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69 years old. My Father just turned 69, like yesterday.
The man is taking Salsa lessons and KILLING it. So much so that recently his ballroom school put on a showcase for the holidays. All of their star performers got on stage and showed their stuff, from salsa to bolero to swing and tango. They asked my Dad to do a 4 minute routine as well. Big Stuff for a man who just started taking lessons a few months ago. Apparently he is the most improved student with the most natural dance ability.

My best friend Colleen and I attended the show.  We were eager to see the man we grew up with be the one on stage instead of in the stands cheering. We were there to support him, in return for the many years of clapping, yelling, and pushing us to be our very own personal best.

He was very serious when he danced. Very intense and immensely engrossed in what he was doing from his head to his feet.  Every now and then a huge smile graced his tan face below his salt and pepper hair.  Even the special felt bottom dance boots that he purchased just for his classes were shined up so meticulously you could see your reflection in them. 

He practiced with his partner during the open floor dance, I even had the opportunity to hit the floor with Dad. 
Then it was go time!  The entire school sang him a big, loud Happy Birthday to his surprise, then the music started. 

I cried.
I was in awe.

It was as much a defining moment in my own life as it was in his.
One of my closest friends lost her father recently, anothers has a degenerative disease. The infallible men we knew as little girls are becoming frail and sick. It is a huge encumbrance but inevitable. My Father is dancing salsa and I am so incredibly grateful for that.

He was so nervous. He wanted it to be perfect. It was.
I cannot seem to explain the feeling….but the best I can do is to say that it was really inspiring. Truly inspiring.
Not like loose definitions of the words amazing and  inspiring. Truly fucking inspiring.
If I have half the energy, chutzpa, pride, youthfulness, courage, dedication, and passion for something new  in my entire life, let alone at 69 I will be lucky.
If a kid can be proud of their parent….I guess that’s what I am.



Dad and his Salsa partner Liz



Dad teaches me to Salsa



Merry Christmas everyone!
My fondest memory of this particular holiday stems from our yearly tree. You see, unlike most children we weren’t allowed to decorate the tree, ever. Yes, I said…”weren’t” as in were NOT allowed.
Upon strict instruction by my Mother, my brother and I were summoned to drag all the dusty boxes of decorations up from the dreaded haunted basement crawlspace but that was about it.
Oh! Until january 7th when it was clean up time. 
We were allowed to WATCH my Mom decorate the tree but HANDS OFF children!
You see my Mother is quite particular about her Christmas tree. It has to be total and utter perfection and it seriously comes out better than a tree in the window of Saks Fifth Ave.
It is breathtaking. 
She is even a pro at choosing the consummate bare shrub itself…….. shape, smell, width, and height.
Vicki places each ornament with intense precision all the while presenting itself as an interesting whimsicial jumble with little effort.
Every now and then she would put a few candy canes on the sapling. My little brother and I would occasionally steal one of the tasty treats from the very back in hopes she wouldn’t notice.
She would, without fail and she would scream her head off with that sharp British tongue,
“Who touched my bloody tree?!!!”
Sometimes we would even move ornaments around just to grind on her nerves. I kinda of wish I video taped her reaction.
From the moving angels at the very top, to the white glittery old fashioned sleds in the middle, to the hand painted Santa and village she personally created that lay on the white fur tree skirt, every single inch is flawless.
It was her project. We didn’t miss out a second on not decorating. In fact, it still wows me to this day to watch her fluent cleverness throw the last bits of shimmering fake snow precisely on particular branches.  I am always ever-impressed.
There are quite a few remnants of my childhood left hanging up there, a 1978 reindeer that looks like its been dragged all over the world for 32 years……a silly little girl mouse in a green gingham dress that makes no sense at all….and a pair of gold ballet slippers.
I only hope to give the gift of such a brilliant, flawless creation to my kids. One that they can be quite proud of and I may even let them place an ornament or two up there, as long as I am in charge of where they put it.

And I still haven't gotten one yet. 

So I've been going to the laundromat. 
My favorite part of the laundromat is the old people. Its like a casual meeting place 
for them. They chat and wash, and chat and dry, and chat and fold. They try to 
chat with the young people there as well. 
I find them so interesting. I imagine that they have some incredible stories to tell.

Today there is an old married couple here. They are folding thier crisp white 
sheets together. Teamwork at 88 years old. They are strangely silent and 
methodical about it. Looking into each others eyes and predicting the other's next arm 
movement to fold the queen size bottom sheet. They know each other so well they 
don't even need to speak. They are content in their silence and the constant 
swishing of the washers behind them. 
I want to take their photo so badly but I thought it might infringe on their 
laundry date. They leave and I am lonely for some strange reason.
Sometimes I think of the laundromat in a negative way.  I am not sure why but I

feel like it has a strange stigma attached. Am I right?

The thing is the laundromat is awesome. It actually takes the edge off a bit. 
Makes me calm. 
The constant sound of the dryers humming soothes my nerves in this insane town. 
It forces you to breathe and relax and wait. 
You certainly can't leave with a hamper full of soaking wet clothes. 

Wait. 
Wait. 
Wait. 
Calm down. Relax. You release yourself to the Maytags. 
You have no control until the cycle is done. 
Its quite refreshing. 

And romantic. Old couple is back...she in her hot pink fleece with bifocals 
hanging on a multicolored string around her neck. He, in a zip up grandpa sweater and loafers. Both with 
tufts of grey hair atop their heads.  They are folding the small stuff now. 
Silently. 
She just took off her fleece to reveal a denim jacket with kitty cats 
embroidered on it. Awesome. 

I keep contemplating trying to talk to them and find out their story. But I 
chicken out. Then she speaks to me!!! She asks to borrow a quarter because her 
husband took her pink coat w the change in it to the car! 

