College memories

Screwing up the first several times until I decided to take it seriously.

Smashed my laptop writing an Archaeology report.

Dropping a wine bottle and have it shatter everywhere after I got into a fight with my boyfriend. He left.

Someone drew a penis on my board outside of my room.

A drunk grown woman had an emotional breakdown and rested her head on me at the lake.

My ex douchebag agent drove to the lake during his shift and saw me.

Dancing and running.

Having someone threaten to put my feet up if I screwed up the show.

Being pushed on stage by a fellow dancer for no reason.

The fact they denied my request to choreograph “Monster” by Eminem over “Do What You Want” by Lady Gaga — claiming “Monster” was more inappropriate though it’s not about sex at all.

Then finally getting sick of the drama and bailing on my own routine.

Getting put on the spot in my studio dance classes.

Some girl on the same dorm as me hated me because I won second place in women’s division for a race.

She made a comment about tattoos and her father and looked right at me. ‘Well, my father wouldn’t let me because it’s trashy…’

Some girl in my dorm thought I was bisexual because my boyfriend made jokes.

Wearing a leotard underneath my regular clothes — annoying as fuck.

Campus catering.

Watching rich people eat and gossip, having to move heavy ass tables and my wrist grabbed by a supervisor.

Walking to class in a blizzard, they never closed.

Writing a dark comedy feature film about an alcoholic and having people question if it was my life — it wasn’t but little did I know then, I was predicting someone’s life in the future.

Why I don’t dance anymore

It was fun, alright. I didn’t get any actual jobs doing it because I did it in college. I did it when I transferred to a university junior year. I joined the Dance club. They didn’t have any actual teams or anything. But trust me it felt like it was and a competition at times. Though it was fun for the most part. I did contemporary, jazz, hip-hop, and Bollywood. At the end of the semester we had a recital. Everyone went nuts and loved what we did. The practice was worth it. I didn’t regret that time.

My second year at university as a senior, I had a few elective voids to fill. I picked studio dance training classes in Ballet and Jazz because I thought it would be fun. Well, it wasn’t. It in fact killed whatever passion and love I had for dancing. At the end of the day, I still went to Dance. I screwed up some of the routines. And some of the girls were just rude and nasty. A choreographer joked about cutting our feet off and sending them home. She also happened to be one of my classmates and someone I had to pretend to be civil with though I couldn’t stand her. I avoided her for the most part. I thought of her as a five year old with really bad OCD and ADD. But well, anyway… I still danced on and performed in that semester recital with no issue. The last semester I thought I’d take it upon myself to become a choreographer for a contemporary dance piece to a Lady Gaga song. Half of my people that signed up dropped out because they thought the song was inappropriate. Then wanted to start shit on social media because I didn’t take into consideration everyone’s sizes on the costumes though I did. I was up for hours looking at shit. But I was still ‘body shaming’ by suggesting one of the girls order the same costume by another company because they didn’t have her size. I called that bullshit. But of course, I had to carry the fake face and persona and keep my opinions to myself — and I did. I just dropped my dance all together. Stayed in the few routines I committed too. But I never had any friends from there and made more enemies than I should have. I was the quiet girl that kept to myself.

Now it’s been a couple of years. I don’t have access to a dance studio. If I did I would remember the times I had to stare at myself in the mirror 6 hours every other day while juggling 18 credits and a part time job. I would remember all the shit that was said to me. All the people that followed me around and stared at me. The energy on stage and the paranoia of fucking it up. It was fun once… when it was simple. Back in the days I danced around the fire before I made the conscious decision to go back to school.

Weirder survey

Have you ever danced with a girl?
Yes, in college.

 

How often?
A couple hundred times.
 

Why?
There were no guys in my classes or in the club I was in.

 

Did you enjoy it?
Most of the time it was awkward as fuck.

 

When was the last time you danced with a guy?
When I was 20 and at a club in Texas, I felt his small dick touch my ass.

 

Did you have sex with him?
Hell no.

 

Do you miss him?
No? I hardly remember his name. I think it’s Hunter?

 
Do you miss me?
Who are you?

Things people don’t understand about Dancers

Literally…
How much time, energy, and money is spent.

You don’t just put on music and dance like you do at parties.

 

Time

People dance for years — some more then others. I’m one of those people that haven’t been fortunate to dance since I was five years old. I started dancing when I was nineteen. Of course, I didn’t have studio training so I wasn’t that good.

For me, I dance hours a week. It’s hardly ever put on music and go. There’s a lot of stretching exercises and techniques that need to be worked on before to prevent injury and make it look good.

 

Energy

I can’t be tired but usually I am. I have to make my body energize. It’s hard especially when you are sad, depressed, stressed out, sick, and feel like breaking down.

 

Money

It’s not free. If it were, more people would be doing it. You have to buy the right gear. If you join a dance club, you have to buy all the costumes yourself. Nobody hands it to you. And you’re like me you don’t have a mother or father to buy it for you. You’re on your own so literally if you fuck up… quit dancing, get injuries, or look terrible — it’s your fault.

It’s your mind, body, spirit, money, and life.

 

And also…

I don’t do this for attention and I’m not a slut. I don’t feel comfortable acting and looking like a slut. I recognize it as an act, not a slutty performance. If I wanted that, I would be a pornographic artist.