emsk

I got dropped in performance and my neck hurts and my feet are bruised and my ribs ache like they’re bruised and if I wear my glasses my head pounds worse but I can’t wear contacts 24/7 and wah wah wah. I’m tired and feel like I’m cold although that’s very unlikely so I’m sitting here in track pants with GEEK on the arse and a hoodie with shitty faux fur in the hood to keep my neck warm.

And the sodding dance teachers forgot the official makeup so, because I’m that sorta girl, I ended up going out and buying the appropriate makeup for the girls MYSELF. Maroon and gold, neither of which are colours I’ll be able to wear!

The weekend started on a kind of hilarious note. A, J and I carpooled down to the festival of the weekend, as the festival is in my hometown, where mum lives, so I was going to chill with my family while the girls did ALL THE DANCE, then I was just going to party at night.

About 30 mins away from our destination? A’s car died on the side of the road (J was travelling with her). I belong to a roadside assistance scheme which includes free towing. A does not, because her dad is a mechanic. So after some back and forth I eventually told her to STFU and accept the free tow the remaining 30 minutes to my mother’s place. The person I ended up speaking to could not locate me on a map, so eventually I just told her in painstaking detail where we were (it helps to be a local) and she relayed the wrong info to the towie. Sigh.

However, the towie did arrive, and started chortling when I relayed the destination address. Much to my amusement it turns out he’s towed my Mum in the last two months twice.

Anyways, A’s car gets on the tow truck, we trundle off towards Mum’s and we blow past a friend’s car (containing four dancers also en route to the festival). They’re all out of the car 10 mins from town.

We go “yeah, having a break.”

“… maybe we’ll call.”

I pulled over. We rung. Yup, dead car #2….

So I turned around, went back, piled two of the passengers & their gear into my car. While we did this, the towie blew past & honked.

Because it was the same towie who would be returning shortly to collect K’s vehicle.

Then I got ID’d at the bottle store buying wine, by a young man who apologised PROFUSELY for checking my ID = “oh my goodness, I am SO SORRY. You are THIRTY.”

So, jump forward to Saturday night – Mum’s in the audience of the showcase (which I was performing/got dropped in.) She’s sitting next to some people from Napier who are chatting to each other cheerfully and talking about the weekend’s curse on vehicles. Mum cracked up.

As it turns out, A’s dad (the mechanic) was in $nearby_town dropping off $things the next day – so they did an extra ~90 minutes driving, put A’s dead car – the auto transmission shit itself – on the back of the truck & drove it the three hours home. It worked out.

Honestly, I’m still grumpy & sore and such. But I can indeed see the funny side.

Xmas is impending, and I’m feeling pretty good about it this year. My inlaws in the UK have presents incoming via the magic of the internet, I’ve purchased all I intend to for my beloved, and on the basis that none of my own family celebrate Xmas, I don’t have to worry about them.

I’m doing my usual mostly-DIY-ish presents for friends. I get a lot of pleasure out of putting little things together, and thankfully none of my social group have great expectations.

It’s also turned into 2013: The JAMening. So far, tomato-bbq sauce & cranberry-orange sauce have been produced; this weekend will also see tamarillo-apple jam and spiced curry orange sauce. Between now and Xmas I intend to do, oh, strawberry and probably normal apple sauce too. It’ll be fun!

I’ve put a “come one, come all” invite out on Facebook for Xmas day/Boxing Day. I’m on call over the silly season this year, so I intend to make ALL the food, and hope that everyone I want to see makes the effort to turn up at some stage. And, well, if they don’t, we have a chest freezer to accommodate leftovers.

I’ve spent today doing laundry, vacuuming, and mopping, so that I can put up the Xmas tree with a clear conscience tonight. I’m looking forward to it.

Random thoughts for a Wednesday.

I am beginning to understand just how fortunate I was when I went to my GP, eight years ago, suffering from depression. My feelings were never questioned. He offered me help immediately. He wasn’t comfortable offering advice on mental issues, beyond getting me on SSRI’s and referring me to counselling.

I knew I had situational depression, and didn’t need anything other than chemical assistance to remove myself from a hole. But eight years on, I’m realising more and more how grateful I need to be that that doctor had the humility to refrain from giving me bad advice.

I’ve run into situations lately where people have had bad experiences with professionals who should know better – and by contrast, I am profoundly grateful for the way I have been treated.

