Humor Zumba

Can You Be A Heterosexual Male and Take Zumba Classes?

After much thought, I’ve come up with the same answer to the question of, “can you be a heterosexual male and be married?” Maybe.

What launched me into this line of philosophical inquiry, you ask? Dale’s choreography to this song. Take a minute to get in the “mood” before I describe the “fitness” routine for you.

Now, imagine “castanet” hands high above your hands, walk forward, right foot, left foot, in time with the music, swish your hips right left, four steps then, at the end thrust your hips fast to the right like you’re Miss America in the swimsuit competition (or knocking your best friend off the end of the cafeteria table in the fifth grade). Oh HELL NO, I’m not doing that. not ever. You gotta draw a line somewhere.

Hey, don’t get me wrong. I like pink shirts, manicures and pedicures, a fine Beaujolais and a great art gallery as much as the next metro sexual. I’ve had gay friends since college, and I hope they can get married in all 50 states so they can be as miserable as the rest of us, BUT, – you gotta draw a line somewhere.

Comedians have been “joking” about sexless marriages since vaudeville. Or Pompeii, depending on how you interpret their brothel art. Or joking about marriages, period. Its all about having balls. Or none at all. It’s all about drawing a line somewhere. That’s why some guys will cook, or clean, or shop, or whatever, but when it comes to laundry, for example, they put the whites with the colored clothes, turn the hot water heater up to 240, add some bleach, lye and sulfuric acid to the tide, get them out of the washer, put them in the dryer on extra hot, dry them through 4 cycles and and wait for their honey to take out her all white disintegrated Barbie sized clothes: then say, “OMG, I can’t imagine what happened to those clothes!” And look very penitent when told, “you’re not EVER allowed to wash clothes again”. GRIN.

The amount of new songs and new routines each class is never ending. I feel like I’ve been sentenced to Dante’s first circle of hell, Limbo. (who ever liked dancing THAT at parties in the 60’s either), of endless line dancing and cheerleader routines. Reminded me today of when my daughter joined Girl Scouts. So I had to join Girl Scouts. THAT was interesting. Went to my first meeting and felt like they were looking at me like Anthony Hopkins, in the Silence of the Lambs. At the END of the movie. This is more than convention- line dancing Karma. I must have bludgeoned a court jester in 1502. Robbed and Killed a minstrel in 1287. And I look around the room, and everyone else is doing it, like they were driving a car. Even Sheninqua, who’s on class 11, is sliding comfortably in. Although, I did point out to her that the latest ‘new’ song, which has every arm flap known to man, made me think of the old shake weight commercial. (P.S. I’m saving this rant for another blog, but the Lantino mix of Ice ice Baby has GOT TO GO. Why not try Emimem’s, “Shake that ass for me”. Ok, maybe not a good substitute, bit ICE ICE BABY has got to go. WOW

But then, like a good relationship, it’s making me healthier and faster. Stronger. Slimmer. I sleep better. It nags me silently in my head when I read the menu or go to the grocery store And, it’s very accepting that I ‘m a happy/grumpy grouchy/joyful old pervert. So, I guess you CAN be heterosexual and be married. Or take Zumba classes. But you gotta know where to draw the line.

“Drawing lines since Etch-a-Sketch 1963”

Humor Zumba

Zumba and my continued descent into mental illness

I was waiting for Zumba to start this morning, and Alpha no ! walks in with a Black Helmet on. I grab my keys and phone and start heading for the door. “Where you going?”, Dale asked. “I’m leaving,” I said. “If whatever you’re doing today involves helmets, I’m outta here”. Alpha no one, said no, she rode a motorcycle. I was still apprehensive, but I stayed anyway.

Dale is an itinerant Zumba teacher, and the Saturday class is in a small dance studio which shall remain nameless, for obvious reasons momentarily. You can tell from their wall propaganda and photos, that their target market in this upscale high income suburban demographic are young girls who want to compete in both dance competitions and in pageants. They have one dance room. Their motivation slogan in this room is the following:

dance anatomy

Now, I raised daughters, and my daughter will tell you I’m a pretty liberal guy. I enrolled her in both ballet, ( so she could experience grace and beauty – she hated it) and karate ( cause I told her she could date anybody she wanted when she got older as long as she could beat the shit out of anyone she dated) BUT, I never took her anywhere where the slogan was, “Everything we do, we do it BIG, BLACK and YELLOW”.

