You don't stop to rock it to the bang bang boogie but you do stop it because it's 9pm and there's another class waiting

Julia and I are in approximately the 30^th percentile of dorkiness in our Hip Hop dance class at Joy of Motion dance studio in Dupont. We aren’t super proud of this though, because every dancer on that floor has a baseline level of dorkiness. That is, except for our lovely teach.

As a kid I was often delivered the mantra “all you have to do is try.” Well that is just a silly thing to tell a young impressionable human with human limitations. At 25 I have come to terms with many of my failures. For example, I unfortunately do not have a similar skill set as the person pictured in this poster:

Today in class we learned a move called popping. Not to be confused with the robot. This will likely be my seventh major failure of this calendar year.

OMG speaking of music, Clay Aiken is gay!! Just kidding, I don't give a shit. Hmmm...maybe I'm not so not cool after all. 

To know Shady Grove metro station is to have a large collection of Tupperware

I recently heard a fellow party attendee consider aloud what Shady Grove Station must be like. The entire group he was conversing with chimed in that they’ve been similarly curious about the western end of WMATA’s Red Line. I was amused that such a large group had universally given Shady Grove consideration. How disappointed they were to learn from me that it is a parking lot attached to a highway, which connects commuters to thousands of homes with one of five floor plans. (Perhaps I should consider charging city folk five bucks to give them a tour of the S.G. station grounds.)

Today I made my semi-regular weekend journey to the end of the line to see my family – a travel experience that on beautiful days is made arduous by metro’s weekend rider-ship: Zoogoers, Nationals fans and their sluggish ilk. My ephemeral maternal desires choke and die on these trips, as the Wal-Mart families around me fail to make quiet the piercing shrieks of their many children. I wonder if I just seem like a real weirdo to them, a grown woman reading a comic book with robots and monsters and humanoid dog creatures.

My parents pick me up, take me to home where I play Scrabble, eat the home cooking that I hold culpable for my adolescent heftiness, and return to the city owning leftovers contained in yet another piece of my mother’s endless Tupperware supply.

screaming "peaaaaacee" at a musical performance increases the likelihood of ending war by 62%.... Not

Balkan Beat Box at Black Cat was a fun show - however I found it curious when the band's MC, Tomer Yosef informed us that "this is not a show tonight, this is a party, we are having a party," as I am not usually charged 15 at the door of parties nor commanded to put my hands together simultaneously with my peers at parties.

Do we have to be fat too?

When will the office people learn that they cannot raise the morale of this employee with baked goods? The health risks associated with a lifestyle of prolonged periods of inaction punctuated only by frequent trips down the hall to receive a dosage of concentrated fat are not inconsequential. I could go on and on about the peer pressure I receive from my professional community to participate in these hedonistic sugar binges, but instead I shall leave you with the words of Elaine Benes: 

ELAINE: What? What is nice? Trying to fill the void in your life with flour and sugar and egg and vanilla? I mean, we are all unhappy. Do we have to be fat, too? Not you Becky, I know you have a slow metabolism. I don't want one more piece of cake in my office!

“I’m going to blog about it”

I attended an event that inspired me to blog about it. (s4e readers please bear with this change in blog genre for the duration of the post.)

Over the weekend I attended a Meat Market Gallery performance artist exhibit in the parking lot adjacent to the 1515 14^th street galleries. The “YAY Team,” invited the public to join them in “saying goodbye to a personal era of waste, materialism, and ignorance,” in a piece called, “Black Out: Retiring a Cloud of Guilt.” It sounded like it could be cool, and right up my alley, as I like to think I am no fan of waste, materialism, and ignorance. Also, I like going to events. Sometimes there’s free liquor and I like to see what the other kids are wearing.

My party arrived in time to watch an El Camino drive into the parking lot. I am too short to see anything good like always, but I see there’s a neat looking car there and it is by now generally understood that these assholes intend to smash the thing to pieces. Still there’s a gasp when glass first shatters. No one really thought they’d smash a cool car up - maybe something egregiously wasteful, materialistic, and acquired because of ignorance; like a Hummer, or a mini van. But even a car deserving of smashing would not have rendered their message any more interesting in the context of art.

If it was a sincere response to the evils of our wasteful society, I think they were entirely off the mark. Anyone without access to public transportation needs a car. Cars are not going away just yet. Spare the cool ones at least. That previously functional, awesome car is good for nothing but a landfill now.

The only thing that would redeem their act to me is if it was meant to be humorous on some level. If that is the case, I don’t understand the joke. Perhaps it’s an inside joke. I would be curious to have it explained to me by the artists. then I will smash them. Tee-hee

the taste the taste the taste

My experiences with Juicy Fruit have been among the most moving of my life.

hard livin' on the DC streets

Fast food salad place forgot to indicate on my tab that I ordered a special "exotic" dressing that would require an additional fee. Hustlin'