Posts Tagged ‘ballet’

Sit The Fuck Down

April 22, 2016

And write.

Martines.

Jesus.

It ain’t Friday yet.

But it’s so close I can taste it and I am so ready for the weekend, it’s been on my tongue for days.

Confirmed date tomorrow night.

Confirmed will be shaving my legs.

Wink, wink.

Nudge, nudge.

Yeah.

Like that.

I was going to go on a blind date with a gentleman and hit a dance club, but I was pinged yesterday by a lover who I would rather hang out with than someone new and well, I already know how the date will go.

REALLY, REALLY, REALLY.

Fucking well.

Not to put too fine a point on it.

That being said, I was looking forward to dancing and this specific paramour does not strike me as the dancing type of guy.

Although he does remind me of the slightly sad, Russian dancing bear in a John Irving novel.

I don’t know that I will ever tell him that, he’s got a lot of swagger and bravado.

And sexy.

And well, most guys don’t want to hear that they remind me of a morose bear.

I don’t know that he knows quite how sad he is.

However.

That is none of my business.

He is also hella fun and we hit it off and yes, hit it, the last time we hung out.

So.

More of that, yes please.

But the dancing had to happen.

My energy is high, the moon is full, and I am all yoga’d up.

“You must be really flexible,” a possible date messaged me after I mentioned I was heading out the door to the yoga studio.

Thank you God for the yoga studio on my block.

REPEAT.

On my block.

So freaking convenient.

Seriously.

I had such a great experience with it today too.

I had reverie at that end of the class when I was in the last and final resting pose, after doing a terrific heart opener and I had this epiphany and massive amount of gratitude overwhelm  me.

I realized that this man, a friend of mine to this day, my first love, my first crush, unconsummated love, unrequited love, disaster of a best friend, but the best and longest friend and someone who no matter what or where, I am still connected to, I realized this man saved my life.

I mean literally.

When I was not able to check out via drugs and alcohol, when I didn’t have a solution that was stuffing substances down my throat or up my nose, I was in need of some sort of relief or I might have died, I am not kidding, and this man was my relief.

I loved him and in that love I found a kind of solace and comfort that I couldn’t find in myself.

Never mind that it was fantasy or unrequited.

One, it was safe, it was unrequited, he wasn’t interested, able, or other, to engage in a romantic love with me.

Two, it was a way to check out and not be present in the horror of what was happening in my life when I was in highschool.

The house wasn’t burnt to the ground.

But there was definitely a scorched earth policy happening in my home.

And as it got worse I found myself escaping into what ever I could and often that was books and or fantasy.

It was a few more years before I was able to find relief in alcohol and drugs from the disease of discontent that I was absolutely full blown in, although it would not be without much time, work, and perspective before I reached that conclusion.

Today on the yoga mat I had a sudden vision of myself as a ballet dancer and I remembered my friend and how he impersonated me my second semester freshman year at UW Madison.

I think the statute of limitations is up, so yeah, um, ha, I defrauded UW Madison for the grant and scholarship monies due me and my friend, a guy friend, my best friend, went to all my classes and got away with it until someone from our high school busted him.

He was a great actor and pulled it off until that point.

And when he had to leave, well, I didn’t drop out officially, so I just took some more failed grades, except.

Ha.

In ballet.

My friend pulled a C in the class.

He told me later the teacher had a crush on him.

Yeah.

Like the whole world at the time probably did.

He was improbably attractive then.

Not that he isn’t now, just, well, different.

So.

Here I am in yoga having this reverie about floating through the air like a ballerina and also some cross dreams of floating in blue green water-I was a swimmer in highschool–and I am blasted with love and gratitude for my friend.

He loves me.

We love each other.

Haven’t seen him in years, five maybe, but we still are connected.

And in that moment, in the yoga studio, on my back, breath flowing in and out of my lungs, my heart just blew open with joy and the realization of how much I owe this person for letting me just have those great big love feelings.

They, the feelings and the fantasy, really did save my life.

They buoyed me up through very trouble waters and times.

They got me through.