Maybe its just me, because those who know me, know I’m a quotations junkie. So, here’s just a couple of suggestions for what could have gone up on the wall:

Here’s a few by Martha Graham, maybe one of the most famous choreographers and dancers of the 20th century:
“Great dancers are not great because of their technique, they are great because of their passion.”
“The body says what words cannot.”
“Theater is a verb before it is a noun, an act before it is a place.”
“The body is a sacred garment.”

instead we have…..
“Everything we do, we do it BIG, BLACK and YELLOW”. Wow, Really? I have some other suggestions if they want to go in the OTHER direction with the motivational wall sayings, but they involve pole dancing and violate pages 3,4,7,8, and 11-14 of Dale’s censorship instructions, but you get the idea.

The entire back wall of this studio are floor to ceiling glass windows, overlooking a … Wait for it… A WAFFLE HOUSE. So, basically, we perform for the Saturday morning, hung over, “I need a cholesterol fix”,rush. Some guys came to the window and tried to dance along this morning. It was both hysterical and very Kafkaesque. (As much time as I have spent eating in waffle houses, the Karma of it all is not lost on my fat ass either- this is some pecan waffle dharma karma here, fer shizzle)

But then, just when I think I should lobby to have Zumba added to the DSM V, these Belly Scarf Divas crack me up. (And alpha no 2 looked red carpet spectacular in her new yves st laurent zebra print belly scarf – who knew designers did those?). I think they should start a club. Red hat ladies ain’t got shit on you girls! Rock on.

“We all live in a yellow submarine”.


Aging gracefully or like a rusting septic tank?

I’ve been thinking a good deal lately (“lately” at my age meaning the last 20 years) about aging and what it means to “get old”. I’ve also been thinking a lot lately (“lately” at my age meaning the last 20 minutes) if I could write something funny besides humiliating myself in an exercise class.   Here’s an opportunity to kill two birds with the same assault rifle.

I started thinking about this the first time I heard someone 50 called “middle-aged”.  Check  the mortality tables lately?  That train left the station at 40.

The second thing that got my attention were the famous and (not famous) actors, politicians, fitness gurus, granny’s graduating college, 90-year-old owner of the clothing store we all know, who despite their being well into their advanced years, just don’t seem “old” at all.

How do I get there? What does it mean to be “old”?  I did a little research. (Ok, VERY little research) Here’s just one website I found on “aging”.  Here’s  one example why conventional medical science doesn’t clearly reflect what  we all see in the real world. Here’s the symptoms listed under “Diagnosis” on page two:
diminished, or lack of, desire for food
increased confusion
failure to thrive
urinary incontinence
weight loss

Seriously? Ok, if weight loss and diminished desire for food are symptoms, call the National Enquirer, I’m destined for  immortality. As for increased confusion, failure to thrive, dizziness, falling and urinary incontinence: frankly, that just sounds like my twenties. Wow, if I’d known that was aging I wouldn’t have cut back on my drinking.

So, I’m developing my own “anti aging” prescription list. Screw a bucket list, I wanna be Morgan Freeman, who turned 76  June 1,2013. Make EVERYDAY a bucket list day.

1. Keep up: if you can’t/won’t/don’t wanna use-learn cell phones, computers, social media, technology, you don’t only LOOK old, you are old. in general, KEEP UP. When you hear the “20’s”, “40’s”, “50’s”, or “80’s, s each decade evokes a certain menagerie of fashion, politics, technology, media,  design, and culture. I find this harder as the years go by. I admit I rely on my girlfriend to insure I don’t dress like its 1985. I’m constantly scrambling to listen to bands who have clearly gone viral for awhile. Vampire weekend? Yup, their third album is out. You get the drift. Keep up

2. Do NOT join the AARP. Does this really need any explanation? It’s a cult. I know they have kool aid. I’m not drinking it.