The year I turned twenty-six, I decided to change my life. I was stuck in a dead-end helpdesk role, working shifts. I had nothing outside work that was really inspiring me – no hobbies, and the shift work meant that I couldn’t pick anything new up easily.

So I started job hunting.

At the same time, Tobermory and I were planning our wedding. 2010 was a year of big changes. We got married. I got a new job. Any of those things could be perceived as life-changing. And, sure, the new job changed a lot about my life. Being married didn’t really change my life, although having a partner-now-husband creates changes in my life every day.

As he said to me the other day – he makes compromises for our marriage every day. But he didn’t compromise in choosing me to marry. That sums it up, really. Respect, change, compromise – because I chose someone worth compromising with to spend my life with.

But the really big change for me took place just after my twenty-seventh birthday. I had my first salsa lesson.

Three years later, I have changed so many things. I am more confident. I am fitter, stronger, happier, healthier. I get up every day cheerful, I go out five nights a week where in the past I wouldn’t have left my hobbit hole after dark. I dance with strangers, I approach guys and ask them for dances, where it took me a year to step out of my comfort zone and go dancing socially at all.

I am happy now. Three years ago.. I wasn’t unhappy. I’ve never been unhappy in my marriage, and I enjoy my job. OK, neither of those statements are entirely true – Tobermory drives me mad on a regular basis and some days I just want to punch my monitor. But those are in the realms of normal grumble – at a fundamental level, I love my husband and enjoy my work. But I needed something that actively MADE me happy, not something I had to pour work into. Dance makes me happy on a fundamental level nothing else ever has.

I am glad that I stepped outside my comfort zone, and stepped into the studio. Every time I go there, it’s like coming home.

It took me awhile to acknowledge and adopt the title of dancer. I don’t look like a traditional dancer – I’m far from thin, I’m thirty in five days. But you know what? I AM a dancer. I spend five or more days a week dancing for two hours. I listen to the music I dance to, I teach, I live and breathe for dancing. It’s not a hobby, it’s a passion, something I am passionate about, something I love. Dance is no longer something I do, it’s something I am.

I am having a really, really good week on the dance front.

My beloved zouk teachers went overseas for six months. They had an utterly amazing trip and returned to New Zealand a month or two back. They’re teaching again, so of course I’ve promptly started going to their classes.

A week or two back, S asked if she and T could have a chat. I figured it wouldn’t be anything horrible, because if they did want to complain they’d do so immediately. After dying of curiousity for a week, we finally caught up, after class last night.

They want me to help out – basic admin stuff, take money, attendance, etc – for their classes, and act as an auxiliary teacher for zouk. In return, I get classes for free.

Hell yes!

Just before Congress, I’d also put my hand up as a general volunteer for the dance studio. (Unrelated to S&T.) Today, I ambled in to chat with the studio owner and his 2IC on my lunchbreak. For them, I’ll be general-warmbodied-helpful-person as required, and help wrangling people backstage at events, keep people in the loop in teams, that kind of thing. In return for which, S offered me 50% off courses / my next performance.

Again, hell yes!

These are all things I’d be doing anyway. I love dance, I get so much awesome out of it that I feel like I HAVE to give something (other than money) back. Teaching at the pub Thursday nights is part of it, yes, but I really want to be involved in the interest I just get so, so much out of. Now I am!

This weekend has absolutely been the highlight of my year. Congress was amazing last year too – and this year was better. I’m a better dancer now, I know more people, I’m more confident; ergo I had a better time.

It helps that I managed to get down to 15 kilograms lost just before I flew out. I’m pretty damned happy with that.

This even though I’m sick as a dog. I went to the GP Thursday morning before I flew out, who gave me prednisone and refilled my asthma inhalers, antibiotics, and pseudoephedrine for the combination sinus/asthma/lung/something viral slash infection I had going on. And still gave me clearance to go to Congress! So I’ve been feeling less than flash hot but screw it, I had an amazing time anyway.

Zouk immersion was largely technique, which is exactly what I need as a dancer right now. I have a decent stash of moves; what I need is to be a better follower, a more responsive dancer, to kick my own abilities up another notch. Always striving to be a little better than I am.

Then workshops, parties, more workshops, more parties, dinner, alcohol, random chitchat with people. Our performance on the Friday was… well, personally I felt utterly shit about it, my shoes were sticking to the dance floor, my hairclip caught in my partner’s top, I just didn’t feel good about it at all. But the feedback from other people was good, so maybe it wasn’t as royally shite as I felt. There’s a couple of lovely photos, which my mother will be pleased to have, and there’s even one of me dancing bachata wearing the racktastic red dress on Saturday night. Then on Sunday I screwed up my courage, asked for – and had – a dance with one of the international instructors, followed by possibly the best dance I’ve ever had with my own instructor.

