When we were kids, my mom worked odd shifts as a nurse, so at times she had to leave us with a babysitter. Although over the years we cycled through quite a few of them, my absolute favorite was a black family with kids our age. They were really amazing, nice people – and so much fun.

The dad called my little brother “my little white blood” and there was a lot of “gimme five” going on, seeing as this was the late seventies, or early eighties. I look back on those days and find that I really learned a lot from that family. Having the opportunity to be immersed in their unique culture helped me appreciate some things that maybe I wouldn’t have otherwise.

First off, they instilled in me an irrepressible love for FUNK music. George Clinton, Parliament Funkadelic, The Gap Band, Rick James, Cameo, Sly & The Family Stone, Bootsy Collins, Earth Wind & Fire, James Brown, Isaac Hayes, Kool & the Gang, The Average White Band, Curtis Mayfield, The Ohio Players, The Commodores, Tower of Power, War. There’s nothing else like it.

What went hand in hand with the music, and turned out to be of even greater benefit, was learning how to dance. My brother and I may have walked into their home that first day as stiff little white kids, but we sure as hell didn’t leave that way. No matter what was going on in their home, there was music playing, and if you weren’t grooving along they figured something was wrong with you – and they were right. If you can sit still with funk playing, there most certainly is something wrong with you.

Dancing is beyond important – it’s vital. Yet somehow mainstream American culture never really embraced its value. I blame those damned Puritans. Most of us crackers have no idea what it’s like to really get down and boogie. I’d even settle for a good hoedown, with fiddlers and a guy blowing into a jug. I’ve got nothing against square dancing, but you don’t even see that going on these days. What the hell is wrong with us?

Throughout history, dance has been an important method of expression. Think for a moment about the emphasis that other cultures, both modern and primitive, have placed on this art form. Even king David, a man after God’s own heart – and mine, danced up the steps of the newly-built temple. The bible makes over twenty-five references to dancing, yet fundamentalists still act like it’s wrong.

Can somebody tell me how dancing became a chick thing? My favorite comedian, Dane Cook, expounds on this phenomenon, noting that the only reason guys go to clubs is because that’s where the ladies are. You’ll find the girls out on the dance floor, shaking it in a big circle, with their shoes and handbags piled in the middle. Why do guys think dancing nullifies their sex appeal? Take a lesson: Fred Astaire was no looker, but women swooned when he hit the dance floor.

After a rough week at the office, I often try to think of what would best release the accumulated stress – and the only thing that I know beyond the shadow of a doubt will be completely 100% beyond effective is a night of dancing. Yet finding other people who want to go out with me is nearly impossible. Am I the only one who knows about this magic cure? I guess so. Well, there’s always the club kids… I just don’t know any of them.

I love even the idea of a dark, steamy, packed club, with music blaring so loud that all you can do is immerse yourself in the beat and get lost in the crowd on the dance floor. Like in music videos where they show sexy, scantily-clad people in slow motion, skin glistening, getting their grove on. That’s where I want to be. But I’m thirty years old, and somehow that makes me too old for that kind of activity.

INSERT DEEP SIGH HERE

But what I do in the privacy of my own home is my business, so I close the door in my bedroom and dance my ass off – literally, it’s aerobic, you know. Sure, it’s not the same as a club, and I don’t do it nearly as often as my stress level demands, but for now it’s all I’ve got… And as long as I’m still dancing, who cares.

June 15th, 2004

First of all, I should warn you about Garfield. The only reason it’s worth the money is to enjoy two hours of relative silence from your children… Othwerise skip it. You’ll wish you could get that chunk of your life back. As expected, it didn’t do the comic strip any justice.

To recover, the following night we went to see a movie I had been looking forward to for some time, Stepford Wives. Nicole Kidman, Bette Midler, Glenn Close, Christopher Walken, Matthew Broderick. Now this was truly funny, especially for the ladies. However, I had no idea that the last laugh would be on me.

I was wearing the perfect summer sundress, white with delicate peach and pink stripes – cleavage central, and a beautiful contrast against my freshly tanned skin – with a white handbag, matching white sandals, my coveted pink wrap, and Breck girl coiffure.

100% Stepford… Everyone exiting the theater enjoyed a grin.

June 13th, 2004

Congratulations to my only hypo-allergenic feline friend. Garfield’s new movie opens in theaters today. Here’s hoping it doesn’t suck.

June 11th, 2004

No doubt you’ve heard about the shit-ton of people standing in line for hours to pass by the embalmed corpse of our former president. I’m as big as fan of Ronald Reagan as they come, and although I find myself strangely saddened by his death, nothing could make me want to stand in line just to parade past his corpse. That’s just… strange.

The Reagan years constituted the bulk of my childhood, and were therefore a huge part of my cultivation. I’m the Alex P. Keaton in my family. Back in junior high, at Eliot: the Pink Prison (I can’t believe they painted it beige last year) …there was a guy who signed my yearbook, “It’s a pleasure to know another excellent Republican.” I wonder if Brendan Gamb became a politician.

Well, I don’t know how “excellent” a Republican I am, but I have certainly worked on a few campaigns. I think I worked my hardest on Dole 1996, not because I thought he had an ice cube’s chance in hell, but because I couldn’t live with myself through another four years of Clinton without taking my best shot at defeating the putz. I shudder to think of the effect on kids growing up during his terms.

