Tag Archives: cussing

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Falling Flat On My Ass…Maybe Just What I Needed?

Heya blog-followers…..

I was editing some posts, categorizing them and adding keword tags and remembered that I had written this post a while ago when things were pretty tough back in March.  Back then I published it for a day then password protected it because the financial information was pretty raw and even though I didn’t mention my former employer by name, I didn’t want the information I’d shared to affect their business in any way.  But I remembered this post today and read it and now I think it is okay to share.  It’s a goodie…And it makes me that much more grateful for my current-much-better situation to reflect upon life for me 9 months ago.  So here it is.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I did upon rediscovery. -Stef

 

You know that saying…

When life gives you lemons,

Stick them in your bra.  At least then your boobs will look bigger.

Seriously, I need a few laughs right now.  Life has given me a few lemons, and I’ve had a bit of a struggle making the damn lemonade, if you know what I mean.

It all started before the trip to Vegas.  You see, in my “real” life, I’m a pharmacist.  I got so burned out on it a few years ago that I actually quit and thought I’d never go back to it.  (That’s when I started tutoring).  But alas, the money was very good.  I finally found a part-time job but it was across town, and a fearful environment.  I knew that I wouldn’t ever make any sort of major contribution to this world in that place so when the opportunity to switch jobs and work for a smaller independent company, I was excited.

So I gave my two-weeks notice and took the job.  It has been way more stressful than any other job I’ve ever had as a pharmacist, mostly because I have to do these stretches of being on call and it is also about 45 minutes from my home.  The pay is the same….theoretically.

I say theoretically because two pay periods ago, my boss couldn’t make payroll.  I knew something was up when the delivery service we use on weekends said we had been locked out of the account.  I asked the CFO point-blank what the deal was, to please be honest with me.  Did I need to be looking for another job?  No, I was assured.  Things were tight but they’d be sure to pay employees over other vendors.

Then payday came…but no check.  Finally the owner sat us down and said that money was on its way, could we wait until Tuesday of next week at the latest?  Sure, we all agreed.  We understood – things happen.  It’s a small company.  Things are tight.

So on Wednesday when I came in, I expected to be paid….but again, I was not.  The money hadn’t come through just yet.  Finally on Friday it did, and I received my pay a week late.

My next paycheck was due the following Friday.  When I did receive it, I deposited it right away and watched it to see if it bounced.  It actually posted, not like with the pending transaction where only a portion of funds are available, but the entire amount got added to my balance.  Great, I thought, sighing in relief.  They are being honest.  Things are better.

But Tuesday night I got an email from my boss.  The check had been returned.

It was a very sleepless night.

I mean, what should I do?  Should I be like, the hell with you people.  I’m not working for free.  To me this was a broken agreement.  I feel like most people would bolt right away.  And this was the second breach of trust, if not the third, because I had asked earlier about what was really going on at the company and if I should be expecting a problem with getting paid.

Apparently my check was the only one that bounced.  They added a few extra bucks for the inconvenience and deposited cash into my account Wednesday.  Of course, this was at 4pm when it had been promised to me at noon.  Yes, I’ve already begun looking for other employment opportunities.

So, I’m at this precipice in my life.  Do I try and find yet another pharmacy job, or do I pursue something different entirely?  I’m not at all sure.  Do I quit now after all the games without something to go to, or do I hold on until something materializes and just accept that I may not get reimbursed for my service?

Part of me would be happy to find a job I could tolerate as long as it pays enough for me to dance.  I feel like I could keep myself sane if I had a double dance lesson every day and maybe I could afford that working as a full-time pharmacist once again.

The other part of me feels like I am not passionate about doing pharmacist work.  It would be settling to find another stressful job in this setting.  I’ve said for a few years that I want to retire myself from being a pharmacist, but to do what, exactly?

So the future is wide open, full of possibilities, excitement mixed with fear, stress, worry, uncertainty.

But through all of it, I dance.

