A Rose by Any Other Name (with too many asides)

My pointe class recently acquired a new student. A 12-13 year old. The only trouble? We have the same name. Now, my parents were kind enough not to name me Sarah or Christian (yeah, so I kinda grew up in California's bible belt and there were a LOT of Christians, believe it or not) so it's rare for me to be in that situation. Sometimes at the theater we get a character with my name and then I complain for an entire month (you know how even when you aren't really listening to someone's conversation you can instantly recognize your name being spoken and you sort of go on the alert? Yeah, so imagine that happening every twenty minutes for eight hours a day), but another girl with my name? So rare. It happened to me once at work, when we had an intern considerably younger than me (though she pronounced it sliiiiightly differently). My name, okay? My name? No one had ever heard of it until I was ten. Then ERRYONE started using it and it's become really common for people under 20. So this was bound to happen eventually. Still. It's weird. And this other RPrin and I will be doing our thing and the teacher will shout a correction to one of us... and then we both try to do it, regardless of whether or not there was anything wrong with us in the first place... and then everyone gets confused and the teacher goes "AAARGH! No! Not RPrin! The other RPrin!"
Anyway, it's obnoxious.
Last week after MiniRPrin had gone home and I was lingering to fit skirts for a few girls who are doing a performance at a dentist's convention (I know, right?) my teacher called me "the real RPrin"
That's right, little girl. I'm the REAL one.
Snerk.

Does this bother you?

This. This weird new use of the term "on point" to mean something is good, right, or trend-conscious. I've only really seen it in the past couple of years... and now it's everywhere. Oh god. It's so... it's so wrong. The only things that should ever be described as on point are A) dancers, and B) hunting dogs.
So just... no. Just don't. Don't do it. Think of some other way to say what you are going for. Some other way. There is always another way...

Okay, honestly this paragraph has allllll sorts of issues. Like... at once symmetrical and what? You can't just be "at once" one thing. At once symmetrical AND delicate? Exotic? Severe? Beautiful? FIND AN ADJECTIVE. 

Ahem.

I'm making fun of you guys.

real search terms that direct to this blog, guys.

Recital Ramblings

My last post (which dealt largely with the topic of cartoon characters from our misspent youth appearing in modern pornography) is now officially my most popular post EVER. Way to go, guys. You people have issues.
I love you anyway, though.
Maybe I should label all my posts "porn" and "gross out" and watch my numbers skyrocket?

But, no. We are here, my friends, to discuss the worlds of ballet and rheumatism and the exciting, sometimes dreadful manner in which they collide.
Out of a horrible pang of guilt at the thought of always refusing to participate in the studio's annual recital (let's face it, honey, even if I wasn't working on weekends this Summer I still wouldn't be signing up) I volunteered to alter and mend (and generally "clean up" and "make pretty", which are the nice terms we use in the professional world when something really heinous crosses our path) the rather elderly and decrepit costumes the ladies (and... possibly a gent. At this point they are considering an en travesti Romeo, because we don't appear to have any dudes available) will be wearing. There is a lot of shattered chiffon and several oddly not-quite-complete bodices going on here. There may well be a few atrocious sequined powder-puff tutus at some point, as well.
We shall see how badly I regret this offer a month from now.

In preparation for said recital tonight we practiced a lot of ballet running. I did well at it, as I generally do with ballet walking. My teacher declared that I must have been practicing but I will let you in on a secret: I haven't been. There is a story behind this, though.
When I was about 14 or 15 my pet cat was hit by a car. She was in terrible condition for a long time afterward. One of her hind legs was dislocated at the hip. The other was mangled so badly that it had pins in it for a while, but in the end it had to be amputated. She needed a lot of serious care while she was recovering, and so I would pick her up and carry her very carefully. I realized that the impact from stepping while holding her was hurting her and so I started to mindfully mimic the way a ballet dancer walks whenever I carried her. Toe first, gentle knee bend, toe first, gentle knee bend. For the rest of her life I was the only person she would allow to carry her.
So, my mad ballet walkin' skillz are entirely thanks to a little grey cat with three legs.
Thank you, baby girl. I miss you.

ice ice baby

It was a stunning nearly-80 degree day and I had to take the train to class. So I was wearing a camisole-type top thing and my tights and stuff under jeans. I have mentioned before that I walk to class through the ghetto, yes? And as I was walking I not only got a honk and a whistle but the dude stuck his head out the window to check me out as he drove away. Now, don't feel flattered. These guys out here would honk at any woman that had the qualities they really like in a girl (two X chromosomes and a heartbeat. In fact, that second one might be optional).
But as he stuck his head out all I could think was "that dude looks like Vanilla Ice".
Which is also, very much, not a compliment.
It just cracked me up.

