|Grace and I at Katie's wedding celebration|
|25 years of friendship between the three of us|
|Pretty sure I was singing along to some R&B, poor Katie.|
There’s a bar here called Tasty Waves. Every Tuesday night, you can get in touch with yo’ bad self because it’s their fiesta night. A live DJ plays hip hop and reggae. Should you need to lose five pounds in sweat while gyrating your tush on the dance floor specifically on a Tuesday night, this is the place to do it. Should you feel the need to get completely inebriated, this is the place to do it. Should you feel the need to find a person to make out with, this is the place to do it. It’s debaucherous at best which is a slight turn off for me. I can't get into the portion of the night where the bartenders run around offering free shots of some concoction that looks like cough syrup but to each his own. However, if you are living next door to this bar (which I am temporarily at a wonderful hostel called Om) then you might as well go there to dance. The music is so loud, you feel as though the party is literally in your room so I figured if ya can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em! Besides, I do love a good night of all out dancing and a few drinks.
|Even better than a G&S is a simple C....(coconut)|
Sometimes a gal just needs to dance and moreover, she needs to dance in public with others to the same music she dances to in private. She needs to share that happy vibe with those around her. The chicks from here have moves, their bodies feel the beat and they go with it. They make it look as effortless as riding a bike. It is anything but. I want to dance like them. So, I’m learning how to dance here by observing, mimicking and having the humility to ask (or rather yell over the music), “show me your moves, sista!” I daresay, when I try to shake my ass as seductively as they do, an onlooker must know I’m learning. I think of a mother lion teacher her cub how to hunt, I’m still clumsy and perhaps without grace. In various times throughout my life on dance floors, I’ve been told I’m a good dancer. I don’t really think so but I welcome the compliment. At the very least, I know I’m a much better dancer than singer. But dancing for me is like a euphoric, healthy drug. I don’t care if I look stupid, I get into a zone while I’m dancing, I reach a higher plane, I swear. And if you are going to play Beyoncé, that higher plane is well beyond cloud nine.
|Cloud 9 is out there as well as 10, 11 and 12|
I yearn to take a hip hop dance class here. When I am procrastinating a task, I often youtube music videos for the sole purpose of studying the dance moves. Beyonce is by far my favorite and then I thoroughly enjoy Justin Timberlake. Michael Jackson surpasses everyone else at lighting speed but I won’t really touch on him because he’s not the topic here and he really is simply untouchable in his talent. No one will ever outdo him. Until I can dance well enough that Beyonce offers me a job as her backup dancer, I step back from the ring and observe the beautiful women here get into their groove. I ask for advice on dance maneuvers and I remember that music and dancing bring people together. It doesn’t matter if you look like a fool, when you’ve got a great beat pulsing and you can’t stop moving your feet, all that matters is that you’re having fun in the warm Caribbean breeze, smiling and enjoying life with the local dance floor vixens.
Disclaimer: I deemed it appropriate to spend an hour youtubing Beyonce videos for the links I provided above. It was research and development for this post, not procrastination.
|Step into my office...|