Two takes, 10 minutes, beep beep boop! (as promised)
Enjoy this epic voicemail from the pits of my dating hell.
Hey guys!
Couple of things: 1. I made an invert video even though I’ve been hella sick! I shot it 10 minutes before I ran out the door last night and haven’t looked at it since, so it might be crap at worst and will definitely need editing/uploading at best. So sit tight!
2. Oooooooh my god, dating.
Dating.
I have been rejected a lot in my life. Most recently, twice in the past month–both times by guys I had two great dates with and had tentatively set up a third with. Until they changed their minds.
Guy #1 told me he was “emotionally unavailable right now.” Okay, fine, whatever. But he elaborates, and eventually reveals that not only is he boning another person right now, he did so the night/morning of our last date. #class. This hasn’t stopped him from trying to backpedal a few days later with, “We’re in an open relationship–but she wants me to date!” Uh, yeah. I’ll think about it.
Guy #2 had asked me out again after an awesome 2nd date, but then decided he was too busy with work and that maybe we weren’t compatible. Again, fine. Whatever. Did this hurt my feelings? Yes. Do I understand that this type of thing is out of my control and I just have to eat it? Yes.
It would have been fine if we left it there. But no, we didn’t. He went on to explain that the reason we were incompatible was that he believed that I wanted something “serious” and he did not.
This isn’t quite fair because I don’t even know him enough to know whether I want to be “serious” with him, but I said “okay” to it because ideally, I guess I do want a real relationship. So fine.
And then he invited me over.
Like, 10 minutes after explaining why he doesn’t want to date me.
This is bizarre and offensive for many reasons–the most pressing of which: he had just dumped me, and I had just finished crying over it (I’m very sensitive about this stuff at this point, leave me alone).
I told him I thought this was offensive (being upfront, heyo), and after some feeble backpedaling, he called me. I was disgusted with the entire situation at that point, so I did not pick up.
What felt like several minutes later, my phone buzzed. I had a voicemail. A long, long voicemail.
Again, too disgusted with the situation to deal with it at the time, I listened to it on my way to the laundromat the next day. And oh. My. God.
It takes a lot to piss me off to the point where I will go to the trouble of learning how to turn a voicemail into an mp4 file, and then how to turn an mp4 file into a video format that YouTube or Facebook will accept, so trust: this voicemail really, really pissed me off.
I’ll go ahead and let it speak for itself. But remember: this guy had just dumped me. Then he asked me to come over to his house at 10pm on a Friday (I have never been to his house and I don’t even know where he lives). Then, after reading texts where I explicitly told him off for confusing me with a hooker, THIS is what he had to say:
So, dating.
Invert video coming soon, hope y’all had a better weekend than I did!
Also, feel free to commiserate if you’ve had close encounters of a douche kind, it always makes me feel better.
OH, totally unrelated but important: I saw an incredible fusion bellydance to this song last night and I walked three subway stops out of my way getting home from the show so I could listen to it on YouTube and mentally choreograph. That’s how you know it’s good. Enjoy!
XOXOXO
For Sharay: What Might Be Messing Up Your Invert (But I’m Just Guessing, Girl)
I have been getting some awesome fan mail lately, which makes me wonder if I’ve been accidentally sending out “I feel like I don’t have anything to offer anyone now that I’m not teaching anymore, might as well just give up on this blog” vibes and y’all just happen to be lovely supportive people like that.
But THIS ONE got me so excited, because it asked for my help.
(I am nothing if not DESPERATE TO HELP, especially when “helping” involves me being a know it all. Like, you all know me by now, right? This is my jam.)
So anyway here’s a question I got from Sharay:
“I am having so much trouble inverting and doing an open v spin. Am i too heavy? Do you have any tips? Thanks so much!”
First things first (I’m the rilllllest): you are not too heavy.
Why do we always assume that something is mortally wrong with us when we can’t do something right away? This reminds me of being an 11 year old in 1997 when every piece of clothing was cropped and made of lycra and I remember thinking “I AM JUST SO FAT AND WRONG, I SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED TO GET DRESSED.” Now I’m all LOL, it’s because I was going to turn out all curvy and bangin’, and high-waisted side-zip clam diggers look good on no one.
But that was a tangent.
Sharay, you are not too heavy. Just saying.
OKAY, so from there, please know that inverts are fucking hard. It took me about a year to get mine, and even then, it was sporadic (could do it one day, not the next) for a few months. I still can’t aerial invert, but a large part of that is simply not attempting to.
Assuming you ARE attempting (which please, keep doing that, you’re getting stronger every time you try and fail, trust), here’s some stuff that might be messing you up:
1. You are not allowing your upper body to tip back
This one gets a LOT of people. It’s like you want to keep your head up so you can see yourself chopper, but duh, no one can anatomically get their legs over their heads unless their heads drop. Once you crunch your legs to your chest, let your arms straighten and TIP YOUR UPPER BODY BACK so that your head is lower than your hips. Scary? Fuck yes, this is terrifying, which is probably why your body may not be letting you do it. Get a patient, ballsy spotter who’s not afraid to position you correctly and get used to this position. You’re gonna spend a lot of time here when you get your invert!