3. Aches and pains. If you’re over 50, shut the hell up about them. If you’re between 9 and 49, bitch away. I hear my friends between 9 and 40 bitch about their migraines, bad backs, discs, constantly. It’s ok, if you’re “young”. Over 50, you sound 80.  That ’cause, that’s ALL old people talk about.   If it hurts, suck it up and shut up. Unless you got a scrip for hospice, don’t tell nobody.

4. Aging “gracefully”. I admit I succumbed to false vanity and struggled with this a bit but the bottom line is that you cannot hide the outward physical effects of aging. Translation- every bottle of scotch from 30 years ago is proudly showing up today on my face and saying “whee- look at me”. While I heartily recommend a good dermatologist, increased exercise, healthier eating and lifestyle in general, (along with your addictions and bad habits of choice) you all have that image of the “she’s had too much plastic surgery” and “who’s he fooling with that comb over”. Be comfortable in your own skin is good advice for any age.

5. Hang out with young people besides your grand kids. This is also an aging test. If you are a PITA (pain in the ass) they won’t hang out with you. Grumpiness is a sure sign of aging. See, e.g. The movies GRUMPY OLD MEN I,II,III, IV & V.

I’m happy to die today or 40 years from now, that’s inevitable. Aging? That’s optional

“We all live in a yellow submarine”. (This is a lyric from a song by a band called the “BEATLES”, which had a flash of popularity 50 years ago).

Humor Zumba

Zumba Class Three

Get to class a few minutes early so I can snag my spot in the back of the room. Two attractive middle age brunettes come in weighing maybe, 75 pounds between the two of them total. Each one is the size of one of my thighs. One is experienced at Zumba, she get on the row in front of me, one is a newbie, she gets the spot right next to me. I try not to eavesdrop but they’re talking over me, so it’s kinda hard not to. They’re talking about what they last ate, which sounded like it was February. A chocolate crisp, and a bit of salsa in some lettuce. My mom wouldn’t let me have pets, but after years of nagging, I got one of those one inch turtles, which they brought to mind cause that’s what he ate, cept he got a little hamburger instead of the salsa. Then they included the woman to my right, who thankfully looked like she had eaten within the last week. The more experienced Zumba brunette started talking about the importance of Zumba shoes, because running shoes or sneakers are designed for forward movement and Zumba, or dance or tennis shoes are designed for lateral movement and therefore better for your knees. This discussion went on for awhile, occasionally glancing at me, as if to draw me Into their conversation about the various shapes on the bottom of one’s footwear. Not taking the bait, she finally asked what was on the bottom of my footwear. “Honey”, I said, “if I had jetpacks on the bottom of my shoes, it wouldn’t make a difference in this class .

Class begins. Min 0-10. Wow. This is actually harder than last week. Which was harder than the week before. Can this actually just get worse and worse? Is Zumba some arcane Latino slang word for marriage? I flash back to when @tanya Altagracia told me Laddaga was slang in Puerto Rican for “female short penis.” If this is another cruel linguistic joke, I wanna find out early. At least I still have oxygen in my body.

Min 15. Oxygen all gone. I have entered a dissociative state.

Min 20. I realize I am developmentally unable to move my arms and legs at the same time.

Min 25. The 75 pound newbie next to me looks pretty graceful for a newbie and has not broken a sweat. I may stab her in the parking lot on the way out.

Min 31. Only half way. Thank god I got on and bought one of those defibrillators you see in the airports now. I can hardly wait to go home and shock my heart.

Min 38 I no longer fear death. By any manner,method or disease.

Min 45. The 75 lb newbie has STILL not broken a sweat. I on the other hand am standing in a puddle of perspiration like I have pissed myself, have drenched my polo shirt like there’s a garden hose under my polo short and have wound out my handkerchief three time on my polo shirt. I am definitely stabbing her in the parking lot.

Min 55. It’s the cool down song. I have lost time-and have no recollection of those 10 minutes like alien abductees report. Maybe they just went to a Zumba class.
“I am the walrus. Goo goo g’joob”

Copyrite Lawrence Laddaga2013