Finish This: Week Forty-One

Hey gang! Joining the link-up party with Nicole at Three 31, Jen at The Arizona Russums, Lisa at Coastlined, and Becky at The Java Mama.

I feel like a badass when my boss {the one who is not one of my parents} is impressed by my work; the dance instructor asks if I've danced the Viennese Waltz before {I haven't}; my fingernails are painted; I remember to change the calendar within the first three days of the month.

One thing that always cheers me up:

The quotes I live by:

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Thanks for joining - catch ya on the flip side!

31 Days of Writing: Day Nine "A First"

Describe a "first" {first apartment, first kiss, first time driving a car, first lie, first big success, first roller coaster ride, first time in this setting}. Include as many details as possible, being sure to include an aspect relating to each of the five senses.

The class had been practicing for weeks, months even, and now it was showtime. We, the class of three-year-olds, were dropped backstage by our parents and ushered into a large room crowded with other classes. The smell of hairspray was thick in the air, and everyone's stomachs were tight with nerves.

My class was allowed to sit in front of a small television; some movie was playing, but it was hard to hear above the dull roar of hundreds of dancers nervously talking and laughing together. Every few minutes a stage mom would "SHHHHH!" us, but the volume always came back up again.

One by one, my classmates and I were pulled away from whatever movie we were attempting to watch and our hair and make-up was done. Every single hair on my head was pulled tightly back into a bun, and the hairspray was applied so liberally I'm sure a tornado would not displace a single strand.

Make-up was fun, except for the stage mom's coffee breath. A little too up close and personal, you know? But that was soon over, and I hardly recognized myself in the mirror. Some final touches of lipstick were applied, and then I was changed into my tutu. Gummy bears are bright colors, obviously, and so was my tutu: orange, red, and green layers covered my little bum, sticking out appropriately since Mom and I had carefully followed the directions to hang the tutu upside down.

Someone made sure my slippers were on tight {hairspray to secure the elastic-cold on my feet!} and I was directed to rejoin my class. And then, without warning, my whole class was being whisked away, off to the chaotic and confusing labyrinth of the backstage. Curtains hung from two stories up; principal dancers rushed from the stage to the wings and back onto the stage. My class was flanked by two "big girls" who were ready to guide us in our steps. We waited anxiously in the wings, preparing for our cue when suddenly my bladder caught my attention. Uh oh.

I tried to get the attention of the big girl in front of me. My arm reached, but I was too far back. I took a step closer, extending my arm once more.

"Get back in line!" hissed the big girl behind me.

I obeyed, but kept up my pursuit of the nice big girl in front of me. If I stood on my tip-toes, I could almost reach her....

The big girl behind me tapped my shoulder and shook her head at me. I gave up, defeated. And then I did what any reasonable three-year-old would do: I started to cry.

And cue the Gummy Bears.

I followed the girls in front of me onto the stage. I stood in the line and tried to follow the big girls' lead through my tears. Suddenly the face of my beloved teacher was next to me.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Miss Shannon, my hero, asked kindly.

"I...have...have...to go to the bathroom!" I choked.

"Well, come with me! We'll get you to the bathroom." And she mercifully led me off stage, cheering me with the fact that I would get to use the restroom for the principal dancers, thereby qualifying it as a "special bathroom." So I stopped crying.

My parents picked me up after the performance, worried that I was not alright. But by then, I was. My need had been met, I got rescued by my favorite teacher, and I got to use the special bathroom. What more did you need for your first ballet performance?


**linking up with Victoria. Join us!**

Funny Friday: March Madness Edition

This is one of those deep dark confessions times that will end in laughter. If we were in person and I was telling this story, you might start out believing that this is a serious, deeply personal story, and then when I got to the end, you would look at me incredulously and burst out laughing.
I'm giving you this warning up front because body language and tones are absent from blog posts, as evidenced from the fact that this is a blog.

Can you tell it's Friday? This is how Bek's Brain operates at the end of a long week.

moving on to the actual story.

Introduction:
Once upon a time I was in high school. This was sophomore year, my first year in high school with actual other classmates {yay homeschooling!}, and really my first sustained interaction with...boys. Yep. Family of girls + homeschooling + only one guy my age on the island we had just moved from = steep learning curve in 10th grade! Oh, did I mention that my class had eight guys!?!?!? Yeah. Steep learning curve.

Background:
My church's classical academy is pretty awesome. Intense and awesome. We have one dance every year...it's a ball, literally and figuratively, and we invite our parents and teachers and the mayor of our city, and we all have a dinner and honor people and dance the night away...until about 9:30pm. Truth. {Usually we all go to Red Robin afterwards, because what's the point of dressing up if you can't strut your stuff, right!?}
So this dance is called our Ambassadors' Ball, because we are all ambassadors of Christ and we like to dance {I'm sure there's a deeper, more spiritual meaning for the name, but like I said, I joined in 10th grade and never found out}. The Ambassadors' Ball happens in May, because then it's finally starting to warm up enough to wear ballgowns.

Scene:
Math class, one of the best parts of the day. Also truth. I loved {and still love} math, and I loved {and still love} our math teacher, Mrs. C. She is one of the most patient and fair teachers ever, and she makes The Best Rolls In The History Of Rolls. Also truth.
I think that we were enjoying said rolls when I hear some male classmates talking about "the dance" and how exciting it all was and how they were looking forward to "who made it" and things like that. I was slightly confused, but said nothing {Insert Mark Twain quote here: "It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and confirm it."}.

So there I am, minding my own business, enjoying my roll, and my bestie comes and sits next to me and asks "So are you excited for the big dance?"

And I think to myself isn't it a bit early to be thinking about the Ambassadors' Ball in March!? And so I say as much, and Lola looks at me incredulously and says "Not our dance. College basketball!"

And honest-to-God this is what passes through my head: Aww, the basketball players have a dance! That's sweet...and weird, but ok. They have a dance for everyone in their league. That would be fun...but I'm still confused.

So I say to Lola: "The basketball players have a dance?"

And she bursts out laughing.

And I kinda laugh too, but am still bewildered.

Lola enlightens me: "They call the big tournament 'the dance.'"

Oooooooohhhhhhhh. Right. That makes perfect sense. Not.

And that is the story of how I learned about basketball, their dance, and yet another reason of why I don't follow sports.