I am very sore right now, in every single muscle of my body. You know what’s not a good idea? Take three weeks off from dancing and then dance for about two and a half hours for an audition, like I did yesterday.
This lovely bellydance troupe I know needs some new people in it and since it’s my teacher’s troupe and since I’ve been hanging out with some of the dancers lately and since what the hell, why not, I shimmed over there yesterday and had a very fun time. It was like a three hour class (hence the INCREDIBLE SORENESS); we did a warm up and some simple moves, and then followed some of the troupies for a while and then got into groups and took turns leading and following, like you do. I learned that if you’re supposed to stick to a specific set of moves and if there is a large piece of paper right in front of you when you’re trying to lead that has some other specific moves written on it, specific moves that are not the specific moves you’re supposed to be leading, you will become very confused and get an unattractive little furrow between your brows.
We learned a short choreography that involved a lot of twirling and then Sharon led us in some more difficult moves, most of which I knew and almost all of which I felt okay faking. These two very cute goth sisters who are in my class did a duet together and we sat in a circle talking about how the audition process would go and then I went home and fell into a deep, if short, coma. I’m having trouble with stairs today and my legs and butt are all “Nooooo! No stairs! No sitting down and getting up! Lie down, get back into bed!” Sorry, legs. I had things to do today or I would have listened to you.
[UPDATE! Several hours after I wrote and posted this J told me I had a message and it turns out I did not make it to the next round of auditions. Sigh. I’m glad to be starting class up again tomorrow night anyway.]
After recovering somewhat from all the unexpected physical activity yesterday…funny how I persisted in being surprised that an audition scheduled from 1:00 to 4:00 would involve about two and a half hours of dancing, right…I got ready to meet my friend K from work for dessert and to see my other friend Katie’s new all-woman improv group at this itty bitty little theater right by my house. K is in a breakup situation similar to mine, to the extent that any two breakup situations can resemble each other, so we always have a lot to talk about. This is the first time we’ve hung out outside of work (we’re going to see Snow Patrol on Wednesday too) so that was kind of interesting and fun, to be consciously making a new friend out of a shared sense of loss and confusion. We bonded over an extraordinarily expensive and delicious and tiny piece of cake and improv comedy, and a good time was had by all, I think.
This morning my mom called me to tell me the latest hurricane, Jeanne, has passed Miami (where Mom is) and is now headed to Tampa (where my sister is). With that happy news percolating around my head, there was nothing for it but to have pancakes and go to the Fremont Sunday Market with my friend Jen. She’s got family in Florida too so we talked about what a bad idea it is to have family in Florida, or to grow up in Florida, or to go to Florida, or to have Florida be anything other than a repository for palmetto bugs, egrets, hammerhead sharks and those weird air plants that I love, the way nature intended. Enough with the hurricanes, okay? Florida, okay? Are you listening?
Meteorological worries aside, I really wish I’d had my camera with me at the market because I tried on not only a spike collar but also some excellent fuzzy hats with ears. And as usual there were plenty of things to poke around at and coo over: beautiful handmade leather journals and pretty recycled glass tile coasters and yummy smelly soaps and snarky anti-Dubya bumper stickers and little baby clothes with leather fringe on them and crocheted skull caps and crazy hippie rings with lifelike mouse skulls and some excellent glow-in-the-dark bug necklaces, like they were real bugs encased in glow-in-the-dark plastic and you could hang them right around your neck for reasons best known to yourself. I can take or leave big arts and crafts fairs, especially those that involve a preponderance of gingham angel cat doorstops but the Fremont Sunday Market is a compelling combination of flea market and cute girly jewelry store and creperie and it just sort of works. I also liked it that at several booths the proprietors addressed Jen and me as “girls,” as in “Okay girls, thanks for coming by,” and for some reason I didn’t find it offensive (possibly because women were saying it) but instead felt winsome and fetching and several other synonyms for “adorable.” This feeling was only compounded by this fantastic bracelet I got for my own selfish bracelet-buying self. It’s black and white and red beads and it fits my wrist perfectly and it looks like magic on my arm and I just love it. Historically I don’t wear much jewelry but I’m in this thing lately where I am just wanting to be cute for some reason. It’s difficult sometimes, especially since I’ve decreed that Italian-Americans don’t do preppy, so all these ridiculous cardigans held together with fabric flower pins and the corduroy blazers just don’t do it for me. It’s hard to be cute when you can only afford so much for clothes and when the stores won’t recognize that Italian-Americans don’t do preppy and won’t do anything to help you out. My new bracelet…seriously, so pretty…has leapt admirably into the breach and I intend to wear it every time I feel insufficently cute. (I expect this may be a daily-wear type of a deal here).
It’s been a sort of chilly misty day but there’s a little late afternoon light coming in through the cherry tree outside my window. I’ve had a cup of hot chocolate and done some dishes and swept the floor…C’s in the other room working on yet another craft project. She picked up some knitting stuff today and J’s also expressed some interest in learning how to do it, so we may have a tiny living-room knitting circle tonight, if Netflix and my excellent library books don’t suck me in instead this evening. Right I’m putting a bunch of songs from various breakup CDs various awesome people have sent me onto iTunes and regretting ever writing that entry because a) sometimes the songs make me cry (“Tell Her This” by Del Amitri, I am looking in your direction) and b) there are so many that I’m never never never going to get this project done.
I need to put on a sweater and socks and make some comfort food for dinner, and then it will be the start of another week.