ROCO Friday – Safety Meetings


The congregation is at a near frenzy. The thought that the good Reverend might be returning today has an excited buzz rolling through the crowd. Electrified whispers start at the front of the room and spread to the back. Suddenly, a hush falls across the room as a solitary figure steps towards the pulpit.

*clears throat*

Good morning, my dear friends. You have been missed. Please know that the Reverend MiamiShyner has been itching to get back and speak to you. Let the congregation say ROCO.

Today, this wonderful Friday, let us talk about dancing, dancing safely, and safety meetings. We might also touch on the paranormal, but first things first: dancing. Oh yes, we all do it. Whether you admit it or not, at some point, probably today, you’ve either busted out a dance move, no matter how small. Perhaps you’re doing choreography in your head right now. If so, good on ya. If not and you haven’t even thought about busting a move today, get up and do so. I’ll wait……


Yeah, Tina. Get it.

That’s also about how I look when making attempts at dancing. Yep, I am the anti-stereotype. Black girl that can’t sing or dance and has no ass. I also hate watermelon and fried chicken isn’t high on my list of loves either. On the whole, I haven’t dated within my race (OMG, the horror!) and that’s not how I married. I contributed to the world interracial fund with a daughter and I think everyone else should too. Let the congregation say ROCO. But I digress.

Weekday mornings, I rise from my slumber and head to the yoga dungeon/workout lair/basement to visit with Shaun T.  You know, you gotta love a Shaun T workout, unless it’s any of the Insanity ones in which case you can kiss the crack of my black ass. But Hip Hop Abs, Rockin Body, and Cize? Yeah. All day, every day. It’s dancing and dancing is fun. Or, at least, what I call dancing is fun.

Shaun T says everyone/anyone can dance. You know, I hate to call shenanigans on him, but I have to disagree. Everyone/anyone can follow choreography. Not everyone can dance. Like me, for instance. I can follow your choreography and get it down pretty quickly. Does that mean I look like I’m dancing? Nope. People around me might be doing the same thing and looking like they’re dancing, but I’ll look like I’m having a seizure. So, yes, everyone can follow choreography when broken down correctly, but not everyone can dance.

And I can’t dance safely. One might think for the activities in which I participate, that I would be much less of a klutz. But no, guess again. I fall over my own feet in any sort of complicated footwork, and this morning, I managed to strain my side. Dancing. Maybe I should just call what I do spazzing. The harder I try, the worse it looks, lol. You don’t believe me? Go ahead and watch that little clip below and laugh. My left side! It hurts, lol.

There you go. Proof that I can’t dance. And especially not safely.

I can, however, and have been known to in the past, ahem, conduct a safety meeting. What? I’m unapologetically me. I don’t do things to hurt others. And as long as I stay on that path, I’mma do WTF I want. Just like Eric Cartman. And, I live in Colorado, so bite me. Bite me like I’m a weed infused cookie that you’re dying to try.

Anywho, on a completely different topic, do you ever wonder if your house is haunted? When I was a kid and my great-grandfather died, we moved into his house. Now, we’re talking early 80s here. When houses were sturdy but wiring was probably questionable. After we moved in, odd stuff happened. Lights would turn off or come on of their own volition. A few electrical-type things happened, but the adults laughed it off. Once, just once, I heard an adult say that it was Grandpap doing it, but I think they also realized that I overheard that so then it became a full-on force about wiring. Adults, they’re crazy. Kids, they know the paranormal truth.

Jump ahead about 30 years and here we are in this house. We really know nothing of the history of it, and fortunately a Google search doesn’t turn up anything. However, the reality is that this neighborhood is basically a retirement community which means the probability of someone having passed under this roof is probably high. Not anything to be frightened of in my book. Many were the times I went into my grandparents’ house after my grandfather had passed there. I lived in my parents’ house after my father passed there. And now, on occasion, I hear people talking (and I make sure it’s not the landscapers) or I’ll hear music when I know that it isn’t coming from anything I’m doing nor anything my neighbors are doing. Fun, right?? I’m still waiting to experience something definite. I’ll let you know.

In the meantime, however, I’m off to do some Friday-type shit. Wishing you all a good weekend and a better Pittsburgh sports night tonight than last night was. #cutScobee



Que Lo Que Ves?

Lotta ass in this video. You’ve been warned.

