Vacation

I'm on vacation. Next post when I come back -- probably around September 8th... Unless I get unbearably bored here (fat chance :).

Traveling Light -- Tips and Tricks

I feel like I have more right than anyone else to write about this. After all, I'm known for taking one carry-on bag literally anywhere I go -- no matter for how long. My record was a small Nike sports bag -- one of those that can be passed for a purse with some ladies -- for a weekend of snowboarding in L.A.. Things I brought included gear (I rent boots and board though) and a couple unnecessary items that I never even used on the trip (don't we all wish that never happened....). Needless to say, I've extracted surpsised faces many-a-time upon arrival and proclamation that I have no baggage to claim. It's not even that people are surprised that it's possible to travel with just one luggage item. It's just that for some reason noone ever imagines that it's ME who can manage to do that. But then again... people also don't realize I own very little clothes, cook, and bake.

But once again I diverge... Why would I inflict such pain upon myself? Here are a few reasons to travel light:

1. This eliminates any chance that your luggage will get lost. This has never happened to me (for obvious reasons...), but I've heard way too many horror stories of people being stuck on their honeymoon with only what they had on during the trip.

2. Now that airlines started charging for extra luggage, you save money. And everyone likes saving money!

3. There is no waiting time at the end of the trip. Sometimes luggage can take up to an hour and a half to arrive after you have landed. Having none saves the time for both you and whoever is picking you up.

4. As awesome as muscles are... back sprains aren't a favorite of mine. On my last trip I brought a small bag packed with gifts (mostly books) and checked-in both my carry-on and that bag with full assurance from my departing point agent that I will receive the bags upon arrival back home. Surprise: they lied. Chicago is merciless when it comes to customs. There, I was told to take my luggage and bring it with me to the next check-in point. Dragging even a small bag filled with books for two hours through a huge line of customs and crowds of people isn't exactly a pleasant experience. I'm determined to avoid it at all costs in the future.

So how DO I manage to pack into a small carry-on? Below are a few tips to get you started.

1. Travel in the summer. Or when it's summer at your destination. O.K., so I admit that this tip is a little redundant, but seriously... Summer clothes are much lighter than winter ones, so you can fit more of them into a smaller space.

2. Get a good carry-on size suitcase. There's no point to have just a carry on, no matter how small, if you still have to lug it around on your shoulder or in your hand. A small suitcase that fits in the overhead compartment and has wheels is what you need to find. It needs to have an expandable hanger compartment coming out of its top -- that way you can bring suits/dresses without wrinkling them. Extra pockets on the outside are definitely a bonus -- mine has two in the front.

3. Plan ahead. I've been thinking about my trip ever since I came back two years ago. I've been buying clothes for a year with consideration for the trip. I've been brainstorming on SMALL presents for a couple months as well. (Small doesn't mean cheap by the way. i-Pods are small. So are diamond bracelets.) I'be been analyzing the settings I'll be in and figuring out if any of my clothes can be used in more than one. If you're not thinking the stuff through, you're bound to end up with a pile of stuff on your bed the night before, and bring crap you'll never use on the trip while not having half the stuff you need.

4. Shop ahead. This year I started a week early, and BOY am I happy I did that! I spent my first two days just walking around every store in Seattle and looking at prices and merchandise available. This gave me some pretty good ideas for presents. It also saved me money. I know that if I shopped last minute I would've grabbed the first thing available, and not necessarily the best deal. This also gave me an opportunity to figure out what I need. I'm about to return $300 worth of merchandise I realized I can perfectly do without, after owning it for a couple days. (NEVER throw away receipts or take tags off until you are actually putting an item on to wear!) Laying out all the presents ahead of time also allowed me to realize that some kids are getting way too much crap while others are getting too little, and that I have more shopping and returning to do.

5. Pack ahead. Take some time to sample-pack everything you are taking a few days early. Doing that made me aware of the fact that some presents are simply not the right shape for the suitcase and should be exchanged. And that all the new stuff I bought for myself doesn't fit so I have to return it all (Sigh... of relief for my credit card ;). It took a couple hours, but now I can sleep without worrying that something won't fit.