And for that I have unlimited love for him.

Not unrequited.

Not needing to be fulfilled, just this deep special, enduring awareness of love for this man and how affecting it has been and how lucky I am to have had it.

To still have it.

We talked earlier today as he was leaving the house on a beautiful spring day in Minnesota with his twin girls heading to their first music recital as first graders.

I could hear how joyful and happy he was and it made me happy to hear it.

I had him on my mind after the yoga class and then something else reminded me as I was at the park with the boys and I called him out of the blue.

“You will let me know if you get to Wisconsin, I mean it, I will drive to see you,” he emphatically stated on the phone.

He’ll be in Madison for family late June early July.

I’ve been thinking July 4th weekend to go back and visit my best friend who lives up in Northern Wisconsin in Hudson, across the river from the Twin Cities.

“I’ll drive to Hudson, it’s actually closer than Madison,” my dear friend said.

“I haven’t made a decision and I need to see what my summer is going to look like, but yeah, since I’m not going to Burning Man, well,” I paused.

And said it.

“I’m feeling a big pull to come to the Midwest, I’m not sure why, but it’s been there for a few months and I feel like it’s time,” I smiled up at the trees, the playground swings full of children, I felt full of joy.

“You come and I will drive to you, I got to run, one minute warning,” he chuckled.

“I’ll keep you posted,” I said and hung up the phone.

I didn’t say I love you.

It’s implied.

He loves me.

I love him.

It’s all just love, love.

And once and awhile it’s making love to a man who reminds me of a sad Russian circus bear, who really, when it comes right down to it, reminds me in a way of my friend.

If that means having my cake and eating it too, who am I to analyze it?

I’m just here to have fun.

And my God.

I’m this much fucking closer to Friday.

And the music is good.

So excuse me.

I have a little more dancing to do under this full moon before my night is through.

And my weekends begun.

See you Friday y’all.

Or.

Ha.

Depending on how my date goes.

Saturday.

Heh.

 

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Grateful

December 24, 2015

Goose bumped with grateful.

Smashed with grateful.

Overwhelmed with the grateful of all things.

Art.

Ballet.

High heels on cobblestones.

The Metro line over Passy.

The taxi cab to the Opera Garnier.

More art.

Walking in the Tuilleries at dusk.

The sunset at Place de la Concorde.

Photographs.

The nearly full moon.

Plans for tomorrow–the Jeu de Paume, the Palais de Tokyo, walks, always the walking, the Eiffel Tower–this time to ride to the top.

Grateful for love.

Grateful beyond words.

Grateful over the moon over the Paris skyline, over and back 100 x infinity.

Grateful for joy.

Grateful for Bottecelli.

Grateful for tears rolling down my face, front row, premier etage, center right, Palais d’Opera Garnier.

So damn grateful.

Grateful I am not going to force myself to write it all down, but rather share a smattering of the days photographs with you so that I may rest, get up early and smash more glorious Paris into my person, my heart, my soul.

My Paris today.

Looked a little like this:

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Marc Aurelius, sculpture fragment, Richeliu Wing, Palais Royale du Louvre.

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Diana the Huntress, at the Louvre.

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Cherubim, ceiling of the Louvre.

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Bottecelli, that made me stop in my tracks.  Stop and break out into one of the most intense art highs I have ever had.  Stop my heart, tears splashing down my face, almost mortified with the joy of the piece.  I still cannot quite put into words how heart stopping this piece was.

Especially her face, the one in the goldenrod dress.

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Breathtaking.  I stood in front of the painting and forgot the masses of people streaming past me on their way to the Mona Lisa.

The Louvre was super overwhelming, so after a few more salons my friend and I left to find fare for a late lunch.

Catching the sunset as we emerged from the Jeu de Paume cafe after a brief respite from the crowds.

I captured these:

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Place de la Concorde with the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

And this:

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Roue de Paris.  The infamous ferris wheel at the entrance to the Tuilleries.

