And I Dance, Dance, Dance!

Last night, Andrew Fulmer Dance Studios, waived the entrance fee to their 5:30 Latin Cardio class.  Since it was free and my day had been too busy for my typical yoga dvd, I decided to pop in.  I'd been meaning to check out the classes at the studio for a while, but had been dragging my feet.  I was scared. Dance is something that fascinates me, but I've had extremely minimal training and didn't want to embarrass myself in front of a group of skilled dancers.

When I arrived, Jonathan was leading a moderate sized group consisting of people from a variety of age ranges and demographics through a sequence of four or so power dance moves, one-by-one.  After the group had caught on, they were all combined into a sequence.  It definitely got my heart rate elevated.  A short break later and we were learning another set of moves.  Not only did these steps get my heart pumping, I could feel my muscles working.  If you've ever seen any sort of latin dance performed, you know that it involves a fair amount of hip movement.  Swiveling of one's hips inevitably leads to an ab workout, and an intense one, at that.  I could also feel the workout in my glutes, since several moves involved backwards lunges.

After we learned that last of three sequences, it was time to put them all together.  Several people in the class, including myself, looked a little nervous at this instruction.  I was doing well to remember the steps to the individual sequences!  Nevertheless, Jonathan began calling out the steps and each one would be executed repeatedly until it was time for the next step.  It worked out well for us beginners because, even if you didn't get it right away, the repetition gave us a chance to see what Jonathan and the others were doing and join in before it was time for the next step.

The class environment was truly enjoyable.  In some ways, I had expected a group of snobby dance aficionados.  Instead, everyone seemed to be having a great time, which made it easy to laugh off my inevitable missteps.  Instead of being intimidating, the mirrored room made learning easier to learn, since you could see the instructor from every angle and there was always someone to follow, no matter which direction you looked.

I'm definitely going to be attending this class whenever I can.  With any luck, my missteps will decrease along with the circumference of my waistline and I may even learn to hold my own on the dance floor.

Style Self Help

I've found myself wandering the aisles of shelves at my local Borders several times in the last few weeks.  I usually always browse through several sections: yoga, diet, fiction, and style.  Books on style intrigue me. I  enjoy reading them, but I can't say that they really affect my fashion decisions all that much.  Perhaps I have too much faith in my fashion sense, but they usually tell me things I already know.

There are people that need these books.  In fact, I would go so far as to say that an extremely large portion of the population could benefit from some sort of style self-help manual.  The flaw in the publishing of these books is that most of the people who need them the most aren't aware of their need or the existence of a solution.  For example, there is a book by Clinton Kelly, of What Not To Wear fame, in which he outlines   the top 100 fashion mistakes and how not to commit a fashion felony.  One of the top blunders listed is tracksuits, velour and otherwise. Does anybody remember that scene in Mean Girls where Regina's mom's chihuahua is chewing on her nipple through her pink velour tracksuit? There shouldn't have been any questions about whether or not tracksuits were a good idea after that.

The next book I picked up was titled, How Not To Look Fat, Ever. This, I thought, had potential.  We all have fat days and I know that I never feel like wearing any of my clothes on those days because I feel like they all look awful. Solution! No. This book should be titled, How To Look Less Fat Even Though You Are Fat. Never once does this book suggest going to a gym or putting down the Doritos. I could publish a one page manual on "How Not To Look Fat" and I'd give it away.  It would read thus: "Take the $30 you were going to spend on a book to help you camouflage your fat and use it to join a gym. Stop buying soda and junk food and use that surplus to continue paying for your new gym membership. Then, you will not only not look fat, you will not be fat."

After that, I left. I wanted to leaf through more tomes of fashion, but was too sick to my stomach to keep going.  On my way out, I witnessed a woman in brown legging with brown socks pulled up over the bottom. Tights? Not quite. I think they have a book for that.

The Weekenders

Surprise, surprise! My fabulous self went out every night this weekend!

Friday was pretty low key. I was supposed to get drinks with Tessa and some of her friends, but they weren't planning on going out until later, so I met up with Anna at Starbucks for some good girl talk.  It was her birthday and she'd just been out to a nearby vineyard for dinner with her husband.  I've heard such good things about Gervasi, but its pretty pricey, so The Writer and I haven't quite made our way out there yet.  11pm rolled around and Tessa, etcetera, still hadn't left to get drinks, so I decided to call it a night, since I'd been awake since 4:00 am.

Saturday brought more Anna-time! We met for lunch at Corky's for some good food with disappointing service.  I love their veggie burgers and sweet potato chips, but our server was so unenthusiastic and rude that I would reconsider going back, which is a real shame.  After lunch, we went to get our noses pierced.  She'd had hers done a few months ago, but it had gotten pulled out with a washcloth one night, so she needed to get it done again. I've wanted a little nose stud for a while as well.  We stopped by The Writer's work to pick up some smoothies, since Anna was a bit lightheaded after having a needle shoved through her nose, poor thing.

After church on Saturday night, The Writer and I picked up The Roommate for dinner. No, she wasn't third-wheelin' it, we had set her up on a date with one of The Writer's best friends, Matt.  The Writer and I were going along to help their first date be less awkward. They'd never met each other and were going to Luigi's for dinner.  Luigi's has a sort of cult following in this area, apparently, and The Writer was not about to miss it.  After dinner, we picked up angel food cake and strawberries and settled in at The Writer's apartment to watch Office Space. It's one of those movies that he always tells me I need to see, since I fell asleep the first time I tried watching it. I may have made it through the first half, maybe less.  It didn't take me long to doze off.

