Next time, call first.

One of our beloved regular guests is a school principal who stays with us Monday nights through Friday mornings, before returning to her home in Richmond. Thursday night is normally my last time seeing her, because when she leaves for work at 7 am, I’m usually deep in REM sleep.

This Friday, however, her plans changed slightly, and instead of driving to Virginia immediately after leaving work, she returned to the house to pick up a few things. I was surprised to hear her voice call my name from the entryway. “Lara? Anyone? Hello?”, but I was more surprised that she did not come alone. She’d brought along a colleague from work who was hitching a ride with her to Richmond. A handsome, ambitious one, about my age.

And what was I doing? I was stretched out on the sofa, under a ruffly white blanket, wearing a hairnet and watching She-Ra, Princess of Power.

A hairnet! Really!

Guest House Chronicles-The Cooking Lesson

Good guest karma lately!  Ana, a community service worker and former nurse, visited DC with her mother.  Ana had come to the city to attend an awards banquet–she was nominated for her work teaching low-income families to prepare healthy and delicious meals for their families on a tight budget.  (And I mean tight–much of what she teaches incorporates using free food from the food banks and the community garden.)

The ever-cheery Ana sent me to the grocery store with a list, and when I returned, she taught me how to make 5 simple, quick and delicious meals.  (She did not raise an eyebrow at my vegetarianism–just adjusted the grocery list.)  All the house guests raved about our minestrone and everyone dove headfirst into the guacamole.  “My” cooking was a hit!

So now, I know how to make 12 dishes instead of seven.

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I asked Ana what she charged for such a lesson.  Her response?  A belly dance performance, in costume, right now.

Also at the Audition

Also at the audition was a young man in stretch jeans, motorcycle boots and a low-cut black tank top.  His muscles were well-defined and on display.  He performed a freestyle slow-grind to Usher’s “There Goes My Baby.”

He did not make the cut, either.

The Audition

On a whim, I decided to head to New York from DC to audition for Paula Abdul’s new reality show, Live to Dance. Why not, when I dance to live?

Auditions were at the Javits Convention Center at 8am on Thursday. I scheduled a taxi for 2 am to take me to Union Station for the 3:15 am train to Boston by way of NYC. I had my dance sword sticking out of my bag, so to avoid trouble getting it onto Amtrak, I draped it with my hoodie.

I had planned to fill out my audition registration form on the train, but immediately fell asleep. Miraculously, I woke up just in time to ask the woman in front of me where we were. (New York?! Thanks!) and hopped off, narrowly missing a trip to Boston.

Once in New York, I took another taxi to the Convention Center. Show hopefuls had started lining up at 6:30am, so by the time I reached the sidewalk at ten to 8, I was like 500th in line. No matter. I’m a trooper, and talking to the 9-year old contortionist and her mom in line helped the time go.

Paula showed up in a limo at 10. (Everyone cheered.) By 11 o’clock I’d inched up far enough in line to see the entrance of the building, and by noon, I was having my (dance) sword confiscated by security.

They kept us in the lobby for another hour, allowing us to trickle down to the registration tables in controlled groups of two or three. After registration they led us to another room-I liken it to a holding cell-, where we waited another hour or two before graduating to (gasp) the official waiting areas outside the audition rooms.

That’s when they finally returned my dangerous dance prop, and I got a chance to rehearse and warm-up in a private curtained room. (Near the ladies’ toilet.) A crew member from the show was required to remain with me at all times while I practiced with my sword, just in case I decided to stab someone, I guess. What it amounted to, in my opinion, was a valet to carry my sword and a private practice and dressing room. Sweet! All the cleaning staff saw my routine, and loved it, so at four pm, when I finally got invited into the audition room, I felt fairly confident, having adopted an “It’s now or never” attitude about the try-out. Besides, I do this all the time!
That is, I was feeling confident until I walked in there and stood on the X in front of the producer, and CHOKED! I even prefaced my performance with, “I’m really nervous, tee hee.”

Needless to say, I won’t have a chance to win a place in the hearts of America this season on Paula Abdul’s new dance show on CBS.

My First Nigerian Wedding

Was it improper to be the very last person (save for my two 10-year old companions and the band) on the dance floor at the reception?

I didn’t even know I could get down to Yoruba music like that.

Guest House Chronicles

Our new visitor likes to come home after work and decompress by discussing his day at work as an IT manager.

He can’t understand why his employees are so lazy. (I hate to break it to him, but isn’t this fairly common among government employees?)

He’s ex-military and has been ironing his windbreaker for about 15 minutes now.

I love him like a play cousin, but

I wish he would wash his hands after using the bathroom and before sharing food.

Should I tell him?  He’s forty.  Maybe it’s too late to change.