#AtoZ : Dancing

My Old Stomping Grounds

Thanks to Beth, the GBE2 group has graciously included letter topics that follow suit with the A to Z challenge, so here is a double whammy of #GBE2 and #AtoZ all in one post.

I tended to be a bit more outgoing in my youth. I'll never forget the time I visited The Deja Vu at the University of Missouri and found no one on the dance floor, so I grabbed a chair, waltzed out to the middle of the circle, and spun it around for a few rounds. Next, I knew others followed suit to bring about a floor filled with chairs and people. The most ironic part: I hadn't had a drop to drink!

The Early Years

While dating my husband, we used to go dancing all the time. I believe it was one of our first dates when he made the mistake of singing in my ear while on the dance floor. It took everything in me not to belt out a laugh over his grossly off tune tones. His singing is so bad that his high school music teacher told him to, "Shut up and lip sync." At least it wasn't a deal breaker.  

Writer's Post: Holiday Traditions

Ever wonder what Jews do on Christmas? Years ago we escaped to Cancuun, but unfortunately this didn't become our holiday tradition. After all, traditions must happen yearly.

Then there were the years we dined on Chinese food, since these are the only restaurants open on Christmas Eve. This too did not become our holiday tradition because we don't do this consistently every year.

Starry Nights

If tradition means doing something annually, it looks like we've found one. For the past three years or so, we've spent Christmas Eve freezing our butts off working the Christmas light show at Shelby Farms. Although we're in the south where one can wear T-Shirts in early December, something happens around December 24th as the temperature drops that one night we're working outside. It's our own slice of h*ll, but it's only fair since we don't have to lug heavy trees into our dens or risk our lives on ladders while hanging Christmas lights.

We have our own holiday that doesn't ask for much: Hannukkah, Channuka, Hanukkah, Chanukah. We celebrate the miracle of one bottle of oil lasting eight days. I have Crisco in my pantry that's lasted anywhere from eight months to eight years. Maybe we should celebrate it too... or throw it out. Actually, the oil might be one of the younger items in our closet. Which reminds me of my mother.

Mom had a lonely pickle in a jar sleeping in the back of our fridge for years.  My friends and I used to entertain ourselves by going through her refrigerator and laughing at the mold. Who knows? Maybe something in her fridge was from the holidays.

#GBE2: The Beautiful Legs Contest

Is this a good one?

As a mere elementary student, I was chosen from the audience at a high school carnival to decide which guy had the most beautiful legs. A paper screen covered their faces and torsos while I walked across the stage looking for a great pair of legs. To be honest, I didn't have a clue. What are good legs supposed to look like to someone with an age still in the single digits? Finally, I pressed my finger against some guy's knee and he reveled in his victory.

Today, I'm still not sure what makes a great pair of guy legs. I'm more of a face girl, maybe one who takes notice of a cute butt, but legs never did anything for me. So at a young age I learned that the secret to judging is to set a criteria. I still don't have one, so I'm asking for your help in case anyone else ever asks me to judge beautiful legs.

What makes male legs beautiful?

I'm leaving you with a funny leg clip because nothing is beautiful about a possessed leg!

I don't know why I still ask people to push the Picket Fence button, but go ahead if you want to.