Let's Talk About Sabrina

You may know Kelly Taylor was my favorite on Dancing With the Stars. When I first saw the show this season, I was digusted that one of the tramps from the pussycat dolls for pre-teens was one of the stars. That's how I thought of Sabrina. Cheezy girl from some cheezy group that dresses sluttily.

But then I saw her dance. And that girl can really dance. Remember Jane's jive on Monday? Sabrina would have kicked ass on that routine.

Let's be honest here. Jennie Garth? Not a great dancer. I mean come on. Even she's admitted it. Seriously, if Jennie had been kicked off last night, I would not have been that upset. A few 90210 jokes, and then ... whatever.

But Sabrina? Sabrina's truly a great dancer. I am really upset she was voted off. What's wrong with you America? I can't help but notice she was the fattest dancer. And I can't help but wonder if weight-discrimination played a role in the lack of votes she got.

Sabrina, the Americans who voted are assholes. They were wrong. I agree with that corny host - I think you TOTALLY could have won. You looked so very sad last night, and my jaw was on the floor when the results were announced. I just wanted to give you a hug. Don't let the bastards get you down. Go back to your dumb group that has t-shirts of scantily-clad girls silkscreened on them with your head held high and be proud of yourself. Know that you WERE one of the best dancers on that show.

You may not have won, but you gained a fan. And what famous person doesn't want me as their fan? A fan who will never buy any of their merchandise, hasn't bought a music album in over four years, who waits for Netflix rather than paying money to see their movies, has never been to a concert, and overall, does nothing that involves spending money to show her support.

P.S. I did not think Mel B deserved tens. She's slightly better than average, but certainly no Sabrina. Hell, she's no Jane (you know, when Jane's not busy attending funerals, fleeing her burning home, or having food poisoning). Plus, and I know the judges don't take this into consideration, but Mel B strikes me as being quite dumb.

Rotten Fruit

Apple and I don't get along. We've been trying to be nice to each other, but it's a huge effort on both our parts. And it's not going well. She's weird. Really fucking weird. And I hate her (not because she's weird).

Apple, who normally wears glasses but yesterday was not, told me that she "doesn't believe in" contact lenses. Which I happen to wear. I asked her why not. I know, I know, but I wanted to hear why. I understand not believing in Santa Claus or the tooth fairy, but how can you "not believe" in contact lenses. Apparently Apple thinks they're unnatural. Really! But the makeup she wears is … what? And the leather shoes she's wearing are … ?

I haven't been told that Apple is supposed to file things, but she's forever fucking around in the filing cabinets behind me. Apple also has a tendency to simply hover over people as they're talking, and then insert herself into conversations.

This morning, for example, I'd printed out a list of Speedy's cases (the attorney I work for who's short, and talks and moves very fast) and I was showing him the list, saying one of the cases wasn't on the list. Apple, who was standing next to Speedy, asked me if I had printed out a list of his cases. Okay, it's nice that people try to be helpful, but in this case, Apple was slowing down the resolution to our problem. Shut the fuck up and go wait for the phone to ring, like a good receptionist.

Just a couple of hours ago, (right now, I realize it's 4:20 p.m. and I'm thinking maybe if I smoked a joint these things wouldn't annoy me so much) Apple came up to me while I was in the middle of three different things for Balls and Speedy, to tell me something about invoices Speedy asked her to do. I had no clue what she was talking about. What invoices? From whom? For which client? Was I supposed to do something?

So I said to her, "Did you tell Speedy?" She looked at me blankly. "You said Speedy asked you to do something with those. You're telling me you did it, and explaining details. Did you tell HIM these details?" No, no she did not. I had no idea what this was that Apple was shoving in my face. Clearly she was trying to show me something, but beats me what it was. Finally I just asked Apple to leave it on the ponywall, as Speedy always looks over everything that's there. Apple did NOT put it on the ponywall, but instead on top of file cabinets near it, and told me whatever she was saying was "very elementary."

