the year 2011 in review

January 2011: Arriving in San Francisco, CA for 5 months of unknown future with EF

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February 2011: Playing hooky from school and taking American Tribal Style® General Skills, Teacher Training 1 & 2 at FatChanceBellyDance® thus fulfilling a very, very large dream

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March 2011: Experiencing Spring Break and more rain in California (AKA: Nothing much happened but I just put something in here anyway to fill in the void. And I think the photo is pretty).

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April 2011: Receiving an acceptance letter to the Creative Writing - Fiction MFA program at St. Mary's College of California, thus fulfilling another large dream.

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May 2011: Playing hooky YET AGAIN by going to the most awesome dance festival on Earth: Tribal Fest!

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June 2011: EF Graduation and flying back to Indonesia

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July 2011: Being tattooed for the first time (AND DEFINITELY NOT THE LAST!)

and

July 2011: Teaching FatChanceBellyDance® format of American Tribal Style® for the first time

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August 2011: Flying back to California

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September 2011: Starting school

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October 2011: Performing with BlueDiamondsBellyDance, student troupe of FatChanceBellyDance®, at Tannourine Restaurant.

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November 2011: Performing with BlueDiamondsBellyDance again, this time with live music by Helm. Also at Tannourine.

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December 2011: Finishing the first semester at St. Mary's College and dancing at a surprise party for the proposal of a dance sister (Photo courtesy of Aaron Suedmeyer)

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Well, so I guess it has been a pretty good year. I don't have a list of resolutions for 2012. All I know is that I'm just going to focus on dancing and writing.

And... Probably having flatter stomach.

See you next year and Happy New Year!

awards, goodbyes, little miss sunshine, and fisherman's wharf

There will be times when I gloat, and no matter how often those moments appear, I never seem to be able to show off my academic intelligence.

This is the first time.

Yes, yours truly here is the recipient of the Award for Academic Excellence for being a student with A+ average. You'd better believe it. I didn't believe it myself but then I opened my score card and there was that A+, neatly printed on the paper. A miracle. What's next? A cure for AIDS?

That wasn't the only award I received, though. On Memorial Day's BBQ Party at Mr. Stephen's, I also earned a gag award that said "Most Original and Only Bellydancer". I love that award so, so much, and keep it close to my heart.

I know I'm backtracking in this entry, but please bear with me as I'm going to backtrack once more.

The day before graduation day (here's the timeline: graduation day was on Friday, June 3; Memorial Day BBQ was on Monday, May 30) - Thursday, June 2, after a nice lunch at Grande Kamekyo across EF's Fisherman's Wharf, Leo, Rex, and I decided to walk to the beach. It was a nice, sunny day, although the wind was cold. And so we chatted.

"I've been here the longest," Rex said with a cigarette wedged between his fingers.

"How long?" I asked.

"Fifteen months."

I gasped. "Fifteen months?"

He nodded. "I started in Oakland. They didn't have UP (University Preparation - language drills, application assistance, gmat/gre/toefl preparation, truckloads of books enough to give us hernia) program then, but I had paid, so they put me in the AY (Academic Year [General English] - mostly fun, games, light grammar, virtually no books). I was in AY for 6 months, then I got into UP for another nine months."

"How was it?"

"Well, at first, I couldn't even say a word in English. The first day, I didn't even smoke because I didn't have my lighter with me and I didn't know how to ask for fire. After it became unbearable, I just asked the other students, 'May I have fire?'"

"But that's great! I mean, it's also common to ask for 'fire' when you want to light up a cigarette," I said.

"Yeah, but the other students were also as stupid as I was and they didn't know what I meant. It took us a while," he laughed endearingly.

I'd heard the same thing from my friends: Najla (an Arab), Andrey (Russian), and Leo as well. They had benefited a lot from staying in the USA and just talk. There is a huge improvement between when I first met Andrey and Leo and now when I'm talking to them.

On Friday, just before all of us went to Tiernan's for the graduation ceremony (it was dreary outside and our principal said that the weather didn't permit us to hold the event on the beach), we watched the conclusion of Little Miss Sunshine in Lauren's class. I cried a bit while watching it, I didn't cry at all during the graduation ceremony, so it was reasonable when I burst into tears in the middle of the night as I watched Leo's videos featuring collage of the students' photos.

