Day 3: War Head

I write this week sucking on an extremely sour war head that I bought at Rite Aid. I guess I didn't realize that I was still wearing my leotard and tights as I got the "up-down" look and the eyebrow raise from the clerk.

"99 cents," she stated in a tone that really said, "I hate my job and I hate my life. Please go away and take your tights with you." I smiled and paid.

War heads are wonderful...and horrible....at the same time. You all know what I mean, you put the circular goodness in your mouth with anticipation that your taste buds are about to go through a sour-tastic experience and your mouth is going to be so raw when your done, your not going to taste anything for a week...and you are gonna like it. Your saliva glands activate with the closing of your mouth and so do your pain receptors. It's awful, you try to suck off all the sour-ness as fast as possible to get to the sweet goodness of what lies beneath the sour layer, but when you get there, you immediately wish that it was still sour and you rush to eat it so you can restart the process with watermelon flavored war head.

Ballet is kinda like a war head. Every week I am excited/anxious for ballet. I know that this class is going to put me one step closer to becoming a dancer, but meanwhile, I'm going to look like a total doof.

Today, the teacher was gone. Let me just fill you in for a second. I'm 93.56 percent sure that all the girls in the class (except me) are on the dance school's competition team, meaning, they dance every day all year around, hence, they have ballet class down to a schedule. I, on the other hand, am on my third round of ballet class...in my life. The substitute teacher pushed play, and everyone started plié-ing and kicking and tombe-ing and here's me, going 3 beats behind everyone else because I'm trying to figure out what the heck to do. Across the floors were the worst. Normally, we do exactly what the title says, we go across the floor. Today, we went halfway across the floor, back to the start, did a little switchy leapy, a doohicky, and a turn kick mhogggy and then went across the floor...It was glorious. I could've done the hand jive while walking across the floor and looked cooler. It was like the never ending sour horrible-ness of the war head. You know the picture of the man with a pinched faced, sucked in cheecks, wrinkled eyebrows and red forehead on the package of warheads? I looked WAY stupider then that during the sour of ballet.

Thankfully, just like the candy, the sour concluded and the sweet began. I got to know the girls in class a lot more than ever because, while missing a teacher, we just talked the majority of the time. I'm one of the oldest in the class which is cool because now, when I watch them do everything better than me, I'll remind myself that I can drink, smoke, drive, and go clubbin' before them, (not that I will, but it's the fact that I can) HOLLA! Also, I knew the choreography to the Chinese Nutcracker surprisingly well, and did it surprisingly well, which was a relief considering that the class had been watching me prance around like a brainless idiot for the majority of the class. I am getting better people and that is beyond encouraging.

So, I absolutely hate it when people say that war heads aren't sour. Sweet baby Martha, are you nuts!? Have you lost your mind? Do you have a tounge, or do you just swallow them whole? They are terribly sour... I don't think you are cool or tough just because you claim they aren't sour. But apparently if you eat enough war heads, your taste buds are utterly destroyed and they really don't taste that sour. Hopefully ballet will be like that. Maybe trial after painful trial, I'll one day be numb to the challenges of ballet and whip through the across the floors like my 9th grade co-ballerinas. One day I'll look like them, minus the small butts and blonde ponytails.

I'm takin' it one switch leap at a time. Pray for me!!

Love,
BalleBREna