Karma Is My BFF (COMPLETED)

27- Dancemomery Part II

Happy Birthday Olivia! windst0rm i bought you some dollar store goodness that intend to eat by forcing / passively hinting at you to share with me! (I got you food, your favorite)

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Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, gender fluid people, fellow unicorns and potatos! I present you with Joooooosssnnifffflllllleeeees!

Hullo. Hullo everybody. Ahem.

* slides on glasses, pulls out fancy flow chart, taps random places on the chart with a pointer stick in order to seem intelligent

Let's get right into it shall we? Dancemomery 101! *show tunes blared out from our trumpet section

The science of the Dance mom is a gentic mutation of many others, such as a soccer mom, for example. This eliminates multiple comfort elements, like makeshift hairstyles, mysterious blood stains and scratches from breaking up fights between children, and a sunglasses tan line.

Nope! That is an absolute don't in the dance mom world. Can we talk about wardrobe and style choices for a bit?

Your clothing right now probably is: Whatever is clean

My clothing style right now: Leggings + tops from the men's section of Khol's and JCPenny's. And trust me, I have a very good explaination for my choices.

Leggings. Where should I even start? Leggings are the epitammy of pants okay? And don't you dare tell me that leggings aren't pants because I'm sure whoever you are, you've definitely worn something like leggings or legging- like.

I'm actually pretty sure the a large scientific percentage of the reasons we of the female population love leggings so much is because it's the closest we can possibly ever get to not wearing pants in public.

Think about it-
1) Leggings are near skin tight
2) pants you can sleep in
3) Leggings are also pants you forget you're wearing, or is it just me? Because the other day when I was getting ready for school at 6 O'Clock in the morning, I hopped in the shower with my leggings still on. My life, has reached a new all time low.

Besides, they go with everything: Hoodies, bathing suits, santa clause costumes, and more! I mean, leggings (bless whoever invented them) have practically revolutionized the world of lazy-person couture!

But, being a dance mom means.... S-s-stepping out of.... Yourcomfortzone. Doesn't that sound fantastically horrid? But it's true, and I wouldn't want to become the butt of gossip in th studio because of a major fashion fiasco, would you?

So, I must face my greatest challenge: breaking out of the legging zone. Why did that remind of someone splitting thier pants? Anyways, I have figured out the knit jeans (which have softer material and more flexibility than normal jeans) are a good option. Wow, I'm actually giving good advice. If you're a guy, you should probably skip the wardrobe parts. Purebred dancemoms only judge females.

What is a purebred dance mom you ask? Well, if you didn't ask me I'll tell you anyways. Remember my classification system? Bet you thought it was over right? Down the hatch. Burned in the bonfire in the band's weekly cult rituals? I mean- whaaaaaaaat?

Moving along, Guys. I'm pretty sure that at this point you've already guessed that I've devoted several hours to my treasured files since the last time they were mentioned- and I even bought special boxes to organize the species of human on my index cards.

Purebred dancemoms are dancemoms by nature, you know, the ones who wrre born and raised being influenced by dance. A couple weeks ago, I had the pleasure (not) of talking to one of these frightening creatures at my sister's annual performance for barthanatyam at the nearby temple.

Being newly renovated, with a whole new floor level and a gajillion new rooms and a stage the temple commitee obviously chose to keep the performance in the old section of the table. Being late as we always are, I arrived with my sister when the crowds were cramped so that each one of us had a leg hair of space to shuffle around with bobby pins pried open between teeth and costumes on hangers held above everyone's heads.

Being the claustrophobic anxiety ridden person I am, I chose to get my sister ready in a breathable section of the hallway next a set of bathrooms where the stall doors didn't close despite her indignant complaints about the unspeakable scent that was contaminating the air.

Seriously guys, it was more unspeakable than Voldemort.

I was aproached by this squat-looking indian woman who striked up a converstation with me, and whenever I was obliged to look at her face, I was focused to look at her nose, which was so miniscule in comparison her other features you went kinda cross-eyed looking at it. You won't even believe how long it took me to realize that she had gotten work done on it. Seriously guys; I realized just now.

Anyway, she was talking to me about how her daughter has been practicing,and how she misses the 'good old days' when she used to dance- the only trace of the good old days she spoke about were her calves, which were basically the size of cows - to be ironic.

And while we were watching the performance, this womam thoight it was perfectly normal to not only criticize her daughter's performance, the indian food served here, the accomadations, and the type of plastic spoons the gave, but my sisters performance.

So what did I do? Did I flip out and have a good old-fashioned throw down with this woman and have a nice smack at her face? Did I defend the honor of my sister and bring our family justice? *dramatic music

In fact I bravely- sipped on a free Caprisun packet they sold at the concession stand and waited for my mother to text me that she had finished eating in the dining hall so we could leave.

But in my mind, I had taken a very, very, pointy needle and punctured her calf muscle so that all the air escaped and the skin around her legs flopped uselessly to the ground.

That's pretty much my idea of a James-Bond action sequence.

The rest of my moments with The mysterious lady of Botox was spent with her laughing her ass off about the poor girl who had lost an earring on stage.

Depending on what kind of person you are, this breed of dance mom could inevitably become your worst enemy, your worst nightmare, your best source of gossip- or all of the above.

But to properly summarize the world of dancemomery, I must accentuate the fact that this world is kind of like my personality- it's an iceberg. What we went over right now is the sweet side of my personality, but when you look at my salty side, you realize it was just the tip of the damn iceberg, and there is absolutely no going back now

To be continued...