And so, what else could I do but write a poem?

fisherman's wharf

there is always the pain of meeting someone,

and getting to know that someone for the briefest moment,

but it feels like it's been a lifetime.

and then you have to say goodbye.

this pain;

it rips open my chest and crushes my heart.

this pain;

it will always be there.

but I have the memories to remind me

of the magical moments of friendship.

five damn months

and the pain when I said,

"what the hell am I doing here?"

are gone.

that pain disappears.

but this pain remains.

and I hope

not even senility

nor dementia

nor all force or disease on Earth

will wipe away the memory

that feeds this pain.

for I know I can take it.

I can live with it.

but I sure as hell

can't live without the memories

of my friends

of the classes and the books

of the bus rides and car lifts

of the here and now

of fisherman's wharf.

and so I cry

as if each choke

each tear

could ease my suffering.

and yet I smile

for it is not a suffering

but a privilege

an honor

of sharing lessons

of learning and teaching

of murmuring and wailing

of walking down the corridors

of fisherman's wharf.

a big city boy

Remember when I went to Orinda and I complained?

Well, I'm now in Santa Rosa for Tribal Fest 11. The festival is actually in Sebastopol, that's about 20 minutes by car from Santa Rosa. However, I couldn't get a room in a near hotel called Sebastopol Inn because it was fully booked, so I'm staying in Travelodge Downtown Santa Rosa (see, I can be a budget traveler).

The hotel is decent. With the price, I can't really complain much. It's an old hotel but the room is spacious and there's a little nook to do ironing as well as an electronic safe.

Here comes the however part.

I just don't know why Tribal Fest is held in Sebastopol. I mean, this place is a suburban nightmare. Sure, it's scenic and the weather is amazing (made me wish I hadn't brought my jackets with me - San Francisco had been raining for three days when I left, so it was cold there), but the transportation system is so... unpredictable and archaic. There's no digital cards (I paid five buck for a one-way-trip that normally cost USD 1.80. I didn't know neither the machine nor the driver would not provide a change), no digital signs (there were friendly CityBus staffers who told me where to go, though), no frequent services (a thirty minute interval if you're lucky??).

So, on my way back from the remote Sebastopol Youth Center, I couldn't find the bus stop (!!) so I went to Sebastopol Inn and asked a very nice Indian gentleman to call me a cab. We chatted briefly and I learned that apparently, Travelodge Downtown was also owned by the Indian family who ran Sebastopol Inn.

After about 15 minutes, my cab arrived. The driver's a very friendly, albeit chatty, big guy, who answered his phones while driving on the freeway (!!!!).

"No, I can't pick you up and fix your tire!" he said over the phone.

"Because that means I'll lose thirty minutes of my time and my money! My time! My money!" he answered to the voice that was unintelligible to my ears.

"No, I'm not being a dick! But I also can't afford to lose my time and my money! Look, I'm on a fare right now. I can't talk," and he hung up.

"I hate women," he said. And I just sat there in the back seat, smiling. I didn't know if I was smiling because of his statement or because I was just glad he turned off the phone and concentrated on the road.

"So, what brought you to Santa Rosa?" he asked.

"Oh, there's a dance festival. I'm staying until Monday. It's a beautiful city, but I don't understand the transportation system," I confessed.

"Well, sometimes you'll have to wait two to three hours for a bus," he said. My jaw fell. I wondered if that was the truth or if he was just trying to squeeze some buck out of me. However, I did notice that the local bus schedule was just unbelievable: one bus for the whole day. Getting to Sebastopol from Santa Rosa was fairly easy, but getting back to the downtown was another thing.

"Tell you what," he continues, "I'll take you to and from Sebastopol to your hotel for 50 bucks a day."

I looked at the meter and my pupils dilated. It was already USD 30 and we hadn't arrived yet! For the same time and the same mile, it would cost me USD 10 in San Francisco! I guess that was another sign that the public transportation in from Sebastopol sucked: expensive taxis (does that happen in New York?).

Well, at least now I think I know how I'm going to commute here.

house hunting (part 2)

The story continues.

I just went home from house hunting this morning. I forfeit Dance Conditioning class at FCBD just to go to North Berkeley to a shoddy cluster of apartments in a quiet neighborhood. The affordable units didn't pique my interest. The only good thing about going there was that in one unit, there was a house cat who (yes, I use "who" to describe animals that familiarize themselves with me) stood to attention - the cat was curling on a stool - when I came in. So I quickly gave the cat some strokes and pets and the cat nuzzled me back in return.