WAY TO HAMMER THE NAIL OF HATRED INTO YOUR COFFIN! Seriously, the quickest way to infuriate me is to insinuate that I am stupid. I am not stupid. I was not trained at this job. I have never worked at a law firm where a new secretary did not get trained by another secretary (or an attorney).

I am aware that there are people in the world who can magically pick things up on their own. I know that is expected of people in certain cases. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people. I can not just sit down at a desk, look through all the papers on it, and then know what the status is in every lawsuit. I don't work like that. Whether or not I'm supposed to, the fact is, I don't.

And just because Apple has been here longer than I have, it does not mean that I am stupid. It means I do not have all the information she has. So Apple can go fuck herself. I'm sure there are topics I'm much better informed about than she is, and I could babble on about, leaving her confused. I'm just too nice a person to make people feel stupid.

P.S. Today I ran into three baby attorneys from my old firm. I almost cried. I gotta get the fuck out of here. Oh wait, I haven't written that blog post yet, with all the reasons this place sucks and I want to leave. Whoops. Does that count as foreshadowing?

The Way Diets Should Work

(Why yes, this IS one of those "yet another female blogger writing about dieting" posts.)

So I've been trying to diet the last few weeks. I'm not doing Weight Watchers or South Beach or anything like that. Those things wouldn't work for me. I'm simply trying to eat less, and make better choices. That's it. And it's slow, but working. Although only one person has noticed I've lost weight. Maybe I need to lose more, since even to me, it seems that my clothes fit exactly the same as they did pre-diet.

Maybe October is a dumb time to start dieting, right before the Season of Gluttony begins. But actually, I think it's perfect for me. Now portions in restaurants seem to big for me to finish, no matter how good they taste. I'm forcing myself to let go of finishing things because otherwise it's wasting money.

Apple, the receptionist, keeps a dish of candy on her desk, and constantly offers some to everyone who walks by. One of the things I don't like about this job is the amount of after school special style peer pressure that goes on here. Multiple times each day I am offered candy. Multiple times each day I say no thank you. My mother told me that if you always reject offers, they'll stop. It seems she was wrong in this case.

However, yesterday I was jonesing for something sweet, and took a mini-box of mini-Tootsie Rolls. There were probably about a dozen inside the box. Each one, the size of a Good & Plenty. I had two, then put the box on the other secretary's desk. Two was enough. Two tasted good and was plenty for me.

There are is no junk-food in my house. I looked at the times I tend to eat too much, thought about what it was about those times that made me want to eat too much, and made some changes.So now I have a snack around 4p.m. at work. Grapes, apple slices, almonds and walnuts, something like that. This way when I get home I'm not starving for dinner, and don't eat a snack while cooking dinner. And after dinner? I chew gum, or have fruit.

But you know what? I never noticed how often people are offering food! It's really annoying to constantly be rejecting things you want to say yes to. Which made me think: if you say no to something really tempting, I think the universe should let you lose more weight. If today I eat the same number of calories as yesterday, but today I turn down cheesecake and pretzels, I should lose more weight today than I did yesterday, because today was harder.

Don't you think that would help people stick to their diets? I do. Who's with me?

It Really IS All About Presentation

I can't believe I missed seeing Marie pass out. Damn dinners with friends for getting in the way! Wait I mean, thank you so much for dinner. Yeah that's it. Thank you. Ahem.

Yesterday morning my brother called and suggested we meet for lunch. Excellent, I love meeting people for lunch. Wanna do lunch?

When I arrived, Golden Boy was waiting for me. We sat down at an outside table, and he put a brown paper bag from Ace Hardware in front of me. And then we proceeded to have the weirdest conversation of my entire life.

Golden Boy: I know you're trying to watch what you eat, so I packed you a special healthy lunch.
GreenYogurt: You got me lunch from Ace Hardware?! (He packed me a picnic? That we're going to eat in the Financial District, seated at restaurant tables?)
GB: Oh, no that's just the bag it's in.
GY: You know I was just going to get a salad here, right? I wasn't going to eat anything unhealthy.
GB: Well, just see if you like what I packed you. If you don't like it, I'll get you food from here.
GY: Is there enough for you? What are you going to eat?
GB: Oh, I'm going to get food here. What's in the bag is all for you.

