Monthly Archives: December 2012

I can never get enough of Timmer. You know you can’t either. He is part of the spark that caught me on fire, so do me a favor and go give his post some love… and maybe a little for me too.

Hanging Up The Tutu

If you follow my blog regularly, you know I don’t get serious too often. Ever, really. A lot of bloggers are naturals at this stuff, but it is actually a real challenge for me to write about something serious, especially when it is about me. Humor is safe for me, while anything outside of that realm makes me feel extremely vulnerable. But, with everything going on during the week of a Becca on Fire, I not only have a little extra confidence in my fingertips, but I also feel that it is the perfect opportunity to open up a bit to my readers. So, here goes my attempt to inspire.

Before I began writing this post, I sat with a blinking cursor on the left side of my screen and the “about me” page of my blog on the right side of the screen.

I’m only good at funny. That’s what I do. It is easy to be funny. For me. Shit, this is going to be more of a challenge than I thought. I can’t even inspire Jack to poop inside the litter box, so what can I possibly have to write about inspiration? Oh well, just write.

After all of that staring, I noticed something about how I describe myself. Take a look at my “about me” page. I begin by proudly acknowledging a very important part of what makes me Becca. I was a dancer.

becca cord in a tutu

Before I was writing I was a confectionery delight in pointe shoes.

For seventeen years, I was first and foremost, a dancer. Make that a great dancer. A passion that consumes you for such a long period of time is hard to shake and even harder to accept that you must shake, which was apparent by the blurb I’d written. So, I guess I should more accurately say that what I was looking at was a statement about what used to make me Becca.

Before anyone ever put the notion in my head that making a profession of performing arts was “impractical,” I never thought twice about any other course for my life. I entered college as a dance major, was an important member of the college dance team, and had every intention of performing until my age got the best of me (at which point I planned to teach). Everyone knew me as the dancer even if they didn’t know me at all. That is how integral it was to my identity.

After about a year in college, I began to realize that the performing arts program I was in was not up to par with my experience level. This is not a case of my comedic ego either, the program was simply a joke. A cop-out for lazy freshmen who would rather mock an art form than write an essay. On top of that, my parents continually dropped not-so-subtle hints that I may want to consider a different calling. Something more lucrative.

It infuriated me that they didn’t get it. Get me. It infuriated me even more that I pretty much had no other option but to drop the program because of its lack in advancement. It was holding me back as a dancer. It infuriated me, because everyone would think I gave up on my passion to become an office drone (at the thought of which nauseated me).

snoopy in business

Street art doesn’t lie.

Before I knew it, I was a performing arts drop-out and a month from being another indifferent graduate of the school of business. What happened? I over analyzed every incoming external influence telling me to cash out before I lost big, that’s what happened. That, stirred together with my own doubts and insecurities as a dancer. I didn’t want to start over at a new university, but I also couldn’t stay enrolled in the Ballet 101 classes that I took when I was three years old.

I had  become the one thing that I had almost forgotten I’d sworn not to be, Miss play-it-safe.  Sure, I’d find a job. That job would pay well enough for me to live as comfortably as I always have. People would see me as “successful”, but I wouldn’t stop thinking, “Is this it?”. I would eventually become that forty-year-old woman still bragging about how many pirouettes she could do twenty years ago while shamefully dodging conversation about her soul draining day job.

So, back to my “about me” page. Obviously, even five years since I have laced a pointe shoe, I am still coming to terms with “dancer” no longer being my main identifier. While I still have strong emotions associated with that time in my life, l do not regret the way everything panned out. I’ll tell you why. Then you can forget that I ever wrote anything so comically disappointing and go back to envisioning me in my underwear.

You see, had I not experienced this loss, I wouldn’t be here writing this. That’s right, I am tying this into writing, because that wasn’t predictable at all. The fact of it all, is that I could have made a career out of dance, but then I would have never known the dispassionate alternative that I experienced for several years after stepping out of that studio for the last time.

It is my strong belief that I would have eventually become complacent and dropped my dancing career out of pure inability to truly appreciate my love for it. I have been writing again for almost a year now, and because of this, I have the appreciation for writing that I never knew how to have for dance. And now I know what it is like to lose it.

So, while I no longer see dance in my future, what I do see in my future is a passion that is equally as important to me in a different way. Think of it in terms of relationships. You love and you lose. Those losses teach you to appreciate love for what it is. You then find love again in places that you never expected. You become enthralled again when you thought you never would. This time, you know to hold on to it. You know not to abandon it or take it for granted. And you won’t.

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Phenomenal post by the one and only Rich of Brainsnorts on ACOF. Thank you for saying the things every girl needs to hear. You and Le Clown are my heroes. HEROES!

Best Monday Ever

Why? This is why:

  • The Movember Winners Banner is finished and revealed. See above. It is better than I ever imagined.
  • The accompanying Movember 2012 page is complete. Winners can go bask in their glory.
  • It rained this morning, and I actually had an umbrella on me … for once.
  • I get to be La Becca for one whole week of A Becca on Fire on Le Clown’s blog.
  • Did you read the last bullet point?!

