On Friday night, I went to my ten year-old sister's dance recital. Which was interesting, in that it was in a high school auditorium, which prompted my brother and I to reminisce about our respective high school experiences. It's always enlightening comparing notes with Austin because, though we were at the same high school for several years, we were on opposite ends of the social strata. The fact that he was popular, however, did not exempt him from feeling like an outcast--a fact which probably would've endeared me to him had I known this when I was being slammed into lockers and harassed for being a rampant lesbian art-freak (though, the 'lesbian' part was an erroneous assumption based on my short hair and tendency to sport military boots).
Despite having performed in my fair share of them, I'd forgotten how excruciating dance recitals are: the costumes are never flattering (especially in the older classes, wherein there is always one slightly chubby girl forced to prance around in unflattering attire), the choice of music is (in my experience) always inappropriate, either because it has five year-olds sashaying to lyrics about "bang bang-ing in the backseat" or because it just sucks, and--because it's a dance recital and not a concert--very little effort is expended on making the crap music sound right. This recital was no exception. Halfway through the first hour (midway through a "modern" dance piece to Regina Spektor's "Samson"--which, btw, is one of those songs that I only listen to when I need a good cry), I decided that dance recitals were as solid an argument as any for not having children.
Worst was having to tell my sister that it was fun--nay, it was loads of fun, so entertaining, I loved it!--while secretly wishing I'd brought along the shit novel that I can't seem to bring myself to keep reading. I mean, even "Cloud Atlas" would've seemed pleasant under those circumstances.
In other news:
-I've made the regrettable oversight of showing the same sister LOLcats, which means she now will only speak to me in LOLspeak. Strangely, her LOLspeak has a vaguely German-sounding tinge to it. I suppose this is my karmic retribution for only speaking to my parents' cats in LOLspeak, and imagining them responding in like...
-I made a bangin' fideos dish the other night. My culinary prowess has surely increased.
-On Thursday night, I bowled a 72, while a 5 year-old bowling under the moniker "Juju" two lanes over bowled a 98.
-I've become some kind of crazy recluse type who blogs about children's dance recitals and bowling scores. I need to find some other way to fill my time...
