So in addition to Monday being The Day Date #7 Drove Back to His Side of the State, it was also the My First Day of Summer Vacation. Not since college have I found myself so excited by the end of the school year. It’s not that I won’t miss my preschoolers over the summer—I already miss them, even/especially the troublemakers—but I’m definitely looking forward to two months free from bloody noses, incident report forms, bathroom breaks, getting stepped on and my darling charges shouting, “MISS KAT she busted in front of me and I AM THE LINE LEADER TODAY!”
Granted, I was in little mood to celebrate on Monday. Having essentially cried myself to sleep the night before, I woke up at 5:00am, woke up again at 6:00am, drove my dad to the train station, went back to bed, attempted to put together a semi-coherent blog post and spent the next half hour lamenting boys, love, sex and everything in between with one of my BFFs from across the pond.
Eventually, said BFF had to go back to work so I figured I’d go back to bed but then a little voice in my head screamed, “Pull yourself together! School’s out! Get the f*ck out of the bed and get a move on with your life.”
So I did—I mean I got started at least (by which I mean I went to the grocery store to load up on provisions) but when you’re waiting to see how things are going to pan out with a man who may or may not be the love of your life, wallowing in bed is pretty much your only option.
Nonetheless, if you’re going to wallow, you should at least try to be productive about it. You know: use all that excess emotional energy to de-clutter your desk or write a poem or go for a jog or something.
Unfortunately, there are few things in life at which I am less skilled than jogging and writing poetry. So I thought about reorganizing my desk, began working out a plan for the new book I want to write and finally tossed my tap shoes into my bag for my final classes of the spring semester.
Did I mention I was supposed to meet my co-producer at a jazz club in Center City to speak to the musicians we’ve hired for our Fringe show this fall? Well I was, but by the time I got back from teaching and returned my Zipcar to its parking spot, I was in no mood to make the trek up to Center City.
Coming home, eating chocolate and obsessing over Date #7’s latest text message was more what I had in mind…
But then I got an email from my co-producer and before I know it, I’m flinging my clothes across the front of my Zipcar, trying to change out of my dance teacher duds as quickly as I can. Of course my bra chooses this precise moment to assert itself into the keyhole neckline of the dress I’ve pulled from my dance bag, so now I’m trying to de-bra myself in the middle of Society Hill while simultaneously hailing a cab, reapplying my cover up and wondering if the club will be dark enough to disguise the fact that I’m now braless.
Why the rush? Well, my partner in crime has just spoken to the manager about holding a monthly tap jam at one of the most prominent jazz clubs in Philadelphia and he’s on the verge of saying “yes.”
This is HUGE. This is entire reason I wanted to do a Fringe show in the first place. I have got to get to that club before he has a chance to change his mind!
Fortunately this is where my “fieldwork” comes in handy: I’ve learned how to finesse. My co-producer and I couldn’t be more different (aside from our legs of course) but if co-producing was a bullfight she’d be the matador and I’d be the guy that comes in at the end to seal the deal. Or maybe the other way around—after all, the matador gets to the wear the cool outfits, right?—but either way, we coax the manager from “Maybe” to “Yes” to “How’s September 26th?”
I’m still in shock. A tap jam? In Philly? That I’m going to co-host in Center City right next to the freakin’ Union League?
Maybe I could learn to live “happily ever after” in here in Philadelphia after all.
(And be sure to check out my new post over at Too Darn Hot to see what else is going on!)