Last night we had a dress rehearsal for our show on Friday. It went well. I fucked up, but so did everyone and nothing too terrible went wrong. Which basically means that all the things that were supposed to come of came off, all the things that were supposed to stay on did, and I didn't have some kind of embarrassing meltdown ala Jujubee from this season of RuPaul's Drag Race.
Everyone in the class got to perform on stage and when we were all done we went down to a secret alcove in the basement of the Slipper Room so our teacher could give us each a few minutes of feedback. My little workshop session started out with the teacher telling me she wanted to murder me. After noticing the look of horror/confusion on my face she explained that I repeated one choreographed movement so many times during my routine that it made her want to kill me. Then she added with a smile that I looked so adorable doing it that it didn't matter.
She must have said this in a very charming way because at the time it registered as a compliment. It took until I got home to start freaking out about it. I want to be great tomorrow! Not incredibly annoying but attractive enough to avoid being slaughtered by a roomful of drunks because of it. I'm just going to have to practice a lot tonight and put extra sparkles on my costume in the hopes that the audience will be too dazzled to notice how many times I bop my hips back and forth in time to the music . . .
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