I will still be working on the Fly Blog Award, I didn’t forget. But when you are on fire, it’s hard to concentrate.

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Celebrating Clever

This will be a short post, but I want to try something.

The greatest satisfaction of blogging is probably finally hitting the publish button after you have worked, reworked, and worked again on your post. The even greater satisfaction of blogging is the comment section. I don’t think I ever get boring comments. Y’all are like my own little laugh factory waiting to explode with responses that could make even Kristen Stewart crack a grin. Yeah, I went for that unoriginal and overused joke. You see? I am not the funny one here, y’all are.

So here is what I am thinking. I’d like to end my blogging weeks by recognizing three funniest comments for each week. I will still write a normal post, but I will post screen shots of the selected comments (for those of you who don’t read the comment section thoroughly) at the end of my post, and link to the bloggers with the winning comments.  I don’t blog on Saturday or Sunday usually, so the idea is for these comment winner announcements to appear on Friday posts. Today will be a test run.

I will be be elaborating on the Fly Blog Award next week. As long as I don’t get burned out.

El Guapo on Picture This… (does this count as a birthday present?):

Guapo

Derek of Practically Serious on This is My Festivus Post:

25tofly comment winner

Mike Calahan on the same post:

25tofly comment winner

Thanks for making me laugh every day. What do y’all think about this idea? Love it? Hate it? Should I give up blogging and try to become a stock photo model? Express yourself in the comments. Mind you, I said express, not expose.

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Everyone should feel this special on their birthday. Guap, you deserve a wonderful birthday full of great polls and maybe even some sexy poles.

Picture This…

Why is there so much badassery going on in the WordPress crib right now? Is everyone not aware that December is supposed to be the Friday of the months of the year? It is supposed to be the free pass month for all things lazy, self-indulgent, and greedy. Y’all are messing that up for me (at least the lazy part), but you know what? It is worth it. Because I love you. There I said it.

Speaking of all things badass, there is yet another event happening that I couldn’t not participate in. Julie and Byronic Man, I am talking to you. I am after your sheets. If those reading this don’t know what I am talking about, that’s a shame, but I’ll forgive you if you visit one of their pages and educate yourself. So generous.

You see, just last night Jack decided to practice his own self indigent behavior. The little fellow wore himself out making confetti of my softest-sheets-ever and didn’t hesitate when he got to the pillow cases. To top it off, like a cherry on top of a resentment sundae, he puked right in the middle of the shredded pile and then pranced off to destroy the rest of my favorite things.

I may not sleep under my sheets, but they are still an integral component of the optimal sleep environment. So, come to think of it, I am not being greedy at all. I need those sheets. Plus, who wouldn’t want to sleep on top of one of Julie’s adorable chipmonks or the hottest guy on WordPress Byronic Man?

As the rules state, I have harnessed every ounce of holiday cheer to bring you the 25toFly Christmas Card. Here it is:

funny christmas 25tofly

A special greeting for you at my family’s expense.

Do you know what it is like to have your photo taken at every worst possible moment? Have you ever experienced the trauma of being blinded by the flash in the middle of your mascara “O” face (you know you do this ladies)? It’s impressive, really. The man you all want to have a beer with so badly can even manage to take a bad picture of himself. You may still like my Dad more than you like me, but if you keep hanging out with him for too long, you can kiss your photogenic-ness goodbye.

bad christmas pics

Dad has been capturing our sweet little distorted mug shots since the 90’s!

As if this post didn’t including enough of y’alls favorite things (my dad, contests, sexy people) I am going to leave this (rough version) here for you to ponder. The placement of mistletoe is in no way suggestive of anything other than the pure Christmas spirit.

fly blog award

Just kidding. It’s sexual innuendo.

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This is My Festivus Post

The last time that I participated in any kind of gift exchanging game for Christmas was on a first date. Can you imagine that? You don’t have to. I will tell you how it goes. If you are me, that is.

awkward christmas

Holidays aren’t holidays until things get uncomfortable.

My date picked me up for dinner somewhere back in December of 2008. We were supposed to go to a simple dinner. Me and him. On the way to the restaurant, he receives a phone call, which he takes, and has a casual conversation from which I infer that plans are about to change.

Date: “That was my mom. My family is having a Christmas party down the road. Do you want to go? It will be fun”.

Sure, I love meeting entire families on first dates. 

Me: “Umm… I don’t know, I mean, I don’t want to intrude. They don’t know me.”

You barely know me.

Date: “Oh come on. They are super friendly. They will love you. There will be a lot of great food and presents.”

Me: “Presents?”

Date: “Yeah, they play Dirty Santa every year at this thing.”

As we continued down the highway, the dialogue went back and forth between him assuring me it wouldn’t be awkward and me trying to find a way to escape the moving car without looking obvious. Or killing myself. We ended up going, because I have an adverse reaction to telling people no, and guess what? It was awkward. Imagine that. Read the rest of this entry

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