2. Your arms are too high
You should be grabbing the pole about chest level, maybe a tad higher, while you’re standing (before attempting an invert). But if you let your hands creep up to eye level or worse, your arms will already be straight, and it will be impossible for you to drop your upper body once you crunch your legs in (see above).
3. You’re not pushing your hips up like your life depends on it
Do me a favor. Next time you’re near a pole, lay down next to it with the pole tucked into one of your armpits. Grab it with both hands as you would for any invert, then slowly draw your knees to your chest. THEN, push up from your hips/butt and open into a V as your booty lifts off the ground. Try it a few times slowly, both in and out. (This is conditioning by the way, so feel good about that!). Is inverting 80% abs? Yes. But that little hip/booty bump is what gets you up and over. And I have a feeling that’s where you might be stuck. So practice this exercise to get comfortable with the movement before you’re all OMG I’M TRYING TO INVERT AND THIS IS HARD AND TOTALLY DISORIENTING.
I’m too lazy now, but let me see if I can shoot a quick vid to visually illustrate these issues. Anybody else want to weigh in? Community effort!!
(Reprise) Smell Ya Later, New York: Street Harassment
Truly excellent post from a friend about catcalling below. She wrote this before The Video came out, which makes it even harder to dismiss.
I think what people miss about “sweet” comments is that they’re never really about us as women, or making us feel good. It’s just marking territory: this is my domain, and you’re trespassing, so I’m going to let you know I’m the one in control here.
Why is it so much easier to believe that women are too stupid to know when they’re being complimented than it is to believe that “sweet” comments are intimidating and MEANT to intimidate?
I have so many strong feelings about this (having been harassed almost every day I have ever left my house for 8 years in New York) that it’s hard not to ramble. But I will say that, for how vocal men have been about their “right” to “say hello,” I find it hard to believe that any man could feel good about hearing “You have a good day sweetheart” 12 times a day from a bunch of leering strangers for the rest of his life.
So why is it so hard for us as a society to categorize this as wrong?
Why are we so quick to tell women they’re mistaken about feeling hassled, intimidated, and yes, harassed?
Finally: can we all acknowledge how ludicrous it it to call it “saying hello” when we know damn well a dude would never DARE pull this on another dude? Slow clap for this hashtag….
Ladies: when someone tells you that street harassment is actually a compliment, they are telling you to shut up. Never shut up.
Originally posted on a blog from yesteryear, I unearthed a beauty of a post on a subject that is receiving a lot of responses lately thanks to the video above. I’ve come across facebook posts where folks are trying to open up earnest conversations about why “God Bless You” and “Have a Nice Day” are considered harassment, and I’ve seen videos of men telling women they’re thinking about it wrong and they should be thrilled to be receiving compliments. I’m happy that some people are taking the time to analyze the issue, and I dreadfully disappointed that there are men and women who fail to analyze AND empathize. See below:
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I wonder what would happen if I practiced every day…
Just a thought. I would probably get better, right? This might make a good 30 day challenge, a la 100 Sandwiches, but less sad and offensive.
I FINALLY put up my pole this weekend–after tons of drama with a missing top insert and a faulty X-joint, and it was kind of stupid the amount of progress I made just doing stuff over and over for an hour.
Here’s some clips of shit I was working on, including struggling into something resembling a floor handpring and patenting The Sad Juliet Spin. I probably didn’t invent it, but can I name it tho?
I was also working on chopsticks—OW OW MY RIBS–and hands free back bends (the power of Indian Burn compels you!!) but I can’t show you them because that was from practicing before my evil neighbor came home and thus I was listening to music at an audible level that got my video banned from YouTube 😐
PS. If you’re been wondering where I’ve been for like a month, I had a big show I was rehearsing my buns off for with my bellydance troupe for a show call Rakhasa (sp?). We don’t have a video of the performance yet, but here’s a teeny snippet of an early rehearsal that I’ll probably get in trouble for showing you, whooooops. I’m in the blue tank:
And here are some pictures of the show, wheee:
Oh and one last thing…. does anybody get why this is funny or do I have the world’s most obscure sense of humor?
My bank constantly calls to remind me I’m poor, so I put its number under “Yo Bitch.” That way every time I see my missed calls I get a little chuckle. Anyone? Anyone?
Sh*t Pole Studios Say: In Solidarity With Nina Reed
I just saw that Nina posted something very brave about the conditions at her studio.
I read it, and I felt kind of ashamed, because the same damn thing was going on at three studios I’ve worked at, and I didn’t have the guts to say anything about it. I realize now that it’s not quite as selfish as I thought to push back in this situations, because when you keep quiet, everyone else that works there suffers too.
Did I tell you guys I got fired from my last teaching job?
I did. And it had nothing to do with my teaching. In fact, I was mostly teaching parties, and each and every one ended with requests for dates and times of my normal classes so they could come back and learn more.
I was having a blast, my students and parties were coming back for more–but strangely, no matter how many photos the girls wanted with me, or requests for my name and teaching schedule I got, or hugs and earnest “thank-yous,” I didn’t receive any tips.
