It didn't stay in Vegas.

Yesterday was also the 4th anniversary of my 21st birthday... or the excuse to tell the tale of my visit to Thunder from Down Under.

The trip to Vegas was my parent's gift and the tickets to TfDU was my fiance's mother's gift to me (spoiler alert, she's my mother in law now).  She, her mother and daughter, and my mother all went with me.  It was to be a show none of us will forget. 

You don't think the accent is going to affect you, but my goodness it certainly does!  It totally makes up for their stubbly oil covered bodies...

Yeah, when they come dancing down the tables, it's best to leave the touching to your imagination.  My hand smelled like coconut for a month!

Throughout the show, for those who have never been, they were selecting screaming cock thirsty harlots ladies from the crowd to go up on stage for a, uhm, "more personal experience".  Toward the end of the show, the emcee was collecting those who were wearing some sort of festive tiara indicating the event they were there celebrating.  Of course, I had a 21st birthday tiara and matching shot glass necklace on.  Of course I was selected and completely embarrassed in front of my family, but tried to be a good sport about it.

We're standing there, expecting some sort of special dance, when the emcee announces that we're going to play a little game.  "Oh shit" says my brain as he goes on listing what we can win.  First prize gets a TfDU Austrailian Cowboy Hat, a picture with all the guys, and something else that I forget because I'm trying not to be terrified.  Second and third get less awesome prizes, blah blah blah...

"The GAME!?  We're going to find out which of you gorgeous ladies can give us the best fake orgasm."  This is the part in the movie where they get real close up to the speaker's mouth and repeat the last few words in super slow motion. (or The Sandlot, for the fans. FOR-EVVVV-ER)  Best. Fake. ORRRRGASSSM.  Awesome.

Everyone is laughing hysterically, except us.  The emcee proceeds to ask each of us who we're here with for further humiliation.  The first girl is with her best friend.  The second girl is with a group of friends.  Pan to me, contestant three, "My mom and my soon-to-be-mother/sister/nana-in-law."  Uproarious laughter and pity from the emcee washes over me as I stand there and try not to shake visibly.  

LUCKILY!  There was a 2 drink minimum for the show and those Midori Sours that I had in me were doing their job.

We each had something like 10 seconds and we had to "last" the whole time or we were disqualified.  The first girl was so pathetically horrible my courage began to increase.  The second girl wasn't much better and now my courage is a giant snowball halfway down the mountain.  He hands me the mic; the spotlight is in my face so I can't see anyone but him and the other two contestants; I closed my eyes and NAILED IT!  I totally and utterly nailed it.  The crowd is cheering and the emcee is congratulating me.  I don't know where it came from or how I didn't die of mortification on the spot, but I absolutely gave it my all and showed those bitches how it's done... which is soooooo much worse than pussing out like they did.  I got the hat, the picture, the third thing I can't remember that I still have tucked away, AND the shame.  Mom and mother/sister/nana-in-law were proud? and we all had a nice laugh about it.

The shenaniganz don't stop there though, oh no.  We're all having a great time with our two drink buzz and the first thing that happens when we get back to the hotel to meet up with Hubby and MY FATHER! is someone blabs about the contest.  TO MY FATHER!  I don't remember who brought it up.  Probably one of the boys asked about the hat or something and it came out.  

It gets worse... being the comedian that he is, of course my father didn't miss out on the opportunity to joke about Hubby's now-questionable bedroom skills... for the rest of the trip.  Awesomesauce.  

Wait, there's more.  As the title of this post suggests, Nana was so proud of me she felt the need to share with the ENTIRE FAMILY at that year's 4th of July BBQ.  Uncles were coming up to me for details.  Extra awesomesauce on the side.  

Of course it's still one of the most fun times of my life, I totally wouldn't do anything different, and I'm super proud of myself regardless (obviously or I wouldn't be putting it on the internet), but at the time, it was pretty traumatizing to 21-year-old me.

P.S. I tried to dig up the picture for you, but could only find the hat.  Maybe an update in the near future will appear.