How I miss my cats back home.

Yesterday, I went to Orinda to see a house. Apparently, Orinda is very different from San Francisco in a number of ways: one of them being bus shelters with no digital sign of when the next bus is coming. To make matters worse, I was late. So the very nice landlord decided to pick me up.

There I was, being driven in a black Porsche to a grand, luxurious house with plush carpeting all over, state-of-the-art kitchen, high-speed internet, furniture, and exotic bathroom (for USD 1275, no less). It was beautiful all over, even the garage had a great view of the clearing and bits of the forest down below. It was so quiet that I could hear the howling of the wind as the long blades of grass swayed and bent under the strength of the air.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to ask my parents to finance the apartment. And anyway, it was so far from the BART station. The bus came every 30 minutes or so (and I thought waiting for the 47 Muni here - coming every 5 to 10 minutes - was an unnerving task) and I'd have to walk uphill for about 2 miles from the bus stop to the house.

The landlord dropped me off at the BART station. He was such a nice person.

"Do you often do this to your potential renters?" I asked.

"No, my potential clients have cars," he said, not cynically, but with warmth. There I was, a foreign graduate-student-to-be, carless, unable to ride the bicycle, wanting to rent a house in a non-walking distance.

We chatted long in the car in front of the BART's station entrance. I could smell his sweet and musky smell of cologne. There was something in the signature scent of successful, proud, confident older gentlemen that always seemed to sexually arouse me. The landlord was about 60 years old, and he was not my type, but he was so cerebral and visceral at the same time. I had intended to stay in the car for only 10 minutes, as I tried to get back to San Francisco and catch the FCBD dance class, but we ended up talking for more than an hour.

"Do you often see movies?" I asked again when we passed the houses on the way down hill.

"Sometimes. Why?"

"These houses remind me so much of those from Stepford Wives," I said. He laughed.

"Yes. Here, people seem to go back to the greens, choosing to have a secluded house," was his answer. "You know, when you e-mailed me and said you were from Indonesia, I thought you were a conman."

"What? Why so?" I was intrigued.

"Well, you called me and you didn't have an accent. I often go overseas as I have offices in several parts of the world including Asia, but everyone I met had an accent, but you... You sound like a regular American."

"Why, thank you. I started learning English when I was 4 years old. I used to have a perfect British accent but I lost it to Hollywood," I said, inciting his laughter. "My English teacher said that if you learned English after sixteen, you'll retain your original accent, no matter how hard you work."

"That's true. I can distinguish the accents of people from parts of the US, I know how French people sound when they're speaking English..."

"Oui, zei talk like zees..." I said, imitating the Francophones, and he laughed again.

"Yes, they do talk like that. But you sound like you came from Chicago."

"I guess now I kind of know the reason why most landlords from Craigslist didn't reply to my e-mail," I said with a sighed. I sent and called at least 20 resident managers and none of them replied my e-mail. Big apartments, small apartments... Almost nada. "Maybe when I said I was from Indonesia, they thought of jihadis and terrorists."

"Well, this is a tumultuous time," he answered sympathetically. I just nodded.

The conversation went on. At first I kept glancing at the digital clock on the middle dashboard, but after a while, I didn't mind. This gentleman showed me a lot of insight on living abroad, on living in Orinda at his house, on life in general. He poured his experience into me, and I, a glass, only about 1/8 full, gladly accepted his generous, rich liquid.

As I bid him farewell and closed the door of his black Porsche, thoughts ran in my mind, criss-crossing like vehicles on a busy intersection. I was happy, though - my confidence in being a potential renter was restored. And so, bubbly, I walked to the platform to wait for my train that would take me back to San Francisco.

and so...

So I've been lagging behind my writing for the blog. But I have my reasons!

Don't believe me? Check out my dance blog, the pinkcoinbelt chronicles.

I'll blog more soon. Trust me.

Oh, and here's a piece of advice: when walking in any street in San Francisco, avoid eye contact with strangers, avoid talking to strangers, avoid strangers who approach you (especially those with dowdy clothes; except those with maps - they might be tourists).

The reason I'm telling you this was because some guy just approached me, asked me what date it was, I told him the date, and he kept asking, "What did you say? What did you say? What did you say?" and I knew he wasn't deaf.

