Yeah, I just walked in the door. It's 5:30am.

I'm not even tired.

That was some good dancing.

You know you haven't tangoed in a while when you're standing in a subway car, it lurches, and you go up on your toes to absorb the impact amid the sound of your own crunching bones.

Then the woman next to you is so freaked out she shoves her way to the other side of the car to avoid you, and the triumph of your moment is sort of squelched.

I've got to stretch in the mornings so my feet don't get that shock.

(Tango dancers' feet look like ballerinas' feet; I'm one of the few women I know not in the care of a podiatrist, and I left my last one because he told me to stop dancing.)

[Scene: a tango practica. GENEVIEVE is approached by PUSHY TANGO WOMAN, who rubbed intimate parts all over Genevieve the only time Genevieve made the mistake of dancing with her. PTW is known for approaching leaders and demanding they dance with her. It usually works.]

PTW: Are you going to lead me?
G: Oh! Well, I have my street shoes on, I was on my way out.
PTW: Let me ask you - do you just not want to dance with me any more? Because I've asked you, like, twelve times in the last year and you always say no. Is it that you don't want to dance with me any more?

[GENEVIEVE dies inside that someone is so unable to get a clue.]

G: [trying to allow PTW some dignity] I just usually dance with friends.
PTW: Well, I'm your friend, and I REALLY liked dancing with you. Just tell me you don't want to dance with me! I'm asking!
G: I usually prefer to dance with my friends, I'm sorry.
PTW: Fine!

[PTW suddenly morphs into Glenn Close.]

PTW: ...we're still friends.
G: ...
PTW: Well, goodbye.

[PTW sits down, stares directly at Genevieve.]

[Fin.]

I should feel creeped out, but instead I am just MORTIFIED that someone is so unable to read a room that after 12 "No"s she's still trying for "Yes".

Other people need more shame. It would spare me being ashamed on their behalf.

1. Fun story! This morning on my way to work there were some workmen across the street. (Just so we set the scene, I was in loose pants, top, loose blazer.) I got the following.

Worker: *wolf whistle* *WOLF WHISTLE* Hey sexy! Hey! HEY YOU! HEY, BITCH, WHERE ARE *YOU* GOING? BITCH!

And I kept my eyes ahead of me and my hand on my cell phone because he had other men with him and I was alone, and at 8:00am one block from an elementary school I was worried that this guy would run after me for not being appreciative of his attention.

There's no red button in the world big enough, okay? There's just not.


2. I am planning a big post for the tango bitchface filter, showing what real tango is and is not, with multiple video examples, some of which are flattering, some of which are really not. I have no desire to publicly humiliate (most of) these people, so if you want in on the [tango bitchface] filter, speak up!


3. I had my tango lesson yesterday. Very interesting. This'll be a separate post. It's all about free will! Well, free will and high heels.


4. Uh, I like cake! (Now I'm just filling.)


5. I should have made this post just three things.

For those who would like a little break from the crazy, here's a beautiful tango video of two guys dancing one of the most romantic tangos ever composed, "Vida Mia".

A lot of times I am indifferent to, or even dismissive of, same-sex tango couples, because they seem to be playing around and not respecting the connection or the music. These guys are both incredibly musical and incredibly connected. They switch lead and follow, but no matter who's in what role, the one who is leading is LEADING, the one who is following is FOLLOWING. The moments of close embrace in this dance are really beautiful to me.



I have a private lesson later tonight with an Argentine teacher who has made several of her students cry. Uh, WISH ME LUCK.

So here's how my day usually goes:

( Enemies of freedom, biological modification, and/or numbered lists need not click. )

It's 10pm. I'm just now preparing to go out.

My hobby is really strange.

...batshit people have to routinely walk into mine.

At the milonga this week, I got the opportunity to dance with a lady who has to be one of the most amazing followers in the country, no joke. She was the teacher/performer, and it was an honor and a pleasure to lead her, even though I was so nervous on the first song that I fucked up a lead and had to take a breath and calm down. It ended up being amazing. AMAZING.

It was the end of the night, so after the tanda I headed for my chair to change my shoes, but was blocked by a guy who was about 6'3" and stepped into my path, which, CLASSY. He spoke entirely in caps.


Him: [butts in]HEY, WHAT WAS THAT?
Me: [pointedly takes a step backwards]...
Him: WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO PRACTICE WITH ONE OF THE BEST FOLLOWERS EVER?
Me: ...!
Him: IF YOU WANT TO LEAD YOU SHOULD BE PRACTICING WITH ME. THERE'S NO CHALLENGE PRACTICING WITH HER.
Me: [vomits inside]
Him: SO HOW ABOUT IT?
Me: ...no. [grabs bag, debates braining him with it, walks away instead]


I didn't bother saying anything else because he clearly didn't get the difference between practicing and actually dancing, and it's like trying to explain string theory to someone who insists the Earth is flat. If you can't get beyond the basics, you're wasting your words.

