Thursday, October 29, 2015

State of the RPrin

My folks gave me a nice big gift certificate for my birthday (thanks, guys!), so I now have new tights, technique shoes, and even a fancy leotard that I have been eyeballing for three straight years (for the record it makes me feel a bit naked, but oh well.) Mmm... new dance clothes. So good.
I had to order stuff using my husband's Amazon Prime account (I am not going to pay for shipping, guys) and just told him not to look at the invoice because he would be horrified to see what ballet clothes and women's underwear (which I also bought) actually cost. I swear. He can go down to Target and buy a pack of boxers for $5, but I buy one bra and it's practically the event of the season. Sheesh.
I am out of class today because my something-or-other has folded in on itself (I have no idea. It was badly diagnosed as a kidney stone 9 years ago, but it sure as heck ain't) so I am in just enough pain to be slightly delusional. Shoot. I'd much rather be dancing.

I'm looking for a new job. A big-girl job doing boring office work. I have precisely zero experience and I won't give up dancing in the evenings unless you physically threaten my family, so I am running up against a few obstacles. Something will work out. It has to. Because if not, and I am stuck living in this apartment with these asshole neighbors? I will probably snap and kill someone. You will see me on the news. It won't be pretty. I'm fairly certain pointe shoes with rice bags in the toes count as deadly weapons.

Monday, October 19, 2015

There Can Be Only One!

Yet another new student with my name. It's starting to get a little ridiculous. There are more of us at the studio than there are Katies or Susans, now. It all gets very confusing and our teacher has to try yelling corrections with last initials attached. Like in elementary school when the teacher called on "Jennifer G." or "Sara B."
BUT I'M THE ONLY REAL ONE. No, really. Because I'm the only one not named after a Disney princess.
I bet there are going to be a shit-ton of Elsas in ten years...

Friday, October 16, 2015

Becoming What You Hate

So. I'm one of those people, now. You know THOSE people. The people I couldn't stand back when I was in beginning ballet class twice a week. The more advanced dancer who is taking the level 1-2 class for unfathomable reasons, taking up valuable space in an overcrowded studio, and the worst is yet to come... wearing pointe shoes. UGH. Four years ago I could NOT understand those people. Those people made no sense to me. They were operating on some set of rules that didn't work in my brain. Now? I am those people. Why? Because, due to scheduling and health restrictions I am stuck taking the most overcrowded 1-2 class once a week just to get my class number up high enough to qualify for the more advanced stuff. And why am I wearing pointes? Because this class goes really freaking slow, guys. I might as well get some of the strength back in my arches while I am doing painfully slow tendus at the barre.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

back en pointe and it feels s̶o̶ ̶g̶o̶o̶d̶ like I'm dying

No, actually, it was fine. My ankles are in need of some serious work, and I have to figure out how to move my feet while they are encased in cinder blocks again, but it went better than I expected. I even kept my shoes on for the entire hour. I talked to my teacher about changing my schedule around, and while it'll mean more evenings of commuting/washing tights it will also mean I have a little extra energy for pointe. I also got the go-ahead to wear pointes at barre in any class I take. I may try that eventually, but for now I am just trying to get back in to the swing of things.
So, here I am, after five months off pointe and a summer spent mostly working with very few dancing interludes. After a solid vacation, a bit of perspective shifting (you know the Butte fire? I have family up there) and a wretched RA flare (over now) I am feeling positive about ballet again and am ready to feel graceful again (as much as I ever do...)
You know what the best part is? I now get to watch one of my regular classes as an outsider. It's really remarkable how lovely and beautiful everyone looks when they're moving, something you rarely get to experience while taking the class yourself. No one has a perfect body, or flawless technique, or 180* turnout, but they all looked so pretty anyway, turning across the floor.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

The Closest I Get to Dancing on Vacation

A lot of people go on a vacation or other road trips and consider it a perfect time to try out the local dance studio class offerings. I ... do not. This is as close as I get to dancing on vacation:
It's a frappé. The kind that doesn't involve kicking yourself
repeatedly in the ankle and getting called out for your crap timing.

Drawing in the wet sand with rond de jambes.
While carrying a bucket and froggy umbrella.
Shut up.

Monday, September 7, 2015

This is What All Ballet Portraits Should Look Like

I mean... weightless grands jetes and perfectly curved arches are nice and all... but come on:
This is so much better!
Mademoiselle Nelova, 1929

Sunday, August 30, 2015

F this S

I'm in such a ballet funk. I really just don't want to go at all, right now. It has been a few months since work and life permitted regular twice-a-week class attendance, and I haven't taken pointe since May. And now that time is opening up? I just don't wanna! I am doing it because without ballet I am considerably less mobile and in a whole lot more pain. I'm just not enjoying myself at all.
One of the issues is that a new teacher has taken over two of my regular classes. And he's great, don't get me wrong. But it's different. Every teacher has a different style, and he isn't giving me the same experience that I have grown to expect and find comforting. He's teaching pointe, now, too, which makes me really hesitate to get back in to it. He really is a nice guy, and a good teacher, but...

PS: trying to apply steroids directly to my scalp is not my favorite part of rheumatism. Wait, RPrin, you have a favorite part? Hell yes. All the best people have rheumatism. Me, my sister... my cat... uh... Lady Gaga...