Archive for July, 2007

Wrapup: Do a Little Dance, Wear Some Crazy Pants…

A quick summary:

  • The “random-dance-party-breakout-every-hour-on-the-hour” idea was quickly scrapped, for no other reason than it was just damn ridiculous.  Nice try, Camry.
  • The best morning dance songs: “Let Me Stand Next to Your Fire” -My beloved Jimi Hendrix; “I’m So Happy” – Hocus Pick; “Kansas City” – The Beatles version (because OMG, PAUL MCCARTNEY!!!!!); “Everything is Alright” – Motion City Soundtrack; anything with a funkified bassline…ohhhhhhyeah
  • I didn’t learn a new dance everyday, but I did perfect the “Berries & Cream” dance from those creepy Starburst commercials and demonstrated it at work.
  • My crowning achievement:  I dressed up as a giant iced, blended beverage (think frappuccino meets Shake from Aquateen Hunger Force) and danced out on the corner, hopefully triggering thoughts into the passers-by such as, “My goodness, look at that giant, icy, blended beverage.  It looks delicious.  I must satiate my thirst at [my coffee shop] right away!”.  Instead, it probably triggered thoughts like, “Why is that giant milkshake doing the robot on the corner?”    I’m not a milkshake, damnit.  I’m a delicious iced, blended beverage.    Anyway, I wish I had pictures, because it was pretty ballin’
  •   I skipped salsa for a much-needed father-daughter-running-errands/heart-to-heart trip.  we had a good chat.
  • I’ve decided I want to become an interior designer.  And learn to play the melodica.
  • Oh, how could I forget!  I met Owen, the creator of the documentary-in-progress An Alternative to Slitting Your Wrists, who was my inspiration for making my own list.    He is a pretty chill fellow, and watching a sneak preview of the documentary was really interesting.  Of course some of the things on his list are in jest, but he did a lot of soul-searching and introspection throughout his year, and it really shows.  I can’t wait to see the whole thing.   If he doesn’t win some awards for this, I’m going to….write some strongly worded letters.  Yeah.  That’ll show ’em.
  • I tried to make a better version of last week’s dress and I failed miserably.  Master sewer I am not.

I’d love to write more, but I’m going to visit my g-ma in the hospital tomorrow.   I fear that this may be the last time I ever see her.

Nos vemos,
Camry

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Week 4: Dance! Too Much Booty In the Pants

Do a ‘wake up’ dance every morning. Learn new dance moves. Have a random dance breakout party every day. Invite people to join in.

While I do not have too much booty in my pants, I do like to dance. I’ve found that many of life’s minor problems (and some major ones too) can be rectified by merely busting a move every now and then. You don’t need lessons, you just have to feel the music and go with it. Dancing, in my opinion, is just wiggling with style. And, you can do it anywhere, at work, in the shower (with non-slip mats firmly in place, pleaseandthankyou!), in your car, wherever and whenever the spirit moves you. Huzzah!

I love to dance already, so this week isn’t anything out of the ordinary. To make things a bit more challenging (and to make up for last week’s pathetic attempts at boldness) , I’m adding some other tasks to the pot:

  1. Do a little dance every hour, on the hour, for at least 1 minute. Exceptions: sleeping, business functions, social situations where it would be grossly inappropriate to do so.
  2. Invite people to dance with you. Yes, do it. Just do it. Be bold, remember? Tiger? Grrraaaawwwwrrrrr!
  3. Take a class somewhere, preferably in salsa or swing, the two banes of your existence. (I used to take salsa lessons, but I stopped and got really rusty, so now I avoid it. I’ve always hated swing dancing, for some strange reason.) There are all sorts of places around town that offer a free first lesson, so take advantage of them.
  4. Go clubbing and shake what yo’ mama gave ya.

Maybe that last one needs explanation. Not to perpetuate racial stereotypes or anything, but I’m kind of a disgrace to the black community. I can’t dance. I mean, I can dance, as in tap, jazz, ballet, lyrical, salsa, cumbia, tango (and a mean cha-cha slide), but I can’t dance, you know what I mean? I’m just not into all the booty-shaking, hip-rocking, pop-lock-and-drop it business. On the oh-so-rare occasions that I’ve tried, I always felt really awkward and uncomfortable. Oh well. Time to get over it.

This week will be scads of fun. So far, I’ve danced to Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” and now I am sore. Brilliant.

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Week 3: Fin! And Voila!

Things I learned this week:

  1. I’m a workaholic and I need to sit it down before I wind up dead. I got home from work last night and I passed out *on* my laptop, with the screen open and everything.
  2. I’m actually a 65 year old woman. I must be, there’s no other reason why a “21 year old” would prefer sewing and baking cookies to going out and getting sloppy-ass drunk. Also, my vernacular includes the phrases “bless his/her heart”, “gracious me!” “kids these days…” and “cheese and crackers!” (in lieu of ‘Jesus Christ’) and I have an old-lady-purse/black hole of doom. So that’s that. Now get off my lawn.
  3. Chipotle laces their food with crack. But I’m not complaining.
  4. My friends and I are going to open up a 24-hour Chinese food restaurant called “Bubba’s Burgers“. It’ll be the best thing ever, just you wait….
  5. I’m learning how to shrug things off. Being bold and putting myself out there means that sometimes I’ll get rejected. It’s not the end of the world, I’ll get over it. Sometimes, I just have to ball up and take it like a man, even if I’m not a man.