The Big Two Five

Eargasm

The Buffalo Inn is a burger joint in the I.E. that hosts music lovin', beard growin', burger eatin', bike ridin', beer drinkin' folks in a woodsy shack/patio area.  Before you pull the Hipster Card, they were doin' it before it was...

WAIT! Put the cards away!  SINCE 1929!  *gasps for air*  See, they're not hipsters.  They just have a lot of hipsters hanging out there now... cuz it's hip now to be... *sigh* never mind. 

ANYWAY, It's a favorite place of mine... even though I don't eat there anymore, I hold it dear in my heart. Their buffalo burger is the best I've tasted to date.  Their beer selection is pretty snazzy.  But Laura, can you get pitchers of raspberry shock top?  Yes, yes you can.  The atmosphere is cozy and fun.  They often have live music... which is often lovely.

Which brings me to my point, ahem.  One particular outing to The Buffalo Inn has a super special place in my heart.  There was a live band playing.  This band was not anything special and I was too young to appreciate their sound nor was I paying any particular attention to them.  Until... Dad gets up and walks over to them, has a few words, and comes back to the table.  As he's explaining how rare it is to see a band performing that has a violinist so he requested Dust in the Wind, they start playing.  My ears were forever changed in that moment, but I only realized it just recently. 

I always think of that day when I hear Dust in the Wind (and/or "YOU'RE MY BOY BLUE!").  It wasn't until a few months ago that I noticed a pattern.  I would say 90% of the time that I reach for the volume control to turn up a tune that makes my heart leap, the song that's playing has a classical string in it somewhere.  Not necessarily just violin (honestly, cello is kinda better than violin in my book), just someone from a quartet is playing, and I eargasm. 

Check it:

Obviously Dust in the Wind gets cranked no matter who grabs the knob, that and Free Bird.
Mexico - Incubus
Don't Want to Miss a Thing - Aerosmith

Iris - GooGooDolls
Something in the Way - Nirvana

Not Crying - Flight of the Conchords (live at the Hollywood Bowl, thanks Nigel! Version not available.)
I Stay Away - Alice in Chains
Cough Syrup - Young the Giant
He's a Pirate - Klaus Badelt (The Pirates of the Caribbean Theme)

November Rain - Guns N' Roses
Wanted Dead or Alive - Bon Jovi
Nyah & Ethan - Heitor Pereira [Wings of a Film Version, I love them all, especially the score version, but that one has the strings I'm talkin'bout... cuz you knew there were different, better versions I was ignoring and were quite offended. (My adoration of acoustic and/or Spanish Guitar is too vast a topic to place within a post about violin.)]

You get the idea.

There is an argument for the fact that I may have some sort of predisposition for violin and that moment in time was so glorified in my mind because of it and not the other way around.  Let me have my fantasy about the moment, will ya?

I'm gonna H8

 

How the fuck are you bitches finding time for this shit?  Seriously?  What are you doing with your lives?  Even with all the tricks in the book for rapid drying, there is NO WAY that doesn't take at least 2 hours, AT LEAST!  I barely have the 10 minutes it takes to get my beloved polish stickers on properly and here you are making museum pieces on your nails... that are attached to your hands... that you need for wiping your ass.  Do you just stay on the toilet throughout, or do you have an ass-istant?  *rim-shot*

Aside from your obvious plethora of free time, your talent with paint on such a small surface makes me feel inadequate.  Even if I had a whole football field as my canvas, I wouldn't be able to get one iota of detail that you have on a finger nail. 

I'm so distraught by this.  It's completely unfair.  I want pretty too!

P.S. I don't even paint/sticker my nails during the daylight months of the year because sunscreen seems to melt it enough to make it smoosh and become linty... which is a red flag that I need to stop ignoring.  I'm working on finding a more natural solution that works for me, but it's a process. 

Vat19

On a more cheery note, Vat19.com is a stellar company with wonderful customer service and human interaction skills.

They mailed me this:

A handwritten postcard from their marketing team member thanking me.  HANDWRITTEN!  That just doesn't happen anymore.  

I bought this snazzy pen from them as a gift for someone.  I was thoroughly impressed with the novelty of the pen.  It doesn't write well enough for everyday use, but it's fascinating and a fun gift idea.  How does it leave marks on the paper without taking away from the pen?  Baffling.