Now, I never expect tips. But, at the other studios I’d worked at, they were actually a part of the cost of a party. Just included in the total package cost. So I was worried I was doing something wrong.
Then I got a look at the party contract. (The owner’s assistant showed it to me to give me information about the party and I kept on readin’).
The Studio That Stole My Tips
Guys, the studio owner was charging a mandatory “instructor tip” on parties the whole time. Funny thing was, though I was busting my ass teaching three or four parties in a row (the balls of my feet would blister) I never saw a dime of my “tips.” There were also explicit instructions not to give the instructor a cash tip, since this was included in the base rate of the package.
So to recap: This studio was charging people an instructor tip, and also banning them from tipping me in cash. Like, just to make sure that I didn’t benefit from my hard work at all, in any way.
I confronted the owner and gave him two conditions on my continued employment: 1. instructor tips should either not be mandatory, or must now be paid in cash and presented directly to me (which is the way it worked at my previous two studios), and 2. I would be paid a 10% tip on the parties I had already worked (even though I’m pretty sure the number he collected on my behalf was closer to 20%).
The owner responded by holding my paycheck hostage and accusing me of “extortion” (lol). He also fired me. It took weeks and threats to file a complaint with the labor department before he finally paid half of what he owed me.
I found out later that he told his assistant–who worked as a bartender/hostess at parties and is an exchange student from China—that it’s against the law in the United States for her to collect tips if he pays her minimum wage. He told her it was her choice to either not be paid and collect tips instead, or make minimum wage (is that $8 an hour now? I lose track), and surrender her cash tips to him.
She chose option B.
I also found out that all my students were being charged a $7 “instructor gratuity” simply for taking my regular classes.
Obviously, this didn’t go to the instructor, but to this day I feel a little sick thinking that my students thought I was ripping them off with surprise fees that 1. weren’t my idea, and 2. were collected in my name though I never received them.
I don’t believe in dragging small business names through the mud (even when they deserve it), but since I feel like clients are getting lied to here as much as teachers, I will happily share the name of the studio with anyone who emails me privately for their own protection. I can also recommend some lovely and honest studios too!
The Studio That Stole the Classes They Paid Me In
Another studio I worked at on a “work study” basis for free classes had me work way more hours than I could possibly redeem for classes (the studio was only open nights, and I had a second job the nights that I wasn’t work-studying). Then, as soon as my work-study time was up, the hours of classes I’d busted my ass for were unceremoniously deleted from our system.
Also, that job was billed as “greeting students at the reception desk and coordinating classes” but turned out to be a straight-up sales job. I was constantly pressured to cold call people who had had parties with us and try to sell them packages, and had to stand on the street for hours aggressively passing out fliers (if I came back with any the owner would yell at me. I resorted to throwing them out if I couldn’t pass out enough).
On the rare occasion that I could take a class, the owner (who taught many of the classes) would book me on top of full classes, so that I was often sharing a pole with her. I didn’t receive any corrections either, not being a “real” student. It was embarrassing and awkward, and not at all worth the hours I put in there.
The Studio That Policed My Blog and Banned Me From Working In the Tri-state Area for a Year After They Laid Me Off
They told me I had to bring in clients and that I should start a blog (which I did, heyo!) but then would confront me with printouts of posts they didn’t like–often nitpicking over a single word. I had to sign a non-compete contract that barred me from teaching pole anywhere for A YEAR after I left the studio (which I fearfully complied with, even after my reason for leaving ended up being them randomly cancelling all my classes without any explanation!) Oh, and re: my classes randomly being cancelled, I found out that they told my students I “went back to school.” I guess they wanted to switch over to a parties only business model, but it would have been nice to hear that from them, not from a former student I ran into at Body and Pole who excitedly asked me what I was getting my Master’s degree in 😐
To this day I’m scared to post any tutorials for simple, basic moves because I’m afraid I’ll get a call from them–since, like Nina’s studio, I was forbidden to ever teach anything I was trained in.
Because the fireman spin is an extremely exclusive move that they probably invented.
Oh and I paid for that “training” out of pocket anyway.
This was very long winded, but I guess I’m just trying to say, Nina, you are not alone. You have my support. This bullshit is bigger than your studio or my studio–it’s a community-wide problem. So bravo on speaking up.
Anybody else got horror stories? I can’t be the only one…
So I tried yoga again and it still sucks.
Warning: UNPOPULAR OPINION AHEAD.
I know you guys love your yoga. That’s okay. But yoga is kind of like pumpkin spice lattes: everybody loves yoga.
So I feel no guilt in proclaiming my hatred for it. Like Starbucks and Lululemon, it’s not going anywhere anytime soon, so my little opinion is free to exist in the blogosphere without doing much harm.
Here’s what happened (because you know there had to be extenuating circumstances for me to take a yoga class without there being a gun to my head): there was a gun held to my head.
JKKKKKKKK.
What happened was, I rode the subway an hour and a half (this was a Sunday, the R train was a nightmare) to the ballet class at my gym that I have taken every week for months, and when I walked up to the studio with my little bun and ballet slippers and water bottle, no one was there. THE CLASS WAS CANCELLED.
