people say she’s crazy…

Ah, Day Two, our first full day.

The fun thing about coming west is that getting up at 6:30 AM to take the 7 AM walk is actually like waking up at 8:30, which is too late to even consider making it to work on time (for people who are not me and thus not content to go to work in the closest nonstinky pants/shirt/shoes combo + ponytail + splash of water on face + worry about brushing your teeth when you get there), so it’s quite easy. The fact that it is now 8:45 PM here and I am sleepy means that if I stay on this schedule, I may just readjust when I get home with relative ease. Yeah, right.

1) As the kids would say, I’ve still got it.
Jo, KP, other Studio Atlanta Dance alumnae (or alumni, if we all remember that Haynes Martin took classes there, which we should all remember), worry not! I can dance! And if I can dance, you can dance. Seriously, I shook my groove thing. Yeah yeah. As you can probably tell, this is the least embarrassing way I can admit that I willingly and joyfully went to a Funk Aerobics class and had a great time. There were some funny mom-and-daughter combos in the class with me, one set of which bailed after about 15 minutes (no groove things to shake), but my other half was in a spinning class, because she hearts misery. Also in Funk Aerobics, I learned that my new black workout pants do not stay up very well.

2) My eyes are bigger than my stomach.
This is largely in reference to the famed Canyon Ranch “ice cream,” which I ate freely at ages 16 and 20, but will decidedly not be revisiting in my remaining days here. Tonight at dinner, Mom told some other Atlantans that my most memorable commentary from my age 16 trip was, “Okay, this has been great, but I am sick of hearing old poeple talk about fiber.” That was, is, and always will be true. However, I am now one of those old people. And now I will stop talking.

3) Occasionally, I melt.
A very nice woman named Marguerite slathered me up with lotion and dekinked my neck and shoulders and back and arms and legs and everthing else this afternoon, and I, okay pretty unsurprisingly, melted. I often run around Chicago whining about how I need a ma-ssage (inflection: Paul McCartney, 2002, United Center), but I never get off my ass and do anything about it. In fact, while cleaning something out recently, I came across the gift certificate for a massage that the Dolphin staff gave me senior year. Yeah, I’m awesome. So actually getting a massage was more than a treat–it was relatively essential. It was pretty basic, but highly relaxing. I probably drooled. Later this week I have a hot stone massage. I know, right? More on that later. Obviously.

Those were really the key points of what I learned about myself. As you might imagine, when people with exceedingly strong hands take over your major muscle groups and you are left to drool into the lavendar-scented, head-holding horseshoe of the massage table, you get some pretty solid thinking done, so I appreciated that. I have thought many thoughts today, and I’m feeling pretty good. Also I have taken many steps (like before 8 AM, I had taken about 4500, thank you, Mr. Pedometer), and I am feeling pretty good about that, too.

1) HOLY SHIT, JAVELINAS.
They travel in PACKS. They look like BOARS but weirder. They make little snorty noises. They are a little terrifying. Mom spotted a bunch and came and got me from my sunny reading perch this afternoon to observe them. Awesome.

2) Yamuna You know those soccer flops everybody had with the painful plastic/rubber nubbins in them that dug into your feet? Somebody decided that there should be a foot flexibility and strengthening exercise capitalizing on the meat-tenderizer aspects of those flops. Behold, the Yamuna foot wakers:

You stand on them on different parts of your feet. They hurt, more than those soccer flops. And yet, strangely satisfying. Meanwhile, Yamuna Body Rolling is this whole other thing where you roll yourself around on a little ball (like rhythmic gymnastics-sized), which Mom did this afternoon while Marguerite had her way with me. I prefer Marguerite, I’m sure.

3) I dig Jonathan Franzen
The Corrections is good. I am not very far into it, but it is intriguing, and I really appreciate the flow from story to story. Also I like the law firm name, Speigh & Knuter or whatever. I’m not above a little kitch. Meanwhile, I think I made a few more book reviews on goodreads.com, so maybe I will load those in here tomorrow.

That’s all to report here today. I hope this wasn’t boring. Please let me know. I could really get into all the hilarious people who are in the Atlanta group we kind of snuck through the door with, but it’s probably all jokes about little southern women rejecting spicy noodle salads, trying to pronounce Chi Gong and describing, IN DETAIL, the hot oil massages they got. Before dinner. Ew? Ew.

So it’s bedtime ’round here. Get along little doggies, et al. Hasta luego…!