count the TV references. count em!

Sorry I've been gone for a few days after my empty promises to stay true. It won't happen again--until I get a job, and who knows when that'll be. School starts on Monday for the kiddos, and I haven't heard anything yet. That's the way things work here; plus, who needs tutoring on the first day of school?

Anyway, I haven't written because I've been feeling utterly ashamed of my lazy lifestyle, which offers nothing noteworthy to write about. Just kidding! I am totally proud of the fact that I've been sleeping until 9:30, doing crosswords, and re-reading P.D. James mysteries to see if I can catch any of her clues this time.

Sadly, Ben had the cable shut off on Wednesday. That sounds like he's domestically abusing me by taking away my privileges one by one. Really, we had it changed from full cable to basic, so we still have Comedy Central and TBS (where you can now, I was shocked to learn, hear the S and the D words), but we've lost VH-1, E!, Bravo, A & E, Discovery Health (bye bye, Medical Mysteries) and, the biggest loss to me, Lifetime. I'll have to rely on memory from now on when making plans to reconstruct the Golden Girls. Lucky for you, Robyn, Stephanie and Lucrecia, I was at home every single Saturday night that GG was on the air. So I know it all.

This was not supposed to devolve into TV commentary, and pathetic commentary at that.

***
These asterisks oughtta do the trick.

I wanted to share my elation about a dramatic new turn my life is taking. Several months ago, Ben and I joined The Club, one of our town's two gyms, and haven't set foot in it since early July. Yesterday, I woke up with a newfound zest for life, and decided to go to a class called Body Combat, in the name of doing something positive for me.

Just kidding. What happened was, before RIP-cable-day, I watched Workout, the new series about trainers in L.A., and came down with a little COIAD. I realized that only by starting a strict fitness regimen would I have a chance at emulating Jackie Warner, the gym owner in Workout, in every way but for her lesbian girlfriend, Mimi. [Sorry, Ben.] She is buff but not intimidating, dresses adorably, and drinks white wine in almost every evening scene. I also may start painting my fingernails dark blue or black, but I'm wondering if this may be a well-known lesbian code.

Anyway, Body Combat (think ominously & hum Mortal Kombat song here). The class was basically Tae-Bo with some fake Asian moves (I got to bow to my sensei!). So of course I kicked ass, having done many hours of VHS Tae-Bo in my sister's Seattle apartment when I was an unemployed mooch. I also already knew "the claw" from an Oprah episode about defending yourself from parking lot rapists, and that was a key move in the workout.

I stopped working out about two years ago. This is, not coincidentally, when Ben and I started dating. As I would notice my muscles atrophying, lung capacity diminishing, energy level dropping and bones brittling, I would be mildly concerned, but never to the point of action. I kind of accepted it as part of my new teacherly persona: dowdy wardrobe from Macy's, comfortable shoes by Clarks', disdain for the music nowadays, addiction to prime-time shows, Olive Oyl (quoth Ben) limbs.

But as I left the gym after Body Combat, and today after Body Pump (unh!), I felt a flutter of a feeling that I had forgotten existed. Something about the hour-long oxygen deprivation to my brain, coupled with the mist of fatigue creeping its way through muscles that hadn't been used in Apple Paltrow's lifetime, evoked a sense of nostalgia for adobed days gone by. The scene it brought to mind: driving home from Defined Fitness into the sunset, sweat evaporating into the dry desert air, feeling both revulsion and envy for the pastel-hued, Mercedes-sheltering, faux Mexican folksy complexes I passed. [I feel that same love/hate for the beautiful scenery and unattainable property of Kona.] The post-gym grocery shop, filling the cart with things I think my friends would like instead of the weekday weighing of cost per serving and indulgence factor. [We had friends over for dinner tonight, now rare but back then, an almost daily occurence.] Exhilaration, uncertainty, pleasant anxiety as my mind swam with possibilities for the night ahead, or the life ahead. A cheesy fitnessy person would bring up endorphins. I prefer to think of it as some kind of magic that reminds me of someone I used to be, or maybe still am.

trash-talking

I'm spending the day (god, I hope it doesn't take all day) writing my dang Educational Philosophy, which is worth most of my grade in "Introduction to Teaching." I hate the word dang. It's so Britney-white-trash. But when you've eaten refried beans for breakfast and are sitting in the kitchen with a blob of aloe gel greasing up your burnt face, you may as well go whole-hog. Did I mention I'm wearing cut-offs and drinking Kool-Aid?

So, the point is, I'm stuck in front of my new laptop and will probably be posting random irrelevancies every 15 minutes.

distractions

Okay, so, I wanted to start writing more about matters of substance, however uninformed my perspective may be, and regardless of how few people care to hear my opinions.

It's just so hard to get away from the trivial when things like this keep happening to me: I heated up some refried beans in the microwave, and as I stirred them up, a red-hot blob of bean splattered up onto my face, burning my cheek in what I think is the second degree. I have a bean burn blister!