Golden Boy nodded at me encouragingly. I opened the bag, and pulled out a ziplock. Of green grapes. I pulled out the next ziplock, which had two Fig Newtons. Another ziplock had baby carrots. The last one was wrapped in tinfoil. Like a sandwich.

GY: You made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? (Isn't a salad healthier than a pb&j sandwich? This whole thing is so weird. Should I cry? This IS weird, right? I know sometimes I notice little things that other people think nothing of, but it IS weird to bring food to a restaurant, right? Right? And I have to eat this special healthy food brought from home while he gets to eat food from the restaurant?)

Golden Boy encourages me to unwrap the tinfoil. PB&J are the only sandwiches I like. But you know what I love even more? Green iPod fucking Nanos!
Who needs drugs to get high when you get birthday presents presented to you that way? I had a hard time sleeping last night, what with being so excited to have joined the iPod masses.

Seriously, it was the absolute coolest presentation of a gift I've ever had or heard of in my entire life. Thank you Golden Boy and Crazy Girl! I love it, and you.

Monday, Monday

After a somewhat dramatic weekend (for me), I'm trying to mentally prepare for work tomorrow. The receptionist is weird. We'll call her Apple. Apple used to work as a clerk in the courts and thinks she knows everything. She and I seem to be in a slight power struggle. Apple started working there not quite two weeks before I did. She might be somewhere around my age (it's hard to tell), and dresses in ankle-length flowy dresses and scarves with pom-poms on them.

Any time I ask Apple something, after telling me, she'll e-mail me the answer while cc-ing the office manager and her assistant. So I'll ask what time the mail goes out, Apple will tell me 4:45 p.m., and then e-mail me the same information. WEIRD. One of these days I might get tempted to respond snarkily.

Tomorrow Trixie starts her new job, after taking a month off. She's very nervous, and only added to her own nervousness by deciding to throw a cocktail party on Friday night. We wound up in a slight ... fight isn't the right word, but feelings were hurt and people were tiptoed around.

After a few notes taped to doors and a quick conversation tonight, Trixie and I are back to happily playing volleyball among vases in the living room.

Roommate Karma

Remember the Steamroller? And how she had her boyfriend over all the time? And then her parents came for a month? And, and, and? Remember?

Yeah well Trixie's no Steamroller. Three weeks ago she asked if I minded if she threw a cocktail party. On Monday she said that since people would probably be in our house until 1 a.m., and I'd probably be tired after my first full week of work, perhaps those people might annoy me.

So if I'd like, she'd be happy to put me up at a hotel Friday night. That's right. My roommate offered to send me to a hotel for the night so her partying friends don't disturb me.

And the Cycle Continues

For some reason, it doesn't feel real yet. The job. Even though I've pulled out clothes I hadn't worn since May. I ironed, set my alarm, made sure I had instant oatmeal to bring to work on the mornings I realize the yogurts have run out.

It feels tentative. Beause I don't have a building pass yet? The lack of voicemail? That I need to mapquest it each time I need to go someplace on my lunch hour?

What needs to happen for me to believe it's real, that I'm back to earning a paycheck? Withdrawal from Oprah? Buying something that I'd never have bought while out of work? Realizing I'm no longer going to the library twice a week? Today I handled a check that was over $200K. That's something that only ever happens at work.

Maybe it doesn't feel real yet beause I haven't blogged about it. So let's try that.

This office is much smaller than my last one. A lot less support, which means I have to do things I've never had to do before. Like calendaring, preparing my own mail, filing. It's a huge law firm, but their San Francisco office is tiny.

There are fewer than five attorneys, and only one other secretary. The receptionist started her third week of work today, so I'm not the only new person. Apparently the secretary I replaced cried often. The attorneys are tentative with me, and have encouraged me to come to them with anything that upsets me, before it upsets me.

I'm working for two attorneys, both men. One of whom we'll call Balls, because he adjusts his frequently. Maybe he needs different panties. He looks a little like a pedophile, but he's very nice. I wonder if there's some secret support group for men who look like pedophiles but aren't. The other attorney is younger, normal-looking, and preparing for the trial of his career so very stressed out.

