Warning: Whiny Complaining Post...

*sigh* I feel stagnate. I wasn't supposed to feel this way at twenty-five. I'm not supposed to still be delivering pizzas, trying to hustle money based mostly on the whims and fluctuating moods of various asshole strangers, always having the threat of being robbed hanging over my head. I want to be able to commit myself to my life's work...I'm just not quite sure what that is. Some woman grow up dreaming of the day they get married and make a family, I've always dreamt of a career that would fulfill me, something I can devote myself to.

Someone recently made a post saying that they dropped things in their life so they can pursue their dreams full-time. I've been like a recovering alcoholic staring at a bar ever since. I've become INSPIRED. I'm pretty damn sure that belly dance is my life. Though I may not practice everyday (I'm trying to get to that point) I think about it constantly, from choreography, costuming and plain old fantasizing. Then the good old self-sabotage gene kicks in. I can't help but think sometimes that maybe that's all it is though is a fantasy. Sometimes I understand why people who used to have fond dreams give up and get 'comfortable' jobs and settle into 9 to 5 gigs. I don't want to be that but....

My only talents lie in the arts but that doesn't leave me a lot to work with. If I was to lead you to Kaleena Fantasy-Land, my pretend workday would consist of working in a tattoo joint during the day and performing at night. Just an entire workday filled with art. That would just be the bees knees for me. It feels so far out of my reach though.

I think I'm just being whiny. If I really wanted to, I'd be working on making a flash collection to show off instead of typing my various complaints onto a computer. I could be drilling but instead I sit here being a bastard. I suppose that's what separates the adults from the kids. Stop sitting around and waiting for something to come. I need to be proactive and take some accountability for my life, goddammit.

It's just so much easier to be a lazy fuck sometimes, you know?

I'm Drunk And Should Once Again, Be In Bed.

I'm shipping out for Southern Fusion Fest on the 9th and right now, I'm just not feelin' it. I'm having that pesky feeling again. I believe humans refer to it as "loneliness", but that just can't be because I don't have a heart. I traded that years ago for a pack of Hostess Snowballs and cigarrettes. Haven't missed it since.

Maybe it's the idea of being in a rather large city all by me onesies that is making me feel slightly perturbed. I don't have ANYONE to watch my back. Nada. I'm stationed at a hotel that's miles away (approximately 12) because I got a hell of a deal and while it's completely awesome that I can travel without hearing someone else's crap, I have to admit that Ms. Tough Girl over here is slightly concerned.

I'll be relying mostly on public transportation and a $1.75 ain't bad for a one way but I'm nervous that I'll end up getting lost, which is a distinct possibility because I have a shitastic sense of direction. What the fuck am I going to do in the evenings besides try to find a chill bar? I don't know the area at all and I'm basically just worried that this is going to suck.

I know that this is my negative self having a voice right now but it's awfully compelling. I'll just head over there with the mission in mind; Learn as much from the pros as possible than get the fuck out.

*sigh* I should go to bed.......

Rage Filled Consumer Report; I Should Probably Be In Bed By Now.

I'm willing to admit that I have a vague fondness for gadgets despite my overall Neo-Hippie nature. I am typing this on a computer after all. Typically they're nifty little things that I can look at from afar and comment about their immense coolness and though that evil little consumer in me pipes up occasionally in an attempt to fan the blaze of unnecessary desire, I usually say nay. Because despite whatever Cool Points that I may be rewarded simply due to owning a piece of fad technology, I really don't fucking need them and I just oh-so love to eat on a semi-regular occasion, a luxury that I truly would no longer be able to afford if I had to tack on a gadget obsession onto my "Vices" list. Although I will admit (mostly because I can totally count on Mike to out me on it) to owning an iPod. That was a birthday gift, don't you judge me.

