March 17, 2020

Um Florida called . . .

Oh wait - before we go on to read about these
 Floridian people, try and grasp the amount of
celebrating I did when I accidentally discovered a
HUGE Costco case of toilet paper stashed on a high
 shelf in my laundry room.  (see the blue
wrapped package way up there)
I must've jammed it up
 there on some odd occasion when I organized my
laundry room and wanted to clear the floor space
(where cases of toilet paper usually get tossed).
 It may have been up there for a year or more.  By
 the looks of things in my laundry room the organization
 process has not happened in quite some time.  I hope
 that you look at the state of this space and think, "Shit.
  I thought I had problems.'  See how I just made
 you feel like you got your act together?  Mission
accomplished.  You're welcome.
So this post was prepared BEFORE we all took shelter and started dealing with rationing squares of toilet paper.  I believe you will enjoy this post despite the fact because of the fact that it is not about being stuck at home and will hopefully be a distraction from all the vacations we are missing and other anxiety ridden news we are surrounded by.  So, without further ado . . . 

The whole point of the 'popsicle stick' post was hard to pick up on because I totally switched gears while writing it so the main point was not ever mentioned.  I did introduce a new point about the possible racists judges, because what is a blog post without a point - you won't find anything that crazy over here.  I did want to share that judging frustration with you, since it was so blatant and awful.

So I would like to share with you the original point from the original post, but first I have to get one more thing off my chest from the dancing competition.  I did not sleep well last night (confronted my folks about the 'Hey, it's just Ernie, she'll get over it mentality' so my head is all kinds of foggy - even though these posts are out of order) so it is hard to stay on track, but I will try.  

Curly danced at 7:45 am.  We stayed at the cheaper, popsicle stick hotel down the street.  (a post that very few of you read - maybe you were stuck in long grocery lines, but jump back and read it if you are now stuck in your house wondering what to do with yourself).  To be ready to dance at 7:45 am one must rise crazy early.  Duh.  There are wigs to be attached, and free hotel breakfasts to be eaten (the host hotel did not offer free breakfast because it was too swanky, so score one measly point for the popsicle stick place), and then the dreaded makeup segment.  

People, I do not know what to do with makeup beyond blush, lipstick, and mascara.  At big competitions like Worlds and Nationals and Oireachtas, I pay someone to make my kid look like a tramp stage performer.  In Lake Geneva, Curly did her own.  Wise girl.  She has been poked in the eye plenty of times by yours truly.

Anyway, you need to GET to the stage well before 7:45 am to warm up and get shoes on and tape shoes and check in to the stage.  I only mention this because being early to things is NOT my strong suit.  I have evolved though, thank you Irish dancing.  

This feis (that is what these Irish dancing competitions are called.  Pronounced:  fesh.  You learn something new everyday, so you are done for the day, congrats) was run like a tight ship.  The people in charge announced that any dancer scheduled to dance at 7:45 am who was NOT checked in PRIOR to the first dancers taking the stage would NOT be allowed to compete.  Translation:  get your butts up to the stage and get checked in so you don't delay us.  Dancers like to mill around and avoid checking in, because no one wants to be first on stage -it is avoided like last year's dancing dress styles.  This was great because some of us were banking on a lovely nap back in  Chicago.

Curly was checked in.  Most of the dancers in her competition were also checked in.  The stages are set up in a banquet room and there are rows of chairs arranged in front of the stages.  Since we were there by 7:05 am, we tossed our stuff on chairs midway up the isle.  We chose seats at the end of the row, because Curly dances, plops down and changes shoes, and then dances again, repeat, etc.  

Moments before the first girls took the stage a frantic woman came rushing in and dropped her suitcase full of dance paraphernalia on the floor at the end of the row just in front of us.  She called to me, "Where do you get the numbers?"  Ms. Atlanta's mom (see previous post) was in the row behind me:  "Out in the hall."

Frantic:  "Would you please get her number, her name is Mitsy Bitsy."  I mentioned to Frantic, whose kid was in a wig and makeup but still had no shoes or dress on that they had announced that anyone who wasn't stage side by the time the dancing began would not be able to dance.

"Please go tell them that my daughter is dancing and she will be up to check in in a minute," Mrs. Bitsy directed this order to me - believe me I checked over both shoulders to see if she was actually demanding some person that she KNEW well do this duty for her.  No, I felt, um, privileged?

I walked up to the podium and told the women that there was a dancer who had just arrived and that the cray-cray mom (so that was implied by my tone) wanted her kid to be able to dance.  I added:  "I do not know this woman, but she asked me to check her daughter in."  

They ended up allowing her to dance.  Frantic later thanked me for my assistance.  "We came all the way from Florida.  I thought the 7:45 am was just a check in time," she explained.