Bone-chilling.

f*ckin perfect

I don't know if viewing this video is allowed in Indonesia (sometimes it's not for many reasons), but here goes:

This song is by Pink. I love her so much. She's controversial, but she doesn't spread hatred (unlike Eminem, etc). She speaks about insecurities so many times through her songs. Plus, she's an adamant animal welfare defender. Can anyone be that perfect? Oh, and her husband, Carey Hart, is just a damn hottie.

To tell you the truth, "F*ckin Perfect" is my saving grace song for this week. I almost refrained from taking GRE. But I remember my mom - she obtained the certification of finances IN ONE DAY (!) (bless you, Mom!) and mailed it first class express so it reached me only two days later (!!). Right then and there, I told myself, I'd just die trying.

GRE is offered in many parts in San Francisco. There was one place where I could take on Wednesday, February 16. However, due to a mistake (on my part), I didn't get the confirmation from Boston University that I could submit the GRE scores later than the deadline (March 1). When I finally received the confirmation e-mail, I quickly registered for GRE and that one place was already full. The closest alternative date was February 18 (Friday) in a place called Oyster Boulevard in San Bruno. That's in Southern California. There were two alternative hours to start: 8 AM or 12 Noon. I chose to do it in the morning.

I worried about two things: getting there (I finally decided to take a taxi to go there and return by BART) and getting good score (I've only been in the GRE class for 5 weeks).

So I took a taxi from the hostel at 6.15 AM and arrived there 35 minutes later. I paid the driver USD 35 (including tip). It was hellishly cold. It's been raining since Monday. That's right. VALENTINE'S DAY! Sometimes the temperature could drop to 5 degrees Celsius. Then there was the wind that almost broke my umbrella (I bought a new black umbrella with cat pictures - so cute! The green Samsonite Mom gave would not withstand even the softest wind).

But yeah. Despite my hunger (although I ate breakfast that day), I could relax and got an okay score: 580 for Verbal (English) and 690 for Quantitative (English). GRE's score ranges from 200 to 800. Surprisingly, my Verbal score is way above the average score of graduate students admitted to Harvard. The score was sent to BU. *Cross fingers*

And surprisingly, my FCBD teacher, Ms. Anita Lalwani, also went to BU for her graduate degree.

Man, she's smart.

bridget jones's diary

No, I'm not single or desperate for a boyfriend. I have one who loves me just as much as I love him. And no, I'm not writing this because VD (venereal disease Valentine's Day) is coming.

There's a scene in Bridget Jones's Diary (the movie, at least), where Bridget says, "It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces."

Well, I think I'm doing well in dancing. I'm up for the General Skills Training and Teacher Training 1 & 2 with FCBD.

And I'm also kind of doing well in the mid-term exams. I'm not really sure why. But at least I got an A+ in Writing, so I suppose I'm off to a good half-way.

On the other hand... I'm starting to have doubts and fear regarding the status of my future in getting an MFA in Creative Writing. I mean... I am not talented in writing. There are just so many things that I can learn: the styles, the way to use words to get the impact of writing, and most importantly the discipline. I know that Sylvia Plath, my hero, went everywhere with her Thesaurus. She also made descriptive notes about the places she went and people she saw and that took discipline. I want to earn that. I want to force myself to have that kind of discipline. I know it will improve my writing a lot.

Some previous entries ago, I wrote about how I hated GMAT. To tell you the truth, I've taken a GMAT preparation course back in Indonesia with Direct English and I have to say, it didn't work. The quantitative review (Math) didn't work (well, obviously - I'm just *that* stupid), and shockingly, I did bad in the verbal (English) section also.

However, learning GMAT with EF (my verbal teacher is Mr. Stephen), has been an interesting experience. I can actually tell you that I am starting to get better. Especially in Critical Reasoning. And you know what, I LOVE CRITICAL REASONING! It's even much easier than Sentence Correction.

Sadly, I won't be needing to succeed in GMAT. Or at least, I won't need it now. What I need is a good score in GRE. I mean, University of San Francisco and St. Mary's College of California both don't require GRE, which is good, and I've already sent my applications to both schools. But I need a third school and I'd like to try Boston University. I know it's in Boston - a boring city. There's no FCBD there, but there are sister studios - I've checked.