Sunday morning meant blueberry and leftover strawberry pancakes.  Since he's been picking up more hours at work, he had to go in later.  I got back to my place with just enough time to get ready for our roommate reunion that we'd been planning for a month or so.  The Roommate and I used to live in a big house that we shared with Anna and five other girls.  Most people cringe when they think of eight girls living together, but we loved it...most of the time.  We'd all gone our separate ways last May.  Anna and one other girl were getting married, The Roommate, Sammy, and I found a condo to spend the next year in, two of the other girls created another community house to live in, and one moved back onto campus.  We hadn't all been together since moving out, so we decided to meet for dinner at Olive Garden. I remember why I never eat at Olive Garden - my stomach hated me later that night and last night after I had the leftovers.  It was so much fun seeing everyone that it was worth the heavy cream sauce and Black Tie Mousse Cake that I indulged in.  I was NOT feeling skinny anymore after that dinner.

A quick and fruitless trip to Target later and it was bedtime for me.  My weekend hasn't been that busy in a while! It may have been a strong contributing factor to the bad "case of The Mondays" that I had yesterday (I was awake for that part).

Fake Bake

At this point in our country's history, I think it's safe to say that we're all getting cancer one way or another.  People never used to get cancer, now it is the #2 killer of women in America (source).  For goodness sakes, even our pets are getting cancer.

About once a year, since my sophomore year of college, I buy a tanning package at a local tanning salon. I know in the long run that it isn't good for me.  It increases my already significant risk of skin cancer, I know.  Being of Irish and German decent, my parents were overly diligent in slathering me in sunscreen from an early age, yet I still spent plenty of summers looking like a lobster.  I thought I was condemned to forever carry aloe in my purse during the summers if I planned on being outside or even taking a long drive.  Tanning changed that.  I could enjoy the sun with much less worry than before, since I wasn't getting all of my UV exposure at once.

Those of you who have never lived through a midwest winter may not understand my next line of reasoning.  While I wouldn't go so far as to say that I have serious seasonal effective disorder, I would say that by January 1st each year, I am thoroughly sick of winter.  Heating is expensive, therefore, I am often cold.  I bake more in the winter, therefore, I am chubbier than I'd like.  I have spent far too long under layers of sweaters and unflattering winterwear, therefore, I need a new wardrobe.  The sky has been gray and snow filled almost as long as I can remember, therefore, I need a tropical vacation or the beginning of summer, which is always too far away.  All of these things result in a very cranky me.  Throw in the stress of the holidays, dealing with my family and crowded airports during the holidays, and missing The Writer while he's visiting his family and you have a veritable tornado of frustration.  

By February, I crack. I walk into that tanning salon, show my old college ID for a discount (hey, I don't want to pay more for my cancer than I have too), and lay under pure sunshine for eight minutes.  For eight glorious minutes, it isn't winter anymore and I forget about the months I've spent trying to remember what my fingers and toes feel like.  It doesn't last long but it feels incredible. My skin is warm and tingly for several hours following and I feel happy, despite the still gray skies. Wait, I am still talking about tanning, right? Right. Thank goodness the tanning bed is the only thing in my life that shuts off automatically after 8, 10, or even 15 minutes. (Sorry, I had too)

Twelve tans later and the package I bought has run out. Luckily, by that time it's very nearly summer, or at least spring.  Spring usually includes a good amount of sunshine, warmth, and cool breezes, too, so we get along.  

This year, I'm getting extra lucky.  The Writer's parents moved to Florida not too long ago and we are going to get to go visit them next month for ten whole days! Ten whole days of sunshine! I've already bought one new bathing suit and am trying to hold back on the rest of my shopping 'til the last minute.  Here in the midwest, the spring collections hit a little late and I want to make sure I can see the whole picture before I decide which clothes I want to spend the next five months in. 

I don't feel bad about getting a fake bake tan leading up to this vacation and summer.  I may eventually regret it, but not as much as those who tan several time a week, all year round.  I'm also at a fairly low risk for other types of cancer, since I don't eat red meat, try to eat lots of fruits and veggies, quit smoking, and maintain a healthy weight.  If I can be in a better mood for the last few, bleak months of the Ohio winter and run less of a risk of burning once the real sun comes out again, I consider tanning a risk well worth taking.

So sue me.

It's about me. Ok?

It's about lunchtime. I'm laying on my bed, sans sheets (they're in the wash), reading blogs and eating the Nerds that The Writer stashed in my purse for a movie last night.

All this to say, remember how I loved blogging? I do.

I stopped blogging for two reasons: 1) the storyline of my last blog ended and 2) blogging and keeping up with all of the blogs that I followed became extremely time consuming, so much so that it was hard to find anything to blog about other than blogs.

I suppose that both problems were of my own making.  First, I let my writing and life revolve around someone who didn't really belong in either.  I sometimes wonder if the blogs of my mil-wife/girlfriend friends affected the length of my last relationship.  Reading their stories filled me with a sense of destiny, even responsibility, to follow a certain life path because of the vocational choice that someone else had made.

That is not who I am.

I have been tentative in my return to the blog-o-sphere, but the itch to write has not gone away.  Perhaps it will be a tool of self-evaluation this time around.  While I love The Writer deeply and see our paths continuing in the same direction indefinitely, I need to retain a grasp on my own self and my dreams.

Adventures are on their way, I can feel it!

So, if you happen to stumble upon my blog, feel free to follow and comment all you want. But know this, it's about me and that's ok.