Naturally, I've lost my train of thought, which was headed toward solving the Middle East peace crisis.

casting call

Dear Friends,

There's no denying that we're getting older. It's never too early to think about the future. So, I'm throwing this out there: Who wants to be one of my Golden Girls?

We'll have a tastefully decorated house that's just a little over-the-top. We'll dress in 2030's version of flowing caftans, coral lipstick, and filmy blazers with whimsical brooches. We'll always look dignified, even when we gather around the kitchen table to eat cheesecake late at night when one of us can't sleep because we've gotten ourselves into a pickle.

Of course, participation requires that you be either widowed, divorced, or a lifelong spinster. But this is the postmodern version, so maybe we could work something out where any husbands live together in a house across town.

If interested, please respond with a brief description of your qualifications and what you would add to the house. I'll be out on the lanai having a mai tai.

P.S. I'm serious.

awesome

Ever since Theo was here, I have been afflicted with a touch of Baby Fever. So naturally I pay more attention to the commercials with babies-through-toddlers in them (my Fever only extends to about age four), which are usually for things like Juicy Juice, Silk soymilk, Cheerios.

Here's a little nugget I saw tonight. It's for Happy Meals, with Mother beaming at daughter eating Chicken McNuggets. Over the picture float various attributes, ending with

"100% Tender".

Think of the poor schlub who sold his soul to write this ad copy: "100 percent......um, well, I guess..... tender?" It's not like tenderness can be measured and regulated by the FDA.

Apologies to Steph for the ellipses. Any suggestions for another way I could have done it?

also

Whoops. I forgot that the whole reason I started that list in the previous post was so I could list this:

* living in a place where people have vanity plates that say things like "LA FABS."

sitting in the dark.....

Anonymous said...

Yeah, but you know you just wanna be hangin in the ghetto in ol' Abq sweatin' in 90 degree+ heaven sippin' your margarita in your favorite outdoor pub or eatin' pizza at joe's and havin' a beer while the neighborhood cats rub at your feet! You know ya miss it!

All right, aNONymous. Whomever you are. Maybe I do miss Albuquerque a little bit. So what if I do? I just try to keep my NM-stalgia in check to encourage Ben to let go of his belief that it's heaven on earth, to which Hawaii will never compare. It doesn't help that the other night, we went over to our friends' for dinner and they had a houseguest who used to go to UNM, and knew all the same weirdos as Ben did. (No offense to the few weirdos who may be reading.) The reminiscing was fast and furious, and freaking hilarious. Our hosts, who are from Boston and Philadelphia, were like, "Man, we never knew there were so many freaks in Albuquerque!" It was then that I realized how truly...unique Albuquerque is. Kona wouldn't tolerate a naked guy in a sandwich board parading along Palani Road for one day.

Some other things I miss about living in the Q:
* bread for under $4 a loaf
* the dollar theater
* the less-than-savory clientele at the dollar theater
* Mickey Mouse guy outside the Anodyne
* making snide remarks about slutty girls wearing miniskirts in below-freezing weather downtown
* hurrying away in fear from mean-looking slutty girls who may have overheard the snide remarks

Anyway...who are you, Anonnie? Let it be said that I enjoy anonymous commenters, at least to a point. The mystery adds a little spice to my life. If I can't guess who you are after a few days, I'll become annoyed. In this case, the consistent use of apostrophe-"n" in all gerund verbs is a big clue. As is the margarita reference.

some of that news I promised, plus unrelated photos

I think I have a job lined up! I'm a little disappointed that I won't need to apply to be a poolside cocktail waitress at one of the luxury resorts 40 minutes away, or a wisecracking secretary for a construction company.

The vice-principal of my school called and offered me a position as a reading and writing tutor for students who need extra help in the classroom. I'll spend three days a week visiting students in their English classes (thus accomplishing my goal of observing more experienced teachers), offering help to my assigned kids as well as anyone else who needs or wants it. I won't qualify to keep my health benefits, so they're trying to come up with a different position with a few more hours.

Either way, I'm psyched! I'll still make enough money to live on, I'll still get to commute 3 minutes to work, I'll still get to work in the classroom....but I won't have write lessons, grade papers, or overcome paralyzing fear every morning! Yesssss. (Let's leave aside the fact that I'm merely putting this off until next year, when I plan to get a real teaching job again.)

I'll probably still look for a waitressing gig to do a couple nights a week. I have my sights set on this sushi place that charges $6 for a spear of asparagus tempura. Or I may sign up to be a substitute teacher. School starts August 1st, and I don't think I'll start this new phantom job until a week or so after that. But the wolves are at bay!

The downside is, I'll have less time to spend on things like this:

Or this:

This post brought to you by the letter T and the number 2

All right, so this is my excuse this time:

Theo and I have been on some very important conference calls with Big Bird.

I can't go into details now, but I will drop the names Slimy the worm and Herry. Biff and Sully, the trash carriers who haven't been seen since the early '80s, are also involved.