Thank the Lord God for dancing.  Especially with the financial worries, knowing that I can’t count on anything more than what I have right now, and maybe even that will be pulled from my bank account, I feel like I should use what I currently have because who knows what’s going to happen next week, tomorrow, or even in the next moment.  So I dance.

It’s a non-negotiable in my life right now.  It just simply isn’t an option to stop dancing completely.  Even if I had to just take Inna’s class once weekly for the monthly fee of $85, I’d find a way to keep moving.  It’s my lifeblood.  It’s who I am.  I stopped once before.   Never again.  I slowly die when I stop dancing because I’m not living.

So on Tuesday I made an appointment to dance with Ivan in the morning.  He knew from the moment I walked through the door I wasn’t okay.  We didn’t talk specifics but I told him the latest installment of the financial situation, which I’ve mentioned before.

Oh well, I thought, I’m here now.  I should feel better after dancing.

But I could do nothing right.  I hated the way I looked in the mirror – my feet weren’t moving at all, it seemed.

“Shit!”  I exclaimed.  I’d missed a connection.

Then the f-word.  Seriously.  Normally I don’t cuss so much, but it was the only word that expressed how I was feeling.  I’d messed up again.

And then….

BLAM!

Flat on my ass.

Seems I was off-balanced in more ways than one.

Physically, my left ankle twinged and I went down.  I just lay there and shook.  The tears streamed down my face and I blubbered in all ways a person can blubber.

But emotionally I was off-center before I even left my house that morning.

“You okay?” Inquired Ivan.

“Uh, huh.”

“You hurt.”

“Nope.”

But it took me a moment to recover from the adrenaline and for the tears to stop falling.

And then Ivan told me a story.

When he was a little boy, his parents didn’t have any money and couldn’t find a job in Bulgaria.  His parents were forced to feed him only bread and water for his meals.  They had no electricity.  He’d get dizzy on his dance lessons because he was malnourished and he remembers his parents crying about the fact they couldn’t feed him properly.

He told me, “This scary for you because you never having to do it.  But I live through it.  It no scare me anymore.  I know I survive.”

Kind of puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?  That man never ceases to amaze me.  I feel like if anyone deserves to be a champion, he does, after everything he’s been through.

In any case, we danced a little more, but I left the lesson feeling completely defeated.  I went home, and like a total loser, I played a video game all afternoon.  It was one of the less-destructive ways I could have chosen to escape, I suppose, but yet completely unsatisfying.

But then at 7pm I had a decision to make.  Should I show up for Inna’s class, feeling the way I did?  After a fall?  With a sore butt and ankle?

I debated and left it to the very last minute.

But I went.

Still distracted with the events of my life, and my body completely spent, it felt like a special kind of torture to do Samba and Cha Cha for over an hour.  I haven’t been 100% present in the moment lately, I have to admit.  I’ve left things at home I meant to bring with me, and during Inna’s class after crossing the floor doing basic Cha Cha walks, I leaned against the wall and zoned off.  I never do that.  It must be my training from Glenda Folk – always pay attention to the teacher!

It’s kind of ironic because I saw the exact same scenario unfold last week with another student who hadn’t been paying attention and then he got called on to do a demonstration across the floor alone.

Anyways, I kind of heard Inna spout off a combination, then ask Michelle to demonstrate it across the floor….”….and…..Stefanie!”

Oh, I snapped to attention in 2 seconds flat!  “I don’t know the combination!”

“Our usual,” she replied.  “Two Cha Cha walks, two time steps, two (blanks – I can’t remember the name), and two sets of locks.”

I thought quickly and off we went!

As per usual, the class went long, I was covered in sweat, and exhausted.  I’d had to use the strategy of dancing full-out, then dropping my arms, then stopping completely to rest, then joining the group again dancing full-out and repeating even though they never stopped moving.  My body just couldn’t tolerate it.  And my stomach was hurting.

But at the end of class, Inna came right up to me as I was taking off my shoes.