6. Use every nick and cranny available! My suitcase has its two handle rails showing on the bottom. Instead of just putting big items on there, I first stuff the space between the rails with small t-shirts, socks, and underwear. I also stuff shoes. Yes, it's tempting to put it all in one big bag. But much more efficient to stuff it here and there (just make sure nobody's watching while you're unpacking).

7. Wear heavy things on yourself. On my snowboarding trip I was able to bring a pair of boots with the fur because I wore them on the plane. This time I'm able to take two pairs of jeans instead of just one because I'll be wearing one of them. Coat rides on my shoulders as well. As do sneakers (on my feet).

8. If you absolutely need toiletries, bring sample sizes. You are only allowed one clear plastic bag of them anyways, so seriously pick and choose what you need and what you don't. Most likely your favorite aunt DOES own shampoo.

9. Trust your instincts. If the inner voice is telling you to take something out or put something in... Do it! You'll sleep better, and most likely you'll need or not need exactly that thing that you thought about.

10. Don't kid yourself. You will NOT be reading your extra-large size family bible with illustrations on the plane. If you're a christian, chances are people you're going to visit own enough bibles for you to read on location. You will also NOT finish work on your vacation. So don't bother bringing the laptop. Even if it's for showing pictures. Chances are the people you're visiting have a computer, so bring a flash drive instead. But seriously, I've learned that a small album with carefully selected photos that you can leave for your grandma after your departure works much better. More personal, and takes less time/space. Because trust me, even people you haven't seen for a while don't want to see 500 images from your recent trip to a small village in Idaho. And any work you do end up doing... well the amount is likely not enough to justify lugging a laptop around.

11. Be aware of current rules and regulations. Chances are security won't let you bring an expensive bottle of champagne/shampoo with you in the carry on. Think ahead. This way you'll make the line move faster both for yourself and for the people behind you.

HAPPY PACKING!!!!

Faith Revived

A miracle has happened. Or I really REALLY want to believe that it happened. I am now an owner of comfortable flats. Just like "fashion in Seattle," that notion has been a paradox for me for many years. I am a lucky owner of a few pairs of heels that I can wear comfortably for days at a time. (Ok, that's a slight exhageration... but I can at least get through a day in the office in them without major pain.) Comfortable flats on the other hand.... I have almost stopped believing in the notion. But my friend Nordstrom revived the faith.

My first experience with flats happened about five years ago, when after searching far and wide I finally settled on a pretty pair of brockaded Nine Wests. They were made of hard leather, which didn't stop me from getting them, because my hope was that they'd expand, just like the pumps that I got from Nine West did. Those 6 1/2 stillettos (I'm a solid 8 in pretty much all other brands) were the most comfortable shoe I've ever owned. And I absolutely killed them to a point of no repair. Another reason to get those flats were my favorite sandals. Also made by Nine West, those babies have served me faithfully for seven years. That's right. I've owned only one pair of black sandals for seven years, and I do not wish to part with them anytime soon. Granted, I've spent more on repairs than on the shoes themselves, but they are worth every penny. No surprise then that Nine West was a promising investment for flats as well. But I was mistaken. The leather was so hard that only an elephant would've expanded it, and probably only after twenty years of wearing them on a daily basis. The shoes have collected dust on my rack for three years. (Would anyone like to buy a pair of beautiful brockade Nine West flats?)

Next up -- a pretty black pair purchased for a good price in a boutique in Riga, Latvia. They were comfortable enough. More so than the elephant brockades. And I've absolutely worn them out, despite the fact that the sole was made out of wood, which gave me calluses, and the leather was man-made, to which my feet did not react in a good way. They were great, but not to the point of wearing them day in and day out without damage to my poor toes and the area which the "expandable" top hit. My feet looked like they had round zippers on them after I took the shoes off. Needless to say, I kept up the search.

