The Ministry Of Awesomeness

(first half of this very long story here)

Sunday

9:00 am: Wake up. Much against your will.

10:30 am: Listen to the song about sixteen times on the bus on the way into town for Sunday morning class. How are you going to get onto the floor for that torso rotation? And when exactly do you go into the Orbit, huh? HUH?

11:00 am: Class has already started so warm up quickly (and, it turns out, insufficiently) by yourself in the corner. Sylvia has everyone do exclusion drills which turns out to be very good for helping you remember your moves. Sink gratefully into pigeon pose during cool down and suggest that you just stay there all afternoon.

12:00 noon: Listen to the song. Confirm that the amaya box and the gypsy box do indeed rock in opposition. Say “makeouts!” for the first of many times.

12:04 pm: Decide on snake arms in the very beginning. Awesome. Great.

12:08 pm: Remember that we’re indeed doing Fat Chance basic Egyptian. Remember to step on the right for the open-arm shimmy. Remember to count out the choo-choo combo. Remember to follow the camel.

12: 32 pm: Decide you’ll have lunch at 2:00 and then go to Sylvia’s for makeup and costume and final run-through.

1:15 pm: Have some trouble with the traveling arabic timing. Say many bad words.

1:25 pm: “Okay, so is it on the one or the four? Because if we do it on the one, you know, when she says “We all neeeeed someooooone…: then we can’t get up from the chest drop.”

“We can’t? Let’s go through it again.”

“See? Not enough time.”

“Let’s go through it again, because I messed that one up.”

“See? I can’t get up from the chest drop.”

“Okay, so not on ‘We all neeeeed someoooooone…”

“Let’s go through it again. Count it out.”

“Five six seven eight, drop drop drop we all neeeed someooooooone…there! There? No. Cock. COCK. COCK COCK COCK. Let’s go through it again.”

1:40 pm: Turn off the damn song. Sit down on the floor next to Sylvia, who has just announced she needs a wee cry. Have a wee cry yourself because it’s in five hours and you’re tired and hungry and you haven’t rehearsed and it’s just not fair. Sniffle to yourself and think longingly of your pink bed and wish you were curled up on it watching British comedians on YouTube. Why are you doing this? Why did you think you could do this in three hours?

2:15 pm: “You know what, girl? We are going to be so hot tonight. We are going to be the only tribal dancers there and they are not going to know what hit them. They are going to beg for mercy when we get up there.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re going to get up there and they’re going to lose their minds. ‘They’re wearing fishnets on their arms and dancing to a non-Arabic song! They did not just do the Turkish shimmy face-to-face! They wouldn’t DARE to do those chest pops on the part of the song where it goes R-E-S-P-E-C-T! They are astounding in every way!’”

“Hee. Everyone’s going to make out when we’re done.”

“We will be adding to the happiness of the world by doing this dance because we will be providing a makeout opportunity.”

“In fact, I think that after this dance, Helen Clark will be forced to abdicate her position and you will have to be Prime Minister. Your first act will be to create a Ministry Of Awesomeness.”

“A Ministry Of Fabulous Dance Moves.”

“A Ministry Of Looking Good, Girl.”

“Don’t forget the Ministry Of Gorgeous Costumes.”

“Just think of the budget we’ll need to get approved!”

“On the upside, this does take care of your visa situation.”

“Absolutely. Let’s go through it again.”

2:40 pm: Get the Orbit. Get the camel. Get the first torso rotation. Get the second torso rotation, kind of. Pass the lead. Pass the lead again. Get the layback. Get the ending pose. Hoo. Hee. Hoo. Back kind of hurting now.

2:41 pm: And the left knee.

2:45 pm: And the tops of the feet.

3:00: Run, don’t walk, to Cuba Kebab and inhale a mixed vegetarian in the blink of an eye. Mention the presence of crème-brulee-flavored fudge in your bag to Sylvia, who says she’d like to eat it with some coffee. Feel a little funny from having ingested an entire kebab–garlic yogurt sauce but no onions or beetroot, please–without chewing. Oh well. You know what always makes an upset tummy feel better? Hot chocolate and a nice walk through the pouring down rain!

