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.

I'm making the Grumpy Cat face Right Now, Actually

So, I've seen this on Pinterest a million times, and I admit I have even been tempted to repin it.

But tonight? Tonight I am just not in the mood for that ish.
My offering:

Go ahead. Pin it. Make me a disgruntled and unamused meme. Me and Grumpy Cat. BFF.

For the record it's some sort of shin thing going on. Which is good because hey, it probably can't be some new RA thing. But bad because hey, what the hell is going on?

Looking For Ballerinas in All The Wrong Places

Well, I've done it. I've finished off Nutcracker and Mouseking, the story that the Nutcracker was based on. It was interesting in a few ways. For one, the mouse king was this terrifying 7-headed rodent creature that was obviously inspired by the German folk legend of the rat king. If you've never heard of it before I am terribly sorry to introduce it to you, but it gives you a certain understanding of the story we are working with, here. The little girl (named Marie, not Clara) sort of vaguely helps the nutcracker (Drosselmeyer's bewitched nephew) defeat the mouse king (VERY vaguely) and then she marries him, despite the fact that she is 8 years old. There you go. There is a brief trip through the land of sweets, but they don't stop to talk to anyone on account of the residents all being terribly grumpy (because they all have sore teeth, naturally). Why did we make this story in to a beloved ballet classic, again?

Random write-up in mental_floss magazine this month:

not particularly informative or anything, it just caught my eye.

Career Aspirations of Five Year Olds

No, I don't want to be a ball. I think it's pretty obvious that I want to be a ballerina, not a ball. You are not a very good kindergarten teacher.

PS: I actually remember this project very well. There were blank pages for us to illustrate along the lines of "my favorite food" (something green, apparently. Maybe a cucumber?). For this one the page said "I want to be a ____ when I grow up" and then the teacher's aid filled in the appropriate word. I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that she got distracted halfway through on mine.
Hopefully.

Gratuitous Ballet Moment

I ... have no idea what is going on here. But, it kinda makes me want to buy a Kia?

Originally found on The Ornamented Being

One Of Those Days

So last night was one of those nights. You know the ones, where nothing works properly. And we got stuck with this fairly straight forward combination of glissades and assemblés (and if it includes the word "assemblé" then it can pretty much kiss my booty-bum in the first place. Every single movement made me hurt like it was going out of style), but then we switched to doing everything in reverse which screwed me up and I failed to complete a single one successfully even though she made us do them in sets of four THREE TIMES. BAH. Also, it didn't help that I got sandwiched against the wall standing uncomfortably close (like, not enough room for all of us to stand with our arms in second) to the two new girls in class, who honestly have no freakin' right to be in beginning ballet. If you have been taking class four days a week for 10 years then take your triple pirouettes and get outta my line of sight, bitches.
I mean "bitches" in the nicest possible way, of course.*
C'est la vie. As they say.
On a different note, I finally learned which "school" or "method" of ballet we are learning at my studio: Cecchetti. Not wildly unexpected, it's probably the most popular style in the US. I only found out when our teacher told us that Cecchetti looks for turned-out palms rather than the prettier (in my opinion) turned-down palms of Vaganova. Honestly, though, for adults I don't think it matters all that much. I still don't know what technique the first studio I went to teaches. They had a sort of strange third arm position.

* if you happen to be one of the new girls, don't take offense. Colorful metaphors in the name of artistic expression and all that. As I often say: if you've got it flaunt it. But, please... spare a moment to think about those of us with little to no natural coordination.

FYI

Okay, just for the record? That knee cap stretching business this morning has equaled an unparalleled  amount of pain this evening. I think if I saw my PT right now I would kick him in the shins just to even the score.
 Or the sack, because this shit hurts.

Ballet Before Basketball!

