Dancing Queen

Did you know I love to dance? Really, I do. I'm not too particular about my music. Although, I don't like country or heavy metal. I find it hard to shake my thang to Marilyn Mason...he gives the shivers and not in a good way. Ewwww.
Lately, Jillian and I have been shaking it to INXS (thank you Shelley!) and the Black Eye Peas. I'm ashamed to say (or am I?!?!) that my almost 3 year old daughter loves the song "Humps" by BEP and "Devil's Party" by INXS. We turn up the music and dance up a sweat whenever we have the chance. The thing is, I love to dance but I really suck at it. How could I describe my dancing style?? Hmmmm....how about epileptic seizures with alot of ass shaking and hip swivelling thrown in. How about a mixture of Shakira, Chandler from the show Friends, and a bit of Dancing Elmo. Seriously, I don't dance well. I won't even dance when Eric is around. He's probably relieved about that. Hey Shelley, remember when we were in Bonnie Kilburn dancing and I smacked Janey during own of our numbers in the show by accident? That's pretty indicative of my dancing talent. One year this lady was sitting beside my mom at the show and of course my mom, ever the proud parent, pointed my sister and I out to her. During one of my turns on stage, the lady says to my mom "Boy, your daughter really doesn't like tap dancing does she?"
Having acknowledged my serious lack of rythm, I will say that if I've had a few drinks I start to think I can dance. I don't drink very often (like once a year) because of my stomach issue - a whole other can of worms. But when I do, watch out! I have delusions that I am a hot sexy, biatch on the dance floor. I have myself convinced that every guy within a 20 ft radius is under the spell of my erotic moves. I shake it like nobody's business and I'm proud of my dancing proweress (is that a work...don't care...I like it). I like to mix it up a bit and throw is some "I know I'm hot but you can't have me" smiles, I toss my hair around, and I have a habit of dancing on speakers, table, chairs...really whatever I can find. Once in the Dominican Republic, my best friend's brother held on to the back of my dress as I danced on a speaker so that I wouldn't fall to my death. Luckily, Holly is even crazier than me so she didn't even bat an eye at it. God love her, she brought gravol the next moring and hauled me to the beach so I could get some sun. Thanks Holls!
Then comes the next morning. The hurtful truth is that, really you cannot be drunk and pretty. As gorgeous as I think I may be...the pictures speak the truth. The beatiful hair I like to toss around is likely sweaty and stringy, my cute shirt probably had a mustard stain on it from the hotdog I scarfed down for dancing energy, and my face is red and blotchy with lipstick smeared from one side to the other. I come to the realization that people were watching me not because the were stunned by my talent and beauty...no they were shocked that I was out of the psych ward and wondering when the nice men were going to put my white jacket back on.

Oh, I think Eric just left. I think I'll go dance in the livingroom window while he's at Canadian Tire. Hehehe...the neighbours have no idea what they're in for.