So I didn’t get to do everything I wanted this week. Sad. But, I think I got a lot out of it regardless. I met new and interesting people, I developed and strengthened the relationships I already had, and I learned a lot, simply because I took the initiative to start conversations and ask questions, even if I had to resort to unusual methods (“I’m a Love Pirate, and I’m here for your booty! ARRRGGGHHH!!!”; “Is your daddy a terrorist? Because you’re the bomb!!!!“. I know, I’m sorry….)

And, I’m beginning to realize that, at least for me, this project doesn’t necessarily have to be life-changingly extreme and chock full of action-packed fun. I’ve been getting a little discouraged because my list seems a little dull, which makes me think that I’m a dull person. Hell, maybe I am. Or maybe I’m just a person who finds immense joy in the smaller, simpler things of life. Either way, it’s my body, I’ll do what I want.

Aaaaaand, Pictures!

This is the dress I made Saturday night instead of conquering my karaoke fears. It’s made entirely out of an XL t-shirt (one of the thousands of freebies they give out on campus). The lower skirt is made from the body of the shirt, the bust is made out of the sleeves, and the straps are comprised of the remaining scraps.
My Babygirl!

The total cost for the entire dress was 2 bucks for the thread. I didn’t use a pattern, so it’s far from perfect, but given that it’s my first solo project, it’s pretty ballin’.

Money Shot?

Wheeeee!

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Dayum, That’sa Ugly Ba-baaaaaay

This week has nothing to do with ugly babies or Stephen Lynch, I just like this song far more than I should.

Wednesday, I believe that all I did was sit on my bum and eat HoneyCombs. I don’t quite remember; I was still exhausted from work the night prior. I’m pretty sure that only one sentient thought passed through my brain on this particular day was the following:

Okay, I still have mad love for Columbia, but I think Kansas City’s one redeeming quality is that on any given night, somewhere in the Metro area there is a seedy dive bar that’s hosting a karaoke night.

Which led to:

Let’s do the damn thing.

I don’t think it’s possible for me to explain how much I love karaoke, so I won’t. I’ll just say that once upon a time, I thought that karaoke was the key component to world peace, but this guy has proven me wrong. Bastard.
I love to sing and I’ve performed in all sorts of venues, but standing up in front of a crowd of mostly-drunk strangers is a new challenge.

My plan was to go solo, once again, to a random karaoke mesto, rock out (with choreography? oh hells yes.),  chat it up with some random people, try out some whack pick-up lines, just for kicks and giggles, and then go on my merry way.
Sounds okay, yes? Sure. But I got a little distracted. I’d planned to go Thursday night, but then my friend’s mom offered to help me fix my sewing machine and make a project. I thought it would only take a few hours, but at 10:30, I was still at her house and barely halfway done with a pink-polka dot wrap skirt (It’s super-cute, by the way).

So I rescheduled to Friday, and all was going well until I found myself in the craft section at Walmart, looking at thread. The next thing I know, it’s 10pm and I’m putting the finishing touches on a kickin’ dress. While I was making it, I kept trying to justify myself by saying, “Oh, when it’s done, I’ll wear it to karaoke. It’ll be fine! I’ll be fine!”

In the end, it turned out that I couldn’t have gone tonight anyway, because apparently, weekends are karaoke-free in KC. I’m sure that’s not entirely true and that my source is just limited, but I have to work at 5am tomorrow anyway, so it’s better this way.

Oh well. At least I have a killer dress.  Aaaand, my digital camera just died.  Brilliant.  Pictures tomorrow.

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Success…of sorts

“Be Bold” is a rather general command. How does one act boldly? Am I supposed to go bungee jumping? Should I try to leap tall buildings in a single bound?
So I thought to myself, “What are some things in my life that fear is keeping me from doing?”

The very first thing I thought of, I kid you not, was a Brazilian Wax, only because I was reading The Pitch at the time (KC’s alternative-kitschy-hipster weekly mag) and saw an ad for a $25 special. A stranger with hot wax near my ladybits? I’m not feeling quite that bold yet. Maybe I’ll put that one on the back-burner. (haha, burner? get it? ha! because…you know, with the wax. Okay, I feel that I’ve shared a bit too much). So today, in lieu of testing my pain and modesty tolerances, I decided to stretch my social muscles instead.

A bit of background: When I was in high school, I was diagnosed with depression and social anxiety disorder. I was on and off medication until my freshman year of college when I decided to try to find other ways to cope with my anxiety instead of drugging myself. My condition is considerably better, and my panic attacks are few and far between (once every few months instead of every other day), but I still avoid uncomfortable social situations if I can.