Fun With Statistics

I don't even want to know why "black cat butt plug" is a search term that directs traffic to this blog. I just... don't.

Coinkydink

Because the internet adult ballet world exists as some sort of hive mind, Adult Beginner posted this photo at the same time that I took this one:

which is a spool of vintage rayon thread in an absolutely perfect ballet pink. Here it is sitting on my brand new and perfectly un-wrinkly dance tights, for comparison.

Classy Print Job, USPS!

I can't be certain but I think this post mark might be dance related:

Maybe.

Hummingbird Ballet

Our resident (and very vocal/cranky) Anna's hummingbird, Mr. Smalls, warms up at the barre:

I missed class last night because my knees swelled up in a rather disturbingly grapefuit-like manner. I am guessing that this was not the result the PT was aiming for.
So I spent a few moments on my own in the backyard after work today (it's cloudy, breezy, and cool, which is a miracle of no small measure in August in central CA) attempting to be graceful and balletic. Wearing street shoes is a bit of a hindrance, though.

Snake Oil Pulling

So, I am not totally opposed to naturopathic medicine or anything. It's interesting, my family is 50% crunchy-granola-hippy-flower-child-new-age-touch-therapy razzmatazz but also 50% science-minded skepticism. A firm background in the harder-core sciences coincides with a strong belief that we don't know everything there is to know. But, when it comes down to it, we just aren't gullible enough for most of that crap.
Now, I am not saying that trying the natural methods to fix something that is wrong with you is a bad idea. I successfully treated a moderate flare up of my chronic depression with St John's wort for a while, and I have had luck using garlic oil to help an ear infection (I didn't have health insurance for a while, can you tell?) and hey I am still willing to take valerian and flaxseed oil and whatever. But, the point is that this stuff has been subjected to actual clinical trials. I didn't start taking the flaxseed oil until I had read the extremely dry scientific papers about omega-3.
Anyhow, the point is that having a chronic health condition is like painting a target on your forehead for people who have read about a guy who read about a guy who had an aunt who tried something for her arthritis and wow now she is cured. Wow, guys. I am super impressed. My neighbor tried telling me that my problems would all be solved by drinking a glass of water with a spoon full of baking soda in it four times a day. That is basically like chugging a whole tube of Airborne every day. Which might feel like a scouring-pad of blessings when you are catching the sniffles and have a sore throat, but otherwise? Really? Yeah. But, this was also the neighbor who asked me what natural methods I was using to treat my cat's hyperthyroidism. I am using the method of giving her the drugs she needs to take twice a day for the rest of her life because it's proven to work and hyperthyroidism is fatal, thanks. I won't dick around with my pet's health even in cases when I might dick around with my own. Your cat/dog can't tell you that your tricks aren't working.
Sigh.
So, anyway, the latest-greatest in the world of treating your illnesses (whatever they may be) naturally is "oil pulling" which is benign enough that I suppose it won't do you all that much damage if you are in to it. But, that is about all I can say for it. If you haven't heard of oil pulling yet it basically means you take a bunch of (vegetable or seed-based) oil in your mouth and swish it around for twenty minutes every day. Now, I can see how this might be good for your oral health, okay. Because it rinses off some of the crap that flossing leaves behind (and nobody really flosses enough, right?). But there is no bloody freaking way in heck that it will cure my rheumatism, give me crystal-clear skin, and change the spark plugs in my car all at the same time (you know what I mean).
Now, if you have conducted a double blind study and have proven that this works on everything in the whole world, then great! When you have that paper published let me know and I will buy a copy of the New England Journal of Medicine that week. Until then, I don't really want to hear about how it "draws the toxins from your body" because dude, seriously? That is not how your body works.

