So, by this point in the blog journey, y’all know what I look like, right? You’ve seen how awkward I am? OK, well I have a confession to make that might surprise you.
I am obsessed with hip hop. Like, completely and totally obsessed. Sure, my first love will always be unwashed psuedo-hippies with acoustic guitars, but nothing gets me in a good mood like a sick beat and some dirty lyrics. No jokes.
On our first date, Andrew got into my car and I started it up, forgetting that I was BLARING Mac Dre. Like, at an abnormally loud volume. Andrew looked a bit less than pleased, so I nervously explained that I like to “listen to the same music my students do so I can relate.”
This, friends, is the first only first time I lied to my boyfriend. The truth? I’d been lovin’ it the whole way home from work.
Andrew’s response? “Well, when in Rome…”
I laughed, because inside, I knew that sometime, he’d have to come to terms with the fact that it’s not unusual to put in a mix CD that contains some Jay-Z, The Knux, Kanye and Kelis. In fact, it’s rare that I don’t throw a little E-40 down in the mix. Even though I’m not the world’s best dancer—well, at least not until I’ve had a few drinks, then, I’M AWESOME, in my opinion—it’s not unusual to see me breakin’ it down on the dance floor when a good beat comes on.
I like it. It makes me happy. And even better? I have a totally new obsession that accompanies it.
Every Sunday, while Andrew is at work, I spend my time catching up on the sick dance moves these people pull off. Oh, and being totally jealous. I wish I could shake it, take it low and do half the foot work these fools do. At my school, many of my students have formed “crews” and while most teachers are annoyed by the constant dance parade happening in the courtyard, I’m usually somewhere in the middle, watching students get creative.
It’s my guilty pleasure. So, if you ever see a girl with huge curly hair rappin’ on the freeway?
It could be me.