Boston University's deadline is March 1, 2011. I can still manage it, but I need to take GRE and have the result sent to the university on time. Otherwise, taking GRE will just be a waste of money, time, and energy. Although it's good to actually measure how far I am in this whole Master's Degree deal.

Then again, it's the GRE! Ken, our quantitative GRE teacher, is doing an awesome job explaining things to us that I think I'm falling in love with Math, which would've been absolutely impossible before EF University Preparation program. But it's the fact.

So I'm still pondering, sometimes to the extent where I feel malaise. I'd love to be accepted in Boston University. I know it's a good school. But I also know that both USF and St. Mary's College are good universities. However, I can't just hang my hopes on two schools. What if they don't accept me?

Well, anyway... I hate to say this, but my contingency plan is to just make the most of it. I'm in my second month here in San Francisco, and time does fly away so fast. It didn't feel this fast way back in 2003 when I was in Nice, France. Perhaps because I didn't have the internet and not this much homework and pressure.

Nice, no matter how much I loved it, still felt a bit hellish. My time here in San Francisco, however, is mellifluous. They put us in Tenderloin - the ghetto, seedy area - and I still love it.

And I finally activated my Bank of America card. I specifically chose The Human Society of the USA (BoA doesn't have PETA card, but HSUS and PETA are basically the same, so...). And that's my new pink Logitech mouse! I finally have a mouse! Yay! I've been doing quite a lot of shopping lately. I have to stop myself from seeing good things.

I've added a new label: Photo Essay. There are some days when I just can't think of writing anything but I still feel the need to post something, so I'll post pictures.

streetsmarts and sandwich

Of course I got lost again yesterday!

I always had to get lost when I had tons of things on my back. When I come home, I'll be having some serious muscles.

Yesterday, I brought the wrong books with me, and since this week's the first week for me, they kept adding books and more books. I came home with this stack of books and I had to carry them because I didn't bring a bag. I got wiser the next day and life became so much easier.

I didn't get enough sleep because I had tons of homework and I felt like I needed to work on that application letter / statement of motivation to University of San Francisco. So I did and I submitted it to Ms. Astarte from EF to review it. I sent over the form from USF to my dad to fill in with the bank statement / reference and sponsor letter. I hope that'll get sorted out really quickly.

I woke up early because classes start at 8.30 AM Monday to Thursday and hopefully just one class on Friday that starts at 11 AM. But in overall, this day is so much better than yesterday! The sun was shining brightly that I felt warm at times. I can't wait to discard my overcoat. I opened my bank account in Bank of America (I had to go through some of their policies, but I think I got the gist of it. Although it's never a sure thing with bank and legal things). I ate a very nice vegetarian burger (the patty is made of portobello mushroom and I could really taste the mushroom) at BurgerMeister down in Colombus Street. And then I got home and didn't get lost!

Yay!

One thing, though... I forgot to bring my GMAT book because I mistook my TOEFL book for my GMAT book. Gosh.

But Stephen Zannis (or "Mr. Stephen") is always cute and upbeat as ever (he looks like Sylvester Stallone... His face and features, not his body) and I think so far, I like the people at EF. Although I have to give kudos to Mr. Stephen and Ken for making TOEFL/English and Math classes less painful.

And I need to study more! There are just so many English words (words, words, words, wooooorrds!!) that I don't know.

Well, here's to Sylvia Plath and her Thesaurus.

Oh, and I've decided to cancel today's dance class at the ODC Studio because of the bad review I got from Yelp about the neighborhood. When I went there last Saturday, it did feel a bit ghetto-ish. And it was in the afternoon. I don't think I'd want to risk going there at night.

Let's just hope FCBD wants to take me on afternoons.

the day of going from a to z

Okay. Probably not "z", but if you pronounce "xenophobia", the "x" sounds like a "z".

The "a" stands for "art".

Today was the first time I took the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit). I went from Civic Center/7th Street to 16th Street/Mission, located just one station away. The round-trip costs USD 3.50. I went to FCBD studio first, and took my chances going to ODC Common's studio. I'll post up pictures and some reviews regarding the two places in the original pinkcoinbelt chronicles.

That's the art part.

Now, I'm going to share something about my share of xenophobia. I hate travelling that makes me have to leave my comfort zone. And by comfort zone, I mean business-class flight, five-star hotel, limousine transfers and pick-ups and drop-offs, and nonstop private access to the internet. I was talking with my boyfriend just then and he asked me if I was feeling at home yet and I told him that as long as I had internet, I'd be fine.