Really?  I don't know how these things work in Florida, but the schedule was pretty dang clear.  Posted on the website for weeks now.  

Later I asked Ms. Atlanta's mom if she had ever laid eyes on Mitsy Bitsy and Frantic from Florida.  She said she had.  They knew each other a bit from competitions, but she flashed me a telling eye roll which spoke volumes about being ordered to get the girl's number as if her hair was on fire.

Guess what?  Mitsy Bitsy placed first in the competition.  Major eye roll. 

Don't get me wrong, Mitsy was a great dancer.  Even great dancers and their Starbucks cup carrying mothers, who took time to stop for a coffee, should follow the rules. 

The plot thickens:  Backing up to just before Mitsy danced . . . another Rushed woman came and plopped her suitcase and another large case down at the end of my row -blocking my exit from the row.  Another bag was tossed on Curly's chair.  Curly's warm up jacket was draped over said chair, so it was clearly not an available seat.

Curly was about to dance.  When she dances, I stand in the isle so I have a clare view of her feet and I don't risk blocking people from view who are sitting behind me.  In other words, I have manners.  I was not about to stumble over Rushed's bags to get in and out of my row.  

Me to Ms. Rushed:  "So, this is my daughter's seat.  She is going to sit her to change her shoes.  You are going to have to move this stuff."  

Ms. Rushed:  "Oh, well how many seats are you saving?  Do you need all of these seats?"

See the suitcase in the isle?  Rude.  This was AFTER
 I asked her to move it from my isle and she left it
in the isle making it hard for people to walk.  In
 the background is a male dancer clad in pastel pink.
 I have NEVER seen anything like it. 
The boy dancers typically
 wear black.  I do not think the Irish dancing world is
 ready for that look.  Yikes it was
 striking and not in a good way.  Not trying to make
 any statements against individuality but it really
 looked like an Easter suit for a toddler.
 Can't go wrong with the traditional black pants
 and shirt and the embroidered vest..  
Me:  (in an intentionally pleasant voice that screamed:  eat shit and die):  "Nope.  You are welcome to have the seats inside from the isle, but we are using the seats on the isle to make it easy for her to change shoes.  That's why we arrived at 7:00."  

Ms. Rushed:  continued to direct her objections to how many seats I was 'saving'.  No fear though.  This woman did not realize:  
     1.  no one messes with me - remember the people who SAT on my camera bag in Vancouver?  Does anyone miss the Vancouver posts?  All 80 of them?  
     2.  I had not slept well and I don't do coffee so there really is no 'fix' 'cept stay the hell out of my way,  
     3.  I am not shy.  You want to tangle with me with words - your mistake, I am not going to shut up and sit down.  I also workout.   

Note:  No one really sits in the chairs away from the isle unless they come with little siblings or grandparents who need to be tucked away with books and devices or cups of coffee.  Our stuff was spread out a bit over like 5 seats but the end seats were all we really needed.  No one was displaced because we were 'hogging' interior seats that no one wanted that early in the day.  

I am NOT blocking out Ms. Rushed's
 face ON PURPOSE.  She is the blond
 standing across the isle getting
ready to put a wig on
a small girl sitting in the chair. 
In the foreground of the picture
is Curly's sweatshirt draped
 over her chair. Florida friends (aka Suz): 
please claim this
piece of work and reel her in.
SO of course Ms. Rushed did not jump at the chance to crawl over me and grab those less than desirable interior seats as I knew she wouldn't.  Instead she shuffled her shit into the isle to make it hard for people to walk past her place in the isle.  I believe Ms. Rushed was Mitsy's teacher, but Ms. Atlanta's mom pointed out to me later that Ms. Rushed was an older sister AND her teacher.   I promptly took her picture while she was putting her kid's or some little kid's wig on in another row once I held my ground.  I will share the photo of this freak of a woman with my dance teacher and see if she knows her. 

My dance mom friend, Ms. Fun, was sitting in front of me in the interior seats.  Mitsy was on the end of the row. My friend's daughter (who is Curly's Irish dancing BFF but who is a year older and they do not compete against one another) didn't dance until after Curly's competition was done in which case the isle seats would open up and she could bump over.  

I leaned forward and whispered to Ms. Fun:  FLORIDA CALLED.  THEY WANT THEIR ASS HOLES BACK.


Busy Bee Suz said...

I'm happy to say, I don't know her or claim her to be one of my people.
I can't imagine dumping my stuff next to or on a claimed seat.
Nor could I imagine barking orders at someone I don't know. Actually, I don't bark orders at people I do know. Ok, maybe once in a while.
So, wait, How did Curly do? I don't think you said.

Ernie said...