Anyway, these types of novelty gift/nerd toy webstores are a dime a dozen, but Vat19 has set themsleves apart by not only sending a handwritten note, that is personalized with my name on it, but they didn't just chuck it in the box with my item among the flyers for other products, packing pillows, and invoice.  Also, their slogan of "Purveyors of curiously awesome products." makes me smile.

Again, do with that information what you will.  They're not paying me to tell you this.

While we're on the subject.

Last weekend, the 12th, I had an "interview" at the Pilates studio where I've been doing some observation hours.  I didn't solicit this interview... cuz, I need the schedule filler like I need another hole in my head.

The "interview" was to give the two owners of the studio a one hour reformer workout.  The Thursday before I was scheduled to have this interview, I noticed that in the area where the employees put their personal items, there was a brand new cubby with a brand new label on it that said my name... no pressure, right?  They expect to add me to their studio already.  I wasn't really into it before, but now I have a cubby to live up to.

I come out with guns blazin' and they can't stop saying positive things about the workout I gave them.  They ask me about my schedule and I lay it on them.  They leave me with a "We're going to discuss your schedule and get back to you; we'll see you Thursday, right?"  I reply with an excitedly professional "absolutely" and leave them to their discussion.

I have heard nothing from them since about anything that transpired other than "I really enjoyed that workout on Saturday" from one of the owners when I went in to observe on Thursday.  I haven't brought anything up because obviously the answer isn't a resounding FUCK TO THE YES we want you to teach here!  AND, my schedule, again, isn't exactly full of empty space for me to be teaching Pilates just yet, so I don't want to seem too eager to take on clients.

But, WTF?  Just tell me what's up.  "Hey Laura, we love what you have to offer, being so new to the industry and all, but we were really hoping for someone more available to instruct classes and privates.  We're going to pass for now, but if you find some extra free time, maybe after you're done with school and stuff, definitely give us a call.  You're still more than welcome to come observe at the studio, and feel free to ask us any questions you may have.  We're so excited to be a part of the Mt. SAC instructor program and hope more of the students are willing to utilize our facilities."  There, I'll print it out and you can sign it on Thursday so I can put this behind me.

Or maybe I'm too full of myself.  They didn't like it at all and were just being nice.  Then "Hey Laura, thank you again for coming in to work us out the other day.  We understand that you're still in school and would love to see about adding you to the team once you've completed training.  We are excited to be a part of your education and we hope that you feel welcome to do your observation.  If there is anything else we can assist you with while you train, let us know!" will do.  I'll print both and you can choose which one you want to sign.

Give me an answer.  That's fair, right?  Maybe it just comes with the territory of healing and self empowerment and 100% conflict avoidance.

WTF People?

As the typical Monday commentary continued at work, I have re-re-re-lived the weekend for each person, and might as well get it up on here before my version of events is completely distorted into some exaggerated creation.  Not that it already isn't, of course.  My brain is the story teller here; I'm simply the automation with fingers.

You know how stressed I am over this Pilates shit, right?  There is not enough time in the day to get all my hours in while maintaining the rest of the life I've made for myself and still having a moment to keep my sanity in check.  So when the opportunity was presented to do 3 of the 4 mandatory client teaching hours on a Saturday, I threw myself at it without a second thought.

These client teaching hours are to be performed on campus, under the supervision and time constraints of my instructor, using the generosity and time of Mt. SAC students who are currently enrolled on campus, are not my current classmates, and have completed and turned in a form stating they can be on campus performing these duties that has been approved and signed by the Dean... or in a nutshell, a clusterfuck of obstacles to give someone a free reformer session while my teacher watches so that I can pass the class.  This is the only opportunity in the foreseeable future where I would be available while Instructor is available to do this.

I get to campus 40 minutes before the first client is to arrive so I can go over a few things I wasn't 100% on, get my props set up, check the machine for issues, and start to panic a little.