But I'm reaching a limit. Despite my (frequently in vain) attempts at keeping the fuck away from the evils of marketing, I'm still being inundated by this would be Siren call to all rabid foaming consumers, an army of advertising that is just bound and fucking determined to make me turn my head and look at this super cool thing, much like an obscenely irritating four year-old with ADHD.

I'm speaking of this little item, perhaps you've heard of it:


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The iPhone.

What I'm confident will prove itself to be the bane of my existence for the next six months to a year. The third in an unholy triumvirate, playing 'The Holy Ghost' to Wal-Mart's 'Father and Starbucks 'Son'.

I would tell Apple to go and fuck themselves but I just can't. Can you really blame them for making a shit ton of money by seemingly pandering to the masses? The World has been pleading for technology like this. We can't fix world hunger but goddammit, we can create a cell phone that has MP3's, photos, Mapquest (presumably for when one must navigate their way back out of their own asses) and the Internet. They make sure to include in the ad that one could go on, oh-say YouTube, for their amusement. Yep. So the next time I'm on the city bus heading home from my shittastic job, rather than keeping myself occupied with fantasies of using my district manager's genitals as a trampoline, I can always click on my dandy little trendy cell phone and watch a kitten play the goddamn piano.

Fuck this phone. Because that's what it is; A motherfucking phone. Yet asshats across the globe are celebrating their collective hard-ons for this goddamn piece of machinery. Sharing their Beowulf-esque epic tales of their attempts to be among the very first to be able to prance down the street, preening over their 'Precious'.

It's really not the phones' fault, it just wants to be loved. It's light and shiny and, hey, is that a touch screen I see there? The upfront cost is more than what many people make in a month, but again, it can't really be blamed.

Nope. It's the mindless consumers. Oh, I consume, believe you me and I'm not trying to make myself out to be some bare minimum girl who lives a vegan lifestyle up in a tree house while subsisting off of bark and uses washable Maxi-Pads. In reality, I'm a food snob who purchases far more books than my little hole can handle and I am covetous by nature. I may agree with every little jab at consumerism that Fight Club makes but I loves me some clever little decorative pieces.

Yet I feel perfectly free to criticize these automatons that are so willing to make themselves slaves to this device. These fucks that are perfectly happy to shell out the cash for the iPhone. Let me think for a sec:

4GB iPhone: $499.00
Initial Connection Fee: $30.00
Monthly Fee: Anywhere from $50.00 to $99.00 according to plan.

Goddamn. I'm too brainfried to do the math but a year's worth of enjoying this shallow device is a frightening amount of money, probably more than than the current price of my car.

The second I see someone with one of these I'm going to fuck up their little world. I'm going to tell them exactly what I think. Why isn't a normal phone good enough for you? What are you attempting to prove by owning such an extravagant item? Can I use your blatant example of conspicuous consumption as a target for my drunken rage? And finally, can you spot me twenty bucks man?

Fuck you clever marketing campaign that is flooding my airwaves. Fuck Apple. But most of all, a big giant 'Fuck You' goes out to every self-absorbed prick who can only feel truly validated by owning an overpriced toy. While I'm at this insane rant, I should probably fuck myself for giving it this lost time that it has taken for me to write this nonsense little blog.

Destroy an iPhone. It will make Jesus happy.

Wow....I'm Alive!!!!!!!!!!

I did it. My very first solo. I've never been so jittery in my life, I literally had the shakes although goddess bless one of the young ladies who was kind enough to bring a jug of homemade sangria. Four glasses of that miracle stuff and I was pretty limber.

I was up after the group did a tambourine dance. I'm making myself attempt to breathe semi-normallly due to the fact that passing out in front of the audience is just not acceptable. Especially since the studio owner just left the dressing area stating that a photographer for the major local paper was there. Fabulous.

Before the group left the stage my music began playing. Uh...what? I rush out to attempt a late start and then they stop the music. I put on my best cute face, looked at the audience with my arm in the air and say, "Psych!" Then they start up the music right where it left off, leaving me completely confused. Oy. Hello improvisation.

