So I Think I Can Dance

Well, check this one off the list: 5 years of really big talk and not-so-secret longings culminated in one heck of a day this July 24th. As any true pioneer descendent would, I chose to spend Utah's holiday seeking out fame, fortune, and the Hot Tamale Train. I officially auditioned for So You Think You Can Dance, Season 6.

A timeline:
11:00 am -- Lining up



12:00 p.m. -- Spirits are still up. These are the same clothes I wore while running a 10k at 6am that same morning. This turned out to be a really bad idea...



1:00 p.m. -- Sleep?


No way. Not when Cat Deeley is around! For the record, I did see her in person. She's very pretty. No pictures because I was threatened with death if my camera were to make an appearance.

1:30 pm -- Break dance fighting? Stretching? It's a little too early for that. The children are getting restless. We eat granola bars and carrots.



2:00 pm -- DIVA. Yes, her costume includes a tail.



3:00 pm and still waiting outside -- Is this worth it?



4:00 pm -- More waiting inside, still not in the actual theater. Rachel starts warming up. Still too early for that.



5:00, 6:00, 7:00 pm -- Finally get inside the theater and see some amazing dancing. And sort of make friends with this guy:


(Shortly after this picture, I am told to put away camera. And cell phone.)

8:00 pm -- Granola bar and carrots no longer holding us over, we prison break for some food. Share said food with starving hip hop girl behind us.

9:00, 10:00, 11:00 pm-- The lost hours. In a coma of no sleep and no movement for 12 hours. Realize, in a strangely liberating way, that I don't have the heart to be a dancer (you didn't have the feet; I don't have the heart). It becomes clear that I am different than these people. And I am not in fact willing to do this sort of thing ever again because...I'd rather watch fireworks. Or sit by a pool. Or watch dance shows on TV. Heart is what motivates people to do ridiculous, torturous things to advance themselves. Well, that and talent. This realization (and, let's be honest, intense physical discomfort and an impatient nature) makes me suddenly very apathetic to the whole thing. Nervous no longer, I long for my bed.

11:50 pm -- Rachel auditions. Captivates judges and secures only gold advancement ticket* in her whole group! So proud, so proud.

11:51 pm -- After much contemplation, I officially declare myself a "broadway" style dancer...and head backstage.

11:55 pm -- Take the stage with Superman pictured above and 8 other hip hoppers. Make eyes at Pasha and Anya from Season 3. Am denied the chance to audition because very weary British judge forgets I'm there.

11:59 pm -- Remain on stage, this time with a group of contemporary dancers. Continue making eyes so the judges will love me and, ahem, remember that I'm there.

12:00 am -- Saunter to center stage for my Broadway debut....strike a dramatic, saucy pose..."All That Jazz" music starts.....and I blank out. The world may never know what happened in those 30 seconds because they were a blur and a fog and a whirlwind of snapping, prancing about, and undoubtedly several 'huzzah' type moves. I honestly don't remember much of what happened. But it was sure fun!

12:01:55 am -- I am unceremoniously dismissed from the competition (what?! No ticket to Vegas?!) when the yellow ticket train passes me by. I am very relieved, because I'd like to sleep and have a real weekend.

12:05 am -- Mad dash of pure fear-induced adrenaline as I sprint to my car, which is parked by Pioneer Park.

12:15 am -- Arrive home and realize said car was unlocked, by Pioneer Park, for 13 hours. With my purse inside. Shrug it off. Also realize that 6am sweat, followed by 11am - 4pm sweat, followed by 5pm-12am sweat results in severe chaffing, among other things. Gross.

12:30 am -- Shower and fall into bed. The end.

*By way of answering your burning questions, Rachel was called back for tryouts on Sunday, where she did a quick improv dance in front of Mary, Nigel, Mia Michaels, and Cat. She didn't make it past that round, but I'm almost guaranteeing some camera time.

Wanderlust

Dear BlogFans:
I know I haven't been good to you. Summer finds me anywhere but in front of a computer if I can help it, so I've been negligent. I ask forgiveness. I also ask a giant favor:

Please help me totally revamp my life.

I'm talking change. Specifically, change in locale. I love Utah, but this itch to go somewhere new has reached fever status and my skin is starting to get all red and welty. So what I need from you is a hook-up. Please call in any resources you have to find me a new situation somewhere. I know the job market is bad. I know the cost of living anywhere awesome is much higher. I DON'T CARE. Operation Get Stef Out of Dodge begins now. Here is my criteria:

1) I must get paid. Or at least break even (I can't afford to go on a humantarian aid thing that costs thousands, sadly).
2) First priority goes to any opportunities out of the country.
3) I'm a little too sensible to pick up and move somewhere without a viable plan. So if you know of a job or internship somewhere, that would fit better than just a friggin sweet place to live.
4) I would like to leave tomorrow. AKA ASAP.
5) I'm a graphic designer, so if you hear of anything in that field, let me know. But I can also do flowers, write, work in the event industry, dance on hit television shows, I'm interested in non-profit companies, and lately I want to become a teacher. I know, what?
6) Um...please don't tell my boss about this post. I'm grateful for my current job, really....

