Life's short...Says who?

Just a quick rant. Today, as I was pondering what I should do with myself tonight, I considered two options.

1-Go home like a responsible adult who has to work in the morning should. Watch a little tv and retire early.

-or-

2-Hit the town. Drink a little, dance a little, and sleep a little. Life's short. You only live once, right?

Now wait just one second.

How do I know that life is short? How do I know that I only live once? For all I know, I could live to be 111 years old. And once I die, how do I know that I don't get to start all over as a fish* or a boy named George?

And I guess that's the point. No one knows. Except for maybe that really smart fish with a photographic memory who distinctly remembers his life as a girl named Lucy who had really awesome shoes. And now he's just pissed, because he never got that one last night out on the town. That one last vodka-cranberry. That one last urge to go jump in a fountain or drunk dial that long-lost friend at three in the morning.


Well don't worry, Mr. Fish. This vodka-cranberry's for you.

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*After many a discussion of what I would like to come back as, should reincarnation be a real and viable thing, I decided that I would like to be a fish. But not a goldfish (especially one you could win at a fair. I would probably be dead before I even got a chance to own my own bowl). And hopefully I will be that fish with the photographic memory so that when there is a delicious worm dangling in front of me in a lake, I will know it's an evil trap. Because WORMS DON'T LIVE IN LAKES!

It's Hammer Time!

Attended the highly-anticipated recital of miss Princess Ballerina today, and let me tell you, never have I seen so many adorable ballerinas with so much attitude. I think there were 8 or 9 different pre-schools there, and each performance offered a little something different. There was the crier, and the little girl who did not move for the entire performance. There was the girl who knew every single move, and the girl who was always one step behind everyone else because she had to watch them first. And there were even some boys*, too! Two who were just a tad pre-occupied with their props and forgot to dance and one who did the best imitation of a fish I might have ever seen. All in all, it was highly entertaining.

And it definitely brought back some memories. I took dance lessons for a good 8-10 years of my life. I started out with tap, jazz and ballet, but soon dropped ballet because it was boooring and the outfits were ugly. I think my mother managed to find the only non-mormon dance teache in IF; looking back, we definitely had some scandalous outfits. My favorites were the yellow and black, spandex, cavewoman-esque** ones and the red and gold half top with the tutu/bike short combo. We were pretty hot stuff. Just ask BFF and The Pro, who were happily forced to watch some ancient dance videos my grandma dragged out on Halloween. (Thanks Gma Wava. I owe you!)

I was never the best dancer out there, but I definitely wasn't the worst. I'd like to say that this still holds true today, but the last time I went dancing, it consisted merely of a few step-touches and some booty-shaking. Dancing just isn't what it used to be.

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*I asked The Pro why his mother didn't ever put him in dance class, and he responded with this gem.
"Because she loved me!"
So where'd all your mad, Wade-Robson-esque skills come from then?

**The dance we did while wearing these outfits was appropriately titled 'Walk the Dinosaur' and it remains my dad's favorite dance to this day. And with moves like The Popper and the Roger Rabbit, who can blame him? 'Boom boom, shakalakalaka boom!' (Seriously, go look it up on ITunes. It's amazing.)