Making Moves...

So, I am a officially a doctor!  Who goes from copping on PH to a PhD?  Haysoos, that's who.  If I can do it, you can.  Now, I will talk a little bit about my limitations.  I have had to come to grips with this recently.  I am a bad dancer.  I mean bad.  Ever seen Elaine Bennis on Seinfield?  Yeah, have her smoke crack for a week and not come down.  Then, have Tanya Harding's new boyfriend hop out the bushes and hit her in the knee with a crow bar.  After that, we can have a dance off.  I am the only person on earth who has danced bachata and been mistaken for doing the "Humpty Dance". It may seem as though I have the Forrest Gump leg braces under my pants when I dance, but I promise you I don't.  I am thinking about handing out coupons for icy hot to women I dance salsa with.  I just had to confess that fact.  I do exactly what wack rappers do when people say they are not feeling them: I say it is 'my style'. Translation: I actually have no clue what I'm doing and despite several attempts at learning, I'm going to blame my mistakes on my partner.  Now having said that, dudes who are good Latin dancers, don't look down at me in the club.  You maybe a salsa rock star, but you still sit a your BS job that you hate and pays you 40 Grand, all day at your cubicle watching youtube videos of advanced salsa moves until your boss walks by and warns you to minimize it. Or you deliver packages in some little brown 1972 NBA booty shorts.  Or worse, you are a personal trainer and flirt with slightly overweight soccer moms for a living.  You are not an NFL all-pro or NBA allstar, my dude. My point is, we are all wack for something. So, when you see me in the club, give me dap, bro.  I'm going to Florida this summer so women in the salsa clubs be warned. Hazmatic and I'm gone...