Thursday, November 12, 2009

Squeezed Dry and Stomped Out

It's day 11 and things in the brain have screeched to a crawl. I just did one hour of yoga, followed by more than an hour of flamenco. The feet are throbbing. Not much left of the old gal. A trip to Toronto is on the docket this weekend, so perhaps the land of Kids in the Hall will shake free some musings.

So, as invaluable filler until the return of my brain, for those of you that are not acquainted with the beauty, the eff-you, and attitude of flamenco, here's a small, good looking tidbit. Obviously not me. She's about a third of my size, horizontally and vertically.

Flamenco is a gorgeous dance form. It speaks to my inner diva, my personal Gaga, my drag sensibility. It's satisfies my hidden drama puss. Well, not that hidden.

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