people say she’s crazy…

It’s been a long two days since we last spoke, all two of you who read this [please comment! please!].

Yesterday I started the day off with sleeping grumpily through the morning walk. Mom claimed that she opened the door to my bedroom and was overcome with the smell of garlic. This persisted throughout the day until she turned on both ACs and fans, opened the windows and the front door and aired the place out. Meanwhile, it was oozing out my pores all day. I mean, I just put FIVE ROASTED CLOVES in my salad at dinner the night before. And a few diced spoonfuls in my omelet the morning before. Not sure what the big deal is. ;)

Anyway, after waking up, I made the mistake of starting my day off (after a tasty breakfast, no garlic) with a class called “Buff Booty.” Now. Those of you familiar with my booty will note that it is decidedly unique. Buff, however, it is not necessarily always… right. So Mom and I started the day in this godawful class led by this masochist little blond muscleball thing who is all bendy and shit. And we moaned and groaned and felt okay. RIGHT NOW, HOWEVER, I AM NOT FEELING OKAY. Namely, it feels like I am being constantly stabbed in the ass. On both sides. Well over 24 hours later. Which I guess is the point, but you know. That was kind of mean at 9 AM.

Due to feeling entirely like jelly at 9:50 AM yesterday, Mom and I skipped the stretch class we’d planned on attending and wandered aimlessly, until we decided to solve my funny pants-don’t-fit problem by wetting my workout pants in the sink and then taking them to the laundry to throw them in the dryer. We were moving quite slowly (as jelly does, when forced to self-propel horizontally), so this actually took an hour.

And then what did I do? I funkaerobicized! Yeah, you know the drill. Me and like, miscellaneous other daughters, plus a handful of their moms (who usually drop out) and some 30somethings shake it. And let me tell you, after Buff Booty, it was really starting to feel shaky.

Lunch. Open faced grilled cheese. Cookies.

After lunch, Mom and I walked over to one of the pools and I attempted pigment activation for about 30 minutes. Thus, I am a little pink. It’ll be gone by the time I get home, don’t worry. Then, as if we hadn’t had enough, we went to a strength class using those elastic tubes. More lunges! More squats! Side step across this huge room with a very tight band around your ankles! Now add some bicep curls and lat raises! Moral of the story continues to be: everything hurts.

Then we laid on the floor in Gym 5 with some old people in a class called Breathing. We are REAL good at breathing. And fell asleep.

Fortunately, we were woken up in time for me to hustle down to Gym 9 for my private Pilates session. Aaaaand it was basically the greatest thing ever. Stretches and exercises and movements and everything, just nothing like what I do in my Allegro class at the Meatmarket Bally’s (which is still great, but classical Pilates is like a different universe of awesome).

Then I congratulated myself for a few hours, showered, talked Mom into Asian night at the outdoor cafe, and that was that.

Today, of course, we both woke up unable to move. Skipped the AM walk again, but this time so did Mom. We went to Energy Stretch after breakfast, which was, of course, taught by the same masochist little blond muscleball thing who taught Buff Booty. Needless to say, I still can’t touch my toes, and now I just resent that fact.

Then I had a little session with a very strange exercise physiologist who gave me some things to do for my old man posture (hi, Dad! Happy Anniversary, and thanks again for the body type!) and aforementioned lack of flexibility. These exercises also brought to light the fact that my left hip flexor and quad are literally twice as flexible as my right. I am superwonky! Aren’t you jealous?

And then I guess all of the daughters and 30somethings had 11 AM massages because I was the only marginally coordinated person in the 11:00 Live DJ Dance Party (oh god that is embarrasing to type), which is basically the same thing as, yeah, funkaerobics. It was still fun. And the music was, admittedly, awesome. It was also the second time that day that I had heard “Dontcha.” Ouch.

Lunch! Half a Ranch version of my fav CPK creation (pear + bleu cheese pizza), and a veggie burger. Cookies. Do you see a theme?

Then at 1 I had a calligraphy class! It was pretty different, and kind of useful. Did you know that most calligraphy is a series of separated strokes? As in, an “a” takes three strokes, a “b” takes two, an “s” takes three. It’s very interesting. Our project was to make a bookmark. The british lady across the table called me a pussy when she saw that I was planning on writing “Mom,” so I switched it to “Judy.” Clearly we had a good time.

On the way home from calligraphy, I realized that today was feeling very Dirty Dancing, except without a few key factors: woods, a watermelon, rain, romance and (most important) Jerry Orbach. What the Ranch does have: questionable outfits, lots of lifting (not of small dancer types, but certainly things of similar weight and acting skills), Jews, old people. Most notably, the old lady Mom and I passed on our way to breakfast wearing the “Rosh HaHamptons 2006″ t-shirt. Seriously.

After calligraphy I had a facial, sat outside and pinked up for 30 min, went to a lecture on clean foodz and went to dinner with Jams. Shrimp and risotto. Lasagna. Cookies. You know.

That was today. Today I also spent a lot of time thinking about how lovely it would be to come with all my fronds. One day!

Tomorrow… more of the same. No fun treatments, but certainly more dancing :)