The Big Lewandowski

I've danced more in this past week than...I can't even remember. My feet ache from being a constant three inches taller. My legs are being retrained to rotate more when I stand on them. I'm discovering my core and that it's lower than I think. My center is actually my spine, and it is used as a handy little axis on which I spin. I'm placing my weight better. I'm using my arms more naturally. At the same time, all this body fixing sends me through an awkward dance phase, where my body is challenged to move up in the next level of mature movement.

It's Adult Ballroom Dance Camp, which is where professionals come to BYU, and you just take technique classes all day. They have different levels, and most of us on the team take the most advanced since they don't get too hard. Sometimes I go to a lower level because it has a better teacher or a better dance being taught. There are a lot of social dances that are taught, which aren't my forte or my favorite. Give me technique and structure!

There is this one teacher, Izabela Lewandowski, who is amazing. I love her lines; I love her body; I love her energy; I love her interpretation; I love her technique; I love her artistry; I love her style. She just moves with such ease and speed. Her classes are always really gritty as far as technique goes. We do pretty basic moves even in an advanced class, but we tear each step to shreds in order to define the whole body action of the step. It really just blows my mind.

All this dancing makes me frantic that I only have a year left to get as good as I can possibly be.

And then what?

Mark My Words (katie)

Depending on how well you know me, you might know that I've never been "in a relationship." (whatever that phrase even means because technically I have a lot of "relationships" with people and who kidnapped the word into only letting it signify certain kinds...okay getting didactic and off-topic.) Anyway, I always tell Katie things I wouldn't do when I actually get one (as if it were the next iphone or something...ha). She told me to write it down, so that she can prove me wrong, but she doesn't know that I'M NEVER WRONG.

Things I will never do when in a relationship:
--Use a baby voice
--Use ridiculous pet names
--Time suck the living room (This is when you hang out and cuddle/have tender moments in the public area of your apartment so that everyone else feels awkward coming in and are forced to stay in their rooms.)
--Abandon all my other friends
--Become dependent

That's all for now.

I'm kind of in a cynical mood right now.

Wendover!

To start in the middle of a story, I was in the parking lot of a casino as my gambling friend Matt tried to take a picture of me. I dodged the situation because I was too embarrassed to post it all over facebook, which typically happens with these kinds of trips. A couple days later Matt told me I needed to come out of the gambling closet. So since there is no photo evidence of me, this is my cyber-coming out. I went to Wendover, as trashy as it sounds, played some Blackjack, as sinful as it sounds, and had a damn good time, as unlike me as that sounds.

So I turned 21 in May, but I never got to do anything to celebrate my 21-ness. About a month ago, my two friends Matt and Matt were talking about Wendover, and I expressed desire to go, which apparently is a surprising thing to find in the Provo bubble.

We let the idea simmer, and then one Friday night I found myself driving to Wendover. I don't even know how it really happened.

Net Ionic Equation of the trip (gah, too much chemistry on the brain): I had a lot of fun, but was probably a little too intense about my excitement being a first-timer that was wired on caffeine, sleep-deprived, loopy, and all. Poor Matt to have to deal with that.

The Good: I did something new, and I got to know someone a little better in the process.
The Bad: Okay, maybe I lost some money, but it was nothing that I wasn't planning on losing anyway.
The Ugly: The dealer was a jerk and half. It was my first time! Give me a break for touching the cards with both hands. And don't call me "honey." It's creepy and condescending. I have a problem with arbitrary rules for which I don't understand the basis.

I also learned that people at casinos take themselves way too seriously. Lighten up people!

Because of my bad blackjack experience with the dealer, I came home obsessed with the game. I kind of seriously want to learn how to count cards and basically be a blackjack ninja. I've already started... It's actually quite intense.

Improvement

I had a couple of potentially awkward situations today. I must say, I am getting quite well at handling them.

I'm almost getting to the point where I believe in the phrase, "It's only awkward if you make it awkward."

Almost.

Pool PDA

So I live in an apartment complex that has a pool in the middle of it. My room specifically looks out right over the pool, so I see...a lot.

Pool PDA. This is such a weird thing to address. There is something about it that makes me really uncomfortable. Generally I'm okay with PDA (when it isn't over-the-top) because it's really none of my business, and it's nice to know that there is still love--or maybe just attraction--in the world. But there is something about pool PDA that is overtly sexual. Maybe it's the lack of clothing or the motion of the water...I'm not really sure. It just makes me a little squirmy because I feel like I'm interrupting something really personal that I shouldn't be. But I can't help walking out on my balcony and witnessing a wet, weightless embrace.

I really don't know how to feel about it.

Drifter mode

On a side note, I changed my blog so that only google account users can comment. Hopefully this will eliminate the Asian spam... So in case any readers wanted to come out of the woodwork and comment, that's what you'll need.

Anyway, I've been thinking about dating recently and this little thing called the "fade out" or as some friends called it, drifter mode.

Definition: Drifter mode is when you realize you made a mistake or are simply not interested in someone at all or anymore, and in result, you avoid all contact with that person to communicate this fact.

My thoughts? It's immature and cowardly. Have some gumption people!

I have been victim to the fade-out. I think a lot of people have. Some fade-outs are more abrupt than others, but they always leave you in a humiliating stupor as you find yourself standing alone realizing you did have an attachment that was cut without your knowledge. You are dumbfounded and speechless as you try to fumble with all the feelings left on your doorstep, overflowing in an old cardboard box. You reorganized your shelves too soon. Now you have to find room for all these unwanted feelings. You realize that you leaped a little too far, but hit reality on the way down. You make excuses for the silence to buffer utter confusion. The whole process in general is just so unbecoming to everyone involved.

I used to get hung up over these things, and maybe I still do in a way, but becoming okay with oneself does wonders for a person's coping skills. I don't recite stale cliches or movie quotations to get through this like, "No guy is worth your tears...blah blah blah." I understand that some people use the fade-out as an attempt to avoid confrontation. It doesn't work, but of course it would be nice if it did. Some people use it because they have a complete lack of consideration for other human beings. It is an act of egocentricity. Luckily, these people are a few and far between...hopefully. I think the fade-out drives me crazy because I love information. I crave it, but not because I'm nosy or gossipy; I just like knowing. Not knowing leaves me to my own potentially destructive imagination. I've learned that I can't have all the answers, and I can't expect people to hand me everything that I want to be comfortable.

All I can do is change myself. I try to make it a priority to be honest and upfront. I don't consider myself a huge heartbreaker or anything, but I'm sorry if I have ever been a perpetrator of the fade-out. I know how it feels, and I would hate if I have ever done it to someone else.

In the end, I'm okay. Actually better than that :) So, no hard feelings.

Moral: Honesty is the best policy, but so is forgiveness.

Missed Connection

To the guys who came to the pool today:

1. Thank you so much for making the biggest splash ever as close as you could to me; I love acting like a fourth grader too! You're a big guy if you hadn't noticed. It was so considerate of you to do the physics in your head and figure out how much water would be displaced onto the deck to accomadate your jump that rivaled Shamu.
2. I definitely wanted to hear your immature babbling and awkward guy laughter instead of the peaceful breeze to which I was originally subjected.
3. It's so attractive when you can tell that you're hanging out with girls because you feel so connected to their race and haven't gotten over that 2-year Latin Passion.
4. I unhook my swimsuit straps to get rid of tan lines for my ballroom competition, but thank you for reminding me of my provacativeness by looking at me like I were Jezebel or Bath-Sheba.

In all my sun-bathing experience was totally enhanced this afternoon. So thanks.