I put my bag in the wrong cubby at dance class last night. It was the cubby that had an open back, and was apparently where the scented plug-in room freshener was located. Now, my bag has been swamped with scented room freshener. It has been wafting this aroma all day, and I do not want it. It is terrible, it is strong, it is too soapy, and it is giving me a mild headache. So far, my tactic of glaring at my bag while coughing pointedly has yielded no results.


After weighing myself on a whim and discovering that my corporeal form’s relationship with gravity had become more loving when I wasn’t looking, I made a decision. More exercise! Less eating! Less drinking of not-water! I ate less ALL DAY TODAY and took an entire exercise class. After all that good behavior I really wanted something sweet so I mixed cranberry cocktail and 7 Up. I just need something sweet, you know?

I have discovered something about myself.  When I am innocently jogging along in the morning darkness and am confronted with something lying on the ground (Say, a twig and leaves felled by the latest storm) that I cannot immediately identify, I will startle/jump/skitter sideways. In truth, it looks a lot like these cats.


In dance class watching myself in the mirror doing squats thinking, “my hair looks like a jellyfish right now.”

Don’t worry, I have no intention of getting philosophical here. I just wanted to say that I survived my abnormal exercise week, not without vast quantities of whimpering, ibuprofen, and sympathy-mongering. However I and my body are better for it. Turns out that whole “fitness” and “exercise” racket was on to something.  Go figure.

I did a parkour class today.  If you need me to wait while you Google it, that’s fine.

. . .

. . .

. . .

all caught up?  Great.

I took a class at a gym owned by one friend from high school, and managed by another.  They happen to be brother and sister, which is cool.  It was a ladies only class, so that was also pleasant.  I have at least five bruises from my time there, the first occurring when I attempted to, as all the other ladies in my group had, run up a “warped” (curved) wall to grab a ledge and muscle myself up onto said ledge.  I failed and slid dramatically back down a few times; I think about four but in retelling it became six because that allowed me more sass-leverage over the instructor.  I banged my knee but good the first time, but at the end of every slide I did finish well, posing at the bottom in various ways: dead flail, savior on a cross, I’m a star, feel my shame.  Next up was vaulting, where I was supposed to use my arms to help propel me “safely” over a sort of triangular structure that resembled a long ziggurat mixed with a pommel horse.  After careening into/over that a few times, we got to try a different, taller vault with no padding on top.  sure, instructor who does this all day and has done for years, I’ll just run a short step up the side of this. . .thing? and flail on over.  It’s totally a natural maneuver!  It just feels right!  Then we ran at a wall, upon which I splatted and dangled, and got to scamper through an entire piece of scaffolding as we wished.  there were also large tires.  I ran around several obstacles, but I did do a poledancing twirl on one of the scaffolding uprights.  I’m pretty proud of that. I don’t know where all of my bruises will be when they finally color up, but I know that I will be doing that class again.  As long as the one teacher-fellow doesn’t make jokes about inevitable catfights to a group of women he’s just met.  All the vaulting and freerunning in the world will not get you safely away from a group of women you’ve just pissed off, Sweetcheeks. Best of luck and godspeed.

I may have made up a word, or just have not expanded my vocabulary enough to know it’s real.  Either way, I like it.  And it’s what I did this evening.  Driving home, I was singing along absentmindedly to a song while swooping one arm out the window.  I wasn’t driving absently, I was merely singing and swooping absently.  There’s a difference.  I then realized that my arm was quite happy, swooping along, because it was reminiscent of being in water.  That did distract me from driving, but nothing bad happened at all. It was a short thought.  I got home, convinced Nikolai to walk down to the apartment’s pool with me, then chickened out because there could be people and the people might see me and think I looked silly.  Also swimming suits are difficult to maneuver onto my person, being as they are primarily composed of spandex and attitude.

We made it to the pool only to notice that our key (which I got last year) no longer matched the lock, but an obliging neighbor  uh. . obliged us, by leaving the other gate propped open.  This was not noticed, of course, until after Nikolai repeatedly attempted to unlock the gate with the key to my office.  Guess what didn’t work.  The water was nice though, I floated around like a confused manatee (in manner, not appearance) (okay maybe appearance but not body type) while Nick reclined on the warm concrete and stuck his legs in.

I decided to attempt a few laps, and promptly had a giggle-fit every time I had to get started in shallower depth.  The action of flailing my lower body into a more horizontal position made me think of a dog being put in water against it’s will, kind of like this:

But I did manage to swim a few laps in between giggles.  I am woefully out of shape, and swimming always reinforces this fact.  I was still breathing heavy when we got back to the apartment.  However, that is something of a downer ending so go watch the little dog again.