(no subject)
I am a bundle of nerves!
In 12 days, I have the belly dance of doom. DOOOOM. I really hate that I got myself into this-- I just went along with a friend to the class thinking it was like aerobics, you know. You look like an idiot but you have fun and get exercise and everyone's happy, right? Then came the announcement that our class, now considered a "TROUPE" apparently, was hired by a local Mardi Gras Krewe to perform at their ball. I wanted out. Bad. But everyone else got out before me and only 7 suckers were left and I felt too guilty to screw them over by quitting. And the whole thing has SO snowballed into large expenditures on costumes and large amounts of pressure to learn what once was 2 dances and is now 4 by heart. And I swear to God, my instructor does not help. This is not her day job, folks. She is a physician. And yet at class Saturday, a lady from the Krewe came by and next thing I hear, we're about to do an unannounced demo for her. And I'm trying to think "no biggie, no biggie, no biggie" and Dr. Cathy Shakeshermoneymaker ushers us out of the room and hisses "This is IT! I want ENERGY! BIG smiles!" like, you know, we were coming off of the last scene of a preparation montage that played to "You're the Best Around/Nothing's gonna ever keep ya down" aka Karate Tournament Song from the Karate Kid and if we screwed up she'd never get the prize money she needed to buy her semi/make it back to her kid/save the dojo. I almost puked into my unitard. To cap it, I've been trying, unsuccessfully, for a month to get a perfectly matched coin scarf and veil using internet pictures and I officially give up. Turquoise is actually lapis, Aqua is royal, I QUIT. random: Bonus proto-Karate Kid clip
Also. France. This morning I had to get up and call them. You know, France. And I have my little French-speaking with French-people anxieties which is the point of going... but I figure, hey, Alliance Francaise is there to teach French to non-francophones. It'll be okay. So it takes me a good while to figure out how to dial the damn number: future ref-- skip the 0 in the 01 Paris city code portion of the number... but alas, I eventually do. And the person answers with a nice spiel in French after a deceptive multi-lingual hold message. So I understand fine, but I want to be kind to myself. "Bonjour! Vous parlez anglais?" Response: "Un.... petit peu." (that's "just a little, folks") So I have to be coherent in French over the phone at 6 am. And I do okay. Fine, actually. Whatever mistakes I made I didn't notice. But the end result of the conversation is that she can't tell me if my chosen lodging is booked for May. I have to just fill out the application and pay the deposits and hope for the best. So, like, that's what's up next. And it's scaaaaaaaaarrrrry! P.S. How would a total French beginner actually manage to make it to that place? I also desperately want to speak to their webmistress and clue them in on some whoopsies in their English on the site --and yet the very existence of those whoopsies comforts me.
And finally. The PCOS thing is stalled-- because my next tests have to be done when you would hopefully be kicking out an egg. But I can't quite get to that point because my lady bits are apparently very fond of the renovations they've made over the last THIRTY FIVE AND COUNTING days and do not want to start the redecorating process. I had so better not be pregnant now that France is on the horizon.
ETA: Peed on stick. Not pregnant. Just.... increasingly mysterious.
In 12 days, I have the belly dance of doom. DOOOOM. I really hate that I got myself into this-- I just went along with a friend to the class thinking it was like aerobics, you know. You look like an idiot but you have fun and get exercise and everyone's happy, right? Then came the announcement that our class, now considered a "TROUPE" apparently, was hired by a local Mardi Gras Krewe to perform at their ball. I wanted out. Bad. But everyone else got out before me and only 7 suckers were left and I felt too guilty to screw them over by quitting. And the whole thing has SO snowballed into large expenditures on costumes and large amounts of pressure to learn what once was 2 dances and is now 4 by heart. And I swear to God, my instructor does not help. This is not her day job, folks. She is a physician. And yet at class Saturday, a lady from the Krewe came by and next thing I hear, we're about to do an unannounced demo for her. And I'm trying to think "no biggie, no biggie, no biggie" and Dr. Cathy Shakeshermoneymaker ushers us out of the room and hisses "This is IT! I want ENERGY! BIG smiles!" like, you know, we were coming off of the last scene of a preparation montage that played to "You're the Best Around/Nothing's gonna ever keep ya down" aka Karate Tournament Song from the Karate Kid and if we screwed up she'd never get the prize money she needed to buy her semi/make it back to her kid/save the dojo. I almost puked into my unitard. To cap it, I've been trying, unsuccessfully, for a month to get a perfectly matched coin scarf and veil using internet pictures and I officially give up. Turquoise is actually lapis, Aqua is royal, I QUIT. random: Bonus proto-Karate Kid clip
Also. France. This morning I had to get up and call them. You know, France. And I have my little French-speaking with French-people anxieties which is the point of going... but I figure, hey, Alliance Francaise is there to teach French to non-francophones. It'll be okay. So it takes me a good while to figure out how to dial the damn number: future ref-- skip the 0 in the 01 Paris city code portion of the number... but alas, I eventually do. And the person answers with a nice spiel in French after a deceptive multi-lingual hold message. So I understand fine, but I want to be kind to myself. "Bonjour! Vous parlez anglais?" Response: "Un.... petit peu." (that's "just a little, folks") So I have to be coherent in French over the phone at 6 am. And I do okay. Fine, actually. Whatever mistakes I made I didn't notice. But the end result of the conversation is that she can't tell me if my chosen lodging is booked for May. I have to just fill out the application and pay the deposits and hope for the best. So, like, that's what's up next. And it's scaaaaaaaaarrrrry! P.S. How would a total French beginner actually manage to make it to that place? I also desperately want to speak to their webmistress and clue them in on some whoopsies in their English on the site --and yet the very existence of those whoopsies comforts me.
And finally. The PCOS thing is stalled-- because my next tests have to be done when you would hopefully be kicking out an egg. But I can't quite get to that point because my lady bits are apparently very fond of the renovations they've made over the last THIRTY FIVE AND COUNTING days and do not want to start the redecorating process. I had so better not be pregnant now that France is on the horizon.
ETA: Peed on stick. Not pregnant. Just.... increasingly mysterious.