Renovation

I couldn't think of anything to write today, so I changed my "look" instead.

M is for Milkshake

Spotted today on campus: young female wearing tight pink t-shirt that said: “M is for Milkshake.”

This was my second week teaching ballet to 8-year-olds. Last week, I was pretty convinced after class that this was “not my demographic” (apropos phrase borrowed from my friend H). It was the most horrific teaching experience ever in my life! They all stared at me (all 12 of them) like I was some Nazi-esque ballet monster teacher! Luckily, this week was much better, and they seemed to not have that weird look of horror.

Someone at work today used the phrases, “people of color” and “women of color” during a brief conversation. I’ve never liked either term. Isn’t this just a variation of colored people? Does anyone else feel this way?

I don’t know what’s happening with my wardrobe choices lately, but ever since I cleaned out my closet (I took 28 – yes - 28 bags of clothes and shoes to Goodwill), I seem to be wearing some type of “army uniform” almost on a daily basis. This consists of either khaki skirts or pants with a black shirt – either button down, t-shirt or long-sleeved shirt – and black boots or black heavy clogs. What’s up with that? It’s embarrassing. I went to my friend M and her mom’s house for dinner the other day, and I realized that I was wearing the exact same outfit that M has seen me wearing on at least two separate occasions. She must have thought I was whacked – especially since I claim to be a “fashionado” (according to this Blog I created).

This reminds me of my Boitzovian ballet days where our “headmistress” not only had weekly “in-the-middle-of-the-room-with-everyone-staring-at-you” weigh-ins, but we also had to wear our hair the exact same way - a braided bun - Capezio pink tights without seams, and a Capezio spaghetti-strap black leotard. She convinced us that we would become “big ballerina stars” if we gave her 200 percent of our time, energy, blood and our parents’ money. Naively, we bought into her proposition, even though she repeatedly told us, “it iz impossible you be so fat and lazy. Maybe you zell zese tomatoes on street corner, but never you be big ballerina or even smallest ballerina with such lazy and such fat.” I was smart enough to get out right before she put on her big production of Pinocchio that was going to be performed at my high school and included a disco scene where everyone was stoned. Oh, the things I’m thankful for!

Mohawks and Butt Cracks

Students are back and the library is once again a “crack house.” The low-riders, thongs and butt cracks are still the rage. I don’t even really notice it anymore. I find that disturbing.

My friend Y wants to take German and thought we could do this together. German 101 four days a week for an hour. I have to think about it. I don’t like the German language even though I live with a German. Aside from the occasional syntax error, his English is pretty good and I rarely have to hear him speak German – thank goodness. I’m terrible with languages. I took 6 years of French in Jr. High and High School and it got me no where. I don’t have much hope.

The latest “hair doo” (according to Vogue) is to have a fake puffy Mohawk thing (this is basically back combing the top section to get it all gnarly) pinned back in the middle of your head with the sides super slicked and gathered all into a long ponytail. I was intrigued. I experimented with this in the privacy of my bathroom. The directions were quite complicated, but I’m actually pretty good with hair doos or “up doos” as they say now. It was a lot of work, and the end result was something that resembled a member of Devo/B52’s. I think it looks better on the 20-year jet set. I don’t think I’ll wear that to work, but you never know.