We rushed back to the studio to get ready for the ballet at the Palais d’Opera Garnier.  On the way stopping in the neighborhood for a rotisserie chicken and potatoes from Monsieur Defrenoy, fresh asparagus from the market and apples.

The ballet was not going to let out until ten pm so we figured we’d have a late dinner at the house rather than trying to find something open.

The ballet was smashing.

Over the top–the venue, the lights, the space.  I cannot do it justice with words so I will finish my little blog of joy with these last shots of my time at the ballet.

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Beyond grateful to be having Christmas in Paris.

Again.

I repeat.

Just to hear myself say it.

I am.

The.

Luckiest girl.

In the world.

At least, tonight.

In Paris.

I am.

 

And Then

December 17, 2015

It all just came together.

I am uncertain how, but just like that.

I have a little birthday party happening with friends.

Nothing big, just a small group of us going to Chow on Church and Market after a little getting right with God sesh at Our Lady of Safeway.

I haven’t been to Chow in a long time and it felt like just the coziest place to be with some friends that are super hard to wrangle and then poof.

It all sort of fell into place.

Just like my outfit for the ballet in Paris.

Which is not at all what I thought I would be wearing.

Not at all.

The dress I ordered finally showed up, and again, the wrong size!

Ugh.

Seriously.

I have to return it yet again.

I was not happy and I will have to return it now for the third time.

Actually, this particular dress I am returning for the second time, but it’s the third go around with ModCloth.

The first dress was a horrible pattern, the screen color was no where near the actual dress and I rarely think about when a dress pattern or color clashes with my tattoos, because it so rarely happens.

But wow.

When it does.

It really does.

And the original dress was an awful clash.

So.

Returned for a different dress, this all in black.

And the first size, too small.

Returned.

And this size too small again.

Damn it man.

The instructions said size up, but two sizes up?

Ugh.

It’s not that I can’t get into the dress, it’s just that my rib cage, nothing else, is too big.

If I had the time I would take it out.

But I don’t, I leave for Paris in four days!

Four.

Holy crow.

After struggling in and out the dress I resigned myself to the fact, that I am just going to have to return it again and hope for a better fit.

I may just have to go with a different style, because I run the risk of the dress not fitting correctly if I size up further.

It fits everywhere else perfectly so if I size up it will probably fit in the ribcage but not elsewhere, it will be too baggy.

So.

Another dress return.

Oh well.

I was flustered when I left the house, thinking I may have to do some last minute dress shopping to get my outfit together.

I am dressing up, damn it, for the ballet, I just am.

I mean have you seen my new shoes?

But I had places to go tonight that were more important than my outfit and commitments to cover as well as a few groceries to buy for the rest of the week.

I came back to the house elated to have actually confirmed a dinner party with four, possibly five of my friends on Friday, this Friday, in the middle of holiday party season, for a birthday dinner.

Then I thought.

Well.

Shoot.

What am I going to wear?

Not that I have to get dressed up, but it might be fun.

The other consideration is that I will be nannying all day and so what ever I choose to wear will have some wear and tear on it.

I manage my clothes fairly well, but I do work with little boys, the dirt, it does happen.

So.

I was looking in my closet and then.

Oh.

Hey.

What if I do that and this and that and this.

And voi-fucking-la!

I have my outfit for the ballet.

Halter dress in black with white polka dots with white crinoline underneath and my Helmut Lang black cashmere sweater over the top, black tights, the new Fluevog’s in “Dots” and my hair up in a bun.

Perfect.

Chic.

Eclectic.

Retro pinup girl with class.

I tried on my new coat, the swing coat I got at Tatyana’s to match my shoes.

And.

Fuck me.

Swoon.

It’s a great freaking outfit.

I was so happy.

I will NOT be wearing it to work on Friday for my birthday.

I will wear something fun and sassy.

But this look.

Oh.

I’m saving it for the ballet.

I don’t know how I’m going to stuff my crinoline in my carry on to Paris, but that bitch is coming with.

Over the top.

I have my outfit.

And I have my birthday party with some of my nearest and dearest.

It’s such a pleasant surprise.

I really hadn’t much planned.

