A little more good news: After L'Ailee's bosses sicced the lawyer onto the people responsible for the porno website, one of the women they were suspecting quit the gym abruptly. Had only gotten four months out of her one-year membership, too. It is very expensive, at least as much as a fine for violating the law about photography without permission would be, and there are absolutely no refunds. Oh, what a pity. L'Ailee, like many of the instructors in her gym (I am learning just what a community they are in NYC!), has acquaintances in other gyms, and so she called them all with a description of the bitch. Unfortunately, she was not allowed to have her home address and phone number, even though they are on file. ;-)

They still have to work out the phone/camera policy, though.

We were free, then, to have dinner with several friends after my belly-dancing class and laugh. L'Ailee had relieved her stress by summoning her own former savate instructor into an unused room with her and fighting. (I'm more of a writing and aromatherapy girl myself!) She wore a scarf to cover the bruise he left on her temple; he was eating lightly thanks to the kick she gave to his stomach. This led to lots of trash-talking. My buddy Mona, who dates the friend and is also my favorite dance partner in NYC (this will come into play later), and I helped with it. We also had fun speculating on what kind of websites would want surreptitiously-taken nude pictures of the rest of us! I still like "FatSouthernBelle.com" for myself, but "BellyDancingBadoonkadunk.com" might want me, too...

Now for something else. My belly-dance instructor, Yasmeen, told four of us about a belly-dancing competition in AUgust and very strongly urged us to apply. Mona and I liked the idea of something called a "tandem event." It works like this: Dancer A takes the stage solo, doing her performance. Dancer B joins her close to the end of that solo performance. New selection of music comes on, new dance involving both A and B begins. A leaves the stage shortly before the second selection ends. B finishes it solo, and then her selection comes on and she does her own solo dance.

Mona and I are going to do what was so successful at Yasmeen's picnic-cum-performance, only she will be wearing more traditional attire. (Anything's more traditional than jeans and a cowboy hat!) I really, really, really love moving to Mos Def's "Ghetto Rock" and turned Mona onto it, too, but it didn't go with our other selections, to be honest. We even considered halfway traditional Middle Eastern music. :-) Yasmeen told us, "You have time," but we hit upon the right one at dinner and are probably married to it by now.

"Chariot," by Gretchen Wilson.

No, really, it's going to be so cool! From Lot of Leavin' Left to Do to Chariot to I Am Stretched On Your Grave--it actually works! Goddamn, I should be a DJ when I grow up. I swear, when we win the PowerBall, I'm going to buy me a radio station and just play everything that has any meaning or humor or sex appeal, no matter what genre it is, all day long...

How weird this is, for the girl who hated any and all dance classes...who felt so fat and awkward in leotards and tutus...who got made fun of all the damn time...who hid in the bathroom rather than perform at her tap recital. I hope, having said that, that y'all understand why this is so liberating for me now. And it wouldn't have happened if my wife didn't work where she did, and wasn't so forceful about my giving another class a try after I hurt myself at Yogilates, and Yasmeen hadn't suggested her own class as one that would be good for my abs, which had been sliced into in order to remove my fibroids last August and were extremely weak. I am so proud and so grateful.