Once upon a time, a company called Savvy Avenue asked Jamie and I if we wanted to take a free introductory fire dancing class here in San Francisco and what I heard, because I’m all over the place and therefore not the world’s best listener, was “Free!” and “Fire!” and I was like, “Yeah, I could go for some free fire.” And off we went.
The class was at Temple of Poi, taught by a woman named Isa who goes by the nickname “Glitter Girl” and really, let’s stop and talk about how I’m just all kinds of jealous because I don’t even have any nicknames, yet alone a nickname as cool as Glitter Girl and seriously, one of you should come up with a nickname for me. No really, do it. I’ll mail you a giant cookie with your name on it. Or a blowup doll. Or two blowup dolls. Or, you know, something you actually want. Although if you don’t like cookies and you’re not narcissistic enough to love your own name and you don’t like blowup dolls, I really don’t know what the fuck you’re doing reading this blog in the first place.
So. The fire. Luckily for everyone in the greater San Francisco area, they don’t let you use real fire in your first class (something about coordination and safety and the smell of charred hair). But we did learn how to swing beanbags around on strings in all kinds of intricately choreographed movements except by “learned” I mean didn’t really learn but we tried, we tried, it’s just that Jamie doesn’t know her left from her right, which almost got us into a massive car accident once and it got her hit in the face with these bean bags over and over last Thursday night but I know my left from my right and so I could do most of the moves and was actually sort of good at them which probably surprises anyone who knows me because I have trouble even walking in a straight line sometimes but there I was, swinging beanbags on strings in split time and even though I could do the thing with the circles and the split time, I couldn’t do the corkscrew move where one beanbag was going in a circle above your head while the other beanbag was doing the same circle near your feet and Isa kept trying to show me because she’s so helpful and nice and she was all, “Remember to scoop it toward your crotch!” and oh my GOD if there was ever a dance move I should be able to do, it’s the one where you scoop anything and everything toward your crotch.
I HIGHLY DISLIKE THE WORD CROTCH
VAGINA VAGINA VAGINA
And so, my non-scooping vagina and I went through the entire hour of the class and afterward my vagina was fine but my arms were so sore because I’m not really so much with the regular arm workouts and no, I won’t be doing the crotch scooping corkscrew move with real fire anytime soon because as kickass as Isa was, I still couldn’t figure it out but the class was crazy fun and you should all sign up for fire dancing right now except don’t brag when you can do the corkscrew move because bragging isn’t nice and I have a hot little temper and yet I keep reminding myself of the biggest take away from all of this, which was the point Isa kept making about how the moves in fire dancing are “simple, but not easy” and, um, HOW POIGNANT IS THAT?!
Like, think about it. Think about how many things in our lives seem simple and *are* simple but aren’t at all easy. I mean, building up your savings account is simple: just spend less money on lattes and shoes and transfer that money to a savings account . Simple, right? But not easy. And getting over your ex is simple: just stop talking to your ex. And stop sleeping with your ex. And stop anything-ing with your ex. Simple, very simple, but not easy.
SIMPLE BUT NOT EASY
AND CUT YOURSELF SOME SLACK
AND HAVE A TWIX BAR