*shock, horror, general mayhem*
But even worse, this is not a one time thing. Ballet is just off the schedule. Forever. The class description isn’t even in the brochure anymore.
I. Was. Pissed.
I was also determined to not just get back on the subway to complete a 3 hour round trip on my motherfucking day off for nothing. So I checked the schedule for another class I could take.
The only option: yoga.
Fucking yoga.
And the class was an hour and a half.
So I mentally weighed some pros and cons of the situation.
Pro: this might be good for my back (which has been spasming like a motherfucker to the point where I had to stay home from work on Friday after a simple attempt at shaving my legs threw it out again).
Con: I hate yoga.
Pro: I was planning on stretching/flexibility work anyway…
Con: I fucking hate yoga.
Pro: It’s an hour and a half long class, which would nicely justify schlepping all the way out to Chelsea Piers.
Con: An hour and a half is a long time to be doing yoga, which I fucking hate.
Long story short, I decided to go for it. Some of it was okay–it hurt my back very badly during, but left me feeling much better on the way home–but most of it was annoying and just plain not for me.
Here were my pet peeves.
1. I got in trouble for pointing my toes
Like, okay, I get this. We’re supposed to relax, etc. But I can’t be in a shoulder stand for several minutes just looking at floppy ankles. Isn’t the whole point of this checking in with your body and being mindful of all of its parts? I tried flexing and turning out too, and the yogi called me out for that, too. RARRR. I’M BORED, AT LEAST LET ME WORK ON MY TOE AND TURNOUT GAME.
2. The breathing stuff made me a little sick
The expanding your abdomen stuff? Yeah, did not feel good. Especially when, as a belly dancer, I’ve been trained to use my chest and abdomen separately: breathing fills my chest but does not move it, or my belly, until I actively pop them. This has all been wired in my brain for eight years, so, it was both mentally AND physically very uncomfortable for me (it felt kind of gross and made me a little sick to my stomach).
3. The Ohming
This might have more to do with the fact that my instructor was an old white guy who sounded EXACTLY like the Catholic priest at my childhood church when he sang “amen.” Like, he sang it the same key and everything. Personal association, my bad.
4. The lying on the ground for an indeterminate amount of time
This is partly because I had to pee for the last 45 minutes of class, but ending like this was torturous. Okay, it was MOSTLY because I had to pee. Just as we were crossing the finish line (5:55, SO CLOSE), the silent meditation started. We were just lying there, forced to have our eyes closed, and I lost all concept of time. I could only think about how badly I had to pee. There was no indication of how long the lying in silence would last (maybe this class would run over 10 minutes, OH GOD), so I began to freak out that it was going to go on forever, and I would either have to pee myself or be the girl that got up in the middle of a silent meditation and yelled “I have to go to the bathroom!!” as she ran out.
And then I could never go to my gym ever again.
5. It’s so goddamn serious
I fell out of a couple of poses and cracked a smile, and every time, the instructor glared at me. What even is this? Also, people definitely audibly farted a few times and it was just so awkward to sit in perfect silence while it happened. Cannot take the solemnity, sorry.
Anyway, for all of my complaining I probably WILL go back, because I think it helped my back a little, and also because there was a hot guy in my class. I’m only human, people.
So how do you guys feel about yoga? Has anybody ever tried yoga pole? Because my friends just told me about it and I have a feeling it would be a vast improvement on this Hatha ish.
OH PS: new favorite pole jam. Kid Ink and Tinashe? Yes please.
Stop everything and read this immediately.
A question to NY Mag’s “Dear Polly” columnist Heather Havrilesky and her response are copy/pasted below. Read all of it.
Spoiler alert: this response means everything to me, and I think it will to you too.
—–
Dear Polly,
This weekend, after 18 months together, my boyfriend told me that he cared very deeply for me and that we had the best partnership he’d ever experienced, but he did not love me because there was a spark missing.
So he ended things in a kind and mature way. We’re both in our 30s and the entire thing has been kind and mature and caring (and sexy and vulnerable and honest) from the beginning. I’ve dated my share of guys who were bad partners, and this guy was a good one.
And although I am hurt, I get it. I also know that he was always a little bit on the fence about letting me fully into his life. (Literally and metaphorically: Whenever I would go to his apartment there would never be a place for me to sit. He would have clothes and books and projects piled on every single one of his chairs and his sofa.)
So I kept waiting for him to start taking the actions that would let me in, and he kept waiting for the spark that would make him want to move forward. And in the meanwhile we made a fun little team.
In the end, although I am sad that he and I aren’t going to continue our team, I respect him and I get it. And, to be honest, at my core I’m feeling a bit of relief. I want someone who wants to let me in fully.
What is flooring me is the piece about how he didn’t love me. None of the guys I’ve dated long-term have ever loved me. They’ve liked me a gosh-darn awful lot, but boy-oh-boy do they not want to pull out those three little words.
And I think I’m lovable. Both in my innate humanness and in my adult life. I have my shit together. I went to a therapist as a preemptive measure because I knew this most recent boyfriend and I were about to have either the breakup conversation or the “let’s start taking steps toward building a life together” conversation, and I wanted to talk through how to approach both scenarios.
