You've Never Worn Pointe Shoes, Have You?

Saw this posted by a "friend"* on facebook today:

Which was obviously created by someone who had never worn ballet "slippers" in their life. These particular ballet shoes basically ARE steel toed boots, but with the added bonus of requiring serious effort, skill, and training to function in. Pointe shoes are NOT for sissies.




*"friend" here meaning person I went to high school with who maybe had a brother I dated and so I like to keep up with her dreadfulness online, yes I am terrible.

Don't. Do. It. No. Don't.

A particular dance wear retailer (ahem) posted this photo to Facebook this morning. You have probably seen it on Pinterest already, it's been around for a while:

It's a little girl having a dance with Anna Pavlova in an art gallery. It's quintessential childhood. It's precious. It's nostalgic. It reminds you of the things you love about dancing.
And this is the comment that someone left on the post:

 

It is a jerk-bag being a Douchey Larue for no discernible reason. It reminds you of the things you HATE about dancing. It highlights two of the problems with dancers (and people in general) communicating via the internet. First, it's almost impossible to truly grasp a person's intent via the written word without any obvious social ques ("he said laughingly", "she said while rolling her eyes"). It is especially hard to grasp sarcasm. Is this sarcasm? There is a happy face, that could indicate sarcasm, I guess. But a winky face would be more indicative of jest. I used to know someone online that would say the most horrible things to people because he thought a winky face would make up for it. I no longer associate with this guy, for obvious reasons. But anyway. Soooo... this commenter really is just being an asshole?
The second problem of course is that people really do this. I have talked about this previously. Multiple times. When you see a photo or video of a dancer online your first reaction should not be "oh here, let me tell you everything you are doing WRONG" regardless of the air of perfectionism inherent in ballet. It is not okay. Do not do this. To anyone for any reason. I understand the urge (lord knows I have seen a few too many porcelain ballerina figurines with dreadfully awkward posture, thankfully pointing this out is not objectifying and insulting an actual person) but if you are not the teacher in a classroom full of students then you need to check your corrections at the door.
And for the love of god, if you MUST be a dickweed? At least end with a winky face. ;)

Dear Ballet People,

I just saw this on Pinterest, but it is only one of MANY examples:

Don't do this. Do not allow your personal quest for perfection (and the innate competition and voyeurism of your art) to become an excuse for publicly being a total douche nozzle. Just... just don't do it.
Because you know what? No one is perfect. No one. Not ever. That is the great irony of ballet. She isn't perfect, but she's a lot closer to the mark than I will ever be. And probably closer or just as close as YOU will be. So just knock it the hell off!
I've said it before and I will say it again: if you want society to treat dancers and dance people like SANE HUMAN BEINGS then all y'all are going to have to stop acting like neurotic pains in the ass.
Keep calm (as they say) and don't go all Black Swan.

The Underpants Conundrum

So, I have special underpants that I save just for ballet. I know, I know, it sounds stupid. And, if you want to be serious about it, like professionals and students who are headed for ballet stardom, then you don't wear any panties at all.
But... uh...
I don't know. I just wasn't born to be a freeballer (or whatever the female equivalent would be. I can't think of anything that isn't SUPER RUDE). My mom was a supporter of the underpantless cause, but we were still trundled in to them as kids. And then a terrible thing happened when I was about 3 or 4. I was put in rhumba panties (you know, with the ruffles on the butt). And it was all over. I freakin' LOVED my rhumba panties. I was especially fond of a bright red pair. I wanted to wear those things constantly. Oh man. I've been an underpants fan ever since. I love fun underpants! So I never really go au naturel, or Scots proper if you prefer. And I am just not comfortable with clothes on without the panty barrier.
I could claim it was my professional wisdom speaking (underpants are a pretty important part of keeping your clothes clean and long-lasting. A bit of vajay goes a long way, as they say. Poetry unintentional. But run with it!) but to be honest I just feel a little squicky without my undies (you know. Stuff happens down there).
So anyhoo, I have these perfect underoos for dance class. They aren't specially made dance underpants (yes, they make those) or anything, they are just super sleek and snug and made with flatlocked elastic that is micro thin. So, no panty lines. They are awesome for skinny jeans and leggings, too. Cuz there ain't NO WAY I am wearing a thong. Okay, seriously? I hate to get sidetracked and all, but I have to rant a little about thongs. They are evil and wrong for anything other than personal sexy times. I used to work in a maternity store (it was HORRIBLE) and our hottest sellers were packs of maternity thongs. REALLY? Come on ladies. Be serious, now. What the what? Sheesh. Okay. I am done being sidetracked now.
The whole point was that I got these silly fabulous underpants at Costco about a year ago (which means they don't have them anymore, of course. That is how Costco rolls) and so I have to be super careful to sort them out of my laundry and pack them up with my leotards and tights so that I don't get caught half an hour before class running around the house like a crazy chicken shrieking "WHERE ARE MY UNDERWEAR?? YOU HAVE THEM DON'T YOU? I KNOW YOU DO! GIVE THEM BACK!"
Especially because I'm the only one home at the time...