The other secretary seems to have a very busy personal life. She's got a few of her own kids, some step-kids, a couple of grandkids (the grandmas are EVERYWHERE!), and a couple of exhusbands. Oh and she's in the midst of a divorce, and her husband is not paying any child support. Today she marched in twenty minutes late, with a young girl in tow. Apparently the kid's Catholic school was off today and had nowhere else to go.

This afternoon I had a closed door meeting with the younger attorney, who wanted to know how it's going for me. I explained that the IT guy didn't have time to finish training me, but the other secretary said she would. He told me not to let her teach me anything.

Okay why do companies do that? This woman's worked there for a year and a half. If she sucks, why have they kept her?

Don't worry - I'll come up with names for everyone and keep you informed. Oh, and as soon as I get a handle on how much overtime there'll be during trial season, fucking yoga will return. I should start practicing my downward dogs now in preparation.

Where We're At

The best thing about you may be your looks. Or your ability to find anything anyone has lost. Or how well you can cook (the mountain?). For some people, the most impressive thing about them is their career. Thus, their resume.

My resume is not impressive. I've job-hopped more than I'd prefer. I only have an associate's degree. My resume does not, can not, show the best things about me, because the best things about me are not things that would be appropriate on my resume.

If you tell me one thing, I will nod and know that about you, and two other things you didn't mean for me to know. It's not like if you tell me you like stringbeans I'll know what color panties you're wearing. But I might figure out from the WAY you tell me about your stringbean fetish that you're the baby of your family. I might let you walk out of an elevator in front of me, and you'll have told me nothing, but I'll know that you're favoring your right knee by the way you walk, and that your ankle is starting to hurt. I'm not explaining it very well, but trust me, it's special.

I have other impressive yet obscure things like that, that can't go on a resume for a legal secretary. And that sucks. That I have to put my working history on a piece of paper and hand it to someone who will look at it, and they will judge me, everything about me, based on that. And decide I'm not good enough. And that sucks. Because I'm so much more than my resume.

You've never met anyone who will try as hard as I do to be a good friend. But that can't go on a resume.

Unfortunately, I'm not beautiful, so I can't say "Screw the resume, I'll coast on my looks" since they won't take me far in an interview. All I've got is personality, and it takes me a long time to warm up before I show the best of it.

One of my friends is very free with her compliments. Not in a she-gives-out-so-many-that-they-mean-nothing kind of way. More in a they're-so-unique-they-must-be-pure kind of way. She once told me that if she and her husband got divorced, she wouldn't mind if he remarried me, because she thinks I'd be a good wife to him and a good step-mother to their kids. She gives the best compliments ever. She's good for my ego.

So I wonder what the HR people and attorneys are thinking when they interview me. You know, other than "How many years of litigation does she have?" and "Does she know how to e-file?"

I'll tell you a secret. The kind of secret you learn in Psych 101, but I don't see many other people doing it. When you copy someone else's body language, it subconsiously makes them more comfortable with you. I do that in interviews. If the lawyer leans forward, arms on conference table, I do too. If they're sitting back in their chair with their legs crossed, so am I. I've been doing this for years, and I only do it in business situations.

The only tough thing about it is knowing whose body language to follow if you're interviewing with more than one person. Like today, when I was sitting across from two attorneys and one HR person.

Apparently today I copied the right person's body language, because I got a job offer. Just yesterday I went to the bank and officially freaked out at how little savings I have left (two month's worth). A responsible person would replenish their savings for a few months, make sure the job is working out, all that shit.

Being responsible is so draining though. It exhausts me. I don't want to be responsible right now.

*This post brought to you courtesy of Trixie's computer, and the letter W.

**Trixie is back! And she brought me a green alpaca scarf from South America. Or pashmina, I don't know how to tell the difference.

Like Having a Kid Going Off To Camp, Except Not At All

A little over two weeks ago, Trixie set off for a trip to South America. Before she went, I knew what organization she was going with (she was volunteering for a week before meeting up with her parents for the second week), and even did a few runs to check my shower curtain map (that thing is fucking priceless!) during our conversations as we talked about Chile, Brazil, etc.