My next attempt at comfort was also a pair from my friend Nordstrom. (One that today I'll attempt to return.) Hypothetically so comfortable that I was gonna get them in three different colors, they were a hidden torture. Hidden because the pain was caused by nothing predictable. Their shape just didnt mesh with my foot. The tracktion of my knuckles against the leather caused scrapes both on the knuckles and the shoe! It was the kind of pain that you can't bear -- the annoying, burn-like sensation that was made only worse with an addition of a bandaid. I couldn't SIT in the shoes, much less walk around. They were kept in the office for emergencies only -- like unexpected meetings with the public. The rest of the time I lived in flip-flops (I mean.... Sandals with a strap....)

Well, my trip to Latvia is coming up, and low and behold I realized that the aforementioned flip flops might not due there in the beginning of fall. Walking is the primary means of commute back in the mother country. And even though a lot of girls bravely trott about in four-inch heels, I'm just not up to par to handle that on the streets of old town paved with hand-made brick. (Did I mention the city's 800 years old?) So out I went again yesterday in search of comfortable flats.

I almost hit a jackpot with a pair of gold Seychelles on sale at Nordstrom Rack for $30.00 (wouldn't that have been nice...) But upon acquisition of the second shoe, it became apparent that only one foot feels comfortable in them. And not comfortable enough for long-term walking either. Another attempt was made at Ross, where, I thought it was a sure thing, a pair of burgundy flats with a buckle would satisfy my lust for comfort for a mere $21.99. But comfort is elusive, and upon return to my office and clearing of my head (and walking around for 20 minutes) it was evident that those shoes were not it.

After some research online, I found a blog on comfortable flats that raved about the ones from Lanvin. Not quite being at that point in the morning, by the end of the night I was just about ready to hand over $550.00 for comfort and design. But low and behold, Barneys did not carry my size in the magic color that went with everything. (Literally. I'm not kidding. Go check them out. The color seriously goes with EVERYTHING.) My friend Nordstrom, on the other hand, did not have the magic color. But to see my size I still tried the Lanvins on. Were they comfortable? No.

Knowing his product, and ready to wipe desperation off my face, the wonderful "Daniel" next opened a box with THEM. He claimed there is no flat that gets more comfortable than the beautiful creation he held so gently in his hands. After a day of trying on footwear that felt like chains, slipping into these felt like slipping into slippers at the end of a long, difficult day. The chemistry was there from the get-go. The price was less than half of the promising but non-delivering Lanvins. It was meant to be. I got them.

And I'm happy. Granted, I wasn't planning to spend that much on flats. But if these babies hold up and deliver what they promise, I will never regret the investment. So far I've walked up the hill to the bus stop in them (twice... forgot the coffee at home), and have not taken them off in the office for almost three hours. I'm still trying to feel out where they hurt. But the fact that it's difficult to determine leaves me with hope. My faith in a comfortable flat has been revived! And if I live through my trip in them... Well, i just might have to get a second pair!

I'm BACK!

After a weeks' worth of silence, I'm finally back! This long absence is due to my stupid habit of procrastination -- don't get me wrong, not procrastination to write on here. This blog is probably the highlight of my day every time I steal a minute to write. What I was procrastinating on is a project at work. But I made the mistake of promising myself that I won't write on any personal sites until I'm done with that project. Well, today I finally get my long awaited reward!

I always thought that if I begin posting, most of it is going to be on fashion. But it's been two months and a fashion post is amiss. Maybe it's because "Fashion in Seattle" is still a paradox, despite the dedicated efforts of the three design schools in the city and a small chapter of Fashion Group International. Yes, fashionable specimens can still be sighted on the streets of this energetic city. But they are few and far between. And usually not from Seattle.

But I get carried away. This is supposed to be yet another rant about something that is not going right in my life. Namely, it's been two years since I've started trying to find a basic tan (but I'll settle for brown) trenchish jacket, all in vain. I have an extreme necessity for it, especially during times of travel (my departure date is this Sunday.) What I'm looking for is so simple, that nobody makes it! It has to work both with dresses and jeans, so it can't be too long. It has to be made out of a material that's rain proof. And it has to fit.

