Building a Dance Floor

Okay, so here's an all-call to my two readers: Anybody know about building dance floors? The construction people in my life have pretty much nixed the idea of my building a dance floor in my backyard for my 30th birthday party. Looks like I'll have to settle for a standard backyard BBQ soiree. No fabulous salsa turns...unless we can figure out how to triple spin on concrete. Do they make shoes for that? Shoes that can transform a brick patio into a slick, smooth dance surface?

Here's how it started:

(1) I wanted to have a fabulous salsa-themed birthday party. Wanted to do it up big for the 30th. When my good friend agreed to DJ, it became even more imperative that we dance, dance, dance.

(2) I looked into renting a floor. It was costly and seemed like a pain in the ass. This is about the time that I had a brilliant idea--why not just build one, can't be that hard!?

(3) Brought the idea up at salsa class. Discussed with O. and folks. Got good feedback...."yeah, why don't you just buy that hardwood flooring that snaps together. Can't be that hard. We'll help."

(4) Got M. into the idea. He was skeptical but supportive. Went to Lowe's last Saturday to look at that "snap together" flooring. Looked and looked around, trying to solve the whole situation, "the whole cake," as the man would say. Found flooring for 99 cents per square foot, which was in my budget range. But then, it got more complicated. We found someone with a blue vest and a "How can I help you?" badge. Well, maybe that's Walmart, not Lowe's. Nonetheless, found a helper. And he was like, "Um, how even is the patio? It might pop apart if it's not perfectly even." Hmmm. Yeah, we'd sort of thought of that. Were trying to figure out what it needed to be mounted on, but we were hoping nada.

(5) Walked over to the plywood section to price it. Then we priced 2x4s. It was getting pricier but not cost prohibitive. And then there was the issue of hauling it back to my place in something other than his sporty little car. And then assembling it. Still solvable. But, then, M. had another idea. "Maybe you just use the plywood...get the slightly prettier one...maybe stain it? Would be just as good." But it was still sounding complicated...and not pretty.

(6) Decided to think on it.

(7) Sunday salsa class. E. was on board for hauling stuff and helping assemble. Got O. talking about building a mad huge salsa dance floor that we could break into pieces. Was inspired.

(8) Sunday night. Called my brother. Told him my ideas. He was like, "Tiffany, I think it will work. Do you have any idea how heavy that's gonna be? That's your main problem." And then he tried to explain ways to hold together the various pieces O. and I would need to make with clamps and sliding thingies. J. and I are starting to have read adult conversations. I was advising him on college stuff and he was giving me construction advice for my dance. He pretty much started talking me out of it...

(9) Then M. came over and we drew up a plan. I was stoked. It was brilliant and lovely. I fell in love with drawing diagrams with him. What is it with women and our obsession with falling for men who are like our fathers/brothers? It's not incest. I suppose it's just that my roles for men in my life include being "handy" and that often makes New York intellectuals who've never held a hammer less attractive. My therapist roomie says I need an "intellectual construction worker" type. Maybe. For now, this one helps me drill holes in my wall for the cable cord, hang up heavy mirrors that need anchors, gives me advice on fixing the entry way, and, most importantly, helps me dream about building a dance floor...and then lovingly talks me out of it. (Argument: landlord concerns, the garden is beautiful as is, all of your friends don't dance, etc.)

Caveat: I'm thinking this would make a much better memoir if we actually tried to build the dance floor. Calling Chelsea now. Maybe my favorite fix-it woman will out-idea the naysaying men in my life.

Um, Teacher's Pet...Hmmm

Last Weds. night I was the teacher's pet. O. texted me while I was still at work asking if I wanted to meet her at 7pm (an hour before our group class) to practice. I immediately sent an enthusiastic "yes." We ended up meeting at more like 7:30pm since her pops was running a little late getting the salon cleaned up (the dance studio and barber shop happen in the same place). I had assumed this was extra time to practice dance team stuff. Wrong. It was something else entirely. She's created the choreography for a new turn pattern and wanted to try it out. She'd been trying it on her mom at home, but had managed to make momma quite tired and dizzy.

So she called me to learn the pattern and used me to demo throughout the group lesson. I LOVED the attention of my peers and felt sort of kick ass for a newbie beginner. I heard the term "shy exhibitionist" the other day and I think it applies to me and my dancing skills. It made me a nervous but I dug it. I didn't look half bad! I'd gotten it. I felt a little like the teacher's pet. I even got the requisite teasing from my friends/peers about new privileges. I guess that's what happens when you are at the dance studio all the time.

When I told M. my philosophy about improving, he looked on admiringly. It's only been a couple of months and I've come a long way from that painful couch "therapy" session about my dancing fears. I keep stepping and my self-consciousness is going away, ever so slightly. I'm even thinking about having someone film me dancing with O., E., or M. to take home when I visit my family.

La Primera Salsera

Daria. My friend and teacher from Bulgaria. We met on Craigslist...in the Services section. She teaches private salsa lessons and I came back from Guatemala last summer with an itch to keep learning Latin dance. I quickly learned the difference between "On1" and "On2" and, um, chose the Nuyorican brand. Many professional dancers can do both, but the rest of us probably need to pick one--at least when we're learning. Within a few weeks, Daria and I were meeting for tea in my kitchen and I was helping her with her pronunciation--she speaks English beautifully but is a royal perfectionist. Now she is the one I go out dancing with, though I decided to take classes in my neighborhood.