i am not a dancer. anyone who has ever seen me in the boom-boom room at the hawk can attest to that. and i’ve certainly never been a dancer in the traditional sense. i learned early on that it’s impossible to be a triple threat when you’re physically incapable of moving the top and bottom halves of your body at the same time. (ok - i’ll be honest - i can barely move them separately. seriously. i break body parts walking upstairs. that’s right. walking.)
the point is, it’s a metaphor.
and the reason i especially love this - in reference to my pseudo-nonsensical, utterly ridiculous, charmingly fabulous life - is because of the irony in my awkward clumsiness.
i haven’t always been this way. (i don’t think...) but i’ve come to accept that, along with being severely directionally challenged, i’m handicapped in the area of coordination. when people fall or drop something at work, they call it ‘pulling a jenn.’ (don’t worry - i’ve become numb to the truthful sting of their jabs.)
the point is, it’s ironic.
besides the obvious gleeky undertones, anything that is both metaphoric AND ironic is fittingly descriptive as far as i am concerned. because nothing is more autobiographical than a two-for-one, high school lit. class throwback and theatre reference. i mean, that’s basically all i’m about.
well, that and sarcasm. i’m really in to that too.
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