So far I've found the stores in Seattle to carry the following:

#1.
My perfect coat in numerous colors other than tan or brown. You'd think that the merchandisers would have enough common sense to get a coat in grey, green, AND tan. But no. We've got yellow, red, purple, turquoise, indescribable... just no tan or brown.

#2.
A tan coat that's structured to fit a person with no curves in the chest area, but a large curve in the abdominal area. And no, I was not in the maternity section. Along the same lines, I've found many coats constructed to fit a board. So far the luck has been that if it fits in the waist I can't zip it up, but if it fits in the chest, I look like I'm about to give birth (NOT the case!). Similarly, I've found many coats for people whose hands apparently end at their upper hips. And once again... no, I was not trying coats on in the petite section

#3.
A tan coat that fits perfectly. And is made out of suede. (Seriously? in SEATTLE?)

#4. A tan coat that fits perfectly and is made out of rain-proof material. But is either a little long, (as in hits midway between hip and knee) or a little short (as in ends right below your chest.)

So here's a free business idea for all aspiring and established designers. Get some common sense and make a simple, versatile, tan, water-proof, normal length half-trench that fits! You'll be a millionaire!

http://www.imeem.com/sinna/music/zfrHMi6H/tony-dize-quizas-salsa-version/

Settling In

I've been trying to completely quit my credit card since I've moved out. But I failed miserably over the weekend. For this very reason, you are now looking at a proud owner of a couch. Ok, fine, it's a futon. All my aspirations to have "real" and "grown up" furniture went down the drain with the purchase of this useful piece. It ALMOST looks like a couch. It's definitely not the "mattress on a frame" kind, although I almost bought that... but then my self-respect would've completely been destroyed.

Of course buying the thing was only half the task. The other half was getting it into my new apartment -- particularly from the car to the unit. For the weekend I borrowed my mom's pimp mini-van -- the couch fit snuggly in the back. Since the parents weren't available, I started looking for help amongst Seattle-dwellers of acquaintance. (Of course offers to help came largely AFTER the couch was already in the apartment.)

I woke up too late for my guy friend with muscle to help, and my girl with muscle woke up too late to help me. Fortunately, my "twin" Anna rushed to the rescue as soon as I called her. That's when all the fun began. There's technically only one way the couch would've even fit into the narrow openings leading into my unit. This way, naturally, was not at all the most comfortable to hold the couch for two frail women. It was also, of course, not the way we first figured we need to hold it.

One of the features that sold the futon to me was the fact that it folds two ways -- horizontally and vertically. A very versatile and useful combination for sitting or laying down. Not so much for moving it through narrow spaces. The only way it would've fit was if it was completely unfolded, standing vertically up on one of its sides. The couch, of course, had a mind of its own. It was determined to exhibit all its usefulness before it was set down on the designated spot. Both sides kept folding on their own at the worst possible times. At one point it was a toss-up between ruining the couch and ruining the railing around the apartment. Somehow both survived.

After 20 minutes of Herculian effort and hysterical laughter, the futon was finally in my living room. Of course, the thing looks A LOT bigger in my apartment than it did on the show floor in Fred Meyers. But it fit. And we got it in. Now I can have people over with a place for them to actually sit. I'm also now a proud owner of my first large piece of furniture, as well as worthy, serious, life expense related, grown up, credit card debt :)

Off Balance

I didn't exactly have an "off" night yesterday at Salsa, as much as it was an "off balance" night. My shoes have been due for repair for quite a while, and not finding the time to do it has effectively translated into me feeling like a cow on an ice-skating rink. I'm too lazy to write today, so I'll keep this short and sweet and just say that people aren't the only ones who have "off balance" moments. Check out this poor guy:

Apartment Hunt Tale

The apartment I have is a perfect first place. It's quirky, bright, cozy, colorful, and a perfect combination of old-world charm and decent renovation. It was the first place I found after a month break from looking, the first one I went to see, and the only one I filled out an application for. But before resuming my search at the end of July, I spent half of May and the entire June looking at different places almost every day. Sometimes I'd cram three or even four apartments into a night, and some were good, but out of my price range. Others were just not somewhere I wanted to come home to after a long day at work. During my search I've met with various managers, situations, and owners... Below are a couple of my chance encounters.

