Apparently, SelfPortChal isn't the only place I need to reintroduce myself. I've been taking dance from the same woman, Wiggy Terri, for about a year now. She knows me from where I stand every week, twice a week. She knows me from how I dance. About five months ago she just started calling me Miami out of the blue. I think she thinks I'm Cuban, which is fine. Close enough. It has never interested me to correct her because she's the type of person that doesn't really listen to what you're saying. You say two words to her and her eyes start wandering the room, her CD case, herself in the mirror. I think, Oh, you're not interested . . . that's cool. I don't trip about that. I just want to take a good dance class.
Wiggy Terri holds these legendary parties that apparently get wild. They are embarrassingly called "Divas Night Out". Is this word still around, Diva? It didn't die with the nineties? I thought this word wouldn't resurrect itself until my daughters were using it for what they'd think was the first time. So, these parties get wild as in titties flashing and a bunch of girl grinding which in the Girls-Gone-Wild sense typically bores and/or bugs me. But I got invited to a Wiggy's Mobile Divas Night Out this last Saturday where thirty women would take two limos to bar/club hop up the coast. I was hesitant. Just the thought of traveling in a pack of thirty Whoopin Wanna Get Wild Divas exhausted me. I feared the tackiness of it. But I was too intrigued not to go. I wanted the Divas to entertain and shock me. Plus I wanted a girl’s night out. Plus my girls Quaniesha & Islip were going so I felt kinda safe. We made back up plans, escape routes if we really needed to jet on this group.
However, the Divas were harmless. It was all anticlimactic, but fairly fun. Ok, there was a little BA action and titty flashing between the limos on the freeway, but that was pretty hilarious especially from some grown-ass women. There was tons of drinking as sport and laughing and dancing. (P.S. It's kinda hard to dance in a limo.) Islip, who is very large chested took off her bra because her top + her bra = boobies blinding her. And I thought it would be a good idea to see how many girls' heads we could fit in the bra. We had three girls in there at one point I'm pretty sure. The funniest part of the night was that I was only known as Miami. I was Miami, the Good Dancer/Clown from Cuba. Not that some of this isn't true, it's just all I was known as. After too many drinks, women told me about how they talked about me with their friends, betting I was great in bed (Embarrassing! And there's really only one response to that which is, "Yup, that's true."). They were shocked I was a mother; they were trying to unravel some big mystery that apparently surrounds me. I thought, really? I'm just trying to take a dance class. Then I thought, There is so much mystery because the Divas just told me what they thought I was and didn't really get to know anything too real. They even renamed me. It was all weird enough to not even try to change their perception.
We all know I'm Madness (surprisingly not my real name either), but when I go to dance class and around the Divas, I'm Miami. I feel more anonymous as Miami.
Above is a picture of me as Miami.