Stop The World I Want To Get Off

Don't get me wrong, since I started taking the zoloft my general feeling of well-being has shot through the roof. My husband says I am back to my old self again, and he should know, right? The pain managment might be a little better than the nortriptyline by itself, as well.
But, uh... there are some... um... side effects. Yeeeeeah. Ones that you don't really want to discuss with your doctor, if you catch my meaning. Or, your mother. Or... anyone. But, in the name of full disclosure and helping out people who are frantically googling in hopes of learning more about their diseases or medications, I will tell you about it. Well, sort of. I mean, I will imply it. Because IT'S EMBARRASSING, GUYS!
So anyway. The information that came with it mentioned that men might have a bit of trouble with... this kind of issue. But, there isn't really a direct female equivalent of... the problem. Because girls are equipped differently. If you see what I mean. But anyway. So the ... trouble was a bit unexpected. And I am not sure what exactly you are supposed to do about it, either. I figure that they didn't warn me about it because the doctors involved in the study were all DUDES and they just didn't figure that it was terribly important for the ladies. Or, perhaps the ladies involved in the study were too embarrassed to mention it?
No kidding, guys, this is totally awkward.

ANYWAYS. Let us discuss something else so that you can stop thinking about it, okay?
Here is Odile. I find it interesting that of all the costumes I designed for this dolly, not a single tutu is constructed the way actual tutus are put together. They are usually two pieces (though I have seen ones like this, too) a bodice that is sort of bustier-styled, and a skirt which is a netting tutu with a decorative "plate" over the top of it and a matching basque, which is the top part of the skirt (it covers the territory between the plate and your waist.
This was some sort of maribou-trimmed concept. Also, that thing where the netting is white under a black costume is pretty common. It irks me as a designer, but I understand why it happens from a construction standpoint. 

Oh My God, Becky...

I used to work at a store. I used to work at several stores but there is one store in particular that sells the materials I use to make my living so I visit them pretty regularly. I worked there for five years.
When I went in today my old boss was there and she said "you look like you've gained weight!" And I thought
"Ooooooooooooh guuuuuuuuuuuurl. Oh no you di'n't! You did not just tell me I have got my fat pants on today! FEMALE!" but I was prescient enough to just mumble a bit and move on with my purchases.

This is relevant to the blog because that drug I am trying to have changed because it's making me crazy (Dr is on vacation until the 3rd, but the email is already sent) is also the reason I have porked up in the past 8 months. I mean, I'm a small person. I always was. And I don't even own a scale (no, really) so I can't give you poundage but I sew for a living and the way that I realized something was amiss was that I was making a mock up of a very simple new sheath dress I was designing and tried it on to check how it hanged (hung... hangerated... let us just seize the word "draped" here) on a real person as opposed to a dress form (you would be surprised at the difference a bit of articulation and squish can make) and when I pulled it over my head it slid down my torso and then made a DEAD STOP when it hit my ass. HOLY COW! I pulled out my tape measure to check what was up, but OH NO it wasn't my drafting skills to blame, it was the fact that my full hip was now two complete sizes larger than it had been just months before! Two sizes! I am sort of (totally) flat chested and I have always been a bit on the pear-shaped side, but the only word for me right now is "BOOTYLICIOUS".
God only knows what will happen when I switch on to a different medication. Like a thirty year old doesn't already feel self conscious enough about wearing a leotard in public :/