Saturday, April 13, 2013

I just got home from the most geriatric disco ever. It is caled Casina Rossa on Friday nights. Have you ever wondered what would happen if there were no bubble gum chewing, shrieking girls at a disco and no rowdy boys knocking things over and peer pressuring each other into oblivion, but only people from the age of 40 to let's say 70 out to dance? Well, there is a shocking amount of polite passing each other. No pushing, no stepping on toes. There is still fist pumping, hip bumping, and shoulder flashing and the occasional yelling out of a lyric. It was both uplifting and depressing at the same time.

 The first thing I did was wait on line for about fifteen minutes. So Italian. Apparently, the buffet had not started and the hungry hoards were all waiting to hit the snacks. After a while I spotted one of the three brave zumba men behind a thick and heavy plastic curtain. He was sitting on a leather couch and lounging with a drink. He came and got me from the line and brought me to my fancy gym people.

I hate 80s music very much.

The DJ was the same DJ that most of the group had followed in high school at this same disco and another one in the area. He was like Dick Clarke old, but they said he hadn't changed a bit. He was playing 80s music -- mostly Italian, except for a Prince song and Pink Floyd, and, inexplicably, If You are Happy and You Know It.

Here is the DJ at an event last year:

The joint smelled like Bengay. I mean, the joints. There was a little stage to dance on and a cage(?!) I was pretty sure someone was going to break a hip. It was good networking with gym clients, though.

Just so you know, I was the only human being in that place not wearing high heels. I wore leather converse with studs. I'm not going to risk my tendon again after everything I've been through. I think that even some of the shorter men were wearing heels. They were all very sweet, by the way. I was a little confused when Giuseppe, who was frustrated by the fact that I was going slow on my overly sweet, bubbly white wine (yuck), grabbed my cup and drank the rest of it. Blessings on him, my dehydration headache is bad enough as it is this morning. I was exhausted by midnight since I had already exercised for three hours before I got there. Good lord am I a good sport.

The dancing went something like this:

Mariella, my hostess, sent me a text last night, and, instead of signing it baci/kisses, she of course signed it zumbaci. She couldn't believe that after I said I was going to come to the event, I actually showed up. I am so over people not keeping their word that since I ended up promising this random sullen trainer at work a Bruce Springsteen tee shirt, (desperate moment of nothing to say to each other), I actually ordered it on Amazon. I just feel that If I keep showing up with the thought that I am going to find something to like in everybody and saying what I mean, I'm going to be happier


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