better foot before ~ (merchant of venice)

After another ten hour work day yesterday ~ this time with Annaliese (the 5 month old I take care of Tuesday through Friday) ~ I was downing my third cup of coffee in an attempt to rejuvenate my soul and to drum up an excitement for a "date night" with my best friend. Now, usually, "date nights" are fun and I look forward to them. However, Jess was eager to start out our date night with a Hip-Hop class at the Y, which is exactly the question I kept asking myself the entire car ride to the class: "WHY am I putting myself through this?"

Being that I have had two intense days of rehearsal for the musical "SWING!", and thus spending hours of dance rehearsals mastering the art of Lindy Hop and Jive, and knowing that I have rehearsals 6 days a week for the next 5 weeks, I was looking forward to a night off from dancing. Jess insisted that we take this class, and I, knowing that she was due to pick me up at 6:00pm, was still keeping my fingers crossed that she would somehow change her mind and retract her decision to drag me to class.

My quads are still sore; my inner thighs pulsating with the rhythm of the "G.I. Jive" and my a** was begging for a night off. Eight hours of non-stop dancing within a 24 hour time period after being out of the studio for over a year, seemed exhausting enough.

At 5:59pm, I saw the headlights shining through the frosted air, lingering over our driveway, as Jess pulled in to steal me away to our 6:15pm Hip-Hop class.

Here's the thing. I'm a good dancer. I can groove, I can jive, and I am still a ballerina at heart; but when it comes to "gettin' down and dirty" with styles such as Krumping and Pop-and-Lock, my white girl genes tend to send me back to the land of tutus and ballet shoes, leaving the beat droppin' and booty shakin' behind.

By 7:30pm, I was drenched in sweat and my choreography filled thoughts were racing from move to move, trying to remember all the "hits" and "isolations" and "body rolls". I have merely only admired this style of dance from the comfort of my own living room while watching "So You Think You Can Dance", and never had I really attempted this style before. My eyes were bulging as I tried to imitate the dance teacher's instruction, attempting to take the moves from her body and make my body recreate them. Ha. I kept hearing the teacher say: "Don't make it pretty, just thrust your body and hit the moves hard!"

Yeah...

After leaving the gym, we decided to conclude our "date night" at our favorite wine bar -Rumours- in which I indulged my taste buds with a delightfully oakey, yet somewhat pear infused Savignon Blanc, a bowl of steamed mussels and a hummus plate. The bartender seemed less than thrilled to be catering to our vino requisitions, and I could swear I caught him rolling his eyes as we passed friendly conversation his way, or when we requested a second glass of wine. Even after attempting to converse with him on a common ground of shared interests such as stage and film, he simply tossed the congruences aside and flippantly whisked away our empty wine glasses.

The wine, food, and atmosphere of Rumours? positively delightful.
The not-so-sommelier behind the bar in the tacky plaid shirt? positively dreadful.

Our night concluded with an array of antique hats, mink stoles, and old newspaper clippings. Jess' future-mother-in-law had given her a box filled with her fiance's grandmother's things, and we stood in front of the mirror taking turns modeling them for our reflections.

It's always a much needed rejuvenation to take a few moments out of your busy life and spend it with someone who makes all those other moments matter the most.

And the beat goes on...

*the picture at the top reflects the shirt worn by my dance instructor. it makes me happy.