Salsa Dancing?

Stormy introduced me to the "Salsa Scene" tonight. While I usually begin preparing for bed at ten, Stormy convinced me to put on my dancing shoes. It's all so surreal as Stormy is very conservative. A little voice in my head told me to be prepared and to keep track of blog-worthy-info via my cell phone's notepad. Needless to say, my thumbs had more of a workout than my feet. I mean, this is The County and not Miami.
Upon entering the parking lot, and with car window down, I asked the bouncer if there was a cover charge. He of course replied, "Not for beautiful ladies." Thank God. I can finally pay for something with my looks. We quickly found a parking spot. This suprised me since Stormy's Passat didn't fit one of the 7 spots reserved for "Bikes Only." We reached the entrance and the bouncer whipped out a metal detector (in wand form) and told me I had to leave my purse in the car. It's not more than five minutes later that I realize the guy standing next to me is wearing a jersey that reads "Player 69."
Sure, the dancing was fun. But at one point someone told me to sign up for the wet t-shirt contest because "I got it" and he was "bein straight up." Stormy and I laughed, however, I threw up a little in my mouth at this point. We left before the contest. Rebekah, in response to all of the texts I'd sent her, asked "So is there actually latin dancing going on or just re-enactments of the switch blade fight in West Side Story?" Wow. Next time can we go dancing at the Samba Room in Orlando? Ahh, good times and adventures!

My Girls

The teens in my classroom are like no other. They're the most creative, most talented, most offensive group of young ladies I've ever had the privilege of teaching. Our class motto? "We've been in Betty Ford more than Gerald." Ok, it's not actually our motto. But I'm genuinely surprised one of them hasn't come up with the slogan. They never cease to captivate and charm me or to thwart my expectations. Tatiana, one of our recent graduates, was raised in a Russian orphanage until the age of 12. Recently, her close friend, Breanna, informed me of a conversation that took place between Tatiana and Sela. Sela, another student, was born and raised in Alaska. Breanna, in her dry, monotone delivery began to recount the dialogue... Tatiana: "I'm Russian and Russia owns Alaska, so basically, I own Sela." Sela: "You were broke and sold me!" Tatiana: "Yeah, for less than a dollar per square mile."

Blogging

It's amazing to me that people blog. Clearly, as of today, I'm walking contradiction. Isn't it arrogant to blog? A dear friend once told me, one day, when she finally breaks down and starts typing, her blog will be under the title "As Pretentious As I Want To Be." I still giggle and nod in agreement. Yet Lindy, Frank Mimodee, Francine, Steph and Dave are all such unassuming... well, bloggers. It's also whimsically strange, when I'm feeling most insecure and about 2 inches deep, that I choose now to open my mouth.