I'm not the only one taking advantage of these hours and expect to run through all three clients while two others are having their sessions and a handful of classmates are getting in their observation time as well.  The stage is set; I am nervous, but prepared.  2:00 rolls around, and my client has not yet arrived.  Totally reasonable, there's construction going on outside our parking lot, so I anticipate a 5 to 10 minute delay.  The other student's client has arrived and all are patiently awaiting the arrival of my client.  2:07 rolls by and Instructor says my client can jump in whenever she gets here.  I wait by the door, peering as far as I can see down the parking lot, like a puppy waiting for Timmy to come home from school.

At 2:15 I give up and go back inside to at least get some of my observation hours too.  I have checked my phone no less than 50 times to see if she called or sent a text or email... nothing.

THE FUCK?!?!!  She KNOWS I'm in this program.  I told her I needed her to be there because this is my only opportunity to get these hours in.  We spoke about her excitement for Pilates and how she might someday join the training program.  WE BONDED!!  what... what happened?  I hope she's not dead, but if I see her, I can't promise she's going to stay not dead.

You send me an email saying "Hey Laura, so sorry, but I had one too many murderous cupcakes last night and I can't get more than 15 feet from a toilet right now.  I'm sending classmate Jan in my stead.  She's not quite as awesome as I am, but she'll do in a pinch.  Yours Flatulently, Jane", or any variation thereof, even excluding the attempt at filling the slot, I totally understand.  There's nothing I can do about it either way, but at least you have the human decency to give me the heads up instead of leaving me with tighter and tighter knots of anxiety in my gut.

THEN!  The next client is 15 minutes late.  I was already prepared for another no-show when she wasn't on time.  This person is in the program herself and super reliable according to Instructor.  I had already had some anxiety tears in the hall as I waited again like a defenseless puppy.  She pulled up and I had 4.3 seconds to pull myself together to greet her as she walked up.

I had to be very mindful of the time and the items from my list that I was going to cut out so I could fit her in without going into the next time slot for client 3.  While my brain is processing that and trying to shove the earlier emotions into a cupboard for later analysis, she's asking me all these really intuitive questions that require expert responses that I am not qualified to give.  I could have bullshit my way through with carefully worded opinions and more reps to take some breath out of her, but I'm being watched by my instructor, who is looking to see if I know what I'm doing... so I have to answer these questions with as much intelligence as I've got.  I'm coming at her with anatomical terminology (remember, she's in the program, so she's in the anatomy class right now) and muthafuckin' deep Pilates concept interpretations.  By the time we get through the footwork, I've got nothing left to give this poor girl.  The stress of the whole thing with her inquisition (totally didn't expect it, natch) on top has torn me to shreds and I'm just floating along trying not to break her in front of witnesses.  The next time I look at my watch, it's 5 after and I haven't stretched her yet.  I quickly take her through some spinal articulation to get her on her way and set up for the next client...

Whooo ends up being 20 minutes late and not dressed for her workout, so I have to smile and be gracious as she runs off to the bathroom to change.  Meanwhile, another student has started working with her client already.

The next layer of icing on this delicious anxiety cake, she's not one to listen to the instructor.  She's off in her own head, going through the motions.  I try to break her focus with repertoire I'm certain she's never seen, but she just assumes she understands what I just told her and keeps pumping her legs.  Fabulous.

5:00 finally happened; all I wanted was a bottle of vodka, a blanket, and Monty Python.  Instead, I get summoned to Long Beach for help consuming food and beverage that was purchased in bulk for a less than bulk crowd.  I love hanging out with these folks, but I was in no condition for human interaction, let alone a solo trip to Long Beach... meaning I would have to stay sober enough for the solo drive home.  Fast forward to 1:00 Sunday morning and I've finally washed my face for bed.

Sunday was the softball game from the seven hells (winter is coming).  They couldn't GIVE us runs.  After they were ahead by 20 and the game was almost over, they seriously tried to give us runs.  We were tied for first in our league and here is a team TRYING to give us runs... So we wouldn't feel so much shame?  So they could actually play some softball?  To make us feel worse?  I don't know what happened yesterday, but it sure as Earth better not happen again!  The rest of Sunday is a blur of not spending time with vodka and Monty Python.  Hopefully the long birthday weekend approaching has better events in store.