That song was just a one minute slow opening. I set up the CD so it automatically flows into the next song. Of course she didn't know that so she stopped it and left me posed there for damn near ten seconds. I just hoped it looked pretty.

The next song finally started. I begin to get into it but I'm still a bit rattled from the beginning. I didn't know that choreography actually makes a small fluttering noise when it flees through the nearest open window, but it does. I just start shaking it for all I'm worth, hitting the parts that I'm sure of and just hamming it up for the parts that I was iffy on.

Amazingly enough, it went well. I mean, really well. People told me that they loved it. A young lady who has been dancing for some-odd seven years loved an original combo I had put in there. It wasn't perfect mind you. I saw the video later on and I wish I had remembered more of my choreo so it could have looked a bit more polished but if you're perfect on your first solo then, hey, you don't have an up to look forward to.

Yeah for the combination of my Ariellah practice DVD and that sangria. My arms were so freaking flowy. I'm pretty happy with it. I'm going to post pics as soon as possible and hopefully some of the vid. Warning though: They put the camera all the way in the back of the room so it looks like it was taken from the moon. Oh well. Can't complain.

I'm kind of sad that it's over and I can't wait to do it again. Oh boy. I'm an addict now.

Breathe...Breathe.....F@ck!!!!!!!!!!!!!

28 hours left. Then I do my very first solo.

Depending on which version of me you talk to, my emotions differ;

Rational Kaleena: I'm sure it will be fine. I've got a bit of the butterflies but as long as I keep smiling and reminding myself how much I love this art than it will go great.

Cuckoo Kaleena: Fuckfuckfuckmustbeoutofmygoddamnmindfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck........

I'm really trying to not pay attention to her. I've got my costuming almost all done. I just want to get some hairsticks and a fake flower to paste on a barrette. I also want to go through my routine about five hundred more times but you know, I also want a pool fill with chocolate milk with a monkey head fountain that spits said chocolate milk but that ain't happening either.

I have to go to my oh-so fulfilling job right now. I'll have to convince myself not to leave town. It's going to be videotaped so I'm going to grow a pair and maybe throw it online. I'll finally have a picture of me posted soon though. Wee!

Okay. If anybody needs me you'll know where to find me. I'll be the person in the bathroom stall cursing and vomiting at the same time.

It's All Good Being Solo But.....

Sometimes I get a bit envious when I see pics of troupes. Fine are you happy? I said it. I see groups of women bandied together and having fun and it makes me wonder what it would be like to have such a tight-knit circle of friends that you also work with. Help one another on costuming while creating humorous inside jokes. Build choreography while commiserating about our love lives. Support one another as a team.

However, in twenty-four years on this Earth, I've become rather used to trekking out on my own. These workshops I go on, these are all endeavors I undertake on my own. I travel all by my onesies. It's nice really. No one tells me where to go or what to do. I don't owe anybody anything and my time is my own. I'm free baby. Yet I can't help but wonder what it would be like nonetheless.

The grass is always greener on the other side I suppose.

I'm A Whore...

Okay, maybe not in the traditional sense. Nonetheless, I'm still finding myself doing a coin search so I can go to YET another workshop. l've made the decision that I'm going to Texas in January, dammit. It's just too good of an opportunity to pass up. That means that the next six plus months is going to be hectic. Atlanta in August, Missouri in October and I'm most likely going to New York in November to see my distant relatives who will undoubtedly make my birthday a little bit brighter by showering me with barely disguised disapproval tinged with obligatory affection.....at best.Then it would be Texas just after the New Year.

Crazy? You betcha. Fuck it though. I don't have any responsibilities other than some bills. No kids, no husband, (alright, so there's kinda someone in the wings) no one to latch onto. It feeds my need to bellydance and travel and if I can do it in one fell swoop so be it. I just need money.

How much do they give for plasma nowadays?