And when it all fell together I was so pleased.

I am so pleased.

And I’m doing pretty much exactly what I want to do on a Friday night in San Francisco, do the deal, and hang out with my favorite people in the city over a bite to eat in a cozy restaurant.

Some of whom aren’t in the city proper and I feel super grateful that they are going to come in from Berkeley and Castro Valley.

Drop on by if you like, always room for another smiling face at the table.

And like that.

It’s Wednesday.

I’m halfway through the week.

I have birthday plans.

I have a mighty fine ballet outfit.

I have my Therapeutic Communications paper three quarters done!

I have been working on it everyday before work.

I should actually have it completed either tomorrow or possibly I will be wrapping it up Friday morning before I go into work.

Work, some doing the deal, some fellowship.

Saturday, I’ll meet with my person, get my nails done and my eyebrows waxed, pack, and if I can manage to not break my brain, I’m going to write my Psychoanalytic paper Saturday as well.

Now that I don’t have to worry about buying another dress at the last minute, I’ve got plenty of time to kick it out of the way.

Then I’ll be free and clear for take off to Paris.

The cafes call, the museums beckon, there’s a steak tartar or three that have my name on them, I suspect there’s some oysters in my future, a trip to Sacre Coeur, possibly for Christmas Eve Mass, walking the streets with my girlfriend from school, buying notebooks and postcards, walking everywhere.

What a lovely holiday season this is.

I really am.

The luckiest girl in the world.

Slight Change Of Plans

November 25, 2015

But so slight.

I’m still going to Paris.

Despite the sharp inhalation of breath my mother took when I told her on the phone today.

“I bought the tickets before the attacks mom,” I said, I could feel her getting instantly wound up.

I was also walking my bicycle into the garage at work, so there was not a lot of room for conversation on the topic.

And I hadn’t called my mom to talk about Paris.

Rather my eldest aunt who passed yesterday was my reason for calling.

I didn’t know my aunt that well.

Suffice to say that I didn’t know a lot of my family all that well, but I do have fond memories and I do remember thinking when I was younger that she was kind.

Perhaps I don’t have a recollection of thinking that thought exactly, but that is what comes to mind when I remember her.

Thanksgiving or Christmas at her house a year when my grandparents, for whatever reason, had decided they did not want the hassle of having the whole family over for the holiday.

I recall there being a lot of conversation about where it would be and it ended up being at my aunts house.

It was an oddly warm Christmas, ah yes, it was Christmas, and I remember playing outside in the back with one of my cousins.

Tether ball, I think.

Oddly enough I got along with them really well, in fact I thought that of all my cousins the three daughters of my aunts were my favorite.

Two were fraternal twins.

And I was fascinated by the fact that they did not look at all identical.

As I thought twins should look.

Of course this was before I know what fraternal and identical twins were, but twins, we had them in the family and that was special.

I sort of felt that their family was special in general.

They seemed to have escaped the lash of weirdness that was on my family.

I was thinking about it today and though there were more than one or two black sheep in the family, I think my mom sort of took the cake for a while.

I definitely felt that we were the blackest of the black sheep in the family and that my cousins, well, they were normal, well-adjusted, sweet girls.

They each had their own rooms and the house was cozy and warm and nice.

Middle class.

White Wisconsin.

Nice.

My immediate family lived so far below the poverty line that when I learned what the poverty line was I was shocked to realize how poor I had been growing up.

I mean.

Fucking poor.

And I’m not upset about that.

I didn’t know the difference.

I don’t recall thinking I was suffering.

I mean.

I think I just thought our family was weird.

But I had no clue.

A little grown up time of my own.

A lot of perspective and distance and yes.

I can see the screaming dysfunction at work in the family dynamic.

There is still dysfunction.

But then again.

What the hell is normal?

There is no normal.

I was chatting with a dear friend on the phone earlier and he said, “normal is a setting on a dryer.”

Ayup.

And usually I still have to add minutes to the normal setting.

There is no normal.

And.

If there is.

I’m not so certain I want any of it.

