only problem is, that is not at all who I am. I love easily and recklessly. It takes only about a minute to convince me that you are worthy of my affections and years to convince me you are not. Maybe that scares people. But love it or leave it, that is who I am, and I doubt that I will ever change. I can only hope and pray that someday someone will show up who truly appreciates my reckless love, and that he will instantly make me forget that I have ever been hurt. Until that day, I will just have to accept the fact that I'm not "that girl." And that's ok, because the girl who I am is still pretty fabulous. ;-)

A Series of Unfortunate Events

I have admittedly been somewhat less productive this summer than I have been in years past. Since I will be beginning an internship in July, I opted to keep only my two part-time jobs. (I rationalized that no one would want to hire me for a month and a half anyway.) Ergo, I have been working only 10-15 hours a week. As most of my friends seem to know how busy I usually manage to keep myself, a question I've been getting alot lately is, "So what exactly do you do all day? How do you fill your time?" Well, let me tell you, it is not as difficult as one might think. Running around the lake and doing a few sit-ups can become an entire morning's project with minimal effort. Small tasks can become big projects. Unexpected little disasters can take the whole afternoon to remedy.

Since my dear little sister is also not starting her job until next week, we tend to embark on most missions together. We refer to it as "sisterly bonding time." Today we managed to find ourselves in the midst of several "home improvement" projects, much against our will. We are both competent people, but we have little experience in that particular milieu. The trouble began when my sister attempted to turn on the TV this morning. Much to her chagrin, it refused to work. Upon further inspection, absolutely nothing in the entire family room worked. When she attempted to turn on the light, it made a hiss-like electrical sound and began emitting copious amounts of smoke. "Never fear," said I. "I've changed lots of fuses. (Yes, we are the only people in the entire state of MN who have not traded in their fuses for the more modern convenience of circuit-breakers.) I'll be right back." After replacing the fried TL 20 fuse with a new and improved one, I yelled up to her to turn the light on again. I ran upstairs just in time to hear her scream and watch as a firework-like collection of sparks showered the family room floor. Apparently the problem was a bit more serious than a blown fuse. At least I had fixed the TV.

After our failed attempt to fix the electrical problem, we were beginning to get a bit hungry. It was upon opening the refrigerator that we met our next issue. Somehow**, a large jar of pickles had been errantly turned on its side, and pickle juice was EVERYWHERE! Pickle juice in the blueberry box, pickle juice in the cheese, pickle juice pooled in the bottom of the vegetable drawer, pickle juice dripping off the shelves, you get the idea. "Well," said Krista matter-of-factly, "all these oranges will have to be de-pickle-ized!" And depickelize we did. We spent over an hour wiping down the refrigerator and trying to come with ways to absorb the odor of pickles. (Baking soda works nicely!) As we sat there, contorting in odd directions in order that we might reach the back of the fridge, my abductor started spasming from the effort. Luckily, my sister, the athletic trainer, just stood there and stared at me. After the intense pain subsided, we resumed our final round of depicklization. Fortunately, the outcome was not altogether terrible. If I ever smell a pickle again it will be too soon.

**Actually, it was not "somehow." I can tell you exactly how it happened. The pickle jar had been in front of the vanilla yogurt, which I had wanted to include in my breakfast parfait. I had simply moved the pickle jar to upper shelf, and since it was too tall, I had turned it over on its side. What I didn't realize was that whomever had eaten the last pickle had not screwed the lid on tightly. This piece of the blame remains and will remain unsolved.

So that, my friends, is how I fill my time. I manage to cause miniature disasters and then spent hours remedying them. I'm also getting really good at running errands inefficiently. Thankfully, in less than a month I can return to my old efficient, productive, and busy self. But I'll never say that I didn't appreciate the break.

TIHL #11 How To Navigate

It took me a while to master the whole driving thing. My biggest problem was that I never knew quite where I was going. Thus, I would often become completely lost, panic, and subsequently forget how to operate the windshield wipers. As a teenager, most of my excursions ended in tears and frantic phone calls to those more directionally knowledgeable than I. Then, sometime in my early 20s, I realized that "getting lost" was not necessarily synonymous with "death by automobile." I began branching out to neighboring suburbs, and eventually even to "DOWNTOWN Minneapolis." This weekend alone I drove to destinations in at least 6 different cities, many of which I had never been to. I think that my sense of direction, while still not exactly a forte, has shown marked improvement.