Suz - Ha! I did not think for a minute you would be tight with this chick. I imagine few could be. I could not believe that the mom and then the teacher both behaved badly. I have never been to a competition in Florida, but I have to wonder now how they operate. No interest in every finding out myself. I WAS anxious to see if I ended up crossing paths with them over in Dublin. Wondered if they behaved that way there too, but that will not happen now.

I think I mentioned Curly's placement in the popsicle stick post - 7th. The girl who got 9th deserved 1st, so we kinda shrugged and did not put much emphasis on her placement after that. It happens. Once you figure out that a judge skewed the results there really is no point. We celebrated that she thought she danced great and didn't get nervous. She rushed one of her steps but the teacher changed the speed of the music like the day before the competition - so oh well, but that's because this is just a kind of 'dry run' of sorts as we lead up to Worlds . . . which will now not even happen. All that running around for nothing.

Anonymous said...

Bless you for posting this little gem from when life was normal. It was funny and also oddly soothing (to see how life used to be). Much like the 90s rom coms with which I am currently self medicating. Just finished You’ve Got Mail. Soooo soooothing.

Oh! Also I fell behind on my blog reading but even though I’m late with this comment, I wanted to say... you are so so so brave for confronting your parents. That post... oh my goodness. I cried. That story from your childhood broke my heart. I’m the lurker who cautiously mentioned a therapist might help (in comments on the post prior to confronting parents post) and you were so sweet & kind in your response. Knowing more now (from your posts & comments), geez oh pete! a) so glad you do have someone to talk to and b) you have really been dealt a hard hand in life. I hope things.. get better? Hurt less? This lurker is rooting for you. :-)

Hope you’re hanging in there with your full house. Really sorry for Curly missing Worlds. Stay well.
And Major congrats on finding TP in your house!

Ernie said...

Maddie- With college kids home Rom coms are not allowed for our nightly movie viewing. We just watched 'True Grit' again. Great movie. Always something extra in the dialogue that I have previously missed.

Trust me when I say that my childhood was not ALL bad - not even close. I did feel over looked and glossed over a lot, but there were plenty of happy times and overall I felt loved, which is more than those from a really troubled childhood can claim. I think it is hard to convey all of that in these posts. I think my mom cared more about pleasing certain siblings and that is how she managed to leave me behind when they went to the mall that day. That hurt like hell. I do feel better having spoken up - not like I had never said anything, but for years I focused on my family and only vented to Coach. My folks live walking distance to us, so every time we go to the grocery store I still call them to ask if they need anything. If my dad catches this virus, he will not survive.

Missing Worlds is a real bummer. Her teacher says they plan to announce something tomorrow. Did they wait long enough? I need to start figuring out how to go about getting money back from a 'non-refundable' reservation for the two night stay at a hotel. Plus I have no idea how Aer Lingus is going to handle the situation. All so weird, but in the grand scheme of things not the end of the world.

With everyone home ALL DAY, um - we go thru a lot of TP. Coach goes to work everyday in an essential health care position, PT, just down the street from where the nursing home is located that has the 2nd most cases in Illinois. Crazy.

Beth Cotell said...

I am shocked that you checked her daughter in given her tone and attitude. That was very kind of you! And also, I would never get in a verbal fight with you because you WOULD WIN! I'm glad you stood your ground.

Ernie said...

Beth - I was only halfheartedly checking her daughter in because I let the stage people know that I did not know this woman. I shrugged at them, half hoping they would enforce the policy. She stunk of entitlement. Yuck.

It is funny you mention not wanting to get in a verbal altercation with me. I often wonder where in the world my gumption comes from. My two older sisters are completely opposed to confrontation. They would rather stew about something upsetting them then address it. I sometimes cannot believe we are related. Not like I go looking for a fight or anything, but I'll be damned before someone pushes me around. I wonder if it is birth order. I often had to stick up for myself or deal with frustration when I didn't bother to speak up. As a kid I wondered a lot if I was adopted.

Not to worry though, Beth. I doubt there is anything you would do to tick me off. Unless you stole a gluten free dessert right out of my hand or something AWFUL. Ha!

Kari said...

They want their assholes back.....ahhh.
It sounds like there is a lot of drama in Irish dance although I feel like any dance has drama. I remember when Annie did cheer for two years and how I am still recovering from that drama four years later.

I hope you're busy pounding out posts. NO PRESSURE. ;)

Ernie said...

Kari - I just saw this comment, sorry. yes drama in dance. Which is why my kids like to refer to me as a 'dance mom' because they know the stigma that goes with it, and they know how to boil my blood because I don't care to be associated with so much of this.

Loads of posts ready to go, but the posts from 'regular times' seem like they need to be put on hold until we stumble back into more 'regular times' again.