Then on Monday night, sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for shuttles to the airport, generally talking and gossiping and such, I decided to ask if I could play the grand piano. The hotel staff were fine with that, so I wandered over, sat down, and started playing. Comptine d’un autre été : L’Après-midi, from the score to Amelie. It’s my standard “this is an unknown piano” piece – it’s deceptively simple, and gives me time to get a feel for the instrument.

Then I became aware of a stunned silence – absolute breath-holding, you could drop a pin, silence – and looked up from the keys. Amongst the people crashed out on the lobby couches were two of NZ’s best tango dancers – amazing, amazing dancers, and wonderfully lovely people. And they’d started to tango around the piano, to my playing. It was the most magical, spontaneous, amazing moment.



(That’s my dance instructor standing behind me. What you can’t see is the stunned-mullet expression on his face. “You never, ever told us you could do THIS.”)

The weight loss is going pretty well. I’m a smidge over 10kg down – affected somewhat by the two pizzas last week.

I’m going to the dance congress in five weeks. The theme of the party Saturday night is “paint the town red”. Clearly, the only appropriate outfit is a red dress. So I hopped on the internet and found one second hand, that being one of my minor superpowers.

It cost me forty bucks.

It’s the first dress I’ve owned in years from a straight size shop. A shop that doesn’t aim itself at fat chicks, but at anyone who wanders in off the high street. It fits like a charm. It is, admittedly, utterly racktastic, but seeing as I have a g cup, that’s not entirely surprising.

I love it.

I bought new pants in, oh. January? February?

I can now remove one of those pairs without the previous ceremony of undoing them. Upon getting on the scales, the reason why is clear – I’m 10kg down.

I’m kind of pleased with that.

Yesterday had some ups and downs. Inexplicably woke up around 7, which is Too Early For Sunday. Then my laptop – faithful 2008-era macbook – died.

But, husband sourced me a replacement (techy friends are the best), I swapped out the hard drive for it’s original drive and will sell the carcass for parts, the drive is available for data restores onto my new to me machine.

Then the Zouk team from last year had a performance scheduled. We haven’t danced the routine together since Christmas. Unsurprisingly, rehearsal was less ‘rehearsal’ and more ‘oh crap no-one remembers the choreo’. Still, we rocked it, and there are some fabulous photos turning up on Facebook.

Then I went to the regular social Sunday dance. And realised that one of my regular touchpoints for “how’s my mental health” is “how willing am I to ask strange men to dance”. Brains, huh.

I got home around 11:30, exhausted, sweaty, and blissfully happy with my place in the world.

Our house has, as residents, three humans and three cats, plus sundry guests. One of these residents is long haired, and the cats are, well, cats.

Vacuuming goes as follows:

- vacuum a couple square metres of carpet with the Vax.

- pop foot/pole off hose, use end of hose to remove my hair and cat fur that’s jamming up the vacuum foot

- use end of hose to do edges/skirting boards

- vacuum another couple square metres of carpet

- pop foot/pole off hose, marvel at size of current hairknotball acquisition

Lather, rinse repeat.

For bonus points, follow up Vax vacuum as above with a few circuits with the Dyson, and marvel further at the astonishing amounts that the Dyson can extract from the carpet even AFTER you swear that the Vax has thoroughly beaten all the dirt out. Hint: you’re wrong.

This has been the most PHENOMENAL week dance wise. Rehearsals for the performance were great – the choreo is one of my favorite zouk songs! Plus, so far I know all the moves. I mean, I’ll have plenty of work to do refining it after all the work to learn it, but these aren’t new moves.

Thursday, teaching then dancing at the bar, was fun as ever, and I stayed until kicking out o’clock.

Then last night, went to another party, and caught up with a guy I’ve done several workshops with but not danced with much outside that. In our second dance of the night, he LIFTED ME. And it was awesome!! A simple lift, but dude. People don’t do lifts much socially to start with and they certainly don’t get my fat arse off the earth voluntarily, but this dude lifted me, properly, dropped me slowly straight into a deep cambre and oh my god it was AWESOME.

Dancing is like coming home every time I step onto the floor. I love this.