Hey errybody. I’m guest posting over at Ruffles and Truffles today for Katie while she is recuperating from her vacation. I did a fun outfit post, so if you miss my outfits from 30 for 30 or you’re like me and you just like seeing outfit posts, go check it out here.
I did go to my dance class. This is the story of the class that was supposed to be contemporary dance. When I think of contemporary dance, I think of something like this. This story involves nothing like that. It goes like this, instead:
So I get to class early and there is one other girl waiting outside. We make small talk in Spanish and I ask her if there are many people in the class. She says no. She is right. I am 1 of 4. We walk in to a room that smells like feet and start stretching. I have lost so much flexibility. This is made obvious when Marko our instructor starts leading us in stretches, which is actually all advanced yoga poses that Jillian Michaels never taught me so I am screwed. So he leads us in stretching and walks around to correct our form. I am mostly trying not to slip and fall on my face because of my sweaty hands and feet, so when he comes to try to make me more straight, or more arched, or fix my whatever, I try to have perfect form so he won’t make me move and fall down. He keeps telling me to breathe into the stretch, which is sound instruction: In with the foot smell, out with the flexibility or something. Then he makes us do planks, which is fine. Next are various crunches. I can do crunches like a boss. Not sure why. Even if I go long stretches without working out, I bet I could out-crunch you. I don’t care who you are. Then he’s like “okay, now for handstands and walking on our hands.” and I’m like…excuse me? Do I look like a gymnast to you? I know you just saw me stretching so clearly I do not look like a gymnast to you. But I didn’t say that. I just kind of looked around. So Marko took me over to the wall and had me do handstands by kicking my feet up onto the wall. And because I have no upper body strength or control, every time I’d come down, I’d bonk my head on the wall. Yep. I think he felt bad so he didn’t make us walk on our hands. Instead we did slow kickups. I don’t know what else to call them.
I was beginning to think that we were never going to start dancing. I continued thinking this when he had us get on the floor to “act like starfishes.” At this point, I was just going with whatever and accepting that I was not loving this but I was doing it anyway, so I got on the floor. We rolled all around, like starfishes…don’t…do. And then he started adding other moves and before I knew it we were dancing choreography. But it was all floor work, and so while I could physically do the choreography, it was HARD on my body. Like hard. Like bruises on my knees, elbows, shoulders, hips, and spine floor burns on my feet, wrists, back, and hands. I was gonna take pictures but I decided that was gross.
We did this starfish dance over and over until I was thoroughly bruised and it was time for more yoga poses that I could not do to end the class. The last one involved us being on our knees and when he came around to make my back flatter he was simultaneously pushing my poor painfully bruised knees into the ground. But I promised myself ahead of time that regardless of how bad I was at the class or what happened that I would not cry. Not even from pain. Then class was over, and I got up, and walked out, and got into the car. Oscar looked at me and said, “hmm. you look like you got beat up” (earlier he told me I looked like a beautiful dancer, so there was an obvious change). He asked if I’d be going back. I said, “Not to that particular class, I don’t think. But I might try a different one.” And I might. That was easily the hardest class I’ve ever taken. But I’m glad I did it. Thanks for everyone who was supportive, it means so much to me.
I did it. Delivered as promised and only a week late. Where’s my award?
Day 21: Faceless Self-Portrait
I contort into strange positions for reading, studying, skyping.
Day 22: Hands
Day 23: Sunflarefail
Day 24: Animal
Towel elephant is an animal.
Day 25: Something Pink
Beautiful Ginger flowers
Day 26: Closeup
My pen and place where I write everything ever down.
Day 27: From a Distance
Arenal Volcano
Day 28: Flowers
Oh hey, more Ginger.
Day 29: Black and White
The print on my favorite bag.
Day 30: Self Portrait
When I moved in to my apartment here, the chick at the leasing office happened to be from Austin too, so she was super friendly and telling me where everything is around here. She mentioned there was a dance studio within walking distance of my apartment and my ears perked up but I was just kinda like, “oh, cool…” See, I’d kind of hoped there would be a dance studio nearby, but…
BACKSTORY
I was a dancer for a long time. From a tiny little girl up through high school, I danced. I did ballet, tap, jazz, poms, some hip hop, etc.
