In grade eleven four of my best friends and I did a lip sync to the opening credits of Sailor Moon.
It was pretty epic. I even did my hair in Sailor Moon’s weird ball-pigtail things.
During the musical interlude, five of our guy friends came out on stage dressed as aliens and monsters, and we kicked their butts (in classic Sailor Scout style, of course.)
This, weirdly, is one of the performing highlights of my life.
I was going to go for a long run yesterday, but with all of this white stuff on the ground, and my Yak Tracks nowhere to be found, I swallowed my pride and schlepped myself to the little gym located just down the street from my house.
(Schlepped really being the operative word here, what with the high degree of slippery-ness I was contending with on our absolutely treacherous sidewalks. Say what you want about us west coasters, but the majority of us really can’t do winter for crap.)
Anywho, I was feeling pretty dejected about this decision, what with how vehemently I claimed I was never, EVER going to return to a gym (especially that gym), but as I really wanted to move my body I girded my loins and went.
Oh dear me.
I really do loathe gyms.
For starters, a drop-in pass cost me ten dollars.
What the what.
Second, nothing is sillier to me than running on a treadmill. Anytime I do this, I always think, “Man. What are the aliens thinking as they watch us do this crazy stuff?”
But mostly I just really can’t stand the clientele that frequent these establishments because everything they do just completely grinds my gears.
The thing that I hate the most? When dudes feel the need to one-up me after I’ve performed an exercise.
For instance, many times after I’ve used the chin-up bar (and am totally proud at the 5-8 chin-ups I’ve managed to crank out), some schmuck feels some strange compulsion to prove just how much stronger he is that I, and will ask if he can “work-in” (despite the fact that he hasn’t finished his reps on whatever other machine he has been using) and then do as many chin-ups as he can physically handle.
All of the barfs.
But in the end, the gym did serve its purpose and I felt all the better for having a chance to work out on such a wintery, snow-filled day.
It is kind of a dream of mine to be an extra is a Bollywood music video.
I really, really love Hindi music.
This is one of my faves, from a movie I really, really loved. (Song starts around 1:30)
Sometimes when I am baking or cooking, I stick on a 4-hour long playlist and just dance about the house.
Plus – the outfits.
I haven’t taken a bath in about fifteen years.
I’m just not really into them, you know?
I remember taking baths just when I was learning how to shave my legs, and I would shave my legs whilst SITTING in the tub.
GAH. I did so many crazy things as teenager, I sometimes don’t know how I made it through that decade of my life in one piece.
Anyways, I’m not exactly sure if there is one determining factor behind my decision to never take another bath ever again in my entire life (unofficial decision of course – it has never been formally decried), but I think it’s mostly just because I love showering SO MUCH and really, who has the time for baths? Let alone the fact that there is about a five minute window where a bath is amazing, and then you have to contend with the ever-cooling water, rogue body oils, and the realization that this is neither as relaxing or romantic as you were originally led to believe.
Plus, I always hated trying to read a book in the bath because my hands would always get really cold, and then I’d put them in the water to warm them up and then my book would get all wet from my wet hands.
GRIM TIMES HERE FOLKS.
As I get older I cannot help but think that the majority of Christmas songs are just absolute garbage.
(Please note that I wrote songs, and not carols – most carols are epic and badass, and I sing them all at the top of my lungs every time I am in the shower, in celebration of the fact that I am showering and not taking a bath.)
But seriously – so many of these tunes that we are inundated with ad nauseam at this time of year are just ridiculously awful in the extreme.
For instance, topping my most hated list?
DO THEY KNOW IT’S CHRISTMAS.
Oh I think they bloody-well do! Because I think it’s Africa and you know, not THE MOON.
Damn you Bono! What a bunch of condescending, tone-deaf, privileged jerks.
Seriously, this song is pretty much the musical equivalent of “but it’s okay – I have a black friend!”
It’s just the worst.
AND IT’S NOT OKAY.
FOUR MORE DAYS TILL CHRISTMAS!
Marc and I are finally going to today to procure a little tree for our house, and we’ll be decking the halls with care.
What are all you fab chaps up to tonight?
Do let me know. I’d love to hear as I dance the night away.