And what brings this up you might ask? Well, let me tell you. Last night, I went back to Zumba after a holiday hiatus of five weeks, as my phone was so nice to tell me. As we were dancing (or spazzing) up a storm, I started listening to the lyrics of the song that was on and trying to decipher them. My Spanish is not great at best, but I’m quite sure we were dancing to some song about a chicken. Zumba is also where I first heard that song up there, Veo Veo. Again, disclaimer on my Spanish, but between what I know and what the interwebs tell me, this one is similar to a kid’s song that they’ve just put a nice beat to. Anyone who is fluent can jump in and comment here, but my (very loose) translation is along the lines of “Lookie lookie, what’s that you see? A little thing, what’s that you see?” Internet says it goes through some letters that the thing starts with. No wonder there’s so much Ass in the video when supposedly the first letter is ‘A’. Regardless of what it means, I enjoy it.

Back on that Zumba tip, I forgot how much I missed it when I wasn’t going. Twice a week is my goal – Tuesdays and Thursdays. I swear it’s a coincidence that the teachers on those days are Hispanic. Anywho, we have a gentleman on Tuesday and a lady on Thursday. I like the Tuesday class because the instructor, Dan, makes it difficult. Not to the point where folks can’t do it, but it is Car-D-O! There’s also quite a bit of hip shaking and grinding fun. I like the Thursday class because Helene shouts stuff out in Spanish and it’s a good place to practice that while I work out.

Dan likes to go around the class and hip shake or grind on/with students. Don’t go getting all up in arms – NOBODY is complaining. I had always been able to avoid the grinding, not really by my own doing I don’t think, but there’s a chance that I rolled an eye once or twice. Knowing the formula, after the first bits of the song, I can finish it without a whole lot of paying attention to the instructor. Imagine my surprise when I glance up and see Dan making a beeline for me. Ummmmm….well, this isn’t a grinding song so what the heck do you want? He stopped right in front of me and put his right arm up and angled his left arm down, which, although you can’t see it, I’m sure you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about when I say it’s the international sign for “let’s dance”. Ok, in my case, it’s the sign for “try not to embarrass yourself” because I am NO dancer. Ask anyone who worked with me in Turks and tried to get me to dance.  Or anyone in Ixtapa for that matter. The only time I can dance is the only time I can speak Spanish – when I’m drunk. I mumbled something similar before we did a little salsa with a turn out and one back in. I stepped on no one’s feet and I knocked no one down. I call that a win.

While it’s only been two weeks and change, I’m not ready to call my splits progress a win. But there’s a long way to go yet in this year. Pictures are more for me than you, so sorry about that.

Right splitRight Split 1.22

I’d say that this looks like zero progress, lol.
Left splitLeft Split 1.22Lots of time left in the year, thank goodness.


It’s the last day to sign up for the writing lab that I’ve mentioned. If I can remember to pick up one item after I shower this morning, then I will enroll. I have until, I believe, 2pm my time today, to stop being such a damn procrastinator. I have these books inside me and I know that at least one person would be down to read my mind drivel. Just need some confidence and focus and perhaps some encouragement. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Jump on this bandwagon now so you can say later, “I knew her when she was just blogging about working out and doing splits!”

Have you ever considered penning a book? Or two? Did you do it? What helped/hindered you?

Since I’m not that famous writer yet, I’ve gotta go get ready for work. Have a great hump day!


The Trek to Honduras – Episode 3

I tried to post this yesterday, but Vox/the internet ate it.  I'll try again.

Wedding Day!!

It's Saturday morning and I'm one hungover chica.  Do you know what fixes a hangover?  A breakfast buffet full of scrambled eggs, bacon, chicken crepes with gravy, coffee, orange juice and croissants.  Hell yeah!  I can't say enough good things about that food.  I want it right now, actually.

It's a chill kinda day in preparation for the festivities of the evening.  The bridal party has gone to get all dolled up.  I, not being in the party, am released from such duties and (thankfully) allowed to just chill with the groom and his guys. 

We all hang out in the groom's suite and listen to tunes and order room service.  Yes, more food.  Club sandwiches and salmon and cream cheese sandwiches and tortilla soup with avocado and cream, oh my.  It is certainly no wonder I looked so bloated in my dress.  Oh yes, and beer.  Salva Vida and Port Royal.  Good stuff.

