Saturday 26 September 2015

5, 6, 7, 8...

Dance class, specifically Beginner Jazz, started last night! It's safe to say that my hopes of natural dance talent are squashed, but I did better than I thought. I do have rhythm, but I get so focused on watching Danielle's feet that I forget to listen to the music and dance with it!

Step, touch, step, together, now, roll the shoulders if you can...and I can't. Not at the same time, anyway.

See, those who know me know I'm a fat person. No need to try to hush me--I'm using fat as an adjective, the same as I am a blonde person. I don't use it as an insult; it's a fact that doesn't make me, or anyone else, any less valuable as a person. Anyway, the fat around my abdomen makes it hard for me to do balance poses and whatnot, so I need to work on the ol' core. I was wobbling more than a baby colt out there in my "jazz shoes". So you know, jazz shoes are "shoes" the way tissues are "paper"--not one bit of support in those glorified leather socks! At the same time as my feet were angry (my big toes are still bitter), I could not have been happier in those "shoes".

I've always dreamed of dancing, ever since watching "Fame" as a tween on the TV. Every week, I'd be glued to the screen, wishing I could go to that kick ass school. Damn show...blame Debbie Allen, toes! It's all her fault. Now, my Debbie is named Danielle, and she is much nicer and more patient with me. She has to be, folks. I'm out there, flailing around, but I'm loving it. Let's do this again next week, shall we?

Everyone, JAZZ HANDS!!!!

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