I am FLYING this morning. I got about 4 hours of sleep, since I was up all night writing a recap of "Dancing with the Stars", which I will be begging all y'all to read as soon as it goes live over at MamaPop. Because, as I am constantly reminded, I am a shameless attention whore.
Anyway, this meant I got to watch the two hour premiere of DWTS over. And over. And over, until my DVR was begging for mercy as I tip tap wrote all night long. And I might have had some energy drinks. A lot of energy drinks. But it was all in the name of comedy, and all you precious little squirrels know that I will make ANY sacrifice for a laugh, and in that spirit, I would like to share with you some of my fondest dancing memories.
HA! Psych! I'm just kidding, I don't HAVE any fond dancing memories because I SUCK at dancing. The only kind of dancing I can do is the floor-gazing gothy writhing dances that I haven't even attempted since I stopped drankin', so i don't even know if I can do THAT anymore. I seriously have the worst coordination in the world, and as we all know from countless blog entries, I can fall down at ANY time, while standing still, in bare feet, dead sober. And still, people throughout the years have tried to make me dance. Ha!
Now, when I was a wee Banshee, my mom, like every other mom of a wee girl, put her precious little angel into ballet class. Which I sucked at. I also sucked at tap and jazz, but we're talking 1983 or so here, so that puts me at about 6 years of age, and if you're already good at ballet at six years of age they ship you off to some school in Russia or make you join Cirque du Soleil or something. Or so I liked to think, but maybe that was just me trying to make myself feel better about the fact that I would NEVER get those precious, precious pink satin toe shoes with the ribbons that laced up because I had zero talent and couldn't even dance on my tiny flat feet, much less on my toes.
Eventually, I left "Dancin' Feet" the local dance studio wherein they tried so hard to make me look even slightly graceful (and failed) and there are two stories that have buzzed around regarding the decision to take me out of dance class.
The first is that my mom and dad simply knew this wasn't the hobby for me, and I probably did a fair bit of whining and complaining, let's be serious here, because as a child (and as an adult, now that I think about it) I didn't WANT hobbies. I SUCKED at hobbies. I wanted everyone to LEAVE ME ALONE so I could read in PEACE. This hasn't changed, except now I'm a crazy spinster with cats. I still want everyone to just leave alone and for the love of Merlin's boxer briefs, DON'T MAKE ME DO A HOBBY.
The OTHER story, the one that I bet is true, just like I believe my security blanket didn't get "lost" one day, never to be seen again, is that Miss Laurie, my teacher (See, mom! Mind like a steel trap!) gently told my parents that i would never, ever, EVER be coordinated, they did everything they could, it was a hopeless case, maybe she could take up blogging in 20 years? And ever so politely dismissed me from the dancing school. THAT I believe, since my poor parents tried other hobbies, all of which failed miserably, including FIELD HOCKEY which I believe I lasted 2 hours at before quitting, and I spent the entirety of that time sitting under a tree, acting (quite believably) like I had a stomach virus.
I'm a whiny, lazy bitch, but I'm also VERY creative in my ruses. You know where I got that? READING. ALONE. BY MYSELF. And now I transform it into WRITING, which I do ALONE. BY MYSELF.
Although I always wanted those toe shoes, man. I think it's in the female DNA.