Emily’s Dancer Diary - October 16, 2006
This is GRE prep week for me. After months of putting it off, I'm finally scheduled to take the GRE this week. This is also Booty Pop week, as I've officially declared it. We are learning a routine to the Miss New Booty mix, and let me tell you, there is a whole lot of booty shaking going on. And I can't decide which is more difficult for me, cramming 100 vocabulary words in my head and trying to remember math rules that I haven't looked at in over a decade, or perfecting the art of the Booty Pop.
I should probably give you a little background on me first so you can appreciate the difficulty of me learning to booty pop. I'm a Caucasian girl from a middle-class suburb in Southern California. I was trained in ballet and lyrical dance, and have taken all of two hip-hop classes in my life, both of which ended with me leaving a little early so as to not have to perform the combination in smaller, more visible groups: the inevitable end to all dance classes.
Which brings me back to our booty-shaking practice. Marina breaks it down for us. Legs apart, bend your knees deeply, both hands on your right hip, and pop it, pop it, hit, end. She has two girls, who obviously have a bit more rhythm than me, demonstrate. I see the rest of the girls try it. They don't look half bad, so I decide to give it a go. Legs apart, check. Knees bent deeply, check. Both hands on my right hip, got it. Then I attempt the booty pop. But wait; there was movement, but no pop. So I try it again. Yep, plenty of movement, but absolutely no pop.
At work the next day, I decide to share my booty-popping foils with my co-worker, and of course, she makes me demonstrate, not really believing it could be as hard as I'm telling her it is. Forgetting there is a window in my office which looks out onto a sea of cubes, I assume the proper position and give it another go, hoping the good night's sleep has turned me into the hip-hop guru I know is buried in me somewhere. Hysterically laughing, she has to try it with me. Another co-worker walks by and barges into my office since this isn't a normal site at our workplace, especially before morning coffee. We convince her to try it, too. And we all know how this unfortunate anecdote is going to end: our CIO, who usually works in a building 15 miles away, walks by and sees three girls in Ann Taylor business casual attire, shaking it like it's a Saturday night in Vegas.
Later that night, after a miraculous day of not being fired, I decide to tackle learning a few more vocab words. Bloviate: to speak or write at length in a pompous or boastful manner. Monomania: pathological obsession with a single subject or idea. Avuncular: of or pertaining to an uncle. My mind wanders back to the booty pop. Bloviate. Pop. Monomania. Pop pop. Avuncular. Half pop. Will I ever in my life use the word avuncular? Why don't you just say uncle? Pop. Am I a monomaniac about the booty pop? What that proper usage of the word monomaniac?
As I lay down to go to sleep for the night, I decide that my Booty Pop still needs work, but all in all, it has been a successful, productive day. And who knows? Maybe Marina will have some more pointers for me at tomorrow's practice.