That's pretty much it. So really, if you've heard of anything cool that's available, or if you have contact information for somebody who would know, send it all my way.

And here's a creepy little picture to help you understand how I'm feeling right now:

Inspiring

From our hike to Bell Canyon on Saturday.

Olan Mills Puppy

Summer Project

Allow me to introduce Buttercup. She and I are going to be great friends this summer.



I found her, forlorn, on top of a mattress is somebody's junk pile. She just needs a little love and a ride into the sunset to be restored to her former glory. Stay tuned for the fix up progress.



....and sometimes I find other things on the street.

Almost a philanthropist

I graciously accepted the seat that was pulled out for me by my date, and smoothed a napkin daintily over my lap to cover my prom dress. I felt beautiful, if only for the fact that I was surrounded by Salt Lake City's elite and almost counted myself as one of them for the evening.

Seated around me were some of my favorite co-workers and their guests, all looking shined-up and ready for something exciting to happen. After our black-tied servers brought us a delicious meal, the emcee began the live auction. In this economic downturn, the bids were slightly disappointing, but some items were sold for inexplicably high rates--like an enchilada dinner for 20 people that sold for $3,000. This boosted my confidence and my desire to step off the bench and join in the game; not for any real amount of money, of course, but I always want to do my part to get rich people to spend money for a good cause.

My ears perked up when a trip to Mexico was mentioned. It seemed like it would be a popular item, since some of the other, less exotic trips had sold fairly easily. Before I knew what was happening, my hand shot in the air as soon as they opened the bidding. I should have listened, because the auctioneer started the bidding at $3,500.

Gasp. (From those seated at my table.)

Crickets. (From everybody else in the room.)

...Going once.

It was a curious feeling, like swimming underwater, but with superhuman laser-pointing eyes that zero in on one man with a microphone who was making his way to my table...

....Going twice.

Crickets.

Heart. Palpitations. Sweaty. Palms. Swallowing bugs with less-than-daintily open mouth.

In my desperation, I turned to the nearest bid-spotter and hissed—that's right, I hissed, because a lady under duress does not raise her voice or use foul language to make her point—she hisses. So I hissed, "What are you doing? SELL THIS THING!" To which he enthusiastically responds "Oh no, you want this. This is cool!"

Bat rastard.
Apparently he loves sick kids more than my financial well being. Oh, my dear beneficiaries of the Ronald McDonald House, I love you. I really do. But I also love making rent. And not starving. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why nobody in the room is making a peep. Too busy eating your shrimp scampi, Mr. Millionaire? Excuse me, Baroness of the Backless Dress to my right, but could you spare a couple grand so I can sleep tonight? Contrary to my appearance and polished demeanor, I do not in fact have a hospital wing named after me. My perfect posture is merely a ruse, to mask the fact that I'm only here for the food. And to look hot in my prom dress.

Meanwhile, the silence in the room had reached bone-crushing density and the widened eyes of every person at my table threatened to dislodged themselves at any moment. I was on the verge of some unladylike outlets for my panic, i.e. tearing out my hair and jumping frantically on the table, when a voice pierced the fog of my certain demise. One, clear, six-figure salary voice of mercy fought through the din and massaged a rhythm back into my heart with his sweet, affluent cry of "$3,600!"

...Sold! For $3,600!

I may have shed tears.

The collective sigh of relief from those near me was a substantial boon to our depleting ozone layer (global warming? Sounds more like global whining!). My heart found the will to go on, my kids thanked me for their college funds, and my prom dress went to the cleaners...for reasons I find unladylike to describe.

The Golden

The pinnacle has been realized.
The summit of my existence has been officially conquered, and the view from up here is pretty sweet. Now what, you say? Now we review. Here is what made my golden birthday one for the memory books. Or the memory keeper's daughter...I can't really remember:

1) I challenged one of my fears. Several times.


(Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm by the Crash Test Dummies)




2) 4 Non Blondes, performed by one pretend blonde:



3) The Lawrence Welk Show....complete with tiny hands.


(Click here if you don't know what I'm talking about.)

4) Such awesomely talented people, everywhere.




5) It did not rain.
6) I received a Highschool Musical clock.
7) My hair didn't catch fire on the cake, all ablaze with 27 candles. That's a whole mess of fire, man.



8) The D.I. pulled through for me again, like it always does.
9) I might live to see age 28. But if I don't, it's ok because I really really liked this birthday.