A Contributing Factor to My Lesbianinity

I think it's pretty much part of the Constitution that some point, every American girl needs to take dance lessons. I was no different. Oh yes. Little five year old Amy took dance lessons. For me...it was one giant leap towards lesbianism and rebellion against all things girly.
Dear Mom and Dad, No thank you. I do not want to wear tights. Can I please go play in the mud and pretend to be Westley from A Princess Bride? Love, Amy.
I mean you might feel the same if you looked like this:

Yup. That is actually me. I'm not completely sure how my parents convinced me to put that on and keep it on. But like I said, this was probably a step towards, "Are you freakin' crazy? A dress? You want to do what with my hair? Heck NO."

You want to know the hilarious thing about this dance recital??
Well.
Allegedly, the dance instructors failed to tell us five-year-olds that when they opened the curtains there would be PEOPLE on the other side. LOTS and LOTS of PEOPLE.
Whoa.
Baby.
Allegedly, (though I held it together for the dance number (which some of my fellow class-mates failed to do (what can I say? I was totally professional even at a young age))) I came off the stage sobbing and ran straight to the arms of my father who firmly pronounced that I would never go back to dance class. Dads are big softies when their little girls start to cry. And so I never went back to dance class and had my parents and entire family convinced that it would be a cold day in hell before I ever set foot on a stage again.
Turns out, feet on stage and the many variations thereof is pretty much my life's calling.
Oh life.
You are so very funny.
However, since that day I have been paralyzed with fear when it comes to moving my body in any way that resembles dancing. I clam up, step on toes and all around turn into an graceless oaf-troll. My stomach knots up the way it must have when they opened the big curtains to a house full of proud parents and flashing cameras. Dancing, and being in situations where dancing happens is one of the few places I fell true blue honest discomfort. Like I want to melt into a puddle and seep into the cracks of the floor. I'm not an advocate of drunken behavior or for using alcohol as a means to palliate social anxieties. BUT the next time I'm in a situation with dancing involved, it might help if I have, oh...one or two in me (that would be all it would take for me and my slight, unhardcore self). I wish I could dance. I want to be able to dance. I've actually considered taking dance classes/lessons. If someone offered same-sex/queer dance classes in Chicago, I would be ALL over that. But, alas, Dancing with the Queers is all the way in California.
Dear Dancing with the Queers,
Hi. My name is Amy. I don't know how to dance. I live in Chicago. You live in California. Two things:
a) I know your governor is always saying, "Come to California" but I think you should come to Chicago. Fly in on a big gay plane and set up a studio here. Teach me and other Chicago gays how to dance with the people we were meant to dance with.
b) I need a dance partner. Preferably one that will, in teaching me how to dance/putting up with my awkwardness...fall in love with me. Like Dirty Dancing. Except I get to be Patrick Swayze. Well, I guess I wouldn't be Patrick Swayze, because I'm the one who can't dance. But I get to be the hot, rough around the edges (or okay FINE awkward around the edges) dance partner who constantly wears black tank tops to show off super defined arm muscles. Preferably, she should be way cuter, way classier, and way less annoying than Jennifer Grey. Preferably, we should practice lifts in a lake at some point. Preferably, at some point, I should get to shout, "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" and then throw my shoe (I can't remember if she ACTUALLY throws her shoe in that scene, but in my mind, when I replay that scene in my head-she totally does).
Love,
Amy "I-Could-Be-The-Next-John Travolta-Except-Smaller-Queerer-More-Awkward-And-Less-Crazy (ok, so I'm crazy but I'm not 'I believe people are alien souls' crazy)" Cornelius



QUOTES OF THE DAY
These have been sitting in an unpublished post for way too long...

From Work:
How to stick a knife in Amy's heart Lesson #1:
Phone conversation with patron at the box office...
OLDER WOMAN: Yes are there any tickets available for this show?
ME: Yes, I do have tickets for that show. How many do you need?
OLDER WOMAN: Four.
ME: Ok, my best available for four-
OLDER WOMAN: Oh. I'm sorry. Just three.
ME: Three?
OLDER WOMAN: Yes. Three. I forget...my husband died.
*She laughs uncomfortably*
OLDER WOMAN: I just forget sometimes.
*I wanted to tell her: It's ok! Sometimes, when I set the table, I still pick up four forks! Or grab four plates! Sometimes when I sign tags on gifts I write "Auntie Jan" just because it's STILL natural and then I have to redo it! I get it! I know I'm young but I get it! It's ok! It will get better! I'm glad you're coming to see a show!*
ME: I understand.

I am putting labels on a mailing:
CO-WORKER: I think that one was a litttle crooked, Amy.
ME: Yeah well I dont do straight very well.
CO-WORKER: Tou-CHE.

JIM: Let's go see a movie. Want to go see that new Will Smith movie?
ME: I heard it was bad.
JIM: Then Yes Man? The new Jim Carrey movie?
ME: Ugh. That looks even worse.
JIM: But I love Jim Carrey!
ME: But it doesn't even look good! I know no one is going to want to see the movies I want to see. I'll have to go see them all alone. Nobody will want to see The Reader. No one will want to see Defiance.
DAD: Well what language are they in?
ME: They're in english!
DAD: Yeah. But they're still probably the kind of movies you need subtitles for.
ME: Are not.
*At this point Jim and my Dad are both laughing at me*
JIM: Yeah. Yeah. I bet you want to see that movie...what's it called? Soap?
*I know my brother well. And Unfortuntetly, know exactly the movie he's talking about. I slowly put down my fork*
ME: Jimmy. Please tell me you're not talking about Milk.
JIM: Yeah! Milk! That's it!
*Sound Cue: My heart smashing into a thousand pieces*
DAD: Milk what's that about?
ME: Harvey Milk?? The first openly gay elected official??
*Dad and Jim start laughing, insert my Dad making some crude joke about dropping the soap*
ME: I was found on the side of the road, wasn't I? There's no way I'm related...
*My Dad and brother are laughing so hard they are crying.*

And the answer to your question is: No. I don't know. I have no idea how you get from Milk to Soap either. Other than Soap is also a one syllable, four letter word. This is my brother. Who told his theatre major sister to her face that he spark noted every single play he was supposed to read for his Intro to Theatre class.
I think I might tell my brother we're going to see The Yes Man and then actually take him to see Milk. Then when he sees what happens at the end he'd feel real bad for making fun of it.


Over AIM...
ME: I made dinner and now I'm eating it!

DAVID: What did you make?
DAVID: Love?

ME: I always make love!

DAVID: ....um....

ME: OH!
ME: Oh! I'm sorry.
ME: I...uh...didn't mean it that way.

Later in a text message from David...
" 'I always make love' hilarious."