Late last week I got an e-mail from Trixie that she was at the airport, heading home, and I replied. Since she was traveling with her parents back to the States, I assumed she'd stay at their house for a day or two. Trixie has yet to do laundry here, and instead chooses to bring it to her parent's house (where it's free). So it made sense that she'd stay at their place, catching up on laundry and mail.

I have not seen or heard from her since. Normally, we just yell "Bye!" to each other as we head out in the mornings if the other is in the common areas. If we'll be spending the night away from home, we let the other one know.

Since I've placed Trixie's mail in a pile at her bedroom door, I know she hasn't come home and gone back out while I was out, because she would have picked it up. Plus we take our shoes off when we come home and the only shoes near the front door are mine. She hasn't come back yet at all. I am wondering at what point I should worry. Because I'm already mildly worried.

Twice since moving in, Trixie mentioned to me that we should exchange phone numbers for close family members in case anything happened to us. We never did it, and if Trixie got separated from her parents on their trip, I have no way of getting in touch with them. There are 65 possibilities for people with her last name who live in the town her parents live in (the mountain).

I'm sending Trixie an e-mail tonight, asking her if she's okay. I hope she is, and to get a response soon. As much as it's fun having the place to myself, I miss Trixie, and can't enjoy my solitude while worrying about her.

Weekend Adventures

A friend drove in today for one of our San Francisco adventures. We do this every couple of months or so - just go explore different parts of the city.

This is Fleet Week, plus today was the Blue Angels demonstration. This made for big crowds along the Embarcadero, so we tried to avoid that. Instead, we aimed to get to North Beach, thinking we could just hop on a bus that would take us straight there.

We got off the bus in or near the Marina. Because the bus was diverted. Due to the parade. What parade? You know, the Christopher Columbus parade. Who? You know, that guy from ITALY, which is why North Beach was swamped. Damn. We saw guys dressed in white sailor outfits with HUGE bellies holding mops, and I couldn't figure out what they were supposed to be. They reminded me of Pillsbury Dough Boys, but I knew that couldn't be right. Eventually G poked me and pointed - there was a Dough Boy talking to a couple, I could go ask him about his costume. As I walked closer though, I saw a patch on Dough Boy's shoulder - Balloon Platoon.

At one point we made it to Victoria Pastry Co., only to find they're closed for construction, and directing everyone around the corner to Stella Pastry instead. So G and I shared a cannoli while watching the gay cheerleader boys do their basket tosses. I mean the parade. We watched the parade.

We stopped at City Lights Bookstore and stumbled out into the sunlight almost an hour later. Any time I walk into independent book stores I'm always initially intimidated at first. Overwhelmed. Yeah, I'm over it in about five seconds. Seriously, I could have easily spent $300 in just the first fifteen minutes of being there.

Got home exhausted. G and I sat around talking for a while before she got on the road to go home. We had a discussion about whether or not it's gross to want to register for random things to be received as presents if a person is not getting married. She's in a long-term relationship with her boyfriend. They live together, recently got a dog together, and plan to not get married. But she wants new china. And a gravy boat. And doesn't want to have to buy them herself.

With so many people these days NOT getting married, does it mean it's more acceptable to register even without a wedding? Or is the privilege reserved only for those tying the knot? And, what about the gays who can't legally get married? Should they not be allowed to register if they aren't able to get married? Thoughts?

Kicking It Up a Notch

So I know I've gotten ... blah lately. I apologize. There are no excuses. It's REALLY hard to write truthfully when your parents are reading. And your brother. And his girlfriend. It's not their fault, but some things aren't about fault, they're just reasons why.

I thought about also including "when friends are reading" but I don't censor because of them. One of my closest friends smokes, and she knows how I feel about it. She'll read my smoking post and laugh, roll her eyes, and tell me to suck it up. Which I am. Every time I'm at home.

