I dance in my heart...

...'cause my feets got no rhythm.

Yea, that Mother Nature. She's quite the merry prankster. She gives me the soul of Twyla Tharp, but the feet of Larry Fine...along with the voice to match. Nyuk..nyuk..nyuk.

I love music. No, I mean I love music. My tastes aren't refined. I'm not a music snob. I love equally and eclectally. Latin, Jazz, Oldies, Blues...doesn't matter. I know what I like and what I don't and that's enough for me.

I love hearing/watching live music...I'll watch any kind. Bluegrass, Country, Rock, Folk. I sit in awe of those that can not only play an instrument well, but sing along with that instrument.

And I'd like to think that I've got a good ear for music. I played clarinet in band for...um....five or six years, though I can't read a note of music now. Ya don't use it, ya lose it. I can pick up just about any instrument, mess with it a while and pick out a recognizable tune. I know when it sounds right and when it doesn't.

However, when it comes to singing or dancing...well, let's just say...I suck. I mean major suckage. Ultimate suckage. Ok, so sometimes I can belt out a tune along with the radio and not sound like a cat that's been run over by a riding lawn mower. But the song hasta be in just the right key...or octave...I dunno. But those times are rare.

But dancing? Oh, gawd...I'm so bad it oughta be illegal.

We go to monthly parties with a bunch of other couples and dancing is always a major feature. We have a great DJ who plays a fantastic mix of stuff...but I rarely dance. Oh, I want to...I can hardly keep myself contained. My feet are goin under the table. I'm bouncin and bobbin to the rhythm. But I'm just not....comfortable dancing. It ain't pretty. It ain't graceful. I can feel the music. Every fiber of my being tells me that I can get out there and DANCE, baby!

But the rhythm gets lost somewhere between my ears and my feet. How the hell does that happen?

My parents were fantastic dancers. I'm not kiddin...we're talkin Fred and Ginger caliber here. I can remember my dad having me stand on his feet and dancing...trying to teach me. Then he'd have me do it on my own feet and it'd wind up with him yelling and me crying. I just couldn't get it.
Dancing lessons? Forget THAT. Same result. I loved the music...it just got lost in translation.

And it's not that I'm ashamed or embarrassed to get out there and shake my formidable ass. Hell, there are plenty of other people that have no rhythm already doing that. Nobody'd notice another one. People are always buggin me to "get out there and dance". But I rarely do. It's just....I dunno...it's like it ruins it for me.

Boy...when I think about it...gawd...I'd love to salsa. I'd adore being able to swing dance. Ballroom dancing? Ohhhh, baby. But I just can't do it. Period.

I'm dancin my ass off in my heart, though. Guess that'll hafta be enough.