This place is not that. I have no guide, I'm used to walking alone, but this isn't like the places I've been to before. This is... The United States of America. The place where "tolerance" has no place in the law especially if you're an alien. And yes, they use the word "alien" to describe non-residents. Somehow I find that term derogatory.

I've been having problems the first time I set foot on this "land of opportunities". I mean, this is not even the Big Apple where people are more paranoid. This is San Franciso, the place with so many Asians, many of them work as garbage collectors, check-out clerks, bag boys and girls, taxi and bus drivers, and immigration officers.

And when I say immigration officers, I don't mean so people can look at them and feel at home, but more like because these people can speak Chinese (the very reason why they place Hispanic-American to speak Spanish to the non-residents). I believe there are so many reasons why the US is really protective of their citizens. After all, they can't let the foreigners rule the economy, one that is dwindling. On one hand, they need us, the foreigners, the tourists, those who will spend much and therefore make their country grow and prosper, but they have to make sure we don't stay.

After giving our money, we have to go home. Back to our respective countries.

And then there's the issue about terrorism.

You might have heard about my country. When I was still in primary school, we were raised to believe that our country was very prosperous: a jade on the face of the earth. It was green and surrounded by magical blue water. But after awhile, my generation experienced the coup d'etat and things changed.

We began the tumultuos times. And some people have taken advantage of this by doing extrawork in their agenda. That's right: terrorism. The big names of terrorism that's linked to the big ones are (or were) actually Malaysians. But Indonesia is such a stupid warm and receiving country that we'd harbor a bomb-assembling terrorist without knowing it. And we took the blame. Not some other country.

We become synonymous with Taliban, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and other countries of bomb-blowers and jihadis.

And that very reason is why the government of Indonesia and the USA made a deal that Indonesians who enter the USA must check into the immigration office to have another registration (nothing much, just finger print and photo). But it was enough to keep me waiting for 45 minutes. Not to mention I made a fool of myself and was jokingly (?) warned to be deported on that very moment. I mean, I passed the immigration to take my suitcase without any visa stamp. Ha! That was like trespassing on US property.

But that was over. I put the Angry Birds here for some reason that makes me cringe and then laugh. I hope I'll get over it soon.

And then today... As I got into BART from 16th Street/Mission to go back to my hostel, again, being someone who walks rather fast and tends to not see the details (oh yes, I admit that), I got into trouble with the security because I walked into the train station using the exit gate. HA!

You know, sometimes having very recognizable Asian face makes me feel bad whenever I do something wrong here. I'm just worried that they'll have even more negative thoughts about us Asians.

But that's probably just my xenophobia talking.

Yet, in overall, I am very happy. I've witnessed and been to FCBD studio. The home of ATS. The place where ATS was born and nourished and nurtured.

And I'll be writing about it over at my blog.

dance schools

I'm not going to lie. The most important reason why I chose to be in San Francisco is Tribal bellydance.

San Francisco is the birthplace and mecca of Tribal Style bellydance. When I sent an e-mail to FatChance BellyDance (FCBD - the first ever American Tribal Style troupe), I almost fainted when I got a reply from Carolena Nericcio (the founder of FCBD, therefore the big Momma of ATS). I inquired about their policy that restricts men from joining classes. But turns out, I can do privates with them. Although it does cost me a helluvalot. But then again, why not? I'm here anyway.

Let's just hope that I can melt their hearts and make me an exception.

And then there's Jamila Salimpour (Suhaila's Mom). If Ms. Nericcio is the big Momma, then Ms. Salimpour Sr. is the godmother. She's practically the living Tribal legend.

FCBD Studio is located on South Van Ness. I've drawn a map on how to get there. Getting there would mean me taking a BART. So that'll be the first time. I'll try it out tomorrow after getting to USF. Oh my God, with this cold weather, all I need is something to warm up my mood.

FCBDS's studio is ridiculously very near ODC Common Dance Studio (Shotwell Street). Jill Parker of Ultra Gypsy (she was also an FCBD troupe member) holds Tribal classes here. I think I'll pop up here tomorrow as well when I'm visiting FCBD's studio to inquire if they accept men. *sigh*

Oh, well. I gotta go do the dishes now. My battery's running low. It's getting dark outside and possibly very cold.