Fear not, Bebe Neuwirth. I am NO Triple Threat.

As you may know, I've been a stage performer for most of my life.  I've done oodles of musicals, comedies, and even a few dramas.  I've taken classes and worked with some brilliant directors, and I've always considered myself something of a theatrical "jack of all trades."  I mean, my singing is nothing to brag about, but my acting has it's moments and my dancing gets me by... at least that's what I THOUGHT...

Until I tried Zumba.

After being on a steady streak of running 3-4 times a week I decided that my workout routine needed a little variety.  A friend of mine, we'll call her Jane, told me that she was planning on trying a zumba class at our local gym.

This friend, Jane, does not pride herself on being a dancer and claims she is not at all coordinated.  She, apparently, asked me to go to the class with her because she thought, "Surely Miriam will be good at this.  She does all that theatery stuff with dancing and will probably will be the star of the class."  Let's be honest... that's more or less what I thought too.   I mean, I tangoed in a cat suit and the audience LOVED it!

So I woke up on this fateful Saturday morning, picked out a cute outfit threw on some gym clothes, and ran off bright-eyed and a little bit cocky.

I get to class and the place is packed.  I look around to survey my competition:  a few middle-aged ladies, a couple of chubby ones, some people that just look boring, and me (oh and Jane).   The teacher comes over and introduces herself and asks if we'd ever done zumba before.  I say no (trying to be demure) and she tells me "not to worry if you make mistakes" and "just take it slow and have fun."  I'm thinking..."Pssssssht. Lady you have no idea who you're dealing with."

Then the music starts.

Then the choreography starts.

And did I mention the teacher put tassels in her pants?

And I'm faced with my own reflection in the giant wall of mirrors. 

Now, you would imagine my surprise when I realized that, though in my head I dance like this.....

In reality, it's much much more like this...

OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!  

Have I always been a bad dancer?   Where did these spaghetti arms come from?  Why is my center of gravity so awkwardly high?  How come I can't shake my booty AT ALL? 

Wait...where IS my booty??

And why are all these boring middle-aged nobodies so much better than me?  

And, you, teacher lady, with your tassels and your sequined top, stop giving me those "you're getting it" nods and those "nice try" thumbs up.  I don't need your pity.  I'm a STAR.   I TANGOED IN A CAT SUIT!

I managed to make it through the entire hour of humiliation with my head [moderately] held up high.  But every samba was a heartbreak and every salsa was a knife through my ego.  How can I ever put myself out there again?  How can I ever stand on a stage, with those lights and an audience, knowing that THIS is what I look like when I dance?

Because it is fucking hilarious. 

And I love a good laugh.

Hey I'm graduating! Send Gifts! (cash preferred)

It seems that major milestones in education come in 4 year chunks -  4 years of high school,  4 years of college, 4 years of medical school, 4 years of a joint degree in law and whatever else, and 4 years of raising twins.  Yes, I have just elevated child-rearing to the same category as medical school.  You did, in fact, read that correctly.  I decided that surviving the first four years of having twins is a commendable right of passage equal to that of any advanced degree.  We've studied the books, we've tested each others' limits, and we've passed countless oral exams by doctors, in-laws and nosy ladies at coffee shops and grocery stores.  I want a diploma.


So in honor of my twins up-coming fourth birthday,  I've decided to celebrate my own achievements with a short list of...


Jobs I'm Now Qualified for After Raising Twins for Four Years.

1.  Middle East Peace Negotiator:   Evan and Maya have more in common with the Israelis and Palestinian than you might think.  First, for most of their young lives they've been completely irrational actors driven solely my emotions and without the ability to look at any situation objectively.   Second, they are prone to outbursts of violence.  Though instead of suicide bombs or missiles, we deal mostly with hair-pulling and lego launches.   Third, their stubborness knows no bounds.  None.   Dividing up Jerusalem can't be as challenging as divyying up a box of markers with only ONE orange.  Crayons you can break in half.  But, markers?  You're dunzo.

