dance lessons #108

Sometimes it takes more than once for me to learn a lesson. I feel that if I reason with someone and use logical explanations, said person will get it. I understand they may not quite agree with me but they will see my point at least. Well, apparently, that ain't the case. Especially with my mother. Its been four years of me reiterating that Im no ballerina. Yet, its been four years of me donning a leotard, slippers and oh so flattering white tights, twirling around Mrs. Meester's School of Dance. The most disgusting part is the bi-annual recitals we MUST put on in January and June. I've tried to compromise, asking Mom if I could at least take something more interesting, more me like hip-hop or reggae. She gave me her most condescending smile "No one needs to take a class like that, Nina" and continued sipping her skinny latte.
My mother doesn't know me at all. And the sad part is, she's not interested in knowing me; instead, she wants to create me like Im her own personal Frankenstein. We see how well that turned out. Actually, I've never really seen or read Frankenstein so Im guessing things went wrong. Im not into horror movies. Watching lunatics and zombies chase and then violently kill some teenagers. Not my thing; i'd rather choke on my own spit, which coincidentally, how i feel about going to ballet three times a week. Im like totally into hip-hop (and R&B). Give me some 50, give me some T.I or even some Mary and im happy. But of course, 'Mother' is not tryna hear it.
Today just happens to be June 5th, the day of my recital. its a beautiful friday and I just got out of school. The plan was for me to head to the dance studio and get in some stretches and a run through, head home for some homework and Mom would drive me to the recital tonight. But I can't. I just can't waste another day of my life on that garbage, especially not this gorgeous, sunny Friday full of possibilities. One being that Lucky (thats my crush, he is so f-ing hot) asked me what I was doing today afterschool. As I gathered my books at my locker, Lucky made his way over. He has that perfect, cool, relaxed walk that I love him for. "So whats up? We chillin'?" he asked. and whats a girl to do? I nodded my head (cooly, I hope) and said "Yeah." "Cool." he replied.

Gender Bender #201

Today is my last day on the job. Im a very important person at the Palazzo Publishing House. I've been a head receptionist here for fifteen years. Really, I don't know what they're going to do without me. Well, if Dan (thats Mr. O'Reilly to you) asks for my help, I have no choice but to come to the rescue. Dan is the head of the publishing house. He's in love with me, you know. A beautiful woman can always tell these things. He's married, of course. To this blonde bimbo who supposedly use to be a famous model. I get practically every fashion magazine there is and I can tell you I've never seen her grace a page. She's...cute...if you like the obviously exaggerated pretty type. But Dan, well maybe at first he was into that shallow beauty thing, but now that he's older, Im sure he appreciates qualities like grace, intelligence and class. I can see it in his face that he regrets marrying her. But, whats done is done...
So today is my last day here and i can honestly say i am not going to miss this place (with the exception of my Danny). I especially am not going to miss seeing the Bobsey twins, Maribella and Stephanie (who names their child Stephanie nowadays? so unoriginal!). Maribella is my protege, so to speak. They hired her to help me out when the publishing house took off. But between you and me, she is the absolutely worst. Reminds me of a robot, efficient and quick but no personality...no ummfph! She's all 'Yes, Mr. O'Reilly', 'Right away, Mr. OReilly' 'I thought you might need this file, Mr. O'Reilly.' Makes me sick, if i could be blunt. She's not fooling me. I know that she's after my lil' Danny. With her pencil skirt and little blouses. And those annoying little glasses. Doesn't even wear heels! All women should wear heels, especially in a professional setting. I guess she thinks because she's five feet eleven, she can leave the heels to the little people like me. Or maybe the young girls don't believe in high heels now.
Not that Im old. Im only...forty-five...well, okay forty-seven but I guarantee you, I don't look a day over thirty two. Everyone tells me so. I am very picky about what I eat, no carbs, no sugar, no red meat. Im in Pilates classes twice a week (I hear thats how Madonna and that cute girl from Friends stay so beautiful). Plus, I've been using Oil of Olay since I was fifteen.
Speaking of my diet, I hope that my retirement party later on is not full of those God awful cupcakes and artificial fruit juice that the office parties here are infamous for. I don't want to seem ungrateful but I don't want to ruin this figure for anybody. I can tell its going to be one of those surprise parties because so far everyone is pretending they don't remember its my last day. Im guessing that it will be after lunch. That way I can work on my cute but surprised and appreciative face. Most will be sad to see me go. I am the life of the party here whether or not you like my coffee or my "unfriendly demeanor." Mirabella will be doing mental cartwheels when Im gone. That way she can have my man all to herself and move up to head receptionist. Stephanie, too cause then she'll have Mirabella's spot.
But what do I care? I'll be doing more important things...things i've always wanted to but couldn't because of my dedication to Palazzo. Im thinking of taking a cruise but I just wish I had a good girlfriend (or even better, a good man friend) to keep me company. I can get started writing my memoir (Danny said he'd be happy to take a look at it when Im done). Plus, my cats will be thrilled to have me around more. They, too, can't live without me.
Anyway, its almost lunch time now. Time to make my way to the lil girls room, fix my face and get ready for this afternoon's festivities. Caio!

revenge of the journal #75

Dear Rose:

It has been torture listening to you bellyache for the past year; pure torture. Everday, you manage to come up with more complaints, more woe is me, more drivel. You are eighteen years old now...please grow up. And here we are now, on this last day of the year, New Year's Eve. You have made your last entry in me and I say, hallelulujah, praise the Lord. We're done. Same thing i bet your poor boyfriend is saying now that he's transferred to a new university. Oh, he says its for the "better" engineering program but im pretty sure its about putting plenty of space between the two of you. i don't know how he has put up with you for this long.

By the way, how is the diet coming along? Splendidly, Im sure, since i saw you shoving that enormous piece of German chocolate cake down your pie hole last night. Every other day, you come to me whining about your thunder thighs and fat ass. Then, you begin to bore me with the details of the next great diet you will take on. It always ends the same, you raiding the refrigerator when you think no one is looking. I have news for you. Im always watching! Kind of like the way you always watch your best friend's boyfriend. Oh, you thought no one noticed. The horrid thing about it is that you don't really want him; you just can't stand to see anyone else happy, especially your own best friend. You are so jealous of her. She's cute. She's smart. And here's the kicker...she's nice, genuinely nice. I say she's a saint to willingly put up with you. But finally, she's come to her senses...finally, you've pushed her to the limit. Spreading all of those nasty rumors about her...tsk tsk tsk...that was low, even for your standards. Guess you never thought it would all come back to you, huh? But it did, and now the entire school, in fact, the entire community, sees you for the cold hearted chunky bitch you are. and who do you haveto run to? Certainly not me because we are through in 5...4...3...2...1 HAPPY NEW YEAR, BITCHES!!!!