A couple weeks ago, I skipped hip hop class to check out Odd Couple at the adorable Broadway West Theater. It was a fun night out with Tina and my Fremont peeps, plus I finally got to meet Joe’s woman, Jessica. He’d been yammering on and on about her (remember the Salad Years when everything was so perfect and lovely through those rose-colored glasses?), so it was nice to finally meet Miss Perfect (that’s what John calls her). Unfortunately, I didn’t get to chat with her for long, but she seemed sweet and smart and beautiful… all the things Joe said she was. So cute.

So the following week, I went to dance class. I kept adequate pace since I’d memorized all the steps up to the new ones… but my god, I really suck. I mean, seriously. And to think I used to do ballet and Chinese dance? There isn’t an ounce of cred to my movements. I keep eyeing the teach, watching her every step but my body just does not funk like that, you know? So frustrating. I mean, yes it’s entertaining and I can’t help but laugh, but at the same time, it’s pissing off the OCD side of me. So first there was the wobbly knees-crab movement– two steps to the right, two steps to the left coupled with this hand around the back of the head motion. Then the following week, it was robocop or whatever she calls it: this rocking motion. Shit. I need to download tutorials on YouTube or something. Last time we also did this step thingy with the stomping and slapping but damn… the bottom line is that I really suck. Sigh. How many more classes are left?

John and I are back in Maryland this week. My dear friend’s father passed away… mother and daughter are doing ok, as well as could be expected. His health had declined rapidly in recent years but as with all the other times, we’d expected him to pull through. The funeral was really touching. So many people spoke: they told such vivid and humorous stories. One of his kidney transplant patients even drove down from New Jersey. God. Medicine just touches people in such a profound way. Patients, healthcare… people complain about how it’s turned to shit, shuffling patients through like cattle and wading through all the paperwork but frankly, I don’t think there’s any profession (in its purest form) nobler than practicing medicine.

Boy does life get complicated. This last month’s been all about “big boy stuff,” as Bubbey terms it. Over the last several weeks, he and I had gotten into some really bad fights: same old shit but I guess the drama finally reached a tipping point. We’re in couples counseling now. Say what? I know, right? And I mention it here publicly, because I’m not ashamed to admit we’re seeing a therapist. Fortunately, we’re not to the point of divorce court (yet!) or anything that dire, but apparently we both have “anger management issues.” Yeah, when the therapist gave her initial assessment, I immediately questioned her competency. And actually, John and I both docked off points. I mean hello, was she even listening to us? Anger management is not an issue… there’s no physical violence in the house.

To her credit, she explained, “Anger management isn’t just rage: it’s frustration, impatience, resentment, irritation, annoyance, giving the silent treatment…” Oh, well in that case, hell yeah, we have anger management issues! In fact, I’ve had it my whole damn life then!

So we started seeing Linda three weeks ago… we meet once a week, and then afterwards we have a “date night.” And let me tell you, apparently everyone else is already in on the secret about “date night.” Wtf? Yeah, a friend mentioned having hers on Wednesdays and then two coworkers said they did it too… I suppose we totally missed the boat on that one… Turns out, date night is kinda helpful, because it forces us to connect in a new environment (the therapist suggested trying new restaurants) free from the distractions of home.

During our last counseling session, Linda gave us this anger questionnaire about how our parents handled anger when we were growing up. When I told her I got spanked a lot, she had this child services look of horror on her face. I mean, in retrospect, I totally deserved it. I was a stubborn-ass, unapologetic brat and most times I opted for the belt rather than an apology for my stinging words. Spanking is old school, but I think it’s fine. Then again, I guess it’s a moot point: barren womb forever. So whatever, therapy is working out ok. I’m learning new tools. Guess we’ll be master communicators after this.

Hi folks. I know, my blogging has really trailed off. Lately, or in the year rather, writing has moved to the back burner. Sometimes I just feel like I don’t have the stories I used to. After all, San Mateo is no Shanghai…

Plus, with the job, the extracurricular activities, and Bubbey, there’s just too much other shit going on.

I had my 6-month review on Friday. It was pretty much the same as my 3-month, which is good. I’ve been pretty happy with my contributions to openspace.org (yeah, check it out!). Web work is so stimulating; there are always new tools to learn and try. And just so many people doing amazing shit. Have you heard of mobile activism? The Center for Biological Diversity has this really clever way of building their email/mobile list and of expanding their marketing outreach: endangered species ringtones. Have not yet downloaded my polar bear ringtone (no data service so I have to download then transfer via USB or whatever), but I’m thinking work may just have to hop on the mobile activism bandwagon. Yes, I’m a total poseur.

In other news, my brief trip to New Orleans triggered a new hobby. Late at night, John and I stumbled across America’s Best Dance Crew on MTV. Yes, I was up all frickin’ night watching the marathon. The show is similar to the American Idol (blah!) variety of programs (it is produced or whatever by Randy Jackson) but I gotta say, I’ve always had a fascination with synchronized ANYTHING, be it swimming, step, the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders (years ago they had a reality show on TNT). Anyway, I was amazed watching these peeps move. So the next day, I resolved to look into dance class. Yup. Ready for this? Hip Hop class. I know, are you on the floor laughing?

There is something about being over 30. You know how when you’re a kid (like under 10), you have this invincibility about you? Then you hit the teenage/adolescent years and all that goes to hell. You think middle school is going to fucking be the end of you… Well I’m finally over that shit. And now it’s like, if I wanna take hip hop, I’m gonna take it. Ok, I wasn’t that confident about it… but I was motivated enough to look up dance classes through San Mateo County Parks and Rec. Would you fucking believe that alongside tap and salsa and the waltz, they offer hip hop? So I signed up.

To be honest, I was really nervous about the first class. I mean, the max class size was 50 people!! And were they going to be a bunch of young, cool punks? I had no idea what to expect, but my god, boy was I pleasantly surprised. All around my age. All different shapes and sizes. All levels of fitness. Thank fucking god. I mean, I do still have a tad bit of competitiveness in me, so I didn’t want to be rock bottom. Understandable.

Anyway, the class is awesome. And such the workout. I haven’t sweat like that in ages. Sure, my moves suck. They are totally stiff and android-like. But I just watch the teacher and try to identify her secrets to fluid movement. That, and I try my damnedest to remember all the fucking steps. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. And one…

Whenever I switch to watching myself in the mirror, I just crack up. Cannot help it. Need to just keep my eyes on the teach.

Still, to my credit, I’m actually keeping up with the steps. It’s the movements I need to hone. So it’s a fun new project. It’s works all kinds of new muscles (mostly on the torso). Teach says we can have a performance at the end of our 12 weeks if we want. I think we should wait and see. Just like I obsessed over my Board presentation, I practice A LOT in the privacy of my own home. John tries to give feedback, but what does he know about dance? All he can do is say yea or nay. At least he’s getting some entertainment value out of this. And he’s happy that now he can listen to hip hop when we’re in the car together. Man, I actually have to load that shit to the mp3 player so I can review the moves in my head on the drive into work.