Sentences with phrase «even dancing girls»

Each group had its own coaching staff, there were regular officials, different uniforms, a between - halves band and, yes, even dancing girls.

Not exact matches

Even as a little girl, I never took dance.

As a matter of fact, I always liked training; as a girl I used to dance for more than 10 years, I used to roller - skate throughout Junior - High, and there was even a time I signed up to the local gym and did some jogging.

Hi I have not travelled yet but my dream vacation with my husband and 2 girls ages 2 and 1 would be to visit Nova Scotia and take my girls to the ocean, out on a boat, maybe even see whales and to dance the jig at a caleigh!

This is a good pair of gloves that your young girl could wear during concerts, dance halls, large entertainment venues, and even when she feels like playing the piano at night.

Take a closer look at Polka Dance: It's a very gender neutral print in my opinion; even with some pink and purple dots I would put this on a boy or a girl.

You'll be dancing the evening away at a wedding or spending date night walking on the beach (hey, a girl can dream!)

When you knock on the door of a dear friend who desperately needs your company, or wash all of the dishes in the sink even though none of them are yours... When you stop to feel the grooves in a rusty brick wall or admire the way a breeze dances with a little girl's hair... Do you wonder what has happened?

Other places where you might meet nice women and get a girl friend are by taking evening classes in a subject that interests you; and by taking dancing lessons (women at dancing classes hugely out - number men).

After we close the function at 7 PM, we encourage you to invite the Costa Rican Women, Colombian Girls and Latinas of your choice to join you for an evening of dancing, sightseeing or casino action.

One evening, he takes notice of a lovely girl — Paulina (Lopez)-- in a dance studio window, her face poignant and perfectly composed.

Even Kendrick, who can sometimes project a latent too - cool - for - school vibe, is committed to the dumbness, and the result is a breezy ninety minutes of jokes intercut with elaborate song and dance numbers, all fueled by a sincere girl - power vibe.

In those days, Exeter remained a boys - only institution in the classic mode of New England (and British) prep schools: jackets and ties in classroom and dining hall, six days of class a week (only till noon on Saturday, however), mandatory sports, movies in the gym on Saturday evenings (after franks and beans in the dining hall) unless there was a stilted, prearranged dance with a girls» school, bland and repetitive food (Sunday night's soup we dubbed «the vegetables of the week in review»), unbending discipline, and a sink - or - swim stance toward student performance.

Also the general manager Carlos was fantastic my girls had a great time in his office they even dance.

Russian dancing girls — I'm not making this up — put on two shows in the evening.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,