I do want the fantasy of doing what I am getting to do after  I have the reality of doing the heavy lifting, with my brain that is.

I got the tickets to the ballet!

My darling poulette bought them online today and I was mistaken, it is not La Bayadere we are going to see.

Nope.

We are going to see some modern ballet.

Which is just as exciting if not more so.

I’m going to be accompanied by dear sweet people whom I love and adore and I am going to get dressed up, like a princess, and I am going to the Garnier Opera House in Paris at Christmas, Wednesday, December 23rd, at 7:30 p.m. to see the ballet.

Luckiest girl in the world.

I also talked with my friend about having dinner with my Parisian friend, I mean, who better will know where to go for a nice meal before the opera?

I’m so excited.

And yes.

I got the good seats.

We are sitting in the loge.

1ères loges de coté 22

Translation: BOX SEATS!

Merry Christmas baby.

Pack something nice to wear.

There are four sets of box seats in the Palace Garnier and we are on the first, premier, of the balcony, I wonder should I purchase some opera glasses?

Bwahahaha.

Nah.

I won’t need to because we will be so close to the stage.

Box seats.

I am over the moon and so glad I agreed to splurge on the more expensive tickets.

I am grateful that I get to spend the money to allow myself and my friend to have an amazing experience together and to also have my new friend from school there too.

My God I am grateful.

So grateful.

I am also grateful that tomorrow is my Friday.

Yay four day weekend.

So much work to be done.

There is more work for me to do on my days off than I have on my days on.

Although, arguably I could say that it’s a balance this week as there has been more work at work, grandparents are visiting for the holiday.

Which on one hand is fantastic, the boys love their grandparents.

And on the other tends to throw a little monkey wrench in our routines and schedules and the boys also get to have a lot of treats with the grandparents.

Ah sugar.

My nap time nemesis.

I should have had some quiet time today with them, but they were too wound up so instead, I employed them in the kitchen and they helped me make dinner: sushi rice, wild king salmon marinated in lemons and olive oil with spices and lime zest–baked in the oven, roasted brussels sprouts with garlic and brown butter, and organic strawberries for dessert with sliced apples from the farmers market.

 

The boys helped me to squeeze the lemons and mix the spices and herbs in the marinade for the fish, they also sprinkled love on top of everything.

Love is the best spice.

They were so proud of the meal.

And told their grandparents how hard they cooked everything.

It was adorable.

And the adorable train will roll out of town for me soon.

Where I will be departing for the burying my head in my homework part of the holiday.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” The mom asked.

“Homework.” I replied.

That.

And dreaming about the ballet.

In Paris.

What am I going to wear?!

Hashtag.

Luxury problems.

 

Magic Monday

November 24, 2015

Mondays are not usually magic.

I certainly did not feel magical getting out of bed this morning.

Sleep in another half hour, hell another hour, my brain whispered to me.

I had awoken a few minutes before my alarm went off and when I reached for my phone to see what time it was I winced.

The alarm was going to go off in ten minutes.

I was hoping I still had hours to go before I had to get up–the gloomy, fogging morning, foiled me into thinking it was far earlier than it was.

Ten minutes.

I want to sleep for ten more hours.

However, I swung my legs out and flipped back the covers and got up and got going.

Laundry, bed making, kneeling, praying, staying connected to my primary purpose, doing the deal, saying the words, asking for direction and to be of service.

Breakfast, clothes on, laundry getting folded and put away, coffee, morning pages, scooter securing–I parked it the garage last night, my housemate was away and I just felt like having it in the garage and not have to hassle with locking it up last night, but I had to have it back outside this morning.

Then the hair and makeup.

In case you ever need some cheering up on a Monday, stick some flowers in your head and be the sunshine that you need to carry you through the day.

Works for me anyhow.

Then the reading.

A full hour before I left for work.

Hopped on my bicycle.

And then magic started happening.

Really, when I acknowledge it, the magic happened when I got up the hour earlier than I wanted to to do the reading for school, but that’s not the kind of magic that’s sexy to write about, that’s only magic to me.