I'm on the right. Worst. costumes. evar.
I tried out for the dance team in high school (note…this is NOTHING like Drill Team. It was serious, and the girls who were on the team were good, but Drill Team is like…totally different. Much more intense. I know because I lived with a Lt. Colonel for 2 years and she told me everything so I’m an accredited expert on Drill Team, okay?) and I didn’t make it. This planted the first seed of doubt in my little dancing heart. I kept dancing at studios, but I went and joined Student Council and rose up to leadership in that and that was really good for me in a lot of ways. But every time I’d see the dance team perform, I’d feel a little flutter of sadness. I stopped dancing in college. I’ve been trying to will myself for the last few years to pick it back up, but either lack of time, or when I really think about it, fear, has kept me from it.
END BACKSTORY
…I didn’t want to act like it was a big deal. I decided though that no one would know me, and I’d already be the weird white girl, so I might as well capitalize on how much I’d blend in/stick out and just go. I texted Oscar and asked if he’d take me, so I couldn’t back out. He picked me up, and for some reason, I actually told him I felt nervous. He told me I’d do great and that he’d pick me up in an hour.
I walked up to the door, glad I had gotten there 15 minutes early for my ballet class that I had looked up on the schedule on their website earlier, so I could explain to the teacher that I was new, etc. When I opened it, I found a class already fully in session, but it was not ballet. I think it might have been Arabian something. But everyone stopped and stared at me, and the teacher asked, in Spanish, “Are you lost?” 8 years worth of fear slapped me and my Spanish skills in the face and I stammered in my second language that I was new. that I was here for ballet. that the schedule online said- and she said, “Go talk to her” and pointed to a woman in an adjacent room behind a desk. So I walked past the staring girls and explained to the woman why I was there. She handed me a piece of paper with the “revised schedule” because the one on their website was entirely wrong. They didn’t even teach the classes I wanted to take anymore, and anything I was remotely interested in were while I was working, even if I could ever get over this new hurdle of “Oh-hi-I’m-new-and-interrupting-and-a-stupid-gringa” fear and come back. So. I texted Oscar and just said “wrong class. come back?”
I waited for him outside the studio and thought about what this meant. It may not seem like a big deal, but this had shaken my already wavering confidence. I resolved that I would not dance in Costa Rica. A few days later, a dear friend of mine kind of shook some sense into me, asking me, “How is your life in Costa Rica any different than your life here? You need to do something different. Anything different.” So I decided I would try to find somewhere else to dance, because I know how inspired I feel while I’m doing it and it would be different for me. I know that I will probably never be an amazing dancer, and I’m okay with that. I just need to do it because I want to do it. I found a place. I think I’m going to my first class tonight. I don’t want to talk about it too much yet and jinx it, but I’ll let you know how it goes. Maybe.
Slack Slacky McSlackerson. Just call me that. I promise the end of my October Photography challenge is coming to a blogpost near you soon. In the meantime, I have other photos to share with you. They’re Halloween photos from my childhood and I decided to post them the 2 days after Halloween because I wanted all the other Halloween stuff out of your Readers so I’d be the only one and could be like SURPRISE! HALLOWEEN STUFF AGAIN! STOP CHRISTMAS SHOPPING ALREADY! Not really. I just forgot I had them, but now I will share them with you, in spite of my total non-Halloween here in CR. No costumes. No candy. No fun.
Me, at age ten, at a Girlscout fall outing. So proud that this is, to my knowledge, the only photo of someone holding my hair back for any reason. Also, I’ve been puke free since like 2nd grade and I am a classy girl, so a picture like that of me wouldn’t exist anyway, but I wanted to brag about my lack of vomit so I added this sentence.
