Dance Yrself Lean

I think I'm in love with my dance instructor.
I started my first class last night and it was SO much fun. When I walked into the dance complex, there was an African Drum Beat class downstairs, and a tap class in the studio before my class meets. It felt so good - as a mediocre dancer - to be surrounded by all those talented dancers.
My class is taught by the sassiest of sassy men, who wore a bright yellow bandanna on his head and big diamond stud earrings. He came into the class and immediately started Irish Tap Dancing, and then flipped on the stereo, where much to my delight, Beyonce started playing.
Due to the name of my class, we did a lot butt stretches. At one point, we all had to bend over in front of the instructor, at which point I'm pretty sure he was assessing (get it?) where we are now, and how we will compare at the end of class.
We learned a few combinations, he taught us how to walk sexy towards the mirror to get a boy's attention, and then pivot around as if to say, in his words, "Nuh-uh, boi, you took too long. I'm outta here!" The best part about that, is there is this one older couple there who also had to do the sexy walk. The wife showed up to class wearing a bottom up Oxford, and jean cargo shorts, and the husband had his beer belly hanging low. It didn't matter, though, everyone had such a great time and just laughed through the whole class. My trunk's pretty sore today, but it was so worth it.

Miss, can you help me?

Last night I went to Ikea with some friends, and I accidentally wore a bright yellow cardigan and a dark blue shirt underneath that. I didn't realize that I was dressed like an employee there until a few people looked like they were about to ask me a question, but then couldn't locate my name tag.
When I was checking out, I saw someone take a picture of me with their cell phone camera in the way that "I'm not taking a picture of you, but I'm so totally obviously taking a picture of you" kind of way.
Oh, well. I ate an entire plate of Swedish Meatballs with lingonberry jam, afterwards walked around the whole store with the top button of my pants undone and spent $100 on stuff I don't REALLY need, and it totally made me feel better.

Keeping It Real

I may have the grown-ass job of a 28-year-old, where they send me around the U.S. making business decisions and throwing down plastic at client dinners, but I still have the expense report of a 6-year-old left to their own devices with their allowance:

Yes, I NEEDED that cheesewedge magnet and animal crackers.

All My Exes Live in Somerville

So, I moved this week - along with hundreds of other Bostonians. When I first moved back here, I was living in a sublet with a friend of a friend (we're now friends, awww) and my September apartment search started my first day back in the area.
I looked at some HORRIBLE places: one place was so small, and the girl living there had really long fingernails - like Guiness Book of World Records long - another place was occupied by female hockey players, which is probably someone's fantasy, but not mine, and another was occupied by a male copy editor who was very nice, showed me to the nearest library branch, but scowled at me on the street the next day when I said "hi" while running by. Thank goodness for my current living situation.
Before I met with my current roommate, who I found via Craigslist, I did the requesite internet stalking (as did she: she found out I was a member of a knitting community, so I had to be nice, she reasoned). I found out on Facebook that we have a mutual friend. Her name sounded familiar, and she looked familiar, too. Turns out, she dated my friend. Turns out, so did I. His current girlfriend is swiftly becoming one of my closest friends. What a fun, sexy time for us!
With his permission, I met with her and we got along really well! It's not entirely surprising. As much as anyone would hate to admit it, ex-girlfriends will most likely get along. Of course there are psychotic exceptions, but my roommate and I have a LOT in common. We are both in love with PBS Specialty Programming, for example. I recently picked up Regency House Party from the library, and we started watching it the other night. We were really confused by which cast member was which, so she started making a visual aid for us to have on hand while we watch. Basically, a poster board with photograph and brief biography. It warmed my crafty, glue-stick-loving heart. Also, she sends me emails like this:
"And while [her current boyfriend] was playing around with the [recently purchased/used] TV stand last night trying to figure out how to fix the drawer, a VHS popped out from underneath, elaborately labeled "RAP" in gold marker. We have to watch this tape."
I'll report back with what's on the tape, but I'm really hoping for the previous owner's personal foray into the art form.