My therapist said, “There’s nothing about you that is getting in your own way. You have remarkable communication and emotional-coping skills, and you and your boyfriend have a highly evolved partnership.” She used the words “highly evolved.” She did warn me that the fact that he wasn’t physically making space for me in his apartment was a red flag, which, you know, I knew. We agreed that whatever happened between me and the boyfriend would happen in a mature and respectful way and that I would be able to handle it vis-à-vis my remarkable coping skills, and all of these things have come true and I’m still not fucking lovable? I should becherished.
I realize this sounds like a female version of Nice Guy. I’d like to think that there’s a difference between “I’m a good person, why won’t you date me” and “I’m a good partner, why don’t you love me,” but maybe there isn’t. I also know that the big difference between me and Nice Guy is when I get broken up with, I didn’t go, “Whyyyyyyyyyy,” I went, “Okay, that’s sad, but it’s true and right and reasonable.” (Nice Guy doesn’t know what the truth of a relationship is, and I know what the truth of a relationship is. But I ache that the truth is always “I don’t love you, good-bye,” instead of “I love you, but good-bye.”)
I know I am not owed love. I also wonder sometimes if I don’t know what love actually feels like, since so many grown men have told me it’s been missing from our relationships. (One came back a year later and said, “Oh wow, I did not realize that I loved you when we dated, I am so sorry.”)
So, Dear Polly, what is love? Why is it missing from my highly evolved partnerships?
Sparkless
Dear Sparkless,
I have two things to tell you. First, this guy was going to dump you no matter what. He says he never had enough of a spark for you. Sometimes men imagine that they’re going to be blown away by someone, literally knocked off their feet by a babe straight out of a Doritos commercial. But other times, men just don’t find your personality intriguing enough. They might like YOU — being around you, going out to dinner with you, sleeping with you, having brunch with you the next day. But they don’t necessarily find themselves fully engaged and interested in who you really are. They don’t want to sit and talk unless there are a few cold beers and some snacks nearby. They don’t want to walk and talk unless the two of you are on the way to a movie.
I was always paranoid about this when I was younger, because there was always so much evidence that the guy du jour liked being part of a “fun little team” and getting laid regularly and spending time with a talkative, funny woman, but HE DIDN’T NECESSARILY LOVE ME. Even though it made me feel paranoid, I found evidence of this in little things: He wanted to catch a movie instead of having dinner together. He wanted to meet up with his friends after one drink at a bar together. He wanted to listen to the radio in the car instead of talking.
But actually, it’s a little rare, to find someone who loves you so much that he just loves to talk, talk, talk with you for hours. Plenty of dudes will want to form a “fun little team” with you, particularly if you’re smart and highly evolved and you have your shit together. Your stock will always be high. There will always be lots of dudes with projects strewn all over their apartments who will take in your easygoing nature and your 18-month-long ability to suspend your disbelief and go with the flow indefinitely.
There’s nothing wrong with you, in other words. You’re probably attracting a wider swath of men than is good for you. They aren’t self-selecting themselves out of contention, because you seem perfectly healthy and reasonable. If you seemed impatient or intolerant, you might slough off some of the wishy-washy slackers in the mix. If you were a little temperamental, you might lose all but the most fervent admirers. Instead, you are healthy and sane and no one will object to being a team, and when you hit month 18 you’ll (very wisely) assess the situation with your therapist: “Welp, he’s either going to pop the question or hit the road, and I need to be fully emotionally prepared for either eventuality.”
Okay, this is where the record screeches to a stop. You seriously didn’t know if he was going to say “Let’s be together forever!” or “I like you bunches, but I never want to see you again!”?
I don’t get that. It makes me wonder if you’re really showing up or not. It makes me wonder if you don’t want, so badly, to be someone’s dream girl, that you’ve got your hands on all of the sliders and the knobs (sorry!) at all times, controlling all the levels to achieve the perfect mix. Does he look impatient? Turn up the tempo. Does he seem bored? Pump up the bass. Does he seem on edge? Turn down the treble. Play up the mid-range.
You write, “I know what the truth of a relationship is.” Sometimes when someone writes something that straightforward, it’s the least true thing in the entire letter. If you knew the truth of this relationship, wouldn’t you know whether you’d be together for another day or another four decades? Wouldn’t I know a thing or two about you or about him? I get that you can’t put too many details in your letter, or you might be recognized. But I can’t tell from your letter whether you were madly in love with this guy. I don’t know if he deserved that love or not. I don’t know what all of these other wishy-washy exes were like.
Your letter is all about you. You’re really asking me if you’re capable of being passionately loved or not. But you haven’t told me anything aboutyou. You haven’t mentioned any details or any troubles in your past relationships or any overarching flaws you might have or repeating mistakes you might have made. In fact, the most DETAILED bit of your letter is the part where your therapist assures you — before she knows if you’ll be getting dumped or getting engaged — that you’re 100 percent healthy and evolved and approved for future marriage or future singledom. Either way, you are a government certified, grade-A, consumer-friendly woman, approved for multiple uses, from forming a fun little team to kind, healthy, mature fence-sitting!