3:15 pm: Shuck off sopping wet clothes and get back into yoga pants while Sylvia unveils all the awesome costuming elements at her disposal. Cut up the fudge—nothing better for that too-full feeling, I think you’ll agree—and snag the extra coins to finish the bra. Sew sew sew sew sew, taking as inspiration, once again, all the times your friend Anna has stitched on a deadline.

3:35 pm: Bra is done! Eat a piece of fudge in celebration. Cut the fishnets. Try on the tassels with the hip scarf. Tack on the bra pendant. Choose five rings, two necklaces, and four bracelets. Discuss with great seriousness the use of sparkly underskirts with the scarf panels and decide to go for it, to wear everything. Be confident in the knowledge that none of the other dancers will look like you.

3:55 pm: Damn liquid eyeliner. How do drag queens do it?

4:10 pm: Why choose between gold, silver, and purple eyeshadow when you can wear all three?

4:25 pm: Forehead bindi. Cheek sparkles. Boobie sparkles. Glitter eyeshadow. Glitter lotion.

5:00 pm: Final runthrough in Sylvia’s lounge. Get the choo-choo, mostly, except for the part where you trip on the carpet. Agree to pass off the lead after the taqsim. Get the timing right on the traveling arabic, yay! Makeouts!

5:45 pm: Back kind of hurts.

6:00 pm: Uh oh. Have to pee. “Good luck,” says Sylvia as you gather your skirts and tassels in your arms on the way to the bathroom.

6:15 pm: Cab arrives. Forget, inconveniently enough, your rain jacket on the back of a chair. It has your house keys in it. Of course it does.

6:30 pm: There is no one here. Well, okay. There’s Alice and Duncan. There’s your friend B, who doesn’t recognize you at first. Neither does Renu, whom you see every week at Wednesday night class. This is both very weird and very gratifying. Feel nervous and continue to manually check that coin bra is still physically on body underneath caftan.

7:00 pm: More people start to show up. Refuse offers of Turkish Delight being passed around. Feel more nervous. Realize that one of your bracelets that Sylvia lent you actually has scenes from the Kama Sutra on it and announce this realization to gathered friends, noting that the bracelet can serve as a handy reference guide if you forget what goes where while making out. “Baby, hang on a minute. That doesn’t seem right. Let me check my bracelet.”

7:30 pm: Dancing starts, a full hour after the posted time. We’re fifth of ten on the program. Hoooooo. Heeeee. Hoooo. Huuuuuuhh.

7: 36-7:39:24 pm: Total blur.

7:40 pm: Well, they’re cheering. Can’t have messed it up too badly, right? RIGHT?

8:00 pm: Open dance. Exhausted now. Back hurts. Knee hurts. Feet hurt. Respond, when some girl asks you how you get your hips to do that thing, “Kebabs. Uh, fries, fries are good. I also recommend milkshakes.” Feel way more comfortable showing belly than you did showing the shoulders in the tube top.

9:00 pm: Realize you left jacket with house keys in it at Sylvia’s. Sob aloud as you text furiously while walking down Cuba Street, still in full gear, with only a thin fleece to keep away the prying eyes. Realize that actually, you are pretty close to the most conservatively dressed person on Cuba Street. Wait for bus, still in full gear, on Courtenay Place. Bus is late. Bus is always late.

10:05 pm: Crawl into house and show off costume to A. before ripping it bodily off you and ineffectually scrubbing many makeup-remover wipes over scandalously painted face. Scatter bindis around the freshly-vacuumed house as you gulp a cup of tea, brush most of your teeth, and slump, finally, finally, into bed.

10:06 pm: Dude, that was with four hours of rehearsal. Ministry Of Awesomeness, indeed. We totally rock the zzzzzzzzzzz….

This Morning

Drag self out of bed, into shower, into jeans, octopus shirt, and fleece, and into work, still covered in glitter.