So I live in a city. It's... not really a major city. Okay, no, it's a major political and historical kind of city. But it has zero culture and very little by way of... you know... fun. Anyway. So the city is BROKE (which can be said of many -if not most-cities right now) and is laying off teachers, emergency personnel, grounds keepers and park rangers... you get the idea. But right now, like right now as I am typing, the city is attempting to spend MILLIONS of dollars in public funds to build a new basketball arena for our local team. I won't give it away, but suffice it to say that our team is one of the very lowest ranked teams in the NBA. Uh... let me go google it so I can see how low... okay ready? SECOND FROM THE LAST. That is how crappy these dudes are.
ANYWAY.
And today our local professional ballet company posted a facebook plea for $5 donations. I mean, seriously, people. What the EFF YOU SEE KAY is wrong with this city? Where are the millions in public funds for the ballet? The orchestra? The theater company? It's not like this struggling nonprofit ballet company is being at ALL extravagant with it's money. I think it has about 4 shows this year. And it's not pouring masses of money in to salaries for it's dancers or it's directors. Trust me, I know how they live.
So, I guess the point is that I feel a little self-righteous and grumpy about all this so I am trying to spread the word. Donate to a good cause HERE.

Famous People Who Were Dancers, Yo

Moira Shearer is kind of a no-brainer. She was

an actual ballerina with the Royal Ballet. But

you already knew that.

Audrey Hepburn. I mean, we all love Audrey anyway,

but isn't that a cool thing to know? I guess she was

in a movie that required dancing at one point, called

The Secret People. Blonde hair in that movie, though. Ick.

Leslie Caron. Known best for An American in Paris,

which I have to admit I have never seen and had only

heard of in a vague way. She co-stars in one of my

favorite movies of all time, though, Father Goose with Cary Grant.

You should watch it.

Brigitte Bardot. I love this photo. She's rockin' some 

serious eye makeup and straight bustin' out a cig in the studio.

For reals, girl, that shit will not help your dancing.

James Dean. Whuuuut? I know, right? Also, forget James for a seond

and check out the dude that is third in the row. What are you doing,

dude? I can see that the teacher has crammed herself in front of him to correct the 

person ahead of him, but that is really no excuse for whatever the

heck this guy is doing.

BONUS MODERN PERSON:

Summer Glau. Which should not surprise you at all if

you have seen Firefly. She straight kicks it with some peasants while

wearing big old boots in one episode. I assumed that was why

she got the job in the first place.

Sew and Sew

You know the big pink title on my main blog page? The one up there (*gestures up*) that says "Rheumatic Princess"? It can't decide what font it wants to be. Every time I log in it is something new. Mostly it just switches between two fonts, but it is pretty weird. Blogger, WTF?
Anyway.
A couple of days ago I went ahead and whipped up another shorty leotard, exactly the same as the last one. They are pretty fast when you have the pattern down. For people who are curious about that sort of thing, here is what the pattern looks like. It is the style that has seams running down the center front and center back rather than down the sides:

Note: baby got back.

Your Shoes Are Killing My Spirit

So... what is the thing with wearing pointe shoes to beginning ballet class? There are three ladies (out of about 14-15 some nights) in my class that are wearing pointe shoes, now. One has them deshanked that I know of, and says she is wearing them to build up foot strength without going up in them. One girl is definitely wearing those things as is, because she is Showing Off before class (I am not saying that in a snarky way. If you've got it, babe, flaunt it). The other... I am not sure because I don't pay much attention to what other people are doing in class to be honest (I just always notice that they are Super Candy Pink). It's all focusing on keeping my own sorry butt from falling over.
Anyway. I was just wondering what is up with that.
I think, if I had pointe shoes that were fully functional I would probably be too careful of them in a regular class. Not want to go in to demi pointe too much because I would not want the shanks to get broken before their time had come.
Also, I want my future first pointe shoe purchase to be The Event Of The Season. With maybe a glass of (pink!) champagne afterward and blurry iphone photos posted to facebook with comments like "HOLY SH*T LOOK AT WHAT I JUST BOUGHT GUYS I AM A SUPER TWIRLY BALLERINA NOW OMG"
But, anyway. That is just me.