A year later, my friends were like, we’re all gonna be army girls! (I have no idea who the grim reaper is, btw. Or the girl next to him for that matter, actually). And I was like…yeah, no, I’m gonna be a diva and be Cleopatra. I’m pretty sure I made them carry me at some point, because I was royalty and they were army people, so clearly…our historical accuracy was great. And I sound like a brat, but I totally wasn’t. At least not in that way. More in the way that I would walk up behind my brother while he was playing video games and slap him in the back of the head and then run for my life.
Two years later I decided to be something “scary” and just wear all black everything. I wore the same thing the year before, and the same thing the year after. My costume kept getting progressively shorter and I got taller. Oooh girl.
Those are all the childhood photos I have digitally of Halloween. Maybe I’ll illustrate more blog posts with photos of me as a small child. You’d like that I bet.
One more thing. This year, since I couldn’t be there, my BFF J dressed up like me for Halloween (people already confuse us for each other, so it wasn’t too hard).
I think she did a pretty good job. So anyway. October Photography Challenge photos coming, and yet another traumatic something that happened to me story coming as well.
Note: I promise this isn’t a play by play of the game, or how awesome we are, or just a bunch of baseball stuff or Cardinals-centered stuff that you won’t care about if you don’t care about the sport or the team. It’s about my heart, y’all.
Baseball. Baseball is more than just a game or a sport to me. Some find it boring because they claim there isn’t enough action or movement, but to me, it’s more than just what’s happening on the field, so that doesn’t matter (although if you saw game 6 of this series, you can’t tell me it wasn’t exciting. It was one of the most suspenseful things I’ve ever watched).
Growing up in a city where, in my opinion and I think others would agree, there are the BEST fans, has taught me a lot. Sure there are bandwagon fans in St. Louis, just like there are anywhere for any team, but I would say that the majority of Cardinals fans are genuine, loyal, super excitable, and demonstrate good sportsmanship. They don’t leave before the game is over regardless of the score. They don’t boo the other team just for showing up. They aren’t nasty to other fans, though they will poke fun at the Cubs and their fans, but that’s part of tradition and a great baseball rivalry. They don’t just come to pass an evening ingesting beer and nachos. They come because they love and know the game and the team, or if they don’t, they’re with someone who does. I was one of the latter as a child, basically because I had a short attention span and a love for cotton candy. But I was there with people who REALLY cared: My dad, my brother, cousins, uncles. And as I grew up, I became one of the fans I had sat in the stadium with for years.
So now, as I sit in my apartment in a country where I watched the series on ESPNvivo and they only interviewed Yadier Molina and Nelson Cruz in their native language, I still feel close to home. I feel close to my dad who hasn’t seen a game since he died in 1995. I feel super close to my brother who is the biggest and most knowledgeable sports fanatic I have ever met. I feel connected to fellow blogging/wedding/social media friends who cheered with me for our hometown team. I even feel close to one of my friends who is lamentably an Astros fan, but is happy that Lance Berkman gets a World Series ring, and who congratulated me, even if he didn’t congratulate my team.
opening day this season
Even as a Texas transplant, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind who I’d be cheering for in the series, because the connection I have to this team is more than just about who’s good at playing the game or where I’m at at the time. The Cardinals are not consistently great. But when they are on, they are REALLY on and it’s part of what I love so much about this team. The other part is what being a fan of this team has taught me about loyalty, respect, enthusiasm, and how it adds another element to the relationships I have with people who love and know the game too.
I’ve been quiet this week because:
A. The consistent rain for two weeks has squashed my creativity and made me just want to curl up and do nothing
B. I’ve been watching a lot of baseball
C. Not many exciting things happen to me or maybe I’m not excited enough about anything to tell you about it
D. All of the above
If you guessed D, you get a gold star and a sexy man lollipop. Now for photography challenge photos:
Day 14: Eyes
Day 15: Silhouette
Rainy nastiness + sweats+ jazz hands. yep.
Day 16: Long Exposure
yeah…this didn’t happen.