But at this point, my parents can't ground me, and I've already said enough that I think they know there's more behind it. That my thinking is not going in the direction they meant for it to go in. Even though I did it on a continuous basis, I was always scared to piss off my parents, or hurt them. For fear they'd dump me, and then when I needed them they wouldn't be there.

But what I didn't realize was that I have been dumped. So all I lose by being overly honest is them wanting to tell me anything, for fear I'll blog about it. And then everyone will know that someone, somewhere, has parents who do whatever that awful thing is. I tried to explain to them about proper nouns, and the lack of them here. And how any of my friends who read this and know who I am also have heard my parental stories in person, so it doesn't really matter if they read them here also. I think my dad gets it. Doesn't particularly like it, but gets and respects it. My mom not so much. She doesn't get me at all. And that makes me sad, to think we were so close and now we're not. It makes me doubt our formerly close relationship, and leaves me confused about my perceptions of the past.

And my brother? Well, Golden Boy and Crazy Girl just want their privacy. And I understand that, and will try to respect it. Nobody wants to piss off family. And yet, there's a balance between that and being true to yourself. It's there, therefore I'm determined to find it.

Yes, I realize the above two paragraphs say I'm willing to respect my brother's feelings but not my parent's. Yes, I realize life isn't fair. But my parents are the ones who always yelled at me that life isn't fair, so surely they'll understand, right? Yeah, I know, they won't. And there's no need to be a bitch. Well actually, there is a small need. I have a very vindictive streak to my personality - you hurt me, and now I want to make you hurt as much as you made me hurt.

I'm not mature. I try to do the right thing, the mature thing, but can't be perfect. My parents had a lot of "favorite phrases" while I was growing up. One was "look out for Number One." And now more than ever, I realize that's what I need to do. It's never been more clear to me than in the last year that other people will have no problem hurting me if it will help them. So I need to do the same. I was raised to think I was this horridly behaved person, and to always think about whether people would like me for what I was or was not doing (it's a miracle I didn't grow up as a total pushover).

You know what? Fuck that shit. Those other people? They're not so great that they're worth me not respecting myself to do what will make them happy.

So. In the spirit of kicking it up a notch and less censoring, I feel the need to get this out. Ellen. Yeah, that daytime talk show. You know I love dancing. You know. But Ellen? Can't dance. Nothing about her dancing is good. Also, I don't find her to be very funny. Maybe she'd be more funny on HBO than on a daytime talk show. But her talkshow is fucking lame.

And what the fuck is with audience members of talk shows? Why do all these middle-aged women scream? Get some respect for yourselves! You're 45 years old and screaming for a bald married guy with a Southern twang! How do you not get embarrassed by your actions as you drive home?

(Don't leave me an anon comment telling me my life is so pathetic that I don't know what it is to be excited and that's why I don't get the screaming. I've been to baseball games. I've been in the audience of a talk show (once, when I was 15). I got a free trip to LA. I'm just not the type to scream. It's lame. Stop it.)

Close Yours (Now With An Exciting Update!)

Do you smoke? You do? Then I hate you. Really. For like the fourth time, this afternoon I went to the leasing office to ask if they could do anything about the smoke literally pouring into my apartment, flooding my bedroom and bathroom (it comes through the bathroom vent) with smoke.

It makes my clothes smell bad. It makes my eyes burn. It makes my throat hurt. IT'S NOT FAIR.

A person should be able to get away from things like second-hand smoke by going into their own home. I don't do things that attract the attention of any neighbors when I'm inside my home. No loud music. No bad-smelling foods get cooked. No random bouncing of balls in the middle of the night (13th floor, I'm talking to you). No construction at random times of the day. No thumping base turned all the way up at 6:16 a.m.

No. I hold the elevator for people, I ask where their parents are when toddlers come running towards the pool without any adult-looking people running behind them, I don't throw garbage off my balcony. I am a good neighbor, a good tenant.

Some people say things like, "If you don't like it, buy your own place." Those people are assholes, who probably are as inconsiderate as my neighbors. I understand that smokers get dirty looks all the time when they try to smoke in public, and want to think they should have the right to smoke in their own place. And that's almost logical. Except when it's affecting others, which, in this case, IT IS. Why can't they go smoke on their balconies, so the smoke doesn't get sucked into their vents and come out of mine?