This week, I’ve decided to dive head first into said situations, and I’ve had decent results.
Monday: I’m not the biggest opera fan, but I found out that a small local opera troupe was doing a free performance that night near Westport, so off I went, by myself, determined to…I don’t know. Do something. After the show, my first instinct was to bolt, but there was a reception afterwards with cookies(!) and biscotti(!). “Alright,” I thought. “I will mangle through some small-talk and reward myself with biscotti(!). Sometimes, you have to suffer for love.”
I introduced myself to all of the cast members (except the cute one; more on this later), congratulated them, and asked them to contact me if ever they needed more performers. Am I an opera singer? Not really, but that’s beside the point. I was ready to audition for them right then and there, if they’d asked me.

As I made my rounds chit-chatting with the other opera patrons, I discovered that I really only like talking to two types of people:
a) weird-but-not-too-creepy-old guys
b) gay men

There were women there, of course, and young, attractive men, even, but those demographics just seemed to be lacking something, while with the aforementioned groups, our conversation was like butter.

Anyway, after I left the show, victory biscotti in hand, I explored the Plaza and met an older Indian couple visiting from Canada, a dog named Marvin, and an old man from Greece named Christos, who was rambling on about “Pontius Pilato”. Interesting fellow.

Oh, and I tried a passionfruit tea latte. Gross.

Tuesday: I will not bore you with all the details of Tuesday, as I spent 12 hours out of the day at work, waitressing/food running. I will say this, though: I was supposed to work in the bar that morning, but I decided to be bold and try something new and do food running instead. I’m glad I did because when I did go to the bar to drop off some food, this strange man gave me a really lecherous look and said, “There she is! Well aren’t you just a sexy little thing!”

What? I work at a Tex-Mex restaurant, not Hooters. And it was only 11 in the morning, he couldn’t have been that drunk! Fortunately, I had the option of avoiding the bar until he left, so I did. Instead, I hung out at the kitchen, met some of the cooks, learned some more Spanish, and all that jazz.

What else…oh, yes, I also made friends with Ed, the meat manager at the grocery store down the street from the restaurant and I took a nap there between my shifts. If you’ve never napped in a grocery store, I highly recommend it.

It’s still early, I’m still tired, and I probably shouldn’t be writing such drivel, but I am, and that’s that.

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Week #3 – Don’t Fear the Reaper (of Rejection)

Be bold. Enter contests. Flirt with cute strangers. Audition/apply for things you have no business auditioning/applying for. But please stay away from Club Vogue.

 

Club Vogue, for those not in the know, is a strip club near my school. I’ve yet to grace its seedy halls, but sometimes when money gets tight, I say (purely in jest), that I’m going to apply. Not that they’d hire me anyway; I’m shaped like a 14 year old boy and I act like a 93 year old woman. I might break my hip swinging on that pole, that’s a huge liability right there.

 

ANYWAY! This week is not about stripping, it’s about boldness! Being bold! Releasing the tiger within! Grrrraaaaaawwww!

 

I haven’t a clue what that means. So far, all I’ve done is ask for an extra tortilla with my burrito bol at Chipotle…

I think my problem is that I have this morbid fear of failure. When I was younger, I excelled in everything, except sports, which is probably why I never played. Over time, I’ve had that perfectionist spirit beaten out of me, but part of it still lingers. I’m afraid of being a burden to people, I’m afraid of people disliking me. If I think someone is going to say ‘no’ to me, I won’t even try to ask them for an answer or a favor. If I think I’m going to fail at something, a lot of times I just won’t try. What a plate of suck. This is no way to live.

I’m a pretty chill person, I just let life happen, but I’m also “The Good Girl”, the “Responsible One”, the “Role Model” too. I always wear my seatbelt, I’ve never done drugs, I don’t sleep around, I take my vitamins, I’m respectful to my elders. I don’t make waves unnecessarily. I’ve been this nice, little sweet girl all of my life, and to be honest, sometimes it’s irritating. Sometimes, I just want to be “That Girl”. I want to stir shit up instead of playing it safe.

 

I don’t think that this means I have to go looking for trouble or mischief this week, per se, but let’s just say that if that train comes into my station, I’d better hop on board. We’ll see.

 

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Week #2: Wrap-up

Abysmal.

I’m so used to blogging/writing for an invisible audience, that I’ve forgotten how to write freely.  I did write a few more entries, but I couldn’t bring myself to post them here because they were *so* personal.  I found myself censoring and second-guessing everything I wrote.  It was really frustrating, because I was unable to dig deep and really be honest with myself about the issues in my life.  Plus, with my grandma and work and friends drama, I just wasn’t motivated to sit and write when could be sleeping or eating or doing something somewhat more productive (or less productive, like straightening my hair.  It’s super-cute, for what it’s worth).

Maybe I’ll pick this one up again another week, but for now, I leave it unfinished.   Blarg.

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