Despite this newfound confidence, I still have at least a couple of major issues with the MN roadway system. The first is that good old MN-DOT seems to be quite fond of two of my least favorite sentences in the English language. These two sentences happen to be "Road Closed. Use Alternate Routes." If you are anything like me, you are ecstatic if you even know one route to a given locale, let alone have an inkling about another possible option. I would think that the road construction powers that be could at least do us the courtesy of marking a detour that will actually get you where you were trying to go with those orange arrows! I can't possibly be the only person in the world who is directionally impaired, or at least entirely "mono-routic."

The second thing that has always bothered me about roads is the fact that so many of them have more than one name. What possible reason could there be for this phenomenon? Does the road feel like it doesn't have any friends if it doesn't have a nickname? Does it brag to all of its road friends about how it is so popular that it actually has two nicknames? For example, yesterday, I strayed quite significantly from my safe bubble and traveled all the way to Rosemount. My mapquest directions told me to take Highway 77, of which I was smugly aware is also called Cedar Avenue. Apparently this wasn't its only alias; I almost missed the turn on the way back because I didn't realize it was also called County Road 23 (or 32?) by its intimate inner posse. I have also oft been lead astray in the past by the 78th St./American Boulevard conundrum. I really fail to see the benefits of such tomfoolery.

I think that all my problems could be solved by one of those GPS systems that is built right into my car. My family once had one in the rental car we received on one of our vacations to Florida. We called her Nelo, a clever abbreviation for her formal name, (Ne)ver(Lo)st. Not only did she helpfully point out where to turn, she also triumphantly proclaimed "You have arrived!!!" as soon as we reached our destination. Nelo and I got along great, and I really wouldn't mind renewing our relationship. Perhaps with my helpful suggestions, MN-DOT and I could even form a similar bond. It's definitely worth looking into.

Top 10 Reasons That I Love Cruises!

Cruises are amazing. I recommend that everyone take one at their earliest convenience. Where else can you spend days on end in a place where you are actually forced to do nothing but have fun and consume massive quantities of food and drink? Best of all, you are with tons of people you have never met, and will likely never see again, so if you want to do something a little out of character (or even downright crazy) you might as well just go for it! I must say that I took advantage of this circumstance.

For the sake of brevity, I have narrowed my adventures down to a top 10 style highlights list:

1. I posed for a picture with a parrot on my shoulder. Since I am a complete ornithophobic, this was a huge accomplishment! (If you see the photo, you might note the look of sheer terror on my face, but we're making small steps.) I subsequently bought a parrothead T-shirt at Margeritaville to commemorate this historic event.

2. I swam with the stingrays in the crystal-clear Caribbean waters off Grand Cayman island. Since I am not only an ornithophobic but actually afraid of nearly any creature that moves, (especially ones that could potentially cause great harm) I was excited that I lived through and even thoroughly enjoyed the experience!

3. I ate at the midnight chocolate buffet. (Does that one really need any further explanation?)

4. My family became famous throughout the ship as the grand champions of "Name That Big Band Tune." Not only did we beat out eight or ten other teams, but we beat out a number of people who actually lived through the big band era. We are now the proud owners of 4 Royal Caribbean "Almost Leather (TM)" photo albums!

5. We won two more "Almost Leather" albums in an inconclusive second place finish in the "Name that Tune" (any genre) competition. (We would have won if that darn Jamie hadn't been shouting her answers so loudly!)

6. I met fun new friends from all over the country. Said friends may or may not have been just a little bit wilder than this conservative mid-western girl, and encouraged me to stay up until 2:00 or 3:00 every morning dancing in the ship's nightclub. Who knew I had moves?

7. My sister and I got a standing ovation for our kareoke rendition of "Dancing Queen." Since that song is a car-ride favorite, we not only had harmony but even a few well-timed choreography moves. Good times.

8. Two words: Quarter push.

9. We got to see a different show every single night. Granted, they weren't Broadway or anything, but the waiters all come around to your seats and serve you margeritas. Definitely an added bonus.

10. I climbed a 960-foot waterfall in Jamaica, and remained alive for the duration of the experience. (Those of you who were lucky enough to be around for infamous "Falling in the river on the camping trip" experience may be particularly impressed by this feat.)

Oh, and I guess I shouldn't forget to mention my red-hot romance with the towel-folding guy... ;-)