Encounter #1
I walk past a charming red-brick in Belltown. The exterior is as classy and romantic as it gets. Clearly, the building holds a lot of history within, and as I pass it I imagine a cozy little place with mozaic tile in the bathroom, hardwood floors with a pattern, and red brick showing on one of the walls. The entry holds a sign "1 bedroom and studio for rent. See manager six doors down (arrow pointing in the right direction included.)" I start counting the doors. The sixth one is a small shop that sells something so old that I can't even tell for sure what it is. To me it looks like a hybrid of a camera, telescope, and shotgun. An archaic relic is standing behind the counter. I approach.

"Is this the right place to see the manager for the apartment building down the street?" "That would be me!" I turn on as much charm as safely reasonable to entice an older gentlemen without turning him into an older creep. He absolutely falls for it, and soon the relic is telling me the story of his daughter leaving her company, including all the juicy details of office rivalry, backstabbing, drama, and gossip. I won't name the company, since it's one of the huge ones based in Washington, along with Boeing, Microsoft and Amazon. All I'll say is that their coffee is GOOD.

Patiently I listen, smile, and nod my head for a good forty minutes. The unit in my imagination is totally worth the time I'm wasting. Finally, he takes out the key and murmurs the seven long-awaited words: "So... you want to go see it?" YES!!! We walk down the block to the building. We enter. A strong smell of old and garbage immediately penetrates my senses. We pass through what used to be a door into the hallway and the smell changes. Now it's smoke. I look around. Oh the judgments we make based on exterior appearances! How strongly they mislead us. The 120 year old building has clearly never seen any renovation. The carpet in the hallway, where there's still any left, is drained with stains of variety comparable only to species in a rainforest. A ghostlike creature slowly descends down the stairs and greets the manager without moving a single muscle on its face. I'm ready to bolt out of there immediately, but decide to stick it out until the end, out of respect for age and wisdom.

Age and wisdom proceeds to slowly walk to the unit, stopping at every turn to recount the many moments of its long life. Finally it lets me into the studio. I feel like I stepped into a movie. Into a horror 1920's silent film with an abandoned castle and Frenkeinstein looming around that is. A thick layer of dust and dirt is covering the floor and walls. There is spider web in the corners. The closet containing a pull-out bed is dark enough to hold hundreds of monsters who will surely come out and get you in the night. The paint on walls and kitchen... let's call them cabinets... is chipped to the point that it looks like graffitty on the streets of Brooklyn -- all colorful and dreary.

"I usually rent it out for $950 but I'll lower it down to $850 for you." Is he blind or in denial? And who the heck would be dumb enough to pay that much for a hole like this? The answer soon emerges as the relic tells of numerous raids that went through the building in search of illegal immigrants residing on its premises and drug busts. To be polite, I ask about the electricity bill. It's $150 a month in the winter. He's crazy. But once again, the reason emerges almost immediately as I inspect the windows and find that they are placed into the frame at somewhat of an angle. About 45 degrees I would say. Large enough of an angle to fit my entire hand through the "crack" between the frame and the window! "So, what do you think? You want it?" "I will sleep on it" -- my standard answer. No need though. All I want is to get out of the smelly, shady place. But my new painfully developed contact in the business of telescope-shotgun-camerathingys doesn't need to know.

Encounter #2
On my way from a friends house to work I pass another charming old-style building and imagine how cute it'd be to live in. (You'd think i've learned my lesson from the haunted house, right?) Low and behold, craigslist that day holds an ad for a one bedroom in my price range in that exact location! I don't waste a second, and make an appointment to see it that afternoon. Taking a risk of running slightly over the lunch hour, I arrive early to make a good impression and call the manager to let me in. No response. But I figure he'll be there by the time of our appointment. Exactly on the hour I call again. Nothing. But once again, the charm of the building is strong enough to glue me to my spot and wait, wait, and wait.

