No Matter Where I Go, I Always Come Back

As usual, it started with a few Sex and the City re-runs playing on TV. It only took about half of the first episode I watched for me to feel an awful, oh so familiar itch. Then I saw the movie sequel, which, of course, only made it worse. Yesterday, Randi and I watched Letters to Juliet and that was the end of it.

I need to write.

I don't just want to write or feel like scribbling down a thing or two; I need to write. Watching Carrie Bradshaw and Amanda Seyfried's character in Letters to Juliet killed me. I stopped writing for the paper on campus because the quality was just awful and at first it was a relief, but it soon turned into a missing piece. I'm dying to finish my Bachelor's Degree in English just for an excuse to write extensively and regularly again. I didn't major in journalism because the program is practically non-existent at Pacific.

Public Relations is all fine and well, but it feels like work. Writing doesn't. It never has and I haven't written anything of worth in so long I'm afraid I never will again. I can't live with that. I change my mind about what I want to do after I graduate on a very regular basis--dance teacher, Disney performer, PR consultant, event planner, entertainment news anchor--, but I always, always come back to wanting to write in some manner.

It did not help at all that I saw a book at the bookstore yesterday titled "This Year You Write Your Novel." I need to figure something out and soon.

All it takes is Faith and Trust

Oh! And something I forgot: Dust.

Clearly, I'm in the process of revamping this thing in hopes that, with the addition of pixie dust, I'll find motivation to write more. Well, that and the fact that I'm done with school and coaching until August and I may actually have time to write.

Though, while I'm writing this I should be finishing my resume and calling to inquire about a summer internship; so, with the addition of that I may still have no free time, which is depressing. But necessary if I ever want to actually graduate.

Master of My Craft… Apparently

Yesterday, I got a text message from Melissa Galvin—the coach of the Stockton Shockwave dance team, which I tried out for in January. She was on Gold Rush with Shawnel as her line captain. She knows Jenise, my old coach, and Bill, whom I’m taking classes from now. From the moment she figured out, in January, that I had danced under Shawnel’s instruction for years, she had really, really high expectations for me, which is incredibly flattering and incredibly scary.
In any case, yesterday, she texted me to ask if I would teach a Master Class for her tonight. Of course, I accepted and asked, immediately, what time and what age group—expecting it would be younger kids. No no no. I officially taught my first Master Class tonight for her teen and senior competition kids.
It was the best night I’ve ever had.
I spent three hours this afternoon freaking out, picking a song for a combo, choreographing the combo, and practicing it enough to be able to act like I knew what I was doing at the class. This is what I came up with:

Once I was satisfied, I broke my own new rule and got an energy drink to get ready for the class, which really only resulted in my getting jittery and more nervous.
So, I showed up to the studio early, talked with Melissa about what I’m doing this year with school and dance and all (all while she was teaching some younger dancers), then she did the warm up for my class. Once that was over, she handed the class over to me. Literally. She left the room (granted, there are windows into the studio, but still, it was all on me).
For all my nerves, I have never felt that comfortable and at ease in front of a group of strangers except when I’m on stage. It was insane. INSANE. I was so happy and comfortable and knew what I was doing. Needless to say, when the class was over and the first thing Melissa said was, “I’m going to be calling you. Soon. You tap too, right?” It felt like a dream come true. She realizes that I have a commitment to Pacific and the Tiger Dancers, but she still wants me to be a part of her studio and soon.
Not to mention, I taught for one hour and earned $30. Yeah, worth it.
<3

Queen of Camelot

It's been a long month. Finishing undergrad, organizing a new dance team, learning more and more about my grad school and graduate assistant job, signing contracts, graduating, and moving. Every bit has it's significance and importance, but as I sit on our couch, surrounded by boxes, sipping wine, and watching South Park for Andrew's birthday, moving is the most prevalent bit on my mind.

Our new apartment is amazing. It's bigger, our room is more secluded, we have a sliding glass

 door on the shower, a balcony, a fireplace, and a washer and dryer in the unit. There are still boxes all over the place but I couldn't be happier. 

My favorite part about it all is definitely the animals. 

We have three ducks that hang out at our fountain all day every day and two families of geese, which are actually kinda scary, but apparently harmless. There's a cat convention in the evenings on the stairs outside.

We had our cat, Merlin, at the old apartment, but technically speaking, we were breaking our contract by having him there. Here, we're actually allowed to have pets. So, for graduation my parents and grandma bought me a teacup Morkie puppy--what I've been talking about buying for months. I get her on Friday afternoon and she is precious. She will be about 3 lbs full grown and her name is Princess Guinevere. 

When I told Celline her name she said I need a boy puppy named King Arthur and a bunch of fish to be all the knights of Camelot. I told her the fish thing was ridiculous (duh, Merlin would try to eat them), but the boy puppy thing was a good idea... 

In short, Andrew renamed our wireless internet connection (and thus dubbed our apartment) Camelot, which makes him and I the King and Queen of our own personal, wonderful, magical kingdom.