Yesterday I was determined to accomplish my new goal: Attend a dance class once a week. “Ballet for Modern Dancers” looked promising, so I picked up a bus to Capitol Hill with trepidation. The teacher instantly recognized me (always a good sign), it turns out she was a grad student when I was an undergraduate dance minor. I took everything from Ballet to Anatomy for Dancers to the prolific Grant Writing For Artists class from this woman. And than something really awesome happened: Someone waved at me from across the room. Turns out it was this kid I took a bunch of classes with from U.W. He recognized me immediately and asked how I was doing and where I had been. It was really (I know, cheesy) heartwarming. The dance community, in my opinion, is notoriously snooty. It’s a tough nut to crack, and while people are polite, rarely are they outspoken and friendly. (This is a huge difference from the loud, ballsy, drama crowd I typically run with). I was thrilled that I had a buddy in this class–which came in handy when we had to do partner work. The class itself was challenging enough to keep me on my toes and help me break a serious sweat. As ballet trained dancers know, it’s like the Catholic church: Filled with repetitive movements, sermons, and ancient ritual. Ballet never really changes, so it’s easy to go back to. The French terms were familiar, the style was comfortable, overall I felt pretty good about the class and I have resolved to take it weekly.
I headed off to the University District to drop off my resume at an alternative elementary school that’s looking for Resident Teachers. I had a hard time finding it, and when I did, it was closed up for Spring Break. I was so defeated, that I took a break and sat down in their courtyard. Someone inside spotted me and kindly let me inside where I left my resume with the receptionist. Not really the personal delivery I was hoping for, but better than simply mailing the damn thing.
I went to the Starbucks on the Ave and found my friend, Sam. He slipped me a Chantico. Holy crap, have you tried it? It’s drinking chocolate! The tiniest amount is packed with a dark chocolate punch. I was mesmerized. Sam and I went to my house where we soaked up the weather in my backyard like sun-starved cats. We schemed and planned and eventually we’re going to resume our defunct production company.
Josh and I went to Ivar’s for Happy Hour, and it rated #1 in my book. Cheap drinks and seafood–can’t go wrong. We searched downtown for a cheap garment bag (we didn’t find one).