Almost Famous

There’s a little cafe near my house. Stepping into it is like entering a steam room of cigarette smoke, but I visit pretty frequently because of the wifi, and the fact that it’s open until 2ish. Sometimes even later, if the owner and his pals are really into their game of Okey or cards.
I see the occasional woman or young person in there, but it’s basically a place for harmless middle-aged and older men to shoot the breeze and drink tea. (Sometimes beer or rakı.)
To keep them out of my business, I told them I was a Spanish tutor and fitness instructor, both of which are true.
However, it’s getting harder to explain away the false eyelashes on gig nights, and apparently, one of the customers snitched and told the owner he thinks he saw me on TV.
Now that I’m famous, is it okay to start making diva demands? Fresh flowers in my dressing room every night! And banish the singer with the nervous habit of spraying stinky perfume all over her body, clothes, and hair every six minutes. Or I walk!

Oryantal Lara in Istanbul: 5-Point Update

Life for this nomadic American belly dancer in Turkey (in case you had me confused with another) has been full of ups and downs:

Home Life
1. Life with my roommate has not been rosy.  I choose to complain to my friends behind her back instead of addressing the issues directly with the person sharing my living space.  Passive aggressive?  Maybe.  Well, I had finally decided to suggest to her that perhaps we should part ways, when her mother came into town for a surprise two week visit!  Her mother smokes cigarettes in the living room, which drives me crazy, and is no doubt reducing my life span, but at least it’s only a pack a day.  (By the way, to my credit, I did tell my roomie that I knew about the romantic rendevous-ing in my room when I was out of town, and that it needed to stop.  It was so easy, I could probably share with her the rest of my concerns, and then perhaps we could live in harmony.)

2.  My landlady is the pits.  Whenever I call her and tell her she hasn’t paid a former bill, or that I would like to throw away the 22 year old broken television that she’s storing in the armoire, or that her 15 year old washing machine is leaking from the bottom, she threatens to kick me out.  I’ve decided to take her up on the throwing me out bluff–I’d like to move, anyway.  *Waits for security deposit while simultaneously solving the awkward home-sharing issue–Sorry, buddy.  I’m moving in with my family.*

Work Life:
3.  I continue to perform regularly at Melike and irregularly at other venues.  I’m looking forward to summer, where I perform so much my obliques are in a constant state of soreness.  I pretend not to be deeply offended that the “Well, she’s famous” dancer who performed at my regular venue on February 8th was paid about 22 times more than what I make there.  I mean, she’s good, but she ain’t 22 times better than I am.  Puh-lease.

4.  This week, I began giving belly dance lessons at Pure Jatomi Fitness Studio, a big and beautiful Polish/Turkish-owned fitness center that opened earlier this month.  My first class was a bit rough–the schedule read “Zumba”, so when I let the students know it was belly dance, a few of them walked out, and I immediately began to sweat out my fresh blow-dry from the stress of beseeching the disappointed Zumba enthusiasts to forgive the error and try to enjoy the class. The two chubby gay guys stayed, and kept a loud commentary going during the entire 45 minutes.  The majority of the participants seemed to enjoy it, though, and my second class went splendidly.

5.  This is exciting–Fox News Turkey contacted me, expressing their interest in doing a story on the yabancı (foreign) dancer teaching and performing in Turkey.  They are coming to film me in action this Saturday.  Maybe now, I will start earning 22 times more at Melike.  ;o)

Bonus tidbit: I’ve become a fairly devoted yogini and am getting some killer muscles.  (Om shanti, y’all.)  Unfortunately, John Friend, the founder of Anusara, the discipline of yoga I’ve recently become enchanted with, has been outed in a highly publicized scandal.  He allegedly tried to “heal” some of his cult-ish followers with a little “sex therapy”.  Day-um.

Goldilocks and the Little Brown Bear

I hadn’t decided whether to take a roommate into my apartment, but when a newish friend, Goldilocks (her hair is bleached, so this moniker is accurate in more ways than one), asked if she could move in with me, I went ahead and said, “Sure.”
While I won’t dwell on the fact that she hasn’t paid her (discounted!) share of the rent on the mutually agreed upon date, although she has gone on a shopping spree, had a costume made, and paid her outstanding bills at the hairdresser, the car service, and her mom’s house, I would like to mention another of the more severe trespasses she has committed against Little Bear (me).
I spent two nights out of the city with family, and when I returned, during a casual conversation about the satin sheets I’d received as a housewarming gift, she complained that, yes, my sheets were really slippery!
An alarm went off in my head as I wondered how the hell she knew my sheets were so slippery. I knew her boyfriend had been there while I was gone, and I’ve got a double bed–Goldilocks only has a single, but I didn’t want to imagine my new roomie was entertaining in my bed. I tried to tell myself that she, after rummaging through my costume closet (yes! she borrows my expensive costumes as well as my socks), must have gotten fatigued, sat down on my bed, and slid off.

Last week, I left the city again to look after my friend’s daughter for the afternoon, and I stayed the night in the suburbs. When I returned, it was clear that in my absence, her boyfriend had been to visit, as the dishwasher was full of dishes and utensils from the dinner they’d prepared using my groceries, and the foul smell of cigarette smoke that was emanating from my roommate’s bedroom. Neither of us smokes, and I’ve asked her boyfriend not to smoke in the house either, but hey, I wasn’t there. Upon entering my own bedroom, I noticed my curtains had been closed. I always leave them open when I’m away, so my plants will receive sunlight. Puzzling. I also noticed my sheets looked a little mussed, though I was pretty sure I’d left the bed neat. I searched the bed for clues and I noticed a heat- and color-damaged strand of blond hair, but the real giveaway was when I went to plug in my phone charger. The outlet was occupied by the hall nightlight. It’s a soft red color–how romantic.