Twenty minutes later the manager calls me back, apologizing, and stating that he forgot about the appointment but can be there in ten minutes. O.K. I'd have to see the unit VERY quickly. Twenty minutes later he finally arrives. "I am SO sorry for being late, can I take you out for coffee or something to make up for it?" He's young, and not too attractive, but taking advantage of his immediate reaction I turn on my charm and get into the mode of playful dismay in attempt to get what I want. "And how would that benefit ME?" I ask with a smile. "I was thinking more like you should lower the advertised rent." He's game, and immediately takes off $50 a month. Score.

We enter the apartment, and its nothing special. It's not bad, but the pink bathtub (did Seattle go through an insanity phase or something? Who makes tubs PINK?!) and the water knob installed in such a way as to allow for hot water to only passively trickle out, makes me depressed. Unfortunately for the manager I'm not into cold showers. But he doesn't need to know. I tell him I'll think about it, and he asks again if he can take me out for coffee. I politely refuse one more time. He asks if I would like an application, and I politely agree to take one. We step into his office, and he once again asks if I'd like to have a cup of coffee, or lunch or something. No, I would not like that.

To keep the conversation going, I get on my usual safe topic of electricity bills. "Well my girlfriend and I have lived in a unit just like this for a year and it was no more than $35 for two months. But we moved to a bigger place now." Hmm... I wonder what she'd think about him making up his being late to our appointment by taking me out to lunch... I take the application, thank him, and proceed to leave. At the last minute he checks one more time if maybe I'd like to grab something to eat with him sometime. Oh the bond of loving committed relationships!

Pedicure

I have never undertipped in my life. There is something inside me that feels bad for people even when they don't meet expectations. So no matter how horrible the service, I always pay up, and usually more than expected. I like to give people the benefit of a doubt. After all, the waitress might just be having a bad night while dealing with being a single mom with three mouths to feed. But I guess even I have my limits, because a couple days ago I didn't tip the girl who did my toenails a single penny! Here's how it happened:

Gone are the days for me when a monthly french manicure and pedicure wasn't a big deal for my wallet (but hey, having my own place in Seattle is TOTALLY worth it!). But after two incredible but very difficult on my poor feet nights of Salsa in addition to skipping out on my monthly ritual for the past three months to save up for my apartment, I decided to indulge myself in just a pedicure. Not french. Just color. (sigh.)

Although I've always known that Myano nails on third and pike aren't that great with color, I'm a sucker for the foot massage they give, including a sugar scrub, lotion, and hot towels. Since it was for the relaxation that I was going, and not a good color (who cares, it'll be off the next Salsa night anyways...), I happily trotted into the spa after work, all in anticipation of the wonderful experience awaiting me. Or so I thought.

It all began when they didn't have my favorite lotion. But oh well, not a big deal, I will live. But it only got worse from there. Ok, I realize my feet weren't exactly in stellar condition, and they might have been extra sensitive from dancing... but the girl seriously should've considered that.

I settled down into the massage chair, set up the settings the way I wanted, and closed my eyes.... POKE. Ouch. I jerked. She was using a sharp object on my cuticles, and not too carefully either. But I let it go the first time. One mistake - no big deal. So once again I closed my eyes. POKE. POKE. POKE. Still giving her the benefit of a doubt, and blaming my dancer feet for the trouble causing her to be not-so-gentle, I decided to just keep my eyes open and stay alert. Well, she poked every single toe that she touched! And it was painful. And the worst thing was that it didn't end there!

After finally being done with my cuticles, the woman buffered my nails. Normal procedure, but she proceeded to buffer my SKIN along with the nail. On the little toes. So now, in addition to poke wounds, I had a burn from buffering on the knuckles of my toes. It kept going. While working on my soles, she tickled me. Once again I jerked, and explained to her that I'm ticklish. But since once again it's normal procedure, I let her finish the sole in any way she wanted.

