The last three days have been wicked intense as the New Englanders would say.
Not bad intense - but chocked full and very challenging. I’m sure at some point during this post, you’re going to roll your eyes and say - “What the hell is she even talking about? It was just a freaking aerobics evaluation! Get over yourself, K!!”. And you would be right. The hardest part was getting over myself.

I’ve been to many auditions in my life but none in quite like this. Nor have I ever been judged on dance only - usually it was singing, acting or the whole deal. The actual jazzercise audition (where we had to get on stage and shake our tail feather) was on Thursday and honestly it was kind of easy. We all made it and went home. A cinch. I cringe as I type that now because I was so full of myself afterwards. I wanted to see my evaluation. I wanted to get the notes. I was bummed that the experience wasn’t harder. I even said that - out loud - to other living people! Ugh. Little did I know how the next day would smell.

Friday morning, I arrived bright and early and ready for nothing. I figured we’d just be learning stuff. The hard part, the audition, was over, right? And I was flawless, right? Ummmm, wrong.

Remember the TV show “Fame”?

“Fame costs and here’s where you start paying with sweat!”

Okay, it wasn’t that dramatic…but she did have a broomstick.

We started with the most basic of moves and ran the gamut while they walked around and critiqued. We marched, jumped, heel-hopped, mambo’d, cha-cha’d, chasse’d, hip-lifted, attitude’d, jazz square’d, knee-lifted, grapevine’d and all the rest. For some reason, they kept circling me and pointing out my flaws.

“K, your hip is not high enough.”

“K, your knee needs to turn out more.”

“No, there is only one hop in the pendulum swing.”

“Keep your hips square, K.”

“No, K. You are still doing it wrong.”

Meanwhile, the other girls were hardly getting any notes. Seriously, it was just me and this went on for hours. I felt like a sorority pledge in a game of Circle the Fat. With each new criticism, my face grew redder until finally my eyes welled up and I glanced back at the door longingly.

I almost bolted. Almost.

Instead, I got mad and put my prettiest bitch face on. Fortunately for me and her broomstick, it was lunchtime and she told us we could come back in an hour. During lunch with the girls and my salad, I was able to compose myself and find my smile again.

When we returned, we were told that up next was a series of on-stage assessments. One at a time, we had to wear the portable microphone, introduce ourselves with enthusiasm and teach a routine. Who wants to go first?

I did.

And I did again.

I went first for everything they asked for and then some.

I wasn’t perfect but I had some good stuff to show them. And I was “cute”, she said.
Hell, at that point, cute meant a lot.

By the end of that day, my body was sore and my ego was more than bruised. After I dropped off the girl I carpooled with, I called my husband and sobbed on the phone to him. “They were so mean to me!” Whaaaaaaa….

Yesterday, the final day, was all business and no tears. It was a lot of information to absorb - esp. to a novice like me. At the end of the day, we all “graduated” and were sent on our way with promises of unlimited support and future surprise class evaluations.

“No matter what, be cute.”, she told us.

Oh, good. I seem to have that one down.

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