you'd think that I could muster up a little softshoe gentle sway

I had a pretty random day yesterday. I had an audition for something slightly hilarious; I'll tell you about if I get it--the wisest thing to do, post-audition, is to forget about it entirely, so as not to obsess. Easier said than done. Anyway, soon after I was back from that, my brother called. He had some time to kill downtown, and wanted to meet for sushi. So back on the subway it was. Over dinner, he asked if I wanted to come with him to his salsa lesson. I had plans to see Pirates III, but not until ten. So off to salsa it was! I'm not sure if it was actually billed as a class for gay men, but that's how it shook out. And of course, everyone had been there in previous weeks, so not only did I stick out as the straight female (there was a lesbian couple, and what I think was a straight woman with a gay man, but I'm not sure), I was the newbie. And I wasn't wearing shoes built for swirling around. But other than that, it was pretty fun. I've always wanted to try salsa. We did a lot of partner rotation, and everyone took it upon themselves to help me out. I don't think the leader in the lesbian twosome liked me very much, but she didn't seem that thrilled with anyone. Oh well. She's not my demographic.

The fact that I'd taken some social dancing before really helped me out. You don't know when community centre lessons taken with a wannabe pirate will come in handy, but then suddenly you're standing in a tiny studio on King Street West, trying to impress a handful of salsa-ing homosexuals who know your brother.

Anyway, after that I rushed home to tidy up after my exertions, and then took off for the bright lights of the Yonge and Eglinton centre. I had to give the Coles notes of Dead Man's Chest to Taylor, but I kept losing my train of thought, partially because Linds kept asking whether or not the barnacle-y guys were going to be back. Taylor had to lean over and poke me when the chest actually shows up in the sequel, because I'd completely forgotten to explain its significance. It occurs to me that I make very indifferent amounts of sense when I talk. I'm very easily distracted.

The movie was excessively long. I enjoyed parts of it, but overall it was just exhausting. Keira Knightley gets to kiss pretty much everyone. I admit to still getting a kick out of Jack Sparrow's swishy run; but this installment just wasn't fun.

Just a note to guilt-trip Toni: I had planned on seeing Knocked Up last night, but SOMEONE has made EVERYONE I KNOW* promise to wait and see it with HER. A fate, I might add, which I planned on avoiding by not talking to her until after I'd seen it. What? I'm only half-kidding. Call me if you assholes are seeing it in the T.dot on Sunday!

*Possibly a slight exaggeration.