Last Saturday night, post-buffet finishing, I went dancing. Now before all of you applaud me for actually going somewhere on a Saturday night, you should know that this dancing didn't occur on the dance floor or in some bar. Instead, it took place in the upstairs of my own house. After neglecting the upstairs rooms for weeks, I decided Saturday night was as good of a time as any to clean.I'm sure you're probably wondering what cleaning has to do with dancing. Well, in my world one has a lot to do with the other. Sometimes the only way I can motivate myself to drag out the broom, mop, and can of Scrubbing Bubbles is to put on my iPod, turn it to some high energy song, and dance while I scrub the dirt away. The music not only keeps me going, nine times out of ten it also keeps me from getting distracted by the TV and Internet.
Saturday night was no different. I turned my iPod to some cheesy dance movie soundtracks, and within minutes doing something about the dirty clothes on the bathroom floor, the paint-splattered newspapers, and the pieces of kibble that Bailey had scattered from one side of the master bedroom to the other no longer seemed like such a daunting task.
First I cut loose with Footloose and my laundry hamper. Then I assured anyone who would listen that I was going to live forever, and I was going to learn how to fly. (FYI--Putting paintbrushes in a cup is a lot more fun if you do pirouettes across the room first.) While subsequently picking up the tools that I had used on the buffet, I even attempted to imitate the Pour Some Sugar on Me dance from The Search for the Ultimate Coyote Ugly, all the while miraculously avoiding a concussion from the swinging hammer and a jab in the eye from the paint scraper.
Finally, Baile Latino's Lambada came on my iPod. When I originally downloaded the song from iTunes, the Kaoma version of the song--the one that is actually featured in the movie The Forbidden Dance--wasn't available for purchase so Baile Latino's version was as close as I could get. It's the same song, just a different person singing it, but I digress. The point is, when it came on, I was suddenly inspired to reenact the solo lambada scene from the movie, the one where the kidnapped Nisa tells the evil, tree-cutting guy, "You want to see the lambada? I'll show you the lambada."
For those of you who don't share my passion for cheesy dance flicks or who have never seen the movie, this is the scene I'm talking about:
Now picture me in my ratty paint clothes, my pink fuzzy socks, and my half-ass ponytail, holding a Swifter duster in one hand and a trash bag in the other, looking absolutely nothing like Laura Herring in her red dress, standing in the middle of my spare bedroom, and attempting to do that dance. Now picture me halfway through the song turning towards the window and realizing for the first time that the blinds are wide open, that there are people outside, and that, thanks to the ceiling fan light, the room is lit up like a stage. Now picture me dropping to the floor like I was dodging bullets from a drive-by. That was my Saturday night.
At that point, I had two choices--sell my house or crawl over to the window and shut the blinds. I chose the latter. However, the embarrassing realization that my neighbors were probably getting ready to run me over with the hot tamale train put a damper on any further dance festivities. I spent the next hour singing as I cleaned instead.
It wasn't until I started to go to bed that another realization hit me. If I could hear the people outside, chances are they could hear me and my loud, off-key singing as well.
Great. I bet they really loved my rendition of the Divinyls I Touch Myself.
Maybe moving isn't such a bad idea after all.
