S had a shitty day yesterday. He hates his job, oh he hates it. He said the phone call sweatshop has sped up the call time, and he got his ass chewed because he failed to push "666" to use the bathroom, he had used "667" which signalled his break, which is different. Every moment accounted for, tick tock, reduces people to something less than human. After lunch he left. He just didn't go back. He said, "No fucking way."
He got on a bus headed home, and he said the bus driver rolled her eyes at him because he had to run to catch it, and then the pretty girl he sat next to in the only available seat remaining rolled her eyes at him, and the woman across the aisle WAS TALKING LIKE THIS about how wonderful a job she had and it's the same awful place S works.
Then the bus driver cut off a meat van and the van hit the bus and broke the tail-light, and the bus driver and the meat van driver checked it three times, and then the bus driver passed out accident reports for everyone to fill out although nobody really saw anything more than the bus driver did and so S filled his name in as Clark Kent and gave a phony phone number, wished he could have already been home, hopped on the next bus and had to sit next to a snoring drunk bum he said smelled like he had shat himself.
When he got home he realized he didn't have keys.
So, in the spirit of making sure our home is secure, he broke into the garage and then kicked in two doors, which he'll repair and fortify. He said it was scary how easy the door jambs popped off with one well-placed kick. He's talking about getting steel jambs and dead bolts, and also some spare keys...
He baked a chicken and called me and I told him it's all going to be okay.
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Dance class last night kicked my ass.
We've been working on our group choreography for months now, and so every class was focused on synchronization, coordination, hands, feet, "postures and smiles, ladies!" The choreography demanded our determination and thought, not our determination and sweat.
The motions in the choreography were more about timing than stamina. Our Stellar One reviewed the show with us, which we think was our best bellydancing winter show yet and feedback from friends in the audience confirms it. Mostly it was fun.
Last night our instructor asked us what we wanted to do for class, since it's the last one before a two-week break, and one of the last classes before she heads to Cairo for three months. Glutton for punishment that I am, I piped up, "Kick our asses!" Oh yes, please, and she did indeed.
Side to side slide, feel the muscles across my back and down the tops of my thighs catching and releasing with the motion, find the rhythm, repeat; twist, upper body immobile and right hip rising and dropping, accent in time with the beat, down down down down, quick switch to the other hip, down down down down, ignore the side cramp it'll go away. Curly-que turns, draw a circle on the floor, keep my head up and heels in. Shimmy, begin big, hips and body loose, just lightly balanced, knees moving quickly back and forth like a motor, vroom vroom, let the motion travel up the leg and terminate in the hips, keep the chest elevated so the upper body doesn't bounce.
We strutted, shimmied, travelled front to back, side to side, around in a circle for an hour. We combined moves, added shimmies to moves, worked it hard. All of us were panting and sweating, clearing our throats like horses, hair wild, thighs burning, eyes blazing with big happy grins. Oh yes, we had forgotten muscle-building drills.
I got home, showered, sat with S for a while, then I decided to climb in bed with my book and a wee nip of Irish whiskey. I like a night cap, I think it helps me sleep, but last night it was completely unecessary since I woke up this morning and it sat, untouched, on S's dresser along with my book. I asked him if he found me asleep when he came into the room last night & he said I was all curled up sideways on my book like a cat.
That sounds about right.
He got on a bus headed home, and he said the bus driver rolled her eyes at him because he had to run to catch it, and then the pretty girl he sat next to in the only available seat remaining rolled her eyes at him, and the woman across the aisle WAS TALKING LIKE THIS about how wonderful a job she had and it's the same awful place S works.
Then the bus driver cut off a meat van and the van hit the bus and broke the tail-light, and the bus driver and the meat van driver checked it three times, and then the bus driver passed out accident reports for everyone to fill out although nobody really saw anything more than the bus driver did and so S filled his name in as Clark Kent and gave a phony phone number, wished he could have already been home, hopped on the next bus and had to sit next to a snoring drunk bum he said smelled like he had shat himself.
When he got home he realized he didn't have keys.
So, in the spirit of making sure our home is secure, he broke into the garage and then kicked in two doors, which he'll repair and fortify. He said it was scary how easy the door jambs popped off with one well-placed kick. He's talking about getting steel jambs and dead bolts, and also some spare keys...
He baked a chicken and called me and I told him it's all going to be okay.
---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----
Dance class last night kicked my ass.
We've been working on our group choreography for months now, and so every class was focused on synchronization, coordination, hands, feet, "postures and smiles, ladies!" The choreography demanded our determination and thought, not our determination and sweat.
The motions in the choreography were more about timing than stamina. Our Stellar One reviewed the show with us, which we think was our best bellydancing winter show yet and feedback from friends in the audience confirms it. Mostly it was fun.
Last night our instructor asked us what we wanted to do for class, since it's the last one before a two-week break, and one of the last classes before she heads to Cairo for three months. Glutton for punishment that I am, I piped up, "Kick our asses!" Oh yes, please, and she did indeed.
Side to side slide, feel the muscles across my back and down the tops of my thighs catching and releasing with the motion, find the rhythm, repeat; twist, upper body immobile and right hip rising and dropping, accent in time with the beat, down down down down, quick switch to the other hip, down down down down, ignore the side cramp it'll go away. Curly-que turns, draw a circle on the floor, keep my head up and heels in. Shimmy, begin big, hips and body loose, just lightly balanced, knees moving quickly back and forth like a motor, vroom vroom, let the motion travel up the leg and terminate in the hips, keep the chest elevated so the upper body doesn't bounce.
We strutted, shimmied, travelled front to back, side to side, around in a circle for an hour. We combined moves, added shimmies to moves, worked it hard. All of us were panting and sweating, clearing our throats like