And now that we are good and stuffed, we retreat to our rooms to nap before the event.  We're privvy to the info that the bride won't be showing up until 7 so we have plenty of time.

Fully napped and relaxed, we procede to get dressed.  With Pa in his tuxedo and I in my dress, ha ha.  We're ready to hit the town, or the pool area as it may be.  Aren't we cute?


I forgot to suck in my gut, how lovely.

Off to the ceremony which I got on videotape while trying to take stills at the same time.  Tough job.  The bride and groom were on the other side of the pool in the gazebo area as they had walked across the bridge that was set up.  We plebes were on the close side.  There were fireworks when the couple was announced, singing, dancing (this is all during the ceremony) and the best part, the release of the birds.

Two white parakeets or doves or something with wings were released.  One went somewhere, the other didn't want to come out of its cage.  Poor little guy ended up getting forcibly removed from the cage at which time he chose to just chill on the ground in front of his cage.  A plucky youngster who was in the wedding came over in all of his well-intentioned cuteness and picked up the bird in cupped hands and gave it a little toss in an attempt to get it to fly.

Fly it did.  It zigged and then zagged and then dive bombed the pool where it landed.  I happened to get the happy couple's faces on tape.  I'm sorry, but it was pretty funny.  I found out after that Lovey, IM, and the rest of the party were trying to decide who was gonna have to jump in to get the bird when a maintenance worker scooped it out.  Oh, good times.

There were photos galore taken and supposedly we're in some magazine down there in Honduras.  I just googled it and there are some photos in a couple different newspapers.  Neat.  No, I'm not giving out the links.  I don't have their permission.

Reception was good.  Lots of dancing and drinking and eating.  Best dancer goes to this guy:


He was ROCO all night!

I'd do an episode four but let's just finish up on this happy note and say that customs doesn't like people with common names and an hour in their "waiting room" and an hour waiting for someone in there isn't fun.  More pictures to come eventually as well as a 2 minute mariachi video.  Lates!

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Kool-er than the other side of the pillow

I have not Nano-ed or WriMo-ed a thing to date.  Yes, I am a procrastinator.  But yes, I still think I'll get it done.  The story is formulating in my head, aging like a fine wine.  In the meantime…

When I was about 14 or 15, there was a "night club" that had an under-21 night every Sunday.  It was a must attend.  Not only because it was a night club, but because we got to meet kids from other schools in the area.  For the most part, it was just all-around fun.

Our house was just inside the border for the school district where I went.  A mile or so one way or the other could have put me in two other districts so I happened to know a bunch of people.  Two in particular: Matt Cathers and Ronnie Johnson.  They lived down the road a ways, went to a different school, but there was a big group of us that would hang together, mainly on weekends and ALL summer.

Matt and Ronnie were hot.  Plain and simple.  All the girls wanted them and all the guys wanted to be them.  How cliche.  But it was true.  I didn't really see them that way.  They were my party buddies and I was like a little sister to them.  For the late 80s, these two were a little ahead of their time in dance moves.  I swear they practiced at home and then took it to the club, but then again, that was just the way it went.

We're talking the days of "Just Got Paid (Friday Night)" by Johnny Kemp and "Careless Whisper" by Wham!/George Michael.  They relished the stage and everyone loved to watch them.  They somehow managed to bring new steps to dances that everyone knew which brings me to the title of this post.

Driving in this morning, I had the Sirius cranked on Backspin 4-3 and I heard a whistle.  And yes, I started bouncing up and down in my seat and clapping like a child as the intro played.  My man.  Kool Moe Dee.


I hadn't heard this in a minute and it just made me so freaking happy.  It made me want to stop the car and do the dance.  Come on, you know it!  Running man, running man, hop to one side on one leg with arms and other leg extended.  Wild Wild West, y'all!  (So, no, Soulja boy, you're not original, but then again, who is these days)

Also making me giggle regarding this song is the memory of my brother singing it and singing it wrong.  Mr. Dewese says "If you're ever in a fight and you're beatin one of us, break out, before you get bum rushed.  At the Wild Wild West".  My brother preferred his lyrics (please keep in mind that he was all of about 12): "If you're ever in a fight and you're beatin one of us, break out, before you get bum rust!"  Man I loved the 80s!

Happy Hump Day all.  I gotta get to writing.

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