(Also? It triggers my gag reflex just TALKING about it! Gross, dudes!)

The Red Shoesies Rockin' The House

So I earn my money by making things. But sometimes I get SUPER BORED of making clothes and working with big swathes of fabric and I just want to do something different for a day or two. So I make juggling bags and art dolls and purses and stuff and put them up online. Anyway, enough back story! Here is what I made last week while I was putting off doing real work:

 Vicky Page, guys! With tiny red pointe shoes, guys! Yeah, I know, right?

ONE HUNDRED POSTS, BITCHES!

100th post! Woooooo!
Not a lot to say, though, I'm afraid.
The last week or so has been really difficult. My cat was diagnosed with a chronic illness. My husband started a new job while also suffering from an endless migraine. My rheumatism flared up so bad I just wanted to sleep through it but couldn't lay down for very long. I was PMSing, which makes it even better. I got a zillion custom orders all at once (which is nice, don't get me wrong. Those vet bills ain't payin' themselves) so I am working and sewing and attempting to communicate with people all over the country while keeping them all separate (my brain is not an organized place).
My hips are going out. They have been for a while, but I have been trying so hard to ignore it. This weekend was the first time they had been so bad that they were my main focus, though.
So, basically, everything is super crappy all around.
But I am going to class in spite of everything. Next week I am going to take an extra class. The harder one. I am a little nervous about it! My other option is to take the class immediately afterward, which is basically pre-beginning. I suppose it couldn't do me any harm to take it. Or maybe I could just do barre of the harder class? Does it really matter? This Monday we were doing those ridiculously hard chaînés turns again. Even when I try to spot I just get dizzy and need a sit-down. I will get them eventually but until then I look super dorky out there.
Sigh. Chaînés turns. You are not my BFF.

Why All The Posts About Bottoms, Kid?

So I had a really great class on Monday. Which is nice, because last week felt so terrible. I get really clumsy around my period, maybe that is what was going on. Too many hormones. But seriously, Monday was nice. There were only 9 or so people in class, if that. We've regularly been topping 15, so the extra attention and space at the barre was great. Trying to grand battement when you have long legs (I don't! I actually have short legs for my height. I'm like 90% torso. But still!) and everyone is standing so close you feel like you are going to kick them straight in the rump (even when we are standing at an angle) is no good. I like to bust loose with my grand battements. They are my favorite thing ever! The last thing I want to do is worry about kicking the girl in front of me in the tuckus. Tuckus. I just had to look up that word to see if I was spelling it wrong. For the record I wasn't, but it isn't in the dictionary or thesaurus! I did find this fabulous definition of butt, though! 

¹butt

noun

Definition of BUTT

the part of the body upon which someone sits <butts in the seats and keep quiet, or I'm turning this car around>

Synonyms backside, behind, booty (also bootie) [slang], bottom, breech, bum, buns, butt, caboose, can, cheeks, derriere (or derri{egrave}re), duff, fanny, fundament, hams, haunches, heinie [slang], hunkers, keister (also keester) [slang], nates, posterior, rear, rear end, rump, seat, tail, tail end, tush [slang]

Related Words beam, stern; moon [slang]

Be careful not to kick anyone in the fundament at the barre!
Oh man. I am not 12 years old, I swear! I think I had grown out of booty humor long before twelve.  Perhaps I am 8. 8 is pretty good! Second grade! I had an American Girl doll and hadn't discovered boys and pretending to be sick so I could stay home from school, yet.

In any case, I am already excited about Friday's class. WOO!

