Now I’ll actually tell you about the flash mob

I realized this morning that while I wrote about the flash mob yesterday, I didn’t actually tell you about the flash mob, and THAT is because I was typing with the debate on in the background and I was trying to keep my head from exploding.  I’m definitely not going to write about the debate (see above re: head exploding), but that explains why I said “oh, we saw a flash mob!” and then didn’t tell you anything about it.  It’s not because I’m mean.

So, this flash mob.  We were at Blairally Vintage Arcade, which doesn’t have a website but does have a Facebook page, and  – yeah, hold on, I have to stop there.  My hate for the name burns with the heat of a thousand suns, and I can’t continue without explaining why (although some of you may have worked it out already because you’re smart like that).  The place is on Blair Blvd, with its door facing an alley that runs through the block.  Blair Alley, right?  So why is it “Blairally”?  WHY?!?

Okay.  We were at the arcade, which is also a bar, which also has a DJ sometimes, and I was kicking ass at 4-player Pacman (which is neither here nor there).  That evening one of the bartenders, a very nice woman named Rio, was talking to me about gin.  She wears a sailor hat like this:

img-thing

That is also neither here nor there.

The DJ was playing 80s and 90s music and had already refused to take any requests unless they were Prince songs.  Elena, Kirsten, and I were dancing, and this other woman came over and asked us if we knew the dance to Thriller because they’re doing it at 8:30.  We’d been warned.  Invited, but also warned.  So Thriller started, and the dance floor, which was small to begin with, completely filled up.  There were at least 40 people, all completely into the zombie dance thing.  Very fun to watch.

Maybe that wasn’t really a flash mob, now that I think about it.  I mean, they were people at a bar with music and dancing, who all did the one dance together.  It’s not like they were wandering the neighborhood and broke into a dance randomly.  When they do it for Halloween, maybe it’ll be more flash mob-like.

I have to stop saying flash mob.  It sounds dumber every time.  Flash mob.  You’re a mob.

I am disappoint

The universe is letting me down.  Three summers ago, I got all excited about this tap class I was going to take.  I went to the first class, it was great, and then the instructor had a family emergency and the class got cancelled.  Major bummer.  Shortly after that, we got busy with moving and everything, and then we got here, and I looked into tap classes again.  It’s hard to find adult tap classes for beginners, and I’d rather not join a class with toddlers.  I found a studio that offered exactly what I wanted, called, and they told me that the class would start in July.  Great!  So excited.  I remembered this past weekend, checked their website – yup, beginner adult tap scheduled to start this very Tuesday.  As in TODAY.

So, TODAY, I called.  I wanted to be sure it was actually starting, find out how much it was going to cost, what I should wear, if there’s anything else I should know….and the answer to the last bit was yes.  There was something else I should know, and THAT is that the class is NOT for beginners.  Apparently, there wasn’t enough interest, so it’s an intermediate class, continuing where the class from last spring left off.  I have learned that I cannot fake my way through an intermediate dance class, so that’s out.  I left messages at a couple of other places, but there just aren’t very many.  The university and the community college aren’t any help, either.

Frustration is my new state of being.

Oh, the guilt!

I skipped posting yesterday (and Monday, I think), and I just can’t live with myself.  I was doing so well!  All but two days in January, and then all of February….until this week.  This week has been hard.  Not enough sleep (thanks, Riley), too many meetings and not enough actual work at work, other stuff – I would like a vacation, please.  One where John and I can be quiet together and read and sleep and play on the internet and watch TV and not have to talk to other people or work or think about house things.  I don’t see that in our future.  There’s too much to do.  But it’s not like we’re not having ANY fun.  I mean, the Moulin Rouge sing-along was pretty darn fun.  Oh, dudes.  I won a can-can contest.  For reals.  Although I’m sure it helped that not one of the three contestants actually knows how to can-can.  But it was fun.  And I have proof (in the form of very grainy pictures from far away).  That’s me in the middle.

Might have a bruise in the morning

I practiced a little bit this past week after not really keeping up in last week’s dance class, and you know what?  Practicing helps.  Who knew?  My second dance class (EVER) was much better.  Except for when I fell on my ass.  We were learning I was learning to pirouette, and apparently I lean back when I should lean forward, and then I lost my balance (worse than the other times) and fell on my butt.  It was cartoonish.  Luckily, it only happened that one time, and it seems I’m a lefty when it comes to turns since I almost look good turning left.  Almost.  It’s fun and I like it.  Yay for dance!

My first dance class EVER (almost)

I just got home from my teen/adult jazz (beginner) class.  Beginner my ass.  Out of four women, I was the only one who’d never danced before.  (I don’t count one month of tap in high school for a musical or ballet as a six-year-old that I promptly quit.)  Two of them were teenagers who used to dance when they were little, which actually meant until they were about 13.  They’re 16-17 now.  The fourth woman used to dance.  So…yeah.  This is going to sound…I don’t care how it sounds.  It’s true.  I can’t remember the last time I was the worst at something in a group of people.  It’s a little bit stressful, even when the class is fun.  But it’ll get better (I’ll get better), and I did enjoy it, and now I’m REALLY annoyed that I’m going to miss the first tap class on Thursday.  I’ll be SO behind next week.  At least I didn’t have to worry about what I was wearing.  Only one of the teenagers was wearing little dance shorts.  The older woman was wearing long loose yoga pants and a blouse-y top, and I wore my capri yoga pants and a tank top.  Perfectly acceptable.

Oh, crap.  Gotta run.  There’s laundry to do before I can pack for this wedding.