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Sunday, Dec. 28, 2003 / 4:00 p.m. ~But I Can Shake My Boo-Tee~ I'm not really a 'good' dancer. I simply like to move. I feel the music in my hips, my waist, my shoulders, and my hands. I get into a 'groove', my 'k-hole', or whatever, sans drugs. If the beat is right, and drums are good, bongos are good, techno is good, something fast, rhythmic, I sink into it, or I settle into it, and it's mine, I'm lost in it, nothing else really matters. And I can go for hours, with little variation, as if in a trance. But I don't think I look terribly good. I think people are puzzled when they see me. And I think I can't do the little 'kick' dances the kids do today, I don't have happy feet, I have sultry hips, I'm all about the hips, the rhythm lies deep there. (Oh god, I just heard this from the living room TV: "Call me... Ishmael" - "Moby Dick" is on) Last night a few men tried to dance with me, grabbed my hands, spun me around, but I couldn't do it, I couldn't match their movements, we didn't fit, at all. One I told, "I'm used to dancing alone", and he said, "You're too cute to dance alone", before he moved on. Others were disappointed, I could tell, because I'd look at their chests, or their feet, I didn't look them in their eyes. There was no point. The one from Macedonia, the guy in the leather pants and sweater (sweater?) said, "You sure can shake your boo-tee" in his horribly broken English, and shortly after I saw him looking around the dance floor, trying to figure a way out. He left, saying, "I'll be back", but I really didn't care what he said. Later I saw him talking to the girl with the impossibly low cut jeans, the shiny belt. She walked away from him finally, and he poked me in the arm before I decided to dance to the '80s Brit Pop, a totally different feel, and the dance floor almost cleared for me. I had far too much energy for after 3:00 a.m. I asked him, "So, still haven't gotten lucky?", and he said, "What do you mean by this?", so I said, "You know, you're looking for a girl", and he seemed surprised that I had him pegged. How many people there were looking to go home with someone? A sad dog story made me cry, but I'm okay now. I cried for the animals I've lost, the ones whose deaths I did nothing to prevent, and called my mother a Nazi Exterminator in my anger. I think I needed to get that out. I think I need to be angry with her, and to forgive myself, and I need my Karma to finally balance out, somehow. I must have paid enough, by now, surely. I don't want to go out tomorrow, I don't want to go to the hockey game. Must find a way to say No. Maybe just by saying No. This should be good. I need to get back to where I was, it took so long to get there, I worked so hard at it, tried for so long to be happy with it, and at times I know I succeeded. He's got me blocked from sending him messages now. Fucker. I'm just trying to be friendly at this point, trying to be an adult. Clearly I am the better person. Now that it's almost January, I need to think about getting a new job, like seriously getting a new job, I can't do the data entry thing all day, it's just not me. The job as it was previously was varied, challenging, even interesting at times, but this new job, with the other department, is a different version of hell. Not much to say right now, just tired after last night. Cost of the War in Iraq
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