I of course lend the change. 
And she insists I NOT leave until she gives it back to me. "A quarter is a 
quarter. I owe it to you." she exclaims.
I say no worries and insist she would do the same for me. 

I am a bit embaressed because I am dressed like a slob. My Nana would totally reprimand me for my outfit 

and I am sure this Grandma was thinking the same thing.

"You are such a pretty girl, why are you dressed like a bum?"
When her love returns she requests that he re-pay me. He reaches into his sweater pocket and pulls out 

a dime. "Whoops, I don't want to shortchange the lovely young lady" he says. 

I want him to be my Grandpa. 
They are standing watching the dryers now. Kind of impatient for old people I'm 
thinking to myself. But I guess the minutes matter more to them. 
They stand there. Staring. Watching the clothes go 'round and 'round.

I am a genius!!!!
I am currently taking an improv class.
HotHouse Improv- John Thiess, my teacher…he is a genius, for real.
During this last class I realized this:
Most of my classmates are strangers as I just started taking Improv.
I have to do RIDICULOUS things with them and in front of them with no inhibitions.
Bark like a dog, speak fake German, act like a spastic clown in a wind tunnel..etc etc.
I have to fully commit to these things therefore intimately revealing personal things about myself.
Sometimes on purpose, sometimes by accident.
(for instance, my “go to” every time I am stuck in a scene is something perverted and sexual. Very telling.)

So I have decided that it would be genius to implement Improv games into people’s dating lives!
There are all these wonderfully embarrassing games.
One of which is a game that requires you to have a full on conversation with a partner in nonsensical gibberish.

Try speaking in pretend Chinese or Italian gibberish with a someone. It is not only hilarious but really breaks the ice.
You feel like a child again, with every ounce of “maturity” and adulthood stripped off. Your walls come tumbling down and you actually play with someone. I am talking play with your clothes on at the dinner table or in the car ride home.  Don’t get saucy people.

Remember when we were kids? There was no problem accepting someone new and totally getting silly with them right off the bat. “Let’s pretend we are samurai warriors in ancient China and we need to defeat our evil ruler!”
When we were kids it was uncomplicated to knock on someones door and say “want to come play?”  Somewhere along the adolescent steam powered locomotive we lost the ability to accept the rejection and/or have the BALLS to even blindly ask someone to hang. We were ourselves, tride and true.

So I by order of royal decree I propose that we all play Improv games on first dates!

Everyone’s ‘too cool for school’ affectation will be dissolved and we can easily find out who our date truly is! Instead of 6 months down the line. Yikes…yeah.

.

With Reality TV completely taking over our televisions, air waves, and lives I would really like to challenge you all to count how many time you hear these 3 magic words:
 “in this house”.

There is always some dirty chick with really bad exposed extensions in a cheesy cocktail dress complaining about how ……

“I am the only one IN THIS HOUSE who has any integrity”, 
“I don’t trust anyone IN THIS HOUSE”,  or
“I never had sex with anyone IN THIS HOUSE”.

YEAH OKAY!!!!

All pretty much false statements but regardless….STOP saying “IN THIS HOUSE”.
Frankly, its annoying.
I am not sure why this bothers me so much.

I have a degree in Broadcast Journalism. I studied my ass off at a really competitive University. I have struggled for years in NY and LA auditioning, taking classes and honing my talents as a Host/Reporter/Correspondent for many years.
So will someone tell me WHY I have agents telling me to go on a reality show to get a job?

I have to get smashed in the face with a watermelon to get a job on the sidelines?
I have to make out with a slimy Guido in a jacuzzi in order to anchor a morning show?
I have to waste 3 months of my life in a house with idiots and eat slop so I can announce who won the disco ball trophy?
I wouldn’t mind spending a few months on a deserted island ….great diet.
I have to date some average looking Midwestern dude who producers totally made seem way better than he is in REALITY and share him with 27 other insane desperate hairballs with sequins on?

No Thanks.

So do I keep up the struggle and hustle this educated Host ass in Hollyweird?
Or do I give in and get some loser to surprise dump me on national tv after he proposed a month before?
Well, that one hit a bit close to home.

So my friends……what are your thoughts?

I am back in the saddle my friends. Back on the dance floor once again. I have taken a bit of a hiatus from the dance world. I have missed it dearly.
I rehearsed yesterday with two of my girlfriends, two extremely creative and talented dancers, for a show we are performing in on Monday. We are to be…..very innocent fairytale princesses of a specific kind that I cannot mention.
We salaciously rip off our royal gowns and disrobe to reveal tawdry, burlesque lingerie.
Innocent…..turned cheeky and naughty. Big surprise.
I hung up my fishnets thinking my Bombshell days were over and done with but hey, I still got it!!!
(I cannot move my neck to the left because I am so sore.
I can barely move to sit into my vehicle because my legs have not been used in those ways for quite some time. I know, not so sexy.)
It did feel good to dance again.
It is also really empowering for a woman’s sensual being to feel sexy. I felt sexy.  I really encourage you my friends to go out there and take a cabaret class. Go for a spin in a pole fitness class. Writhe to the rhythm of Zumba without reservations.
It is an awesome workout and it may just spice up your sex life.
Not that any of you slutty little minx’s need it.

Pics of the show to come next week.

I am getting really good at racquetball.
I even have the hand blisters to prove it.
I actually won a game today.
I now have a glove and special protective eye wear.
Like a PRO.
I am B.A.D. A.S.S..

PS. Ladyfriends…..GOOD way to meet guys. Not that I am looking…but There are never chicks playing. Only athletic, fairly good-looking albeit extremely sweaty men.  They may have some sort of aggression issues to work out but hey at least they are taking out on the court.