However.

I had the unicorn bicycle commute.

I have only had it one other time in the history of riding my bicycle to this job.

The unicorn looks like this–no full stops, not foot off my pedals, always in motion.

I didn’t do a full stop the entire way, I never put down a foot, it was smooth sailing all the way from start to finish.

46th and Judah to 20th and Lexington.

In 34 minutes.

That’s 6.5 miles in traffic, lights, stop signs, intersections, cars, bicycles, pedestrians, garbage trucks, police horses, nannies out pushing double strollers, Uber drivers, cabs, buses, and me.

I had the pricking in my thumbs early on in the ride that it was happening.

I can’t say when, but it was about when I coasted through the double stop traffic light at 18th and 19th.  Normally I catch one or the other, it’s pretty inevitable, but I coasted right through.

I had the feeling way before that though and thought I was nuts to think it and I should not at that early stage of the ride, must have been around 33rd or 34th and Lincoln that I felt it happening.

And.

It did.

I really am astounded at how it happened.

I got to work with so much time that I did a full set of stretches and I took some sexy bike porn pix of my whip and posted them up to Instagram.

My girl’s still got it.

Then I bounced into work.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

Ready for Monday.

I checked in with the mom about the boys and the holiday week school schedule–they’re out for the holiday at noon tomorrow, plus the grandparents are visiting–and asked what I could do to help out and be of service.

And.

Did they get my spring semester school schedule?

They had requested my school dates as soon as I had them and I sent them off last night before I could forget.

Yes.

The mom said, we got them and we wanted to extend your contract out from January through the end of May, we’ll need to check in at that point, as our summer plans are up in the air, but we also wanted to let you know we’re giving you a raise on January first.

A raise!

What?!

$1.50 more an hour.

I was floored.

It was a totally unexpected conversation and such a gift to be acknowledged.

So grateful.

I also conferred with the dad that I would help out extra on December 4th–the mom’s birthday, and I would work a night shift for them as well so they could go out for a birthday dinner.

I happily said yes.

I don’t mind working the extra hours, a few extra dollars for France.

A few more Euro in the pot.

Which I can use.

Since.

Heh.

I’m buying tickets to the ballet.

!

My friend from my cohort texted me this afternoon at work and asked if I would be interested in either going to an opera or the ballet at the Garnier Opera House.

It houses the Opera National de Paris and the ballet.

I shall be seeing La Bayadere, the last ballet by Rudolf Nureyev.

I am over the moon.

And I’m going to be broke, because I said, fuck it, you only live once and when I chatted with my friend about booking the tickets she said you want the decent ones or the really good seats?

I said give me the good ones.

So depending on what she books I’ll be reimbursing her around 300 Euro, or whatever that translates to in American dollars.

But fuck it.

I don’t care.

I’m going to the ballet.

In Paris.

At the opera house.

At Christmas.

I will be there with people I adore.

And.

“And you will get to dress up like a princess!” My darling Parisian friend texted me back.

Oh my God.

What the hell am I going to wear.

As though.

Oh my God.

I need me a dress for the ballet.

Actually.

I have a dress.

I have a really pretty black dress that I ordered on ModCloth a while ago coming.  I had to return it for a different size, but it should be here in time for the trip.

I may need new heels if I choose that one.

Or.

I will wear the holiday dress I bought last year for my ex’s holiday party.

Who relayed to me tonight in a text that he was sorry he had not said good bye to me, he needed to bounce out.

“Seeing you was kind of weird.”

Then.

“The only discomfort I felt was still being attracted to you.”

“You looked great.”

Why thank you sir.

That was nice to hear, after the fact.

It had been a little awkward to see him.

But.

We said hello.

We hugged.

I hadn’t expected to see him tonight, but there he was and it was good.

No drama.

No fuss.

That tiny bit of awkwardness and then, gone.

Magic Monday indeed.

What a way to start the week.

I wonder what is going to happen next.

I don’t doubt that it will be spectacular.

I still have a pricking in my thumbs.

And tickets to the ballet.

In Paris.

 


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