So He Thinks He Can Dance

My Illustrative Rendition of Dance Monster "Jackerlake"

My Illustrative Rendition of Dance Monster “Jackerlake”

I have created A MONSTER!

At first, Jack wasn’t fond of the idea of having a choreographed dance as our “First Dance” and he has never been very coordinated. See the post “He Don’t Dance” for further details.

A few weeks of creating, practicing, and NEARLY perfecting our routine, and the guy now thinks he’s a professional choreographer for Britney Spears (I’m Britney Spears, I guess).

Last time we practiced our little gem, Jack became all kinds of frustrated (ie.Frankenstein, Hulk, etc).

The following sentences were uttered by an exasperated Jack:

“This is not working the way I’m envisioning it.”
“LISTEN to the music!”
“NO, that is not the right time to turn around.”
“I’m just standing here all awkwardly for you to come back.”
“I’m going to yell out “NOW” when I think you should do that part.”

If this was not humiliating enough to a former dancer, Jack proceeded to order me to sit down and watch him dance my part.

Me: “Can you just dance both of our parts at the same time so I can see how you envision it?”
“Show me that again, I didn’t really get it the first couple of times.”
Jack: “Are you asking me to keep dancing by myself so that you can make fun of me?”
Me: “I wouldn’t do that.”

And if you’ve been following the blog for some time now, you know it is out of character for me to not be making fun of Jack. But, I truly did not understand what he was wanting from me. Each time he showed me different timing and was confident he was doing it the exact same every time, and that it was the way it should be performed.

Jack: “WHY AREN’T YOU GETTING THIS?”
Settle down, Mr. Timberlake. Let’s take it from the top.

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He Don’t Dance

Prehistoric Bird in Flight Dancing is hard when you have wings.

Prehistoric Bird in Flight
Dancing is hard when you have wings.

Jack is installing flooring in our office today. He tells me it has slowly migrated to one side as he works his way across the room. His plan? Cut little pieces to fill the holes at the wall and then hopefully cover it up with baseboards.

Believe it or not, I call this a win. He’s still Jack of Most Trades to me.

Something I will admit Jack hasn’t mastered: the art of dance. He is learning to partner dance quite successfully; he spins and lifts me like a pro (look out wedding dance), but when it comes to the solo it’s sort of awkward watching him.

Just so I don’t get in trouble here, I should also state I had the idea for this post a few weeks back and Jack’s dancing skills have improved immensely.

Let’s take a trip back to January, shall we?

As some of you may know, I lived and breathed dance from the time I was 4 years old until I graduated high school, and have regained an obsession of dance through weekly Zumba classes over the past year. I know a little bit about dance steps and would say I would be able to teach them to ALMOST anyone. I also believe my dance skill evaluation abilities to be true and accurate.

The description that best fits Jack’s “moves” would boil down to: “Prehistoric Bird in Flight”.

One evening I was pleasantly surprised to hear of Jack’s openness to trying a few dance moves, so I seized the opportunity. My mistake.

We began with a basic 3-step move named the “chasse”, literally meaning “to chase”. When it was finally clear to me Jack was not a natural born dancer, I decided to mess with him a little. We followed the chasse with the pique and the jete, two steps that if attempted by an uncoordinated man, could appear bird-like.

Remember: a good wife always sets her husband up to entertain herself. If I truly respected him, I would have taken a video and uploaded it to YouTube so all my Laughers could bask in the glory. I did not do this. But if you’re curious about the dance steps, look up the words in the French-English Dictionary or the Ballet Glossary to aid in your imaginative journey.

Oddly enough, Jack had already perfected the plié by the time we reached that part of our lesson. I chalked it up to beginners luck and moved on (even though I was tempted to teach him the grande plié, for the mere fact that I haven’t seen him rip the crotch out of his wranglers in a few weeks). By this time the pain in my core was agonizing from laughing uncontrollably, and we ended the lesson on a positive note.

Jack undergoes a certain amount of harassment from me (clearly), but one of the things I love about him is he never gives up. He understands dancing at our wedding is important to me, and he would do anything to make me smile. Even if this means his tough guy reputation is shattered.

Jack may be a pterodactyl, but he’s mine, and in one month I’ll rightly be referred to as Mrs. Pterodactyl.

Cha-Cha Champion

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Zumba didn’t see me coming with my pretentious ponytail.

Two weeks ago, I skipped into my first Zumba class 30 minutes early. I had been looking forward to “joining the party” since I had signed up for it the week prior (ten years without a dance class is tortuous for a former dancer). I was so early, in fact, the teacher commented on my keenness. After that, I was determined to show her up.

You see, before taking a class, I was fairly certain Zumba was for housewives and old, out-of-shape biddies. Not true. When I started sweating so much I couldn’t see, I glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes in. I then looked at the make-up plastered, heavy lady busting a move beside me. Her makeup looked untouched; she didn’t even have a slight glow to her. Something wasn’t right and I think it had to do with my ego and being disgustingly out of shape. I gave ‘er as hard as I would have mid- dance season back in high school. What I was not prepared for was doing this for an entire hour without a break.

I was exhausted, but I was convinced I was still blowing away my instructor and everyone else in the class because, I rocked. And I was a champion. I was the title of every Queen song ever written and performed on stage. And their back-up dancer was none other than: ME.  Of course, I had an advantage because many of the steps came from the “Cha-Cha” and what I can only speculate as being the Mambo #5.

After my first class, I was hooked. If this makes me a Desperate Housewife, then so be it. There’s nothing like a good sweat and endorphins to enhance your mood. Even if you sweat so hard you’re instantly dehydrated and you hurt so much you develop a bad case of Restless Leg Syndrome and Insomnia. I plan on whooping and hollering once a week for the next 8 weeks and (fingers crossed) I will lose some misguided arrogance along the way.