Day 17: Technology
Kindle cord, camera cord, iPod cord, sim card card, and of course, bobby pins…
Day 18: Your Shoes
These are my kickass rainboots. They can be found here. And personally…don’t get mad at me for saying this, but I think they are cuter and hold up better than Hunter rain boots.
Day 19: Something Orange
My Fossil Key-Per wristlet. I talked a little about this love of mine here.
I hope y’all have a good weekend and that it rains if you need rain and that it would stop if you wish it would stop.
Photography Challenge Recap:
Day 8: A Bad Habit
Forgetting to take my vitamins…
Day 9: Someone You Love
Guys this is sad. There isn’t anyone I love in this country. I could’ve photographed me skyping with someone, but I never remembered. So in the spirit of figuring out who I am and pretend narcissism, here is a person I love…or am trying to love.
Day 10: Childhood Memory
When my grandma would come to babysit she’d always bring Frosted Flakes. It was a nice alternative to the Cheerios and granola that my mom made us eat (because she was a great mom who fed her kids right). I actually bought this because I found if I bought any imported cereal, it was often stale right from the get go.
Day 11: Something Blue
I won this iPod at my high school graduation after-party. Still works great. 
Day 12: A Sunset
Guess what? It’s been raining for 6 days. So no sunset. Instead, check out the mountain behind my apartment being entirely obscured with a cloud that later came and surrounded my building. It was eerie. And wet.
compare to here.
Day 13: Me with 13 things
I should really stop baking when I have no one to share with. Here’s me watching baseball with 13 cupcakes. There were more when I baked them. I’m not telling how many.
Alright, fools. I finally give you: my Costa Rican abode.
Here is what you see right when you walk in:
To the right is my bedroom, there is my living dining area on the left. My table and couch are pretty close to each other, but that’s okay.
If you turned left 90 degrees, you’d see this:
That is syrup on my table. I had waffles for breakfast. You can also see my super long Cat 5 cable that I use instead of having a wireless router. I’m cool. And oh hey, there’s my air conditioner up there on the wall.
If you turn left 90 degrees again, you see this:
Entrance to bedroom on the left, Kitchen, with laundry room to the right, and front door, with reminder to turn off my AC. Oh, and a lid to a tupperware container that i put my shoes on when they’re wet, which is often.
Close-up of kitchen:
Then if you turned 90 degrees again, you’d be looking into my bedroom. It’s separated by sliding doors.
The basics. Bed with fuchsia sheets for living alone girlyness, nightstand with water, journal, bible, kindle, the bookshelf upon which I keep some important documents, an old magazine, and my Button Bouquet that I WILL make before I leave here. Then my coat rack with scarves and bags in the corner and my internet connection/cables that have no home.
If you look to the right you see my closet and the entrance to the bathroom:
I really like my closet. This organizing side is good, my hanging clothes are on the other side. I brought everything I have here with me in those suitcases up there. And that little one on the right was inside one of them. Not bad, I’d say. This kinda shows how tall my ceilings are…They’re vaulted and i think the highest is 13 or 14 feet. It’s nice.
Onto the bathroom:
I keep my make up on the counter, because storage is limited. My friend B has a whole drawer where her make up is spread out all beautifully and organized in it. Jealous. Also, I barely brought any make up; Just 5 bottles of sunscreen, since I’m basically on the equator.
Shower:
My shower is interesting. I don’t know how well you can tell, but it has an overhead shower head, a handheld one, and then on that gray thing there are spouts that spray straight horizontal. They are pretty crazy, and I use them for cleaning the shower. I don’t know what else they’d be used for because I personally don’t like being shot point blank with water. Also, the other morning there were some men outside my window power-washing the building. I did not shower that morning*. Or pee.
Then we come to what might be my favorite part, the view.
When you go on my balcony and look left, you see:
straight out:
The picture of clouds I posted yesterday shows what you see when you look to the right.
So, friends, (sorry I called you fools earlier. I was in a mood.) that’s where I live. Not even close to being a hut or somewhere dirty or scary, huh mom?
*I usually shower at night so this isn’t as gross as it sounds.
