Las Vegas.

So…
       ::rubs face and begins::
       It was a very nice trip, yes.  I did not gamble and lose all of my money (or get kicked out of the casino).  I did not consume large amounts of liquor or engage in free sex.  I didn’t even get married.  Well, that was a close one, anyway.  It was close… yes. 
       My mom and Brianna (who was flying with us) and I arrived in Las Vegas Saturday evening.  The first comment I feel compelled to make is this- do not ever fly anywhere with eight suitcases/bags.  Do not EVER.  Because it is very difficult to carry them, even if three or four of them have wheels.  I managed five suitcases, and I think this has to be a record, but I rolled one suitcase that I could have fit inside of, rolled a medium size one, and had two medium suitcases on top of them, and I had a backpack.  It was fucking hilarious, but I managed it, and I swear my muscle mass increased as I walked through the airport.  Of course, I had some assistance from time to time from some really great random people who felt it better to help me than to laugh, but most people just laughed. 
       Anyway, we made it to the La Quinta and nothing much really happened.  Except I wore the same clothes the next day because I didn’t want to open up my suitcase.  I only wore three pairs of clothes during htat whole week, and I was like "… Figures."  Brianna swore up and down that she would never let me go on another trip before I learned how to pack.         So… the hotel.  O.O  That hotel was HOT, homeboy.  Gezis!  ::rubs hands together::  I had a fucking DOORBELL, ninja.  The tv in the hotel room is bigger than the one I have at home.  I didn’t watch much tv though.  And there was a shower AND a bathtub… Yea…  A couple of my friends got upgraded to suites, and holy shit!  You would not believe these suites, homeboy… there were two separate bathrooms, a twelve person dining room table, shit… it was bigger than Jeana’s house.  I don’t know how many of you know Jeana’s house, but… maybe if you know mine, it’s about 1/2 to 3/4 the size of my house.  I coulda gotten lost, for real.  There was a plasma tv in the bathroom.  I mean, shiiiiit…
       Anyway.  Monday and Tuesday I danced a lot.  ::shrugs::  That’s all I did.  I danced from 7 in the morning until ten at night.  I had a three hour break in the middle of it, and a lunch break.   But that’s how long I grooved.  Wednesday was the pre-qualification competition, I took home a Platinum fucking adjudication (the best, cuz) for my hip hop solo, New York… It absolutely rocked, and that’s how I met Sheldon, but he ain’t called me today and I won’t be able to talk to him tomorrow and that’s ok but I just might cry.  Yea.  And, uh… Thursday was group competition (with people from all over the country- it’s called Nationals and the judging criteria is really hard), we got four golds and three high golds (third & second place, basically).  It was alright, but… it was cool.  There was a really good hip hop studio there, but I’m not going to go into it because they pissed me off like crazy.  I was so mad… cheaters.  I hope they not only eat pumpkins, I hope they shit a pumpkin or two.  Anyway.  Friday at Nationals, I performed my two solos, my ballet (Sanctuary) and my hip hop (New York).  New York sucked.  I got backstage and was like, "yup, I’m New York, when do I perform?"  The backstage lady goes, "Uhh… you’re next."  I go "HOLY SHIT YOU’RE FUCKING KIDDING ME."  Except in my head.  I didn’t want to be disqualified, remember.  So, I had two minutes to get myself all warm, stretched and pumped.  Let’s just say that I got my back loose so I didn’t break it, and that’s about it.  I danced that hard-ass routine, rock cold and with burning shinsplints (I’d limped almost all day- on both legs, my specialty).  My muscles screamed the whole time and I couldn’t even think about performing, only about getting my ass through that 2:28 of music.  But I did it.  I took two steps down the stairs, missed hte last one, and crashed on the floor.  My team basically carried me back to the dressing room.  It sucked.  But, I came home with a high gold, and that was really exciting because, um, it sucked.  : D  And then I did my ballet, and I got a PLATINUM, homieeee!  Yea!  At Nationals…!!!!!!  When I received this award, I still could barely walk after performing and I almost cried all over again when they said platinum.  Oh, man.  It was my day.  It was beautiful.  Saturday… I don’t remember what the fuck happened on Saturday.  Oh, yea, I had rehearsal at seven and performed at 1:30, and then had the fancy gala thing at 7:30.  I didn’t see Sheldon before I left, it was really sad.  Anyway… what’s it… yea… I made it halfway through eating my chicken and I just got so tired I couldn’t move.  I was like, well, fuck.  I just sat there and stared at my chicken and tears started rolling down my face and that’s all I did.  They finally took my chicken away from me.  I left the next afternoon at 1:30 (we’d woken up at 8 to pack, and were at the airport at 10:30 because of the hotel shuttle).  We finally stepped into our house at midnight on Sunday.  Our plane had a layover of three horus, and we waited and waited at all these airports and it was like LKSAFHLAKD!  …Yea.  And literally one minute after I walked into the house, fucking exhausted and pissed off because I’d been in air conditioning all week and there’s none in our house… the phone rings.  My dad guesses, "It’s Jeana."  My mom grabs the phone and she says hello, adn then she gives me a strange look and hands me the phone.  I go "…Hello?" because I’m very exhausted and very not used to anyone calling me past 10 or 10:30, especially creeped out because I just got home and was desperately needing to unpack because out house was going up for sale the next day and it had to be spotless.  But then I hear, "Kara?  What’s up cuz, this is Sheldon.  I just got home."  And I got the biggest adrenaline rush… I unpacked for the next two hours before I crashed.  It was really fucking funny.  It was really, sweet too.  Now it’s what, a week and a half after Vegas and he still calls me like every other day.  I miss homeboy’s ass.
      

Anyway.  I got back from Vegas on the 4th of July.  I’m still pretty exhausted, I haven’t had much time to recover.  I’ve been at dance for six hours or so the past couple of days (if not hte past week).  I get home and I’m so sore and I’m so tired it’s like I’m really listless and can’t do anything.  I just go to bed and crash.  But the thing is, I want to do something this summer.  For re

al!  ::spazzes::  Heh heh.  Spazz.  Spazzcgh.  Heh heh.

Never mind.

-Inmate-