Zumba-Death by Gyration

It is a secret to no one that I identify myself as a Latina. Admittedly a Latina with zero legitimate hispanic blood coursing through these veins. I'm what they call a nebulous Latina. My hispanic-ness arises from both the penumbra of rights afforded me by the U.S. Constitution and the summers of 0 years to 12 when my parents shipped my brother and me to El Salvador to partake in "camp El Salvador". This particular camp consisted of three months at my grandmother's house where her idea of entertainment included hiring clowns for the better part of an afternoon. I'm convinced my early childhood exposure to clowns is why I don't trust men. And also, coincidentally, why I attended clown school and used my skills to entertain old folks in assisted living facilities. No, I'm serious. I did.

Now inherit in all Latinas is the ability to move one's hips in a circular rotation. This circular rotation mimics the flush of a latrine. Amazing imagery here. You can thank me later.  Round and round they go where they stop nobody knows. "Nobody", of course, being the name you give the one night stand you eventually pick up based on said rotation. "Give" because you don't remember his name or really even asked for it. Sometimes it's best not to know. I mean, his name could be Brett. Or Tristan. Or frankly any name where the parent believes the best way to fine tune and add flair to an otherwise established and sturdy nombre is to shit all over its spelling. Like when one exchanges an "i"  for a "y" for uniqueness. If you come across a gentleman where this is the case then you RUN lest the percentage chance of your child becoming a Trystan Jr. rises considerably.  And while I'm at it let me just say that if I personally encounter a name where the "h" is silent for experimentation...so help me God.  Rhyan. "Oh hey Rhyan, GO FUCK YOURSELF!" I once came across a Gipson. Yes, G-I-P-S-O-N. I couldn't help but wonder why Gipson's parents wanted to ensure his son's complete failure in any romantic relationship. Can you imagine a wedding invitation with Gipson? People would assume you had the biggest typo party foul. And we all know that if phoentics is brought into the equation then it is safe to assume a 1st rate education was denied Gipson's parents and therefore Gipson himself. Maybe not denied eduction, but rather D'd their way through it. This tangent has taken quite a negative turn especially considering I don't do one night stands. Moving on.

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