She blogs, finally

My buddy Neil in his salad days (1971).

I think this is the longest I've gone not blogging -- and that includes those three weeks in South America two years ago. I have become a bad blogger (insert self-deprecation here). As a friend of mine would say, "My badsies." How did this happen? I really have no excuse since it takes, what, maybe an hour to write a decent post? And it's not like I'm traveling through a third world country on the hunt for inconvenient pockets of spotty wi-fi; RATHER, I am sitting in a tony suburb having the occasional glass of Veuve in the afternoon (there's always a right time for champagne) and...writing.

What have I been up to lately? Listening to a lot of Neil Young and doing a lot of writing. Yesterday I freelanced all day, not because I had to but because I wanted to (that house down payment is ohsoclose). By the end I was nearly cross-eyed from staring at my computer screen all day, but I was satisfied. So I put on some Neil Young and danced to unwind. Right now I feel like I should be freelancing as much as possible since these summer months are crucial for us to save the last of our down payment. Our apartment lease is up in July, after all, and we don't want to have to rent month-to-month for longer than a few months. Hopefully we'll have at least put a bid on a place by the fall. Real estate is definitely my porn, so it's very exciting scoping out Redfin every day, obsessively taking notes from HGTV's My First Place and balancing our budget to make this happen.

When I'm not freelancing, I'm editing the manuscript (can I just say writing it was a lot more fun than editing it? I've already gone through all the ink in my first red pen and the pages look like they were used to clean up a murder scene -- they are bleeding red). When I'm not writing and editing, I've been reading Mario Vargas Llosa's Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter (hilarious book -- read it), and working on my fitness. I do power yoga on Mondays, pilates on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and two hours of tango on Thursday night, which is a workout in 3-inch heels. Last week my tango instructor invited me to his salsa class, so I'll be adding that to the mix as well.

The children are doing well. Gidget (aka Cacahuete) has adapted to her surroundings swimmingly, as Lola did when I first adopted her. The other day it dawned on me that I've created a makeshift animal sanctuary of sorts, where homeless pups (and a cat) are spoiled rotten, given warm, fuzzy beds and blankets, and are hugged and petted incessantly. This has done wonders not only for their well-being, but also for my stress level. Ten bucks says a highpoint of Lola's life was when I picked her up yesterday and we danced to Neil Young's "Harvest Moon" while Gidget danced around at my feet.

Neil aside, the only complaint I have is that J's been MIA the past few days with a mad rush of billable hours. But then I step back and survey the situation, and honestly I can't complain. It might not always be like this, since nothing is permanent, but every morning I wake up so thankful that this is my life. I love what I am doing; J loves what he is doing. We are happy together and excited about our plans for the future. I can't help but be appreciative. Every single day.

A life check-in

Let's see, what's been going on in my life recently...

First off I am now officially a freelance writer and I love it! There's no dearth of article assignments, so between that and editing my book I've been busy, but I must say I'm enamored with the freedom that comes with being able to do freelance work whenever and wherever I want.

Also, as you all know, I started tango last week and had my second class last night. What a difference a week makes. My first class was fun but a practice in letting go. This week I was 10 folds better about allowing the man to lead and submitting like a good little tango dancer should. I was so much better, in fact, that Marcelo showed the class examples of new dance moves using me as his partner. I was pretty proud of myself because this would have never happened in my first class. There's a milonga (tango dance party) every Friday night in the area and a few of my classmates asked if I was planning to come tonight. Apparently it is the place to be (I'm imagining the slow-motion black and white opening scene of Dirty Dancing with flashy magenta script across our writhing bodies) but I already have plans so I told them I might go next Friday. With or without J. I've read that the people in the tango community here in the Bay Area are some of the best in the U.S. and so far I agree. They're positive, upbeat people who are very welcoming to newcomers. Love them. Now I just have to find my own pair of tango shoes, since I'm currently borrowing my sister's pair that she picked up in Buenos Aires. My favorite so far has been these:

Speaking of my sis, she's taking a few days off from her job as a tennis pro to spend the weekend and part of next week with me. Can't. Wait. She only lives an hour away in Los Gatos but doesn't visit much because of her schedule. Needless to say I'm amped for her arrival tonight. We always have the best time and, when we're together, end up doubled over laughing daily. We're planning lots of shopping, noshing and trip-planning for Greece/Italy this summer. 

Other than that I'm headed to Wondercon this Saturday with J and my sister, where we'll meet up with a good friend of mine. I'm not into comic books but I do like seeing movie stars (hello Ryan Reynolds?!) so it'll be a good time.

Learning to let go ... tango-style

Last night J and I braved the heavy rain to attend our first tango class together. I was uber excited as I've always been fascinated by tango and it's been ages since I took a formal dance class, so I got suited up:

Red lips? Check.

Tango shoes? Check.

...and waited for J to get home from work so we could get this party started.

Now, when I hear “tango” I think sexy glides across the dance floor, legs wrapping themselves around partners with frenetic control and the occasional circular dip. Naturally I was expecting to leave class being able to do this.

Which was not the case (and rightfully so). Our instructor was an Argentine named Marcelo (of course this was name) with a thick Spanish accent who's been dancing traditional tango in Buenos Aires, Spain and France for most of his life in competitions and festivals. Marcelo spent the first hour or so teaching our class of six The Walk, which is the backbone of everything in Argentine tango. It looks easy enough and is definitely simple to do on your own. 

But, when paired with J, it was initially disastrous for something that looks so simple to do as a pair. We kept fumbling and staring down at our feet and the whole time J kept whispering "You need to let me lead, you need to let me lead," which started making me really frustrated since it wasn't all my fault. Part of the problem was he wasn't taking the lead. 

As we glided, stinted, across the floor, that scene from My So-Called Life suddenly popped into my head where Patty and Graham take that ballroom dancing class to help save their marriage but they find out that, as in life, they don't work well as partners on the dance floor either. Not that J and I have any marital discord or that we're taking this class to save anything (I just want to learn to tango!) but it was frustrating, nonetheless.

I read online last night that "Tango is a conversation between leader (masculine energy) and follower (feminine energy). To dance well requires connecting with your partner." Tango done perfectly is just that. The woman looks swept up in the man's movements -- she follows and he leads her around the floor. It's a very sensual yet controlled dance that is 100% masculine with the male steering the course. 

I'll admit that my biggest problem last night was learning to let go. I'm used to taking charge and that translated poorly into my movements on the dance floor. I need to surrender and let J guide me. This is what I plan to work on most. At the same time J needs to build up more confidence in his dance moves (to be fair this was our first class), stop blaming me for not following, and just take the unspoken lead.

A few times Marcelo cut in and danced with me to show J and I exactly how it's done and I could already feel that with a maestro it was much easier to follow since his moves just....well, made me. 

"Berry good," Marcelo finally said near the end of class when he gave me back to J. 

Apparently J and I were already getting better at this. 

After we got home we tried practicing in our tiny apartment but there's almost no space to do any dancing in here and I ended up smacking my ankle bone hard against my coffee table. No fun. What we really need is a pied-a-terre in Buenos Aires with a large living room that J and I can dance tango in to our hearts' content. In the meantime we'll continue using the narrow hallway in our apartment to shuffle down in unison.