Friday, January 29, 2016

Pointy Business

We got word today that we finally found a new place to live. SO... we'll be farther away from the ballet studio, but at least we'll also be ten blissful miles and 15 beauteous minutes away from our current asshole neighbors (pro tip: spoiled college students who have rich daddies to pay their rent make terrible neighbors)
ANYWAY!

I have solved my worst issues with my new pointe shoes, just about in time for the shanks to get all flubbily. Woot. I think the problem was slightly different sized feet (solved with decapitated socks) and a heel that slipped off perpetually (solved with silicone seam sealant on the insides of the heels).
I went ahead last week and sewed the leather patches the shoes came with on to the platforms. They squeaked dreadfully for an hour or so, but it's worn off (thank god). Dancing with the patches is a very different experience, actually. It's noticeably more difficult to turn/etc with them, but also easier to stick piques instead of hitting the wrong angle once in a while and falling on your ass (I don't think I ever have, but I've been close and I've seen it happen).
I sewed on the patches. It impressed my teacher, but I can't seriously recommend it. Glue that shit on if you know you aren't going to want to take them off again. For one thing the stitches are going to break eventually and I'll be back to square one.
Sigh...

Friday, January 22, 2016

Not Now, Honey

Every single one of you who dances has almost certainly seen this quote. At least you have if you hang out on the internet at all (and obviously you do, so...):


And maybe it's okay if you're talking to a room full of professionals. But, you know what, George? I totally have to do five zillion pirouettes across the floor in half an hour and my energy level is down around my ankles SO YEAH, I am going to take it a little easy on this excessively long string of fondues, thanks.
In fact, when I first started dancing I had to really learn to back off at the barre if I wanted to even attempt center work later in the class. I'm better, now, for sure. I can pull those développés up as far as I can and not focus so much on transferring my weight after every close to fifth, but still. I want to be able to stand up tomorrow, dude.
Eh. Balanchine was kind of a dick, anyway.

Monday, January 11, 2016

new year's

What are your new year's resolutions? I am afraid to make any. If I tell myself I'm going to do pilates twice a week it most certainly won't ever happen, so screw it. And life is so complicated... I just give up. God damn it, I resolve to eat more snow cones and sleep in later in 2016.
What do I need to work on? Huh. Lots of things? I need to work on my anxiety, and on relating to other chronic pain sufferers without getting annoyed and frustrated with them. I need to remember to tell my aspie exactly what I need when I need it and not get grumpy and internalize everything because he's not a fucking psychic. I should almost certainly get myself a more viable career, because "loving what I do" is incompatible with $20,000 vet bills.
Bleh.
I need to remember to stand en pointe with all my energy going down through my ankles and out my toes. I should figure out why I am so wretched at landing pirouettes, but boy howdy good luck on that one. I should write more prose because it makes me happy. I need to find the time and money and energy to drive several hours in search of a good pointe shoe fitter who can hook me up with plastic shoes. It would be nice if I could eventually get back to where I was before I took that five month break and destroyed my ballet groove. I did land a double pique turn last night, but it was more of a fluke than anything else. You know you've done something pretty special when your teacher gives you a thumbs up rather than saying anything.
Blah blah blah...

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Mama needs a new pair of shoes

After 150 years on the market you can pretty much expect a product to be refined, stream-lined, and darn-near perfected. Not clunky, horrible, and nearly-crippling. I AM LOOKING AT YOU, POINTE SHOES.
So. I finally got new pointes. Like, actually went to (braved) the only dancewear store in town (what the heck? There are easily dozens of studios in this city, how is there only ONE store that sells dance shoes?) and sat there for an hour trying on awful shoes while a professional dream-smasher critiqued my placement and shrugged at me. And now I have new shoes. Which? I totally despise. They are So Danca Auroras, and they suck. Okay, honestly, I kind of hated my other ones, too. But I think I've identified the problem. My feet are totally not the same size or shape as one another. They look fine, but they fit way differently. So, these new ones are okay on the right foot but not so much on the left. And the left? Yeah, that is my sliiiiightly longer leg. So basically all 130 pounds of my weight gets concentrated on the very tip of my left big toe and I want to die.
Sigh...
I'll figure it out some day. Some day... one day I will buy fancy plastic shoes at a big brightly-lit store in San Francisco, and then rainbows will trail effortlessly off my tip-toes while I leap gracefully on to the back of my unicorn and fly away...

In Hell You Probably Have to Wear Brand New Pointe Shoes ALL THE TIME

Two months. That's how long it's been since I posted. Everyone else has stopped posting, too, so... I guess I'm just a follower? Honestly, I just haven't been compelled. It's hard to feel inspired when you A) have been writing about the same subject for four years, and B) get very little feedback except from your parents.
I hate when bloggers come back after a hiatus and say "oh boy, guys! I am totally going to start posting twice a week and it's gonna be amazing!" and then you never hear from them again. So lame. So, I am not doing that. Will I be posting in the future? Meh. Maybe? There are a lot of posts I never got around to writing but always wanted to. Like advice for what to wear to your first ballet class and the reality that the most "perfect" ballet body is not usually the one in class that is blowing us all out of the water with bitchin' technique and grace. But will those posts get written? I leave that for fate to decide.
If you've followed this far, I thank you kindly.

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...