“Stefanie! You the hard worker!”  She told me.

You know, that’s awesome.  I still felt pretty defeated at the end of my day, and physically spent.  But at least I still danced.  And even when I couldn’t go 100%, 100% of the time, I did what I could and it felt good to be acknowledged.

“One day I’ll have enough stamina to make it though the class, Inna.”  I told her.

And I will.

After that, Artem made the entire class take a silly picture.  I wouldn’t have been in it if I didn’t show up, I suppose.

Well, anyways, I went home and went to sleep and dreamt about getting paychecks and awoke the next morning to have an early lesson with Ivan before work, (which who knows if I’ll get paid for, but what the hell else was I going to do with myself and I hoped I’d get what was owed me so I decided to go in) for a change and you’ll never guess what happened.

Well, first off, Ivan swore.  I’ve kind of created a monster.  He like thinks that saying “Shit!” and using the F-word make him more American or something.  He’s practicing, he says.  And I’ve heard more cussing on my last few lessons (though in jest) than I’ve heard all the months I’ve been dancing with Ivan.  Like today, when stepping out of a spiral turn (the bane of my existance) he said, “What the F-ing Hell are you doing?”  We both laughed out loud.  “Ballet,” I replied.  That muscle memory is hard to break!

Anyways, I proceeded to rock my lesson.  Seriously.

Before we took our first step, and he offered me his hand, I inhaled deeply and paused to actually connect with my partner.  Then, out of nowhere on this one part of my Latin Rumba routine, where normally my turns are like wah-wah-wah (wish I could insert sound effects here – we dancers use them a lot) they were like f-f-f-f-f  – by that I mean to imply fast and sharp and more exciting/dramatic – like the blade of a helicopter.  Ivan liked them and me too.  It wasn’t a conscious thought at all – I just did it.  It surprised me, to be honest.

By the end of the routine Ivan was so happy, and I was too.  You know, it can’t be a bad day when your instructor likes your dancing!

It makes me think that falling flat on my ass might have been just what I needed.

Isn’t life weird that way?  There’s a saying I’ve heard that I found to be true:  The biggest breakdowns are followed by the biggest breakthroughs.

Maybe the situation at work will now be followed by a major breakthrough.  I don’t really know.  Hell, I don’t know what’s going happen the next minute.  But what I do know is this; I’m going to dance my way through it, whatever comes my way.

On that tough lesson Tuesday morning, through the tears, I told Ivan, “You know what?  No matter what happens, no one can ever take away from me how I dance.”

At any moment, I can choose to become a diva, a princess, a sweet-fun-loving girl-next-door.

My future may be uncertain.  I may not have money in the bank.  I may face unpleasant surprises.

But no matter what,

no matter what,

I have me.

And I am a dancer.

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Chicky Chicky Chicky Chicky Chicky Ta!

Today my post is going to be a smorgasborg of a variety of events, details, and generally entertaining observations that I’ve stored up over the past few weeks. I just haven’t managed to sit down and write a bunch of posts lately with all that has been going on in my life, so instead of being about one specific event, here’s a compilation.

The other day I set the context that it was going to be a fun day on my lesson. I had the day off work so I had to get my daily fix of dancing in. Little did I know that I would laugh myself silly with Ivan on my lesson that morning. And boy did it feel good!

I showed up in a better mood than our previous lesson because I’ve had some time to process all that is going on in my life, plus I had the opportunity to go to a group dance class with Toni on Wednesday (which was really fun), and also to go out to dinner with Ivonne, my dancing friend, and discuss life.

So anyways, I walked into Allegre studio (the church) and sat down.

“Which shoes should I wear today, Ivan?” I asked.

I opened my shoe bag and found my close-toed Smooth shoes which I haven’t worn in I don’t know how long. They seemed the right choice.

“Ah, Smoot chews. Okay we do smoot.” Ivan replied. At least it wasn’t “smut” we were going to do! Ha!