2. Salesperson of any kind:  Have you ever tried to convince a toddler to eat something or wear something or go somewhere when they don't want to?    Now imagine trying to convince two very different toddlers to do the SAME thing at the same time that neither one of them wants to do.   It takes unearthly powers of persuasion and persistence.  I could totally sell cars.

3. Surrealist writer:  Evan wants a story about dinosaurs.  Maya wants a story about princesses and magic crystals.   No, no...now Evan wants a story to about race cars.  And Maya wants it also to be about mommy and daddy and grandma and going to school.   No problem, folks.  I got it in the bag.  I can make up a bedtime story about any absurd combination of random people places and illogical events...and it WILL have a moral, goddammit.  Go ahead.  Test me.  Let's see what you got, hot shot.


4.  Short tempered order cook:   Evan, what do you want for breakfast?  NOTHING.  No, you have to eat something.  NOTHING.  Fine, starve. See if I care.   Okay, Maya, what do you want for breakfast?  CHEESE.  No, you can’t just have cheese. EGGS WIT’ CHEESE.  Okay, scrambled eggs with cheese coming up.  (proceed to make eggs, then serve eggs).  NO I DON’T WANT THESE EGGS.  What?  I SAID I WANTED PANCAKES.   Um, no you didn’t.  I DON’T LIKE EGGS WITH CHEESE.   You just f&*#ing asked for eggs with cheese.   Eat the f&*#ing eggs with cheese.  (storm out of kitchen in a huff).

5.  Infantry Sniper:  I would imagine there are few jobs in the world that require as much focus and concentration as a sniper.  Imagine pointing a big gun and trying to aim and probably there is a war or whatnot and peple are screaming and shooting and there is blood and helicopters and maybe guts flying around.  And still this guy (or gal) has to stay focused and precisely blow the head off of someone.  Now imagine you're driving a car and you're also on a conference call with a client and there are two 3-year olds in the back and they want a book to read and someone dropped a toy and they want a snack and they are hitting each other and, oh shit, there are other cars on the road and maybe some motorcycles and still the kids are screaming and want pretzles or juice boxes and you're client is telling you something and you're trying to listen.  And still you make it home alive.  Sniper, schmiper.

6.  Maid: 'nuf said.

So this is a blog...

So this is a blog, huh?  I have to admit to being quite unfamiliar with the medium.  Sure, I have some funny friends who blog.  And sure I read them and chuckle a good bit.  But, did I ever think I'd contribute to this cult phenomenon?  Nope. 

So why now? 

Well, first of all, I've pretty much exhausted the facebook status update as an art form.  Second, I've got some extra time on my hands.  True, I have kids and a job that requires my attention - but, not that much attention.  I equate my job with fifth grade math - slightly harder than long division but not quite as challenging as multiplying fractions.   And my kids can finally dress themselves and [usually] wipe themselves. So, why not blog a little in between assignments and soccer practice?

So what will you get?

Truthfully, I'm not so sure.  But, I can tell you what you WON'T get.  Here is a list of the top things that I promise never to blog about:

1.  Breast feeding - Come on, ladies.  Enough on the topic already.  Just do it or don't.  Besides, if I hope to capture any male audience I must maintain the illusion that boobs are for their enjoyment only.

2.  Cute things my kids say and/or do - True they are cute, but no one except my mom really cares.  What I will do is fully exploit (for your enjoyment) the insane, bizarre and borderline demented things that they say and/or do.  But, only in small doses.  There is a whole world out there.

3.  How much I love my husband - Also true. Also a total snooze fest.

4.  Organic vegetables and pesticides - This topic has been well covered by others and no one really wants to admit that raspberries will give you dementia.

5.  Cooking tips of any kind - Though I will discuss the many ways in which I burn or otherwise destroy my well-intentioned meals.

6.  Breast feeding - Did I already say this?  Let me just say it again... I will NOT discuss lactation, nipple sores, leakage, latches, schedules, holds or pumps. Never. Ever.

So, stay tuned, my friends.  As soon as I find something interesting to say, I'll probably say it. 

- Mimi (your gal on the verge of sanity)