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.

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...

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.