Your real problem is that you’re sure you have a problem. Because you’re pretty sure that you have a problem, you’re hiding. You’re putting up with whatever. You’re never getting ruffled or hurt. When someone breaks up with you, you’re not yelling “Whyyyyy?!!!” In fact, you imply that only a weak or less evolved person would do that. You imply that you aren’t a weak person, you’re not crazy, you’re not fucked up, you’re evolved, you’re healthy, you have proof: Your therapist will vouch for you. You have “remarkable communication and emotional coping skills.”
You’re so good at being GOOD. But how good are you at being YOU? You know what makes a spark? A real human being with a bad attitude who’s tired of moving shit just to sit down in a motherfucker’s apartment. A woman who, after 18 months of doing everything together, doesn’t sigh and say, “Okay. I’m hurt, but I totally get it.” She says, “HOLY FUCK I THOUGHT YOU WERE ABOUT TO POP THE FUCKING QUESTION. THIS IS SUCH A FUCKING CURVEBALL.” [Knocks a pile of books off a chair to sit down.] “I just wish I hadn’t worn these fucking tall shoes, they’re killing me, and I thought I should wear them in case we needed to go out somewhere nice to celebrate!” [Takes off shoes and throws them at the wall.] “GodDAMN IT! FUCK THIS!!!!” [Grabs a sketch from some pile of shitty sketches and rips it into a million pieces. Throws body onto filthy carpet and sobs, noting bits of filth in carpet while sobbing.]
Okay, so that was a dramatization of some messy behavior. I’m not trying to tell you to be more of a psycho and someone will love you completely. But you DO need to be SOMETHING. Are you afraid of being something?
Because let me tell you the god’s honest truth: A lot of women out there are afraid of being something. The template for us is pretty clear: We are meant to have clean skin, a pleasant demeanor, and a nice rack. I’m not speaking up against nice racks, Lord knows. But there are lots of ladies around me, everywhere I go, who hesitate to say what they’re thinking and feeling. They go with the flow, they never make waves. And eventually, they don’t even seem to know what makes them who they are. They live to serve. They read the books that other people are reading. They say the pleasant things that other people are saying. They never put their needs first, unless it indirectly serves someone else — a manicure, some highlights. They make sure everyone around them is 100 percent satisfied. Like grocery-store managers. Like customer service reps. Like masseuses who also give free happy endings.
If that sounds sexist or demeaning, then it’s by design. The developed world is packed to the gills with shiny, pretty sheep who will never step on your toes. I know many representatives of the middle-class suburban version of this, and I even know women in creative fields who pull the same “Me, too!” face in everything they do. It’s soul-sucking and it’s problematic and let me just say, too, that it is a FUCKING SNOOZE.
When someone says to me “I try to be nice” or “We make a good team” or “I like for things to be clean” or “I’m pretty organized,” you know what I think? Well, first I think, “I need to be nicer and clean my fucking house a little better.” But then I think, “Jesus. Why don’t you try being a dick and striking out on your own and making a fucking mess for a change?” And also I can see it in some of these husbands’ eyes. This woman is holding it down at home, and God forbid she do anything else.
I know I’m digressing, Sparkless. But you DO have a spark. If you wanted to be swept up by some conformist everyman who replaced the multiple projects with a clean condo and a straight job, you could do that quite easily. There’s a more average bear that will love, love, love this highly evolved, communicative self you present to the world.
I think you want an artist boyfriend because YOU want to be an artist. You aren’t writing me so that I’ll tell you that some man will love you someday. You aren’t writing to me to prove that you’re healthy enough and now you’re ready to be cherished. You’re writing to me because you’re ready to cherish yourself.
Like you yourself wrote: YOU SHOULD BE CHERISHED.
I want you to get out some colorful markers, and I want you to write these words 50 times, on the same page. You SHOULD BE cherished. You should be cherished. You. Should. Be. Cherished.
You don’t cherish yourself. You do whatever what’s-his-face wants to do, for the sake of the fun little team, for the sake of demonstrating your good communication skills. Just admit it. You never draw lines in the sand. He says, “We need to talk, it’s serious.” And you don’t say, “WHAT do you MEAN motherfucking WHAT?!! TELL ME RIGHT NOW.” You say, “Okay,” and then make an emergency trip to your therapist and discuss all of the possibilities, and then you show up the next day, well-rested and prepared to discuss either ending it or nailing it down. That sounds perfectly sane and wonderful, but THAT’S NOT FAIR TO YOU. You are cherishing him, and cherishing your therapist, and cherishing sanity, and cherishing evolved-lady living, BUT YOU AREN’T CHERISHING YOU.
Don’t you deserve something, beyond falling right in line with the other perfect, shiny ladies who deserve doting husbands? Don’t you deserve a bigger, brighter existence than the ones they might be perfectly satisfied with?
You aren’t satisfied with “evolved.” That’s not enough for you. If it were, you’d be more sure of your spark, and remarks about lacking a spark wouldn’t get under your skin. You wouldn’t take some dude’s ambivalence personally.
