(Source: allaboutdancepictures, via allaboutdancepictures)

what emotional maturity?

It’s still so hard for me to tell: do you care for me, or are you simply a great dancer?

Should I even mildly give a damn?

Assenting to Breasts

"Today, in spin, we only wear sports bras," Feonix said to me.

"Are we ready?" I asked, wiggling my belly pooch.

She nodded. “It is time.”

Feonix and I are spin fangirls. At our gym, this one spin teacher, C, who plays metal, and has awesome high-energy classes with clapping, yelling, and singing. He actually makes spin classes (normally an Inquisition-level torment) fun. Really effin’ fun. And in his classes, Feo and I are generally the loudest, most enthusiastic ones. Not for attention, but because… we’re moved. We’re sweating. We’re on fire.

And of the two of us, Feonix is undoubtedly more daring, more bold, more uncaring of others foibles. And I’m no shrinking flower.

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DPR: that house party to rule them all

There was this party. This epic party. And we threw it, and I’m still exhausted and exhilarated we pulled it off. It was the DPR, the birthday extravawiggle for Dan, Pam, and Rachel, friends who bring extraordinary joy to all around them. In this case, for 90 guests at our glorious Keep …. which we transformed into a party castle. 

And transform we did. Feonix assembled us into three teams of Keeple to eliminate all clutter and make every surface sparkle, and wonderful guests came over around 1pm to help sass up the place. We opened up the third floor for guests, with our laundry nook as an increasingly chaotic coat check, Stev-eo’s room as a full bar, and the Rocket-ries room as a chill out lounge.

We emptied our first floor of every bit of furniture, swept and tarped up our back yard into a patio reception. We swapped out every light on the main floor for a colored light and had a throbbing disco-ball-heart of glowing christmas bulbs, in the style of Help I’m Alive.  Adam Bean mopped every floor, Rocketship mopped them again afterwards, and we made the hot tub into a lost and found.

Post party, that tub is still full of abandoned things.


[DPR (and Erin!) made us hosting tee-shirts!]

And then we hugged the birthday kids and there was love. And then, we danced.

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I think this sums up some aspects of the Epic DPR party. More on that soon. 

I think this sums up some aspects of the Epic DPR party. More on that soon. 

(Source: atomicrhapsody, via uglymyfanwy)

Sunday morning video 3: sharekuso.like’s upload, now viral, of amazing shadow NYC dance. 

Sunday morning, dance video 2, “Finals: FireLock vs Tiffany Jimini Bong | ATWL 2012 Locking Battle | Funk’d Up TV.” (hattip: DLee)

Sunday morning, dance video 1, “I Charleston the World at Lindy Focus.”

vernacular jazz dance: reasons to not dance in heels


(at least on a crowded dance floor)

A guy I know got his right foot broken because someone wearing high heels accidentally stepped on it. It doesn’t necessarily have to end up with a broken bone, it freaking hurts, too. So maybe rethink your choice of dancing shoes,…

When I danced in New York, I used to wear wrestling shoes because they protected my ankle from flying stilettos. That said, I can’t help but drool over some heels, especially in performance.

(via ohyeahswingdance)

Upsetting Answers to Swing Questions…

(I answered these questions before Lindy Focus, to get a sense of my divided feelings on swing dance.)

*How did you start?*

There was this boy in my running club. Rocketship was beautiful - tall, slender, sweet, and smart without a trace of smugness, and he was fast as hell. Mr. Rocketship was the most delicious, perfect summercrush ever, and despite his total disinterest, I vowed to wow him, overwhelm him, and stun him into a mad lovely affair.

I attempted competence at the things he excelled at, which included running, chemistry, and swing dance. But my “woo-ing” attempts were spectatularly ineffective. Despite my ardor, and my plainly besottled behaviors, Rocketship was elusive. I didn’t really bond with him over running, my awkward attempt to highlight his research in atmospheric chemistry faltered, and trying to charm him with my manly strength, drinking abilities, and physical imperviousness in games of Bloody Knuckles didn’t really…. charm.

But despite all obstacles, I still had my tenacity, my fantasies, and my hope of soft hands to hold and smart thoughts to hear. I decided that I would learn this “lindy hop.” If I could learn the “rocks steps” and “triple steps,” surely I would regain my classic suave, slay this fellow, and that lady, and that other fellow lady over there. Of course, Rocketship was the teacher of the lindy hop class at our college, and so, I got really very much, deeply into it.

And after a blues dance, I final jerked up the courage to ask him if he’d like to hold my hand sometime.  And then, I was hooked. (That’s a happy photo in Shirlington, of Rocketship and I dancing to The Bitter Dose Combo.)

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