Totally Bucked

That’s me. Sorry to be out of touch, out of reach, out of my mind, but I had to do something Monday I really didn’t wish to…desperately so. But it needed to be done and I know in the long run it was the right decision. In the short run, however,

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Friends have been patient. Friends have been kind. Friends have been insightful. Friends have been inciteful. If I don’t get my shit together soon, I may no longer have friends.

Shit…get together!

There is not much that gets my shit together at this juncture. Flogging the blog has me pretty concentrated at the mo. Dancing of all things does. I took two tap classes on Wednesday (one of which I wept through…had to go back later in the day and reclaim a bit of the ol’ pride, dontchaknow). Had a three hour dance call yesterday morning for what I fondly call The Theatrical Mercy Fuck Project. I couldn’t be more wrong and yet they think I am oh-so-right. Perhaps the three hour dance call finally proved ME right and despite the fact I am about to scream to the heavens (and you) about it, I had…oh, I can’t explain it…it was transportive. I did show girl, I did burlesque (including 16 counts of improv...split into a forward roll anyone?), I tapped (okay…I stood in the back and smiled broadway broadly while shuffling my feet and shifting my weight…the clicky clacks didn’t match anything. I need tap garanimals) and then I improved (as in improvisation, NOT making more better) 32 MEASURES of slutty, duet, livingroom dancing with a hot boy. I just kept bending over and presenting my butt like a baboon…call me “red-eye.”

I sucked and I didn’t care because for three hours I was in myself. Couldn’t mourn the past, couldn’t fantasize the future. Just wiggly waggin’ my tail.

Speaking of which, dogs focus me and the world has presented me with dogs a go-go in the past week…all LABS. I love me my labs…I think they are the only species/breed more enthusiastic than a purebred Tiz. A purebred Tiz is even enthusiastic about being jaded.

Mommy, something’s wrong with me.

But I played with Grace the three-month old puppy, Fandango the twelve-year-old, Henry the seven-year-old and…

Buck.

Buck is five months old. Buck tried to eat my ipod…I put it in my pocket. Buck tried to eat my sweater…I rolled up my sleeves. Buck tried to eat my thigh…I offered him my pants. Buck tried to eat my right forearm and hand…he succeeded. Two days later I still have buck-marks.

I was consumed.

Totally Bucked.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ah, the dance and dogs. Never mix the two. Whenever our german shepherds tried to hump me (which was hourly), my parents would say, “Oh look, Major/ Wolfy/Dutchy is dancing with little Tizzy.”

Can you tell I don’t know how to close this entry? So I’m not going to. I’ve ended enough this week. Somebody else finish this…


“You take the wheel for now. I’m too tired to drive this one home right now.”
--Jonatha Brooke