And look, you’d also feel more alive and less worried if you felt comfortable with simply being GOOD. Because even the ladies who step right in line and aim to please, they have lots of spark, if that’s what makes them happy. YOU WANT MORE THAN THAT. The lack of spark within you comes from the conflict between WHO YOU TRY TO BE and WHAT YOU REALLY WANT FOR YOURSELF. You want more. You act like you don’t want more, you act like you’re satisfied, but in fact, you want a lot more.
I don’t know what, specifically, you want. Maybe you want the freedom to say exactly what you mean, instead of saying the “right” thing. Maybe you want to be assertive and bossy but you don’t like women who do that, so you’re afraid. Maybe you want to be the one with the projects strewn all over the place.
I used to date men who were obsessed with their creative projects. After a while, I realized that I didn’t want THEM. I wanted to BE them. I thought being close to that energy might be enough. I thought that being loved by someone who was willing to give himself completely to the creative process was enough. I met a musician once who was consumed by his creations. I put him on a pedestal. I had so much crazy lust for him, it was almost stupid. But it wasn’t him — I hardly knew him — it was his focus, his total involvement and belief in what he did, that made me crazy. I wanted to have that kind of passion for myself. I SHOULD’VE BEEN CHERISHED. I refused to cherish myself. It was easier to pretend that all of that magic and passion belonged to someone else, and that I had to ask permission to get a little taste of it.
You should be cherished, too. Cherish yourself. What kind of work are you doing in therapy? Is it time to stop being so good and start discovering what’s going to transform your life into something big and vibrant and shocking? Do you want to get little pats on the head and control your expectations and quietly hope for more? Or do you want to say, for once and for all, NO MORE KIND, MATURE SLEEPWALKING. NO MORE WISHY-WASHY DUDES WHO LOVE THEMSELVES BUT FIND ME WANTING.
It’s time to forget about being lovable. And in fact, it’s time to forsake someone else’s idea of what gives you a spark or no spark. Block the “other” from this picture. No more audience. You are the cherished and the cherisher. You are the eminently lovable and the lover. You are a million brilliant sparks, flashing against a midnight sky. Stop making room for someone else to sit down. Fuck “good” partners. Fuck waiting to be let in. You are already in. You are in. Cherish yourself.
Fuck wondering if you’re lovable. Fuck asking someone else, “Am I there yet?” Fuck listening for the answer. Fuck waiting, alone, for a verdict that never comes. Don’t grow up to be one of those women with a perpetual question mark etched into her brow: Am I good? Am I lovable? Am I enough?
You are here. Sit down. Feel your potential in this moment. You have accepted too little for too long. That is changing today. Breathe in. Draw a picture of yourself. Tape it to the wall, with the words: YOU ARE HERE. You are here. Cherish yourself.
Polly
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A girl from class took my picture!
As I wrote before, I’ve been having stupid bad back pain. I’ve been mostly trying to ignore it and go about my business, but trying to get through pole classes was too hard. So I’ve (very begrudgingly) stayed away from classes for a while.
It was a really nice surprise then, when I went back to the studio for the first time in a couple of weeks, that a girl from my usual class ran up and said she’d been looking for me. She’d taken my picture during a choreo class. I had no idea! She apologized for being a “stalker” haha but honestly, how sweet is that?! And the picture came out FIERCE. I don’t really have any photos of me just doing my thing, so it was an awesome surprise. Anyway, thanks Jenny!! Here’s the pic–she sent it to me in two filters so credit for the below artistry goes to her, not me.
Oh and here’s me just running through some flow stuff from class. Yeah, I know, it’s the same old same old. I’m feeling stuck, especially with this mysterious back stuff. I want to get going on harder tricks, but inverting (and any kind of prep stuff that I so desperately need to KEEP my invert) kills my back. I’m really not exaggerating when I say I’ve been struggling to get through warm-ups with tears involuntarily leaking out. It has not been a good time.
The GOOD news is: flow stuff doesn’t hurt at all! Weirdly, sitting still actually hurts much, much more than anything I do with climbing or spinning, so that’s encouraging. I also think I’m starting to see ballet paying off in terms of lines and general grace (as always, LONG LIVE BALLET), so, those are a few more good, happy thoughts. I just hope my back either heals itself or just breaks already so I can go to the emergency room, which is all my catastrophic insurance probably covers.
Anybody else ever have back pain? Let’s play “guess the diagnosis”! :p
Exercises to help with your lines, extensions and other important shit.
So I was just reading this fabulous blog about the importance of clean lines in pole dancing (even for those of us who aren’t “serious,” ie. are probably not ever going to try a machine gun, etc) and I just want to jump up on the nearest table in lucite heels and scream YES, THANK YOU.
If you’ve ever taken my classes, you know I believe in doing things well–especially while performing the “easy” things, because, if you know a move inside and out, there’s no reason you shouldn’t have amazing posture/positioning/lines/hands/feet. Like, come on. There is no excuse for being that person knocking out strength moves with ease, but having flexed feet and claws for hands. That’s not a lack of strength or control, its just plain… not giving a fuck about posture/positioning/lines/hands/feet. #petpeeve.