And so we did. Starting off with a Waltz we completed one song and then Ivan said, “Again.” We went to the music controls to select our song. Ivan found one called, “Morning Journals.”

“What is a Jur-nal?” He asked.

“Like a diary,” I replied.

“Di-ar-i, like the pooping?”

“Oh my God, Ivan! No!” Right, like they are going to name a Waltz, “Morning Bowel Movement!” Sheesh!

“It’s like one letter different! English is so crazy. Just an “a” and it mean something completely different.”

Um, no, Ivan. Diary and Diarrhea are quite different! But I suppose the words sound similar, kind of? He has a point, but leave it to Ivan to go straight to the toilet with his brain.

But the grossness didn’t stop there. I think I was sneezing or coughing or something and maybe Ivan asked me if I had blown my nose or needed to do so. This started a whole other conversation about what else, phlegm.

Apparently, once in Bulgaria Ivan was dancing in a competition and spun right in front of a judge. He was congested and the contents of his nose flew across the gap and landed on the lapel of the judge. He was mortified! He couldn’t finish dancing, he says. And he apologized profusely.

So when Marietta was stuffed up one day before a competition, he advised her to clear her nasal passages. After all, he had experience with this sort of thing. But we women have to get all gussied up for competitions and she didn’t want to mess up her make-up. Can you believe it, but during a spin Ivan saw a boogie fly across the floor. Thankfully this time it didn’t land on a person, but Ivan joked, “Can you imagine? Like a bannana peel on the floor.” I don’t think anyone actually slipped on it, though.

Okay, enough with the gross-osity.

Now we will move on to some of the weird things ballroom dancers say. Sometimes we communicate completely without using actual words. For instance, when moving my hips in a Rumba, Ivan will say, “Ticky Ticky Ta!” in place of the usual “Quick Quick Slow.” There’s a lot of “Pah!” or “Shah!” or “Da da da!” or “Whoosh,” or “Bah!” I mean, sometimes the sound effects convey the feeling the movement should embody better than saying “one, two, three.” But I think Ivan finally topped even himself with the longest one ever. He wanted me to very slowly extend my arm upwards in this move in the Latin Rumba showcase number we were working on. To emphasize this he said, you guessed it, the title of this post, “Chicky Chicky Chicky Chicky Chicky Ta!”

If you haven’t figured it out yet, Ivan has a very big personality. He is extremely charismatic and always has something funny to say. Well, at Marietta’s belated birthday party he was no different. I’m going to share the photo we took and trust me, he was the one to told me to put it up. You see, he had some tequila in this wild bottle shaped like a rifle. “I want to see on Facebook,” he told me. Alright, weirdo. Your wish is my command:

I know, right? He even had on cammo pants which compliment the military theme…but paired with a pink shirt? That’s Ivan for you! Marietta is the one with the fashion sense!

We make a colorful pair, no? Hey, a girl’s got to let her hair down every once in a while! It was a fun (and safe) night. And besides, these blog posts need some pictures and videos spicing them up so your brain doesn’t get befuddled by all the words, words, words.

So finally, we will close this post with a reverent, respectful, elegant look at….cussing.

It’s like Ivan’s favorite thing these days. “What the f’ing hell are you doing?” He’ll ask me if I screw up. It just makes me guffaw. He’s not being mean, he’s practicing “being American.” Hungry for more “Americanisms,” I taught him WTF, WTH, F’ing and other variations. Now he can swear using slang! A valuable skill. Maybe I could trade for a lesson? Probably not. But at least it makes me laugh during my lessons.

Well I guess that’s it for now. I’m bummed because this week I am scheduled to work during Inna’s class on Tuesday, but I’m excited because DWTS begins on Monday and watching that with my mother-in-law has become a tradition. I’ll make sure to schedule some lessons with my favorite Bulgarian and blog about his silly antics and share my musings about the latest season of ABC’s smash pro/am ballroom dancing hit.

Signing off for now – Pah!