It's Also Zoloft's Fault That It Is An Election Year

So the most embarrassing thing happened in class on Monday.
I get sweaty. I mean, sure, of course, everyone gets sweaty in class, right? That is how you know you are doing it right. And the weather in my little slice of  "paradise" (quotation marks intentional) has been unseasonably warm and gross, lately. But I wasn't just glowing. There was nothing ladylike about this. I was sweating so much that halfway through barre it was actually, honest to god, dripping off of me. So gross. And my leotard? The new lighter weight one that I just made? SOAKED. Like, everywhere. All the way totally freakin' soaking wet. Even my headband was soaked through. I did feel like it was a particularly challenging barre, but seriously. Yucka. I came home and greeted my husband and he asked me not to touch him, okay? Like, yeah.

I think maybe it is the Zoloft. I know, I can't blame everything in the whole world on zoloft (sure I can! This weather? It is TOTALLY ZOLOFT'S FAULT) but the thing did say increased sweating was a possibility. Well, it also says prolonged erections are a possibility, but I certainly don't have any of those.

How Do I Loathe Thee?

Oh Kaiser, no, that's okay. That extra 80 bucks a month was totally just lying around the house. Sure, you can totally take it. That would be great. Hey, while you're at it? Could you make my coverage suck a little more and my prescriptions a bit more expensive? Super. Thanks, guys.

You know what the kicker is? I was going to start taking more ballet classes this week. But now? Totally can't afford it. Awesome.

SMACK!

My husband and I have been watching a show on Netflix, and whenever a particular character whom he hates says anything the hubby says "SMACK!"
You know, because she's so stupid you want to smack her? Hey, at least he's not all hot for every pretty girl on TV, am I right?
Anyway, so a couple of weeks back I was in such terrible pain and was so stiff in the knees that I could hardly walk. I frantically e-mailed my doctor and begged for help. Anything. A different pain killer or anti-inflammatory. A referral back to a rheumatologist or physical therapist. ANYTHING. He responded by sending me in for x-rays and said vaguely that maybe he'd think about steroid injections if he saw whatever the hell he was looking for on the x-rays. Okay. Fine. I was pretty sure that the x-rays would show NOTHING, because I have had every part of my body x-rayed already. So it was just a day that I had to spend in a silly hospital gown standing next to a pole with the words 'left" and "right" written on it in lead, and feeling self conscious about the holes in my socks while getting bombarded with radiation for no reason. But that isn't what annoyed me.
I heard nothing from my doctor for two weeks, and then last week I received a letter in the mail. It said "x-rays unremarkable. No damage or  defects found". Signed sealed delivered. Not a word on what that means to him, or why he made me take the stupid x-rays in the first place when all evidence points to a problem that is not related to my bones in any way. I should write back to him, but I am too livid to even deal with the man right now. I don't even care what the condition is anymore! I just want a treatment for the symptoms! But every time I say a thing to a doctor within this shitty HMO all I get is "we don't know what's wrong with you".
SMACK!

Review: Who Da Princess?

I appear to be catching a cold, which means I will probably spend most of tomorrow sitting on the couch drinking tea and watching Netflix. But you can't watch The Tudors ALL day, right? I mean, without wanting to strangle whoever put all those women in bodices without chemises under them. Or maybe that is just me. ANYWAY.

So, a while back Netflix noticed that I had watched The Red Shoes and suggested that I watch this.
Princess Tutu.
Now, is that the single worst title in existence or what? AnyWAY.

It's a magical girl anime. But... huh.
Well, it's about a duck who...
It's about a girl who takes dance lessons at some sort of boarding school in what I assume is Germany. And she is a super hero...
Hmm.
She's a duck who turns in to a girl who turns in to a magical ballerina super hero named Princess Tutu.
Okay.
Hmm.
And there is a dance instructor named Mr. Cat who threatens that his delinquent students will have to marry him and....

Okay. None of this is working. Let me just say this: The last episode I watched contained almost 15 minutes of dialogue between a duck and a lamp.
It's like Dali, at his most attention-whorey, wrote a magical girl anime based around ballet dancing. There is no fighting. Just dancing. It's...
It's so strange it keeps me coming back for more.