¡Desastre!

A cameraman filmed my flamenco class last night for PBA television.  The show is supposed to air in April sometime.  I’ll be sure to post the date and time when I find out so that you can all see me make a proper ass out of myself and contort my face in ways you never thought possible.  Not to mention the sweat.  Apparently my instructor remembered to let everyone in my class know that we were going to be filmed ahead of time, except me.  That is why everyone is in their finest, and I am wearing a sweat-soaked t- shirt that says 50% Venezuelan, 50% American, Equals 100% me!  Say these words to yourself in a squeaky high-pitched voice and only then will you be able to appreciate the cheese and the embarrassment I will feel at seeing them on my chest on television. 

The unedited version would also include my teacher yelling ¡DESASTRE! at me five to ten times throughout the class.  That’s always my favorite part.  The masochist in me likes it far better than the rare times I have received compliments.  I prefer to have something to work towards, damn it.

In totally unrelated news, I am contemplating becoming a NY Times correspondent since I post so many of their articles here.  But seriously, this one was published in the last couple of weeks– proving that even women  sexologists still don’t have a clue as to what women want.

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