The leasing office suggested they can close the vent in my apartment, blocking the smoke from coming in. But tomorrow when they get here, I think I'll ask them to close the vent in the apartment rented by the smokers instead.

Aforementioned Exciting Update: This afternoon I went
back to the leasing office to follow up and the office manager offered to come
over to my apartment "right now" to check out the smoke situation. As we
walked she expressed hope that I was happy with everything else, and I took that
opportunity to mention the draft situation of yore. When we exited the elevator on my floor, the office manager wrinkled her nose, told me she had a cold, and announced that the hallway STANK of smoke. When we went into my apartment she smelled it. Standing in my bedroom, she looked at my polka-dot blanket and
nodded. I feel so vindicated.

The smoking issue is aggressively being worked on. I also pointed out to her how the blinds move from the drafts even when the windows are closed. The office manager
was horrified on my behalf, and will have people here on Monday. That's what I'm talking about!

Dancing With the Stars Falls Down and Goes Boom

The thing is, my dad called and we were on the phone past when the show started, so I missed the first guy. But if you're interested in finding out how to smooth out a popcorn ceiling or wall, e-mail me because I now know.

- Mark - he was very stiff. When I was a little girl I took dance classes at the local Y with a woman named Shelley. At the start of each class, we'd spend time working on isolations - learning to move different parts of our bodies while keeping the rest still. Mark needs Shelley.

- Wayne - he moved like he was scared he'd either fall or trip Cheryl. Whatever he was trying to do with that turn at the end? Not good. I wouldn't be surprised if he gets voted off.

- Marie - pretty risque for a Mormon broad! Her hair looked retarded, but she really worked her costume. Marie said in the "package" that she needed to step it up, and she really did! Tonight's performance made me like Marie a little more than last week.

- Albert - who the fuck is this Albert kid? And why was he wearing capri pants in rehearsal?

And now we interrupt this very special blog post for a story. When I was a
little girl and thought nobody was watching, I used to slide down the bannister
in our house in Long Island. One day when I thought it was safe, I swung
my leg over and slid to the bottom, only to be busted by my dad, who was
watching tv in the den. He yelled at me, and I ran upstairs crying to my
mom. She smiled, and led me back downstairs to the study where the photo
albums were kept. My mother showed me a picture of her mother - who I
never met - sliding down a bannister in the 50's.

So, back to Albert. Whoever he might be. I loved his slide down the bannister, for reasons now obvious to you. Unfortunately, there was a distinct lack of connection with his partner that made me wonder if he was counting in his head.

- Helio - I really liked this guy a LOT! He and his dance partner had a great connection, and their performance felt very "Miami" to me.

- Jennie - a FALL! If anyone can find a video link to the fall, please send it to me - I need to re-watch this. (I know, I'm terrible. Recently I talked a four-year-old into watching the episode of the Hills last season when Whitney fell. Not only did the kid keep calling Whitney Sidney, she didn't see the humor in it at ALL!) Seriously though, I thought she was going to pass out after her dance was over - she looked AWFUL! Poor Kelly!

- Cameron - I could not have hated his partner's outfit more if it had tunafish hanging from it! That terrible contraption distracted me from their dance - how was it? Anyone? Is it just me, or does Cameron remind anyone else of John Norris?

- Floyd - dude was good! Great footwork, but his posture was a bit sloppy. He has potential.

- Jane - oh, the awkwardness! You could tell each time Jane was losing her place, because she'd slow down a smidge. Disappointing.

- Sabrina - fabulous! Had I been her, I'd have worried about catching my heel in the bottom of that dress. I was impressed she didn't let that happen.

Okay, I know he's not a contender, but can we just talk about Drew? He's MUCH more entertaining than that Samantha chick ever was! I think he is absolutely contributing to the show's ratings, whereas Samantha was doing nothing for them in either direction. However, I must say I'm impressed with whoever her attorneys are - it seems they negotiated that her name would be mentioned a minimum of four times each show. Slick move.