You know it wasn’t just Ronnie who left a distinct impression on my generation. Let’s not forget his wife Nancy and her “Just Say No” program. I suppose I have her to “thank” for the fact that I steered clear of all drugs until a year ago. I say no, you say no, together we say no. I say no, no no no, no no no. That was some hard core propaganda – mental programming – and it worked like a charm.

The nineties largely sucked. The eighties were far more decadent. They were all about Dynasty and Miami Vice and the Cold War. It cracks me up seeing all the fashions from that era making a comeback. This is my first experience with the adage “if you lived through it the first time, you can’t revive the style.” Guess I held on to my jellies and shoulder pads for nothing. Shucks.

June 10th, 2004

While I revel in the fact that being a bombshell requires the assistance of various beauty products, sometimes I look in my bathroom cabinet and wonder how much of this stuff is really necessary. Most of it comes from the store I respectfully refer to as Mecca. Yearly, I repent of my pilgrimages by sifting through bottles, tubes, and compacts, so the girls (and metrosexuals) at my office can enjoy the cast-offs.

I don’t know what made me such an addict. It must have something to do with the fact that my mother was a tree-hugging hippie whose beauty routine, to this day, involves bathing, brushing her teeth, shaving, and combing her hair. And I mean combing, not styling, mind you. She expects a standing ovation on the rare occasion when she dabs on a little lipstick. As a result, I had to learn all the necessary girlie stuff through trial and error.

When I was twelve, my grandma (a very elegant lady) let me pick a magazine from the Publishers Clearinghouse. I enlisted the help of Young & Modern, commonly known as YM. Many a supermodel got her start on those pages. Over time I followed them to more grown-up publications. Today, women’s periodicals have become so ridiculous that I now rely on Cosmetic Connection and Net-A-Porter to help me stay au courant.

Back to my point: What’s really necessary? When I ask myself the “if you were stranded on a deserted island with Fabio” question, this is what I come up with: lip balm, blush, mascara, powder, liner, lotion, remover, cleanser, fragrance, and the best face cream money can buy. Anything other than those exact items inevitably end up in a used Nordstrom bag on its way to the office.

Let’s be honest, I’m still going to try my hand at the latest innovations in wrinkle abatement although I don’t have a single crease; I’ll still buy that sparkly turquoise creme eyeshadow even though it looks silly outside of a discotheque; and though you’ll only find one tube of lipstick in my handbag there will always be twenty others sitting in a drawer at home. Canceling my subscription to Allure helped, but there’s still no methadone for the product junkie.

June 9th, 2004

Found a fun spot to surf.
This is most disturbing.

June 8th, 2004

For as long as I’ve had the ability to choose, I’ve been an all-or-nothing girl. I always found the “middle of the road” distasteful, maybe disdainful, and dare I say, even dishonest. It’s possible that I took Revelation 3:16 too much to heart, but why risk being lukewarm when passion is far more attractive and beneficial.

Avoid being wishy-washy. All that’s required is a healthy dose of curiosity and some decision making skills. Natural curiosity is an everyday advantage. You can’t be effectively decisive unless you investigate and gather all the pertinent facts. I truly pity those who are not born curious. How ever do you make wise decisions without an innate hunger for knowledge and truth?

Still, much of life is attaining balance. It’s just as bad to be stubborn as indecisive. There is no virtue in picking a position and then sticking to it like glue. Dolly Parton (who incidentally has some very fun quotes) may have nailed it when she said, “Find out who you are, and then do it on purpose.” Because we’re constantly evolving, our choices should be regularly realigned with who we have become.

I’m the girl who takes everything to the N^th degree. Most comfortable with extremes, I’d rather be on one of the tail ends of the bell curve, even if it means the shit end. Screw the masses. I refuse to do things half-assed. The Greeks had a word, Areté: Striving to reach maximum potential. The US Army puts it simply: Be all that you can be. You won’t come up with nothing when you’re aiming for all.

June 8th, 2004

Yeah, that’s my governor… Kick ass!

During his campaign I remember telling folks, “He governs me already.” But I was still fairly surprised when he was elected. Who knew the two dozen republicans left in the state could pull it off. Then again, I just thumbed through an article in Maxim about the growing number of gays in the GOP. I’m sure Schwarzenegger was popular among the “G.O.D.S.”

Muscle rules. Strength is awesome. In that regard Ahhnold was sheer perfection. Next time you take a sick day, rent Pumping Iron. Almost a year ago I began circuit training. The other day I was nearly blinded by my deltoid gleaming in the sun. Then a moment later I blushed profusely as someone caught me flexing to admire my hard work.
The human body is an amazing creation. We’re walking chemistry sets. I was never much for sports, but I’m beginning to understand how people get addicted. Gaining mastery over your body, seeing it change over time, orchestrating its progression… it’s a powerful feeling, and very rewarding. It’s fun watching my body morph!
Mind you, I don’t want to end up looking like this. I’d prefer something more like this maybe. Yeah, that works. It would be great to have a nice gym set up at home, then I could make some serious progress. Although I doubt I’ll ever make Ms. Olympia, it’s nice being able to crank out a few more push-ups.
Hasta la vista, baby… I’ll be back.

June 7th, 2004