Thursday, January 24, 2008

They're BAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!

I started teaching my youth dance classes at the park district. As anticipated, I have several bitty ballerinas who were my students before. In all honesty, I think the term "students" should be taken with a grain of salt. Most of these kids clearly retained not an ounce of ballet or discipline since we concluded our last dance extravaganza together. Dear God, help me.

My first class I will now formally refer to as Mass Hysteria. I have 7 little girls I know from previous classes, one who is new. The new girl had this look on her face that read, "Jackpot!! Mommy can't hear me so I can act like a monkey on meth 'cause all these other kids IS CRAZY, TOO!!" When I say , "Please sit criss-cross applesauce", I mean sit your damn ass down and glue that Target leotard to the floor. I did not say start rolling around and tickling other kids while you compete for the two glorious spots next to Miss Molly. When I say, "Please raise your hand so I can call on you if you have a question", I did not mean talk all damn class long about Dora, princesses, what you ate for breakfast, where your bother goes to school, etc. Unless you want to know how to position your feet or execute a movement I have tried to teach you, shut it. When I say, "Please pay attention so we can learn something new", I did not mean to freestyle with your own dumb-ass interpretive dance in every place BUT the one I asked you to be. If I wanted to see that kind of un-choreographed bullshit I will watch videos of my daughters when they were about two years-old, dancing willy nilly. When I call your name to dance across the floor, I am not sending you an engraved invitation to please join the rest of class. Move your ass in whatever style you choose (NOW is your time to be a spaz, just move it along please). And if you choose not to do this last little bit of class, don't expect me to restart the music for you because suddenly you overcame your shyness. I am in hand-stamping mode now, sister. Get with the program. If you act like YOU should be running my class, at the ripe old age of 4, I will give you one stamp on your little mitt, only because I HAVE to. And don't you dare come in and demand, "I want TWO stamps, Miss Molly!" I don't fucking think so. Pay attention, quit teasing other girls, don't ignore what I ask you to do, and don't untie your damn elastic drawstrings on your ballet slippers so I have to re-tie them 27 times during class.

My second class is a little bit older. The started out wanting to listen. But a few stories about pre-school, princesses, and play dates later, it all went to shit. I have a big mouth. Not one of my dance classes has ever experienced the wrath of my full volume when I am really pissed. Ask my kids, it is pretty scary. This class has 12 little dancers and with all of them screaming their bedazzled little heads off, I have no chance of quieting them down. Even if I bring out Scary Miss Molly Pottymouth. (She stays home or else I would get fired..) One little girl decided saying "poop" and "butt" was so hilarious it actually induced drool for her. Well nothing is funnier to a group of ballerinas in all their pink ruffled finery than an inappropriate word like "poop". It was like being a salesman selling carpet cleaner after Dane Cook just did a comedy set. I was the un-fun enemy. Think, Miss Molly, THINK! I decided I had to break out the super fun, not-really-ballet-class-but-it-keeps-them-entertained-so-I-don't-give-a-damn, "Silly Dance Contest". Screams aplenty. Until the ghetto CD player decided it wanted to start skipping. Don't panic. Find another CD. I quickly reached Fuck It Mode and had them do their own thing across the floor. My drooling poop princess, who ironically was wearing a Pull Up even though she's in kindergarten (she's a blog post in herself...), decided that not only going last but doing an intricate series of zig zag runs, which took a good 5 minutes, was so funny. Do you see me laughing, freakshow? I have exactly 17 minutes from the time my ass gets into my car to make it home and get my daughter on the bus, so shake a tailfeather, preferably without poop, and move your ass over here. Class dismissed!!!!!!!!!

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