I know it sounds elitist, but I swear it’s not–because anybody can clean up their lines with a little time and attention. It’s just about having the patience for honing an aspect of dance that’s not as instantly-gratifying as hitting a trick. (BUT, actually–gamechanger–it IS instantly gratifying!!! Once you see how beautiful small changes can be, you’ll be hooked, promise).
I get that some people are trick people, and that’s fine. But to me, the art of DANCE (of any kind) is in the flow and transitions and lines. Felix Cane backs me up on this (a former ballerina, PS).
Popping into a hard trick is great, but presentation is everything. If your posture sucks, wrenching your body into tricks with a weak foundation is kind of like rolling a turd in glitter. A shitty Fonji will be less moving to the average viewer than an artful, controlled, expressive fireman spin. That’s real.
So anyway, as I continue my casual ballet obsession, I wanted to quickly share a couple of exercises that I’ve picked up along to way to improve lines.
1. Straddle quad-lift (for straighter extensions)
This one’s simple. Sit in a straddle, toes pointed, and squeeze your quads (your kneecaps should pull up) so that your knee caps retract and your heels lift off the floor. Hold for a second, and repeat. This works all the muscles that keep your knees straight when you’re off the ground, and it’s easy to work into your warm up (I usually do it right after straddle stretches, dur! 😀 )
Speaking of instant gratification, if you want to *see* more movement while working extensions, try sitting on the floor with legs extended and palms flat on the ground and slowly lift your leg for 8-10 counts, as high as you can without kicking (ie. cheating via using momentum) or compromising your posture. If you REALLY want to be ballet-authentic, do a second set on both legs with a turn out. Awwww yeah, feel that ballet burn. Bonus for both of these exercises: it’s really gratifying to see your quads flexing while doing this.
2. Shoulder blade squeeze (for cleaner, injury-free spins, climbs, and poses)
We do this one in belly dance a lot, but for pole, it trains your shoulders to engage and retract while spinning or sitting in holds, protecting them and preventing that “just hanging there” look. It’s simple, but surprisingly difficult: extend both arms out in a T-shape, then pinch your shoulder blades together. In the mirror, you should see your shoulders get very slightly closer together and draw behind you as your chest opens. Try 10 reps slow, then 10 double time. You can also try slowly raising your arms into a V overhead for an added challenge, but throughout either variation, focus on keep your shoulders down and your elbows up.
3. Ankle stretch (for straighter ankle points)
I’ve been trying in vain to get my right ankle to flatten out into a straight line with my shin, and this simple move sure feels effective: kneel with your butt resting on your heels and the tops of your feet flat to the ground. With one hand touching the floor for support, gently lift your knee with the other hand (same hand for same knee) until you feel a stretch at the front of your ankle and top of your foot. Try shifting your weight around to see where you get the deepest stretch. Hold for several seconds and switch.
If you don’t know why straight ankles are important btw, I urge you to look at this picture of US gymnast Aly Raisman, who caught all kinds of crap for having “claw feet” in the 2012 summer olympics. (Yes, even when you are doing cray-cray flips and balances, people will still notice this stuff).
On another note, I swear to god, just being up being on your toes smooths out your feet and ankle lines more than anything–if you’ve got good form. The next time you’re on releve, make sure to check that you are 1. truly on the balls of your feet (not your insteps or literal toes), 2. that if you were to roll forward, your weight would be on your first three toes, not the 4th and pinkie, and 3. your ankles are straight (not winging or sickling).
4. Standing splits walking drill (to train leg extensions, flexibility, posture, and balance–whew)
So you need a little room for this one, but it’s worth it for extension training, warming up, and flexibility-building all in one: starting with both arms extended in front of you, lift a leg as close to waist-level as you can, then in one smooth motion, bring it straight down and through behind you (into an arabesque) as you tip forward from the waist and touch your fingertips to the group (with your torso close to your standing leg).
Kick through your raised foot, bringing it high as you can. Hold a beat, and return to standing. Tak a step forward and repeat on the other side, alternating to cross the room. Tip: try not to pause or use your travelling foot to steady you as you transition into your standing split: you’re trying for one smooth, controlled motion. Use your core to keep your balance, and try to keep a flat back!
5. Anti-dinosaur arm stretch (for poor range of motion in arms and lower back)
This one is basic, but essential, and there’s two ways to do it. The first way, which we used to do on the swim team, is the “against the wall stretch.” Standing in front of a wall, raise your arms overhead and press your palms flat, gradually pulling your chest closer to the wall as your legs stay straight and your back arches. Try to pull your head through your arms, feeling the stretch in your shoulders. You can also try leaning from side to side for a deeper reach.
Alternately: stand with your back to the pole, grab with both hands overhead in cup grip (you can keep a little bend in your elbows), and pull your chest out and away from the pole. Be sure to keep your feet planted and close to the base.
Am I snob? Do you know better tricks for ironing out bent legs or limbering up dinosaur arms? Please share!
Also, in writing this I discovered that I have WAY more stuff I want to tell you about proper alignment (learned in my ballet adventures yet again), so I think I’m going to do a follow up about line/posture corrections you should be making as you dance. Yay for being a know-it-all 😀
The Spin Diaries: Your Guide to Everything Pole and Aerial 