Some Of You Will Think This Post Is Creepy

Okay. So when I decided that I needed to take ballet lessons or I would die inside I had to cut a certain amount of chaff from my budget. Especially because last year I had a real job, and now I quotey-quote "work from home" which is sort of like saying "I am unemployed" only I have to feel guilty about sleeping in. Anyways. That $500 I spent on shoes last year was not going to be repeated this year (for the record, though, I got some REALLY AWESOME shoes last year) and the ridiculously expensive dolls were just going to have to wait.
Okay, okay, I admit it. There. Are you happy now? I admit it freely. I am a dolly addict. I don't mean creepy porcelain dolls or collector barbies or anything else that accrues any sort of value over the years. I mean gorgeous and stupidly expensive resin ball jointed dolls from Asia. If you aren't already familiar with them, you need to go look at this site. You will have a heart attack. Especially when you look at the prices and realize that those $600 dolls are BASE prices. Hair, eyes, and wardrobe sold separately. *Siiiiiiiiiigh* (It's not as silly as it sounds, I actually earn a pretty significant percentage of my living by making and selling teeny tiny 1/6 scale corsets and underwear. No, I am not joking.)
Anyway, like I said, ballet is expensive. So, sorry Too and Bee-A, but you will have to wait.
And just as I had finally made this decision and was feeling very secure about it?
I discovered these:

Do you hear that sound? It's the sound of my soul crying.

That's right, kids. Those are specially made pointed feet. For those ridiculously expensive dollies. So that they can wear Intensely Adorable pointe shoes. Just go and look at this picture and tell me that they aren't awesome.

Well, never mind, because I won't believe you anyway. Ballet. Shoes. Dolls. Spending money I don't have. My buttons. Consider them pushed.

MEH

Much less shaky this week. Also a touch less sweaty, though still *too* sweaty, IMHO. But how much of that is that I didn't take the zoloft this morning, and how much of it is that we had a substitute teacher who made us do different stuff?
Meh.
I am feeling very neutral about tonight. I felt weirdly awkward and annoyed at some of my fellow students. Maybe the zoloft makes me a better and more tolerant person. Or maybe that woman really *was* being deeply obnoxious?
The world may never know.
I dunno. Tonight I felt like... like there was some competition going for who was the most fabulous. Or something. Like I said, I don't know. I was feeling extra spazzy and like I was miles behind everyone else. I mean, it doesn't matter, right? No one cares how good or bad you are at what you are doing. No one is going to look down on you because you keep screwing up the combinations. Or will they? This is the first time I have asked myself that.
MEH.

Shall I Compare These Shoes To a Summers Day?

Okay. So I have a not-so-secret unrequited love for pretty shoes. You may have noticed a theme. Anyway.
Especially dance shoes and/or ridiculously expensive shoes.
It's kind of funny because, while I do not dress by anyone's standards of "fashionably", I am eXtremely picky about what I wear. Like, for example, with shoes. The toe has to be rounded (I bought a pair of ankle boots with squared off toes last year, I am only now starting to come to terms with them) and the heel has to be 2 1/2" or less high (less for preference now that my knees have gone out), and that heel has to be the Right Shape. Not too skinny. No protuberances. I mean, I love some of Fluevog's shoes, but I dislike most of their soles and heels and that overrides everything.
Anyway, this is all just background information so you understand how important and weighty my proclamation of perfection in shoe-kind is. There is only one perfect pair of shoes in this world. They are LaDuca Annies. They are dancing and theatrical shoes. They are ridiculously expensive. Every year my theater buys dozens of pairs of them for the actors. They sell them at the end of the season for Dirt Cheap. And not ONCE in the seven years I have been there has there EVER been a dancer with feet my size. It is enough to make a person cry.

Communication and the Internet Age

Blogger has changed it's back-end stuff pretty seriously lately. I was cruising around trying to figure out how the new features and layout work when I found an analytics page. Now, I love me some ridiculous and unusable statistics so I clicked on through to check it out. One of the things that irks me about the analytics page I use to track hits to my business page is that it shows you the name of a referring site but fails utterly to make that information in to a convenient link. But this! This had links to all referring sites! So cool! So I clicked through to my top referring site.
WHOA HELLO FAKE NAKED PICTURES OF EMMA WATSON!
I am unsure where the referral comes from, but ooooookkkkkaaaaayyyy.
So anyway, allow me to extend a warm welcome to new readers who are big fans of Emma's photoshopped boobies. Hi!

With this post I am pretty sure a google search for "Naked Emma Watson" will now link to my ballet blog. Oh internet, you so crazy.