I believe I briefly mentioned Bev B's intimidating assistant a few weeks ago. The good news is - she's not actually scary. The bad news is - she's 17, obnoxious and she taught the whole class Sunday night. Readers, bear with me as I recount Lisa's reign of suck.
The glorious and respected Bev B was out sick this week… understandable I guess considering she's got just the one lung and is a hip-hop dancing, cancer-surviving crump-master with a funk center of gold. Her assistant Lisa had been with us since the onset of our great hip-hop odyssey, and she pulled off that brown-nosing apprentice act quite well. But with Bev B out of the picture this week, the power surged to Lisa's feeble brain turning her into an evil dance-dictator. As terrified as I am of Bev B, at least she deserves respect and knows what’s up. Lisa is straight up whack, yo.
Her absurd pronunciations and faux ghetto-speak irritated me the entire class. Lisa is a petite gal who probably grew up on Park Avenue and started her dance career as a ballerina. Somehow, she must have crossed over into hip-hop, where she obtained her swagger and jumbled mumble mouth of nonsense.
At one point, she mimicked one of us (probably me) for dancing a little too Broadway McJazzhands. Lisa and her two backup flyboys laughed mockingly as she imitated the alleged "bad" dancing.
"Aiiiight, y'all don't tell me you be dancing all like 'dat up in 'da ghetto." You're right, Lisa. I would not be dancing all like 'dis up in 'da ghetto, because I do not want to die of hip-hop dance gang-inflicted gunshot wounds to my face. If in fact I ever did go to the "ghetto," I most certainly would not be the girl breaking out a choreographed routine to the oh-so-legit sounds of Madonna and Justin Timberlake.
If there is a ghetto where people are truly dancing in the streets, is it really the ghetto? Or is it a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical?
The cheap and inadequate Bev B imitation used a Bev B-ism and told us to be all like "What?" I've definitely been practicing being like "What?" and Amy and I say it to each other at home now and then just to keep our skillz fresh. Well, Lisa ruined it all.
"No, y'all, it ain't whaT. It's wha. W-H-A, we can't affode no T, okaaaay? I actually can afford the T.
"Say WHA, y'all." Then we all said WHA instead of what. WHA is this world coming to? WHA did I pay $185 for? WHA did I do to deserve this?
During one particularly fun 8-count in our dance, one half of the class turns to face the other and then we have a walk-off where we all pass each other waving our arms in the air. But Lisa threw in a twist.
“You got to pick somebody out (on the opposite side) and give them a look like ‘dey said suh-in 'bout yo' mama.” So I literally had to look across the room and find a stranger to stare down all the while dancing crumpily. I laughed every time.
"Aiiight, now we gon' get crump. Does anybody here not understand what crump means?" Finally, an explanation! I shot my hand up and some other brave souls did, too. Then of course Lisa and the Flyboys snickered condescendingly, as if comprehending her absurd babble was the height of intellectual prowess.
"Ok y'all, pay attention. Getting crump is shakin' 'da ice and sprayin' 'da water, losin' yo' mind, you know? Have a seizure, go wild, jus’ like havin' a seizure. Shake 'da ice, spray 'da water." Needless to stay, I still have no idea how to get crump because, yeah, I don't know how to shake the ice, spray the water, lose my mind and have a seizure at the same time. What does that even mean?!
There was a level of respect missing from Lisa's entire demeanor. If she came to my place of business and wanted to learn how to be a publicist, I wouldn't make her feel stupid. "Aiiiight, girl, look. If you want 'dem media to go up in 'dat ghetto, you best have a really crump event, aiigght?"
Pray Bev B is back next week, or Ima hafta crump someone in ‘da face. WHA?!
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