What keeps me from being a really good follower is a matter of experience (the more experience I have, the more relaxed and responsive I'll be), but let me tell you, the scene is full of guys like that, and some days I think I'm better off staying home and watching a good movie.

...I say as I plan to get my shoes fixed tomorrow to put in a new set of heel tips. (My favorite embellishment is heel-down, toe-up with the left shoe, and EVERY SINGLE ONE of my left heels is worn down just in that one place. Maybe I'll picspam you tomorrow with a before and after!)

Since Sunday, I have logged 1,600 words on the novel*, edited two short stories, written another, and am working on another Tin-Man-licious movie writeup, a video project for The Other Boleyn Girl (I will get to this later), and tomorrow's Questionable Taste Theatre. (I really do have questionable taste. Be forewarned, world!)

I also went dancing last night, so as not to atrophy.

It feels good to be productive! I'm totally sleep-deprived, but I'm sure it still feels good. (I'm sort of numb from last night, still. My feet are getting deformed, no lie.)

* I would just like to point out that I had crossed 30k when a friend wrote me back with an observation on my sample chapters that was totally accurate. Two minutes later, I was FIVE THOUSAND WORDS in the hole. That was a fun Sunday night!

To do this weekend:

- Critique/get critiqued.
- Write 4,500 words.
- Flip out about my lack of writing ability. (I'm allowing myself one, which I will probalby use up in the next four hours, throwing my entire weekend into a tailspin!)
- Tango. Whether this is a reprieve or just more stress remains to be seen.
- Return emails.
- Lay groundwork for freelanceitude.
- Oh god, 4,500 words. What was I thinking five bullets ago?
- Deeply long to watch the Extended Edition of The Two Towers and Return of the King.
- Not actually watch them. Too much enjoyable time! I have to suffer, dammit! Suffer!
- Put away the clean laundry that is currently piled on my occassional chair. (It's piled me-high, people. This is not a drill.)
- Debate going to I-Con. (I'm not a gamer, and the tango DJ [milonga at a convention! WTF?] isn't worth a trip on the rail. Peter Beagle...is another story. I love Peter Beagle like I love animatrionic polar bear puppets.)

This list will be updated Monday, at which point maybe two of them will be struck out and the rest will still be sitting here! Place your bets.

Also, when I was at home last weekend I found my old copy of Dragonsinger, which I read when I was eight. That is the Mary Sue to end all Mary Sues, holy shit. No wonder I had an inferiority complex back then. Bad at piano AND without the ability to Impress fire lizards!

1. Saw Howl's Moving Castle last night; Christian Bale's voiceover was so hilariously distracting that I don't have much else to say, except that it's not worth seeing a movie for free if it's dubbed, and also that the ending was so random that I almost threw a pillow at the TV.

2. Started a short story that is going to be the death of me. Stupid story.

3. I'm taking a break from reading tango blogs; they only raise my blood pressure. Hopefully this means a downswing in bitchface posts, but you never know. I can be pretty bitchface all by myself.

4. They're auctioning off some The Other Boleyn Girl" costumes; if you ever wanted ugly, historically-inaccurate clothes at vastly inflated prices, go nuts! (I have to say, doublets would be pretty awesome daywear if you're a hardcore nerdwad. So, basically, they would be pretty awesome daywear for me.)

Please pay special attention to this dress, which managed to hide from me until now. You know when this would have looked great? In 1790. I might have to start Waistwatch on this thing.

5. Last night I came home to contributor copies of a literary journal. That's a nice welcome.

Danced so much last night that I couldn't walk this morning, and my feet are still so sore that I can't wear shoes.

But man, that was good times.

Today, I am conquering this Fantasma video! And writing, but let's face it, it's gonna be the Fantasma video.

ETA: Jeez, this is like river of consciousness. I'm getting some coffee. I clearly need it.

**

So I'm taking a break from tango tonight, staying in and catching up on some writing/story-sending/trying to find my bed under my pile of laundry-ing. I'm beginning to think it's for the best - tango is seriously the perpetual 8th-grade dance, and if you're out for 8 nights in a row you get tunnel-vision.

Good news: I'm reaching the point in novel revisions where it's squishy plot goodness and worldbuilding, to the point where I have to remind myself to keep up the short story submissions and not just dig into the novel and never come out. Mmmmmplot.

Sadly, even though I tend to remember my place as being vaguely livable, I'm pretty sure I will come home and find that's not the case and end up shredding and folding and dusting for two hours.

...and then taking a nap.

...and then working on Il Fantasma, which is the Russian-nesting-dolls of awful. Every time I think I've hit all the awful, I let it play for a moment and realize there's awfulness I didn't even remember from the last time! I should just post the whole thing with commentary, because trying to organize the awful into topics makes it look like there was forethought involved in making the movie, which I can pretty well assure you is not the case.

So, I've noted before that my leading has turned me more or less male in the eyes of most of the guys here.

However, women (who would never in a million years ask a guy to dance) swarm me wherever I go. As equality-based as I try to be, the fact is that women who are desperate for dances have literally followed me around asking at the start of every set if we could have a dance, even though I reply every time either, "No, thank you," or, "I've actually got someone else in mind for this set, thanks." These are two really blanket responses that, if they came from a guy, would be end of story.