It was finally time for a massage. Before it she generously poured some oil on my feet. She let one go back in the water, but when I asked if I can wash the other one real quick she insisted to grab onto it and said no. I hate oil. It doesn't feel soothing or relaxing to me. It feels greasy and dirty. So there went the good experience of the first leg. In addition, she insisted on massaging my sole. Wouldn't you catch on to stay away from that area when a person is ticklish on their feet?

The second leg/foot started out a little better, it being clean and all. But then another customer came in and caused a commotion, so my pedicurist stopped paying attention and started massaging JUST my sole! So for my massage I pretty much got about five minutes worth of non-stop tickling. You'd think that was finally it? Time it came for the color.

And the pretty pink that I picked out ended up being more of a pearly-ultraviolet blue. Now the norm for the worker would be to ask if I like the color. Did she do that? NOOUUU. So I had to interrupt and ask if I can change my polish choice. She let me, but her face expressed such annoyance that it felt at least uncomfortable to go pick a different color.

Needless to say that by the end of this session I was mad. I didn't complain. I just didn't tip. And the guys over there know my style of tipping well. So I guess that will be punishment enough for her for inflicting all this pain on me. My toes are still throbbing from all the buffering and poking. The color has bled into the sides of my toes (fixed at home.) And if you ever decide to visit Myano nails, please ask that your nails aren't done by Linda.

What makes a good Salsa night.

I already wrote about what makes a bad Salsa night. And as I don't really want to come off as a horrible pain-in-the-butt complainer, I feel like it's my duty to write the reverse of that story and break down what makes an "On" night. Plus, as if to make up for that extra-horrible one, I've had good ones for the last week and a half. But last night was exceptional. So naturally what else would I be inspired to write about?

A good salsa night starts inside you. You'll never have one if you're feeling too sad/fat/skinny/clumsy/overdressed/underdressed/guilty/jealous or anything else that'd restrict you from being your natural bubbly self. I've found that a genuine smile goes a LOOOOOOONG way and the only way to produce one is to completely not care what anyone else thinks and just enjoy the music, dancing, and atmosphere.

I tried to think of more criteria for what makes a good salsa night, but quickly realized that all it is is a few milestone moments that put a smile on your face. I have three in mind from yesterday, which, of course, won't be applicable to anyone else, but oh well. It's my blog :)

A good night is when you can act like ten-year olds with a bunch of your friends at a practica and pretty much do whatever to just have fun. (Anna, Carlette, Michael, Jim, Tuo and Jim.... you know what I'm talking about ;) After all, toning up the skills of cutting in on a dance, as if to practice for your birthday, is equally as important as perfecting your turns. And then there's all those body rolls and hip-hop moves to master! Those, if synchronized, or done for the first time (or the fifteenth that looks like it's your first), will get you lots of laughs of approval. That's what practicas are for anyways, right?

Then there is a moment that makes you feel like you're in a classic film. Live Jazz is playing, and the music is so moving that you simply can't sit still. Luckily, your favorite lead is right in front of you, so you can just grab him and lose yourself in the dance. And then another one. And another one. And your dress is twirling, and that genuine smile automatically comes on and stays until your cheeks start hurting. Because the rhythm of the music is so good, and he is so completely comfortable to dance with...

And of course there is that moment of unexpected excitement when someone you never thought you'd EVER be good enough to dance with asks you for one (without a prompt). What makes it even better is that somehow you manage to relax and enjoy yourself instead of being anxious and nervous. And that's when the magic happens and you can fully appreciate his incredible skill and sense of timing -- a rare find on the floor. Leading your first step on a five instead of one after a combination? Not a chance! And the preps for the spins are timed precisely to a mille-second, so you know exactly how many he's going to fit in there, because it works so well with the music. When the lead has such an impeccable sense of timing you start to appreciate Salsa on an entirely different level. The experience is priceless.

Lastly... of course I couldn't leave even one post without a complaint. This is for all the leads out there who keep holding on with their thumbs... please stop hurting me! Nobody will die if I slip away from you during a turn. But there's really no reason for me to be leaving Century with bruises on my hands after an otherwise perfect night.

But even pain can't spoil a good night :)

Bruises:


In case you missed them: