Salsa!

Mmmmmm, salsa. Green/red, hot/mild, heated/chilled -- I loves the salsa and chips. On a desert island if I had to choose only one food forEVER it would be chips and salsa. I can not ever eat enough and cannot keep it in my house without ravenously devouring a whole jar at one time. (Seriously, this is a contest I could win... where is the "who can eat the most pica (spicy) salsa" contest?? My SKILLS are not being used to their fullest potential!)

But I digress. The kind of salsa to be discussed here, in this post, is the other kind that involves thumping music, high-heels, and a bit of sass.

Now I do "got sass". And I likes to shake my as--pirin bottles. (What?? This is a family show..) But while I'm a salsa-TASTING expert, am I a salsa-DANCING expert? Hmmmm.

In a "let's-go-to-austin-and-have-fun" girls weekend with some of my coworkers, last night we went to Copa, a great salsa-dancing place. (Thanks for the rec, Tiff!). Let's set the scene:

We walk into the club and wiggle our way close to the edge of the dance floor. Music is pumping, skirts flying, hips grooving -- it is un corazon of people beating with fire. After a few minutes of looking in longingly, I shout to my friend Yang, "Will you teach us?" And she kindly shouts her agreement. So we weave through sweaty, happy, twisting people over toward the mirror. (Mistake number one because when I catch a glimpse of my sad, jerky, decidedly un-twisty hips I think to myself, "What on earth am I doing next to a flippin' mirror?!?") Yang shows us some steps and then we practice. And sweat. And practice. And sweat. And people come over and say, "Do you want to dance?" And I shout, "I don't know how but she does!" And away flies Yang. Then away fly Aurora and Sarah. And in comes a 50-something, kind-faced gentleman who has no idea what he is in for...

He kindly asks to dance and I shout, "I don't know how." And he says, "No, I saw you and your friends. You can do it." So I laugh and say, okay, and begin practicing my step 1,2,3,4 .. 5,6,7. 1,2,3,4 .. 5,6,7.

--"See you are doing fine."

(Holly trips immediately after compliment.)

--"It's okay you just need to loosen up a bit."
(Holly goes boneless. Chicken-y legs... is that an appropriate salsa move?)

--"Okay just try and take smaller steps"
(1,2,3,4.. 5,6,7... 1,2,3,4, step-on-toes)

--"..."
(Holly tries to add some hips. Mirror glance says, noooooooo, not the hips!!)

--"Okay we are going to spin, listo (ready)?"
(Holly, excited about spin starts spinning already)

--"No let's go back... small steps, just small steps."

(Holly sort of finds a beat again... sort of)

--"Here we go"
(Holly spins, back, side step-py things, spin, wheeeeeee!)

--"That's it!"
(Holly steps on toes again and says, "I think I can't get the beat. I'm a musician.")

-- " ummm. . . what kind? "
(Holly shouts, "singer". Other musicians would say that explains everything...)

--"Just stay loose. Don't think so much."
(Holly starts going boneless, chicken-y legs again.)

After a bit more uncoordinated writhing, the music comes to a close and we both laugh, (did I see him sigh with relief??). We move back to our own friends as the next song brings more dancers to the floor.

Later in the evening my "teacher" passes me and, definitely NOT asking me to dance again, says, "You really need to practice." (Chuckling.) Yep, he's right. My salsa dancing is hot. It's one big, hot, MESS!

Where are those chips again?...