Expectations

Ahhh . . . summer.

Remember when I signed up for all those classes? Cause I needed to have "structured time". Yeah. Remind me to NOT do that next year. Actually, remind me to just sign up for Pilate's . . . and something where I can cut things, sculpture, cooking, welding. I need more burning and cutting. More hands-on. More something.

This has turned into the summer of "well . . . that wasn't as good as I expected . . . " And that is not entirely true. Riding my bike to Royal Oak and just wandering around, talking to the ladies at the yarn store about knitting a ball gag ("the hardest part is finding the right ball")(and they brought it up . . . no, really). Fun. Pilate's at the Y? Fun. My instructor is like the Sandra Bullock of torturous positions and I love her. Always in pink. Always with a smile on her face. She is what I want to be in my next life, should I not end up a border collie.

But in the category of "well . . . that wasn't as good as I expected . . . ", in no particular order: going to concerts spontaneously and finding they are sold out, my web design class, belly dancing, having blue hair

My web design class? I have learned absolutely nothing. And I would like to say that it was me . . . that education is what you put into it . . . but today, I did what he said and designed the site in photoshop first and not only could he not verbalize how I should start, HE COULDN'T MAKE THE PAGE EITHER. This was seriously frustrating. So I'm not feeling all that bad about missing the last class to go see Travis. I should feel bad. I won't.

Belly dancing was cancelled last week . . . by my instructor, who I think was doing the "I'm really sick . . . cough, cough, really really sick with a . . um. . . respiratory infection" and I was relieved. Belly dancing has turned out to be watching a white girl dance in front of a mirror. And that white girl isn't me. She doesn't teach us steps. She does show us steps but usually insists that we do them at the same time. And then she looks at herself in the mirror. One would think she would maybe make adjustments, so we don't look like walruses trying to stand on our tails and belly dance. However, it's the Y . . . so I should just get over it. It's an excuse to jump around for an hour. But I kinda wanted to learn how to belly dance.

And although it is fascinating to walk around the mall and be mistaken by four year olds for the tooth fairy, well, I'm a little tired of people giving me shit about my hair. It seems to be an inconvenience for my family . . . and let's face it, I'm just not all that weird. So when I'm in a dress and heels at the bar there is dissonance. And granted, I LIKE dissonance. But I also like to be liked a certain amount. So the blue hair may go sooner rather than later. My mother and father will be overjoyed with this news, because evidently, I am hard to be seen with. Who knew it would be a bigger deal than the red. People liked the red. And I do have someone come up to me everyday and compliment my hair, just like with the red. Maybe it's that I don't like the blue as much as the red. Mom suggested that I put red over and see if I get purple. Which may happen later this week.

However, I cooked today . . . which for the first time in my life I am finding more fun. Now if my family would just shut up about how bad I am at it . . . cause I'm not. I think they just have too high a standard. Or just like to give me shit.

And who knew that sewing machine could be so fun? That way exceeded my expectations. Oh, and pretzel sticks and peanut butter. That too.