But no, I have all the inconveniences of maleness and none of the perks. Ain't it the way!

Here's the thing; many of the women who like dancing with me are the ones who sit out a lot, so they're desperate for any decent leader to ask them. I understand that. However, a guy at my level* of dancing is under absolutely no expectation to dance. It's understood that any intermediate-or-above leader has earned the right to select his own partners. He might not get to dance with all the women he asks, but he's under no pressure to ask women he doesn't like.

I have taken to bringing a laptop to the milongas with me so I can get work done and then "take breaks" to dance, which keeps me from being an idle target, but now they cross the room to sit next to me and say, "I'll just wait for your next break to dance with you!", which, flattering, but again, if I were a guy, NEVER. NEVER would that happen.

And seriously, if I don't get the perks of being a follower, I DEMAND the perks of being a leader.

Ugh. At least I have the weekend to look forward to. Did I mention he was raised by rats, and yet can play a pipe organ? The last time I was so excited for a movie it was an MST3K box set, you guys; that's my level of excitement now.

* "my level" - an intermediate leader of one year's experience.

After the class, a guy came up to me for what I assumed was a question about class (I got the move, one of two leaders who did). The little ditty went like this:

Dude: You lead really well!
G: Thank you!
[They shake hands.]
Dude: That was a tough class, wasn't it?
G: Totally.
[Dude suddenly reaches out and clasps G's arm.]
Dude: Can I tape you?
G: [Shaking arm free.] What?
Dude: It's just that you're such a good leader. Just one song - I want to learn from you.
G: Well, I can introduce you to my teacher and you can take lessons.
Dude: [wringing hands] No, I can just tape you -
G: - I'm not letting you tape me.
Dude: But I want to learn from you...learn from the way you move.
G: ...Are you SHITTING me? [walks off]

Sadly, the story did not end with [G returns with a chair and beats Dude about the head with it], but IT COULD HAVE.

Welcome to Part Two of the "Tango Shoes" series of posts, in which I show off the pairs of heels that have taken five years off my life!

Part One, The Agony and the Sparkly, featured the pair that's lowest on the totem pole. I have actually retired them, because bleeding feet are not so fun, and because as soon as I strapped on a pair of NeoTangos I realized how much more comfortable they are.

How much more comfortable?

Well, I can actually get my heels off the ground in these shoes:



( The girliest shoes in the land, under the cut. )

Seriously, as hobbies go, tango is like getting repeatedly slammed in the face with a plank.

More tomorrow, when I have a little more perspective.

Danced from 10:30pm until 5am, with brief breaks when I couldn't feel my feet any more. Beautiful night of tango. I even did what few women have done before me; leading close-embrace milonga in stilettos. Mine were four inches, my follwer's were three inches. The evening had its ups and downs, but I won't even pretend that leading a set of three milongas (hard) in close embrace (hard) with both women in heels (uh, hard) wasn't satisfying and awesome.

The shoes I was wearing?

These:



More about tango shoes than you ever wanted to know, below the cut.

( I call them The Motherfuckers. Ask me how! )

Man, I am looking forward to tonight. Pajamas, tea, and writing, with Children of Dune in little segments as a reward. (Also a reward: skipping the first disk. Dear Paul Atreides, did you ever think about acting lessons or anything? No? I mean, bold move, but for serious, it's like a 50s melodrama whenever you're on. Dial it down!)

Weirdly, tomorrow's evening schedule of dancing tango feels like work. Part of this is just because of the work it takes to look good and continue looking good when you're dancing in a hot room from 10pm till 5am. Part of this is because I had a really, really bad set this Wednesday with a middling leader who blamed me for the bad dances, pointing out that "leaders make bad followers". I refrained from pointing out that crappy leaders make for crappy leaders, but in retrospect I really should have said something.

Luckily, I don't have to think about that until tomorrow. And tonight? Hot date.

(Frostiiiiiing! Brush your teeeeeeeeeeth! /300 spoof trailer)

Finished story edits yesterday, which helped wash away the taste of dinner, and got some very surprising and wonderful feedback from my usually-harsh betas; it was like dessert, if you could eat email. Which you can't. (Just FYI.)

I have the sinking feeling it's all dressed up with nowhere to go, but that's a problem for tomorrow. I'm going dancing tonight, so I get a reprieve on writing.

In other news, I voted last night; still not 100% sure of my vote, but sadly there was no "NOT REPUBLICAN" lever, so I had to improvise. Also, turns out that joke doesn't go over well when all your voting-booth volunteers are 75-year-old Republicans.

Fun bit of tango trivia, which I'll explain in more detail in an upcoming post: in order to get my heels/legs/feet as flexed as they need to be for tonight, I'm warming up now. It's 1:00pm, and I started too late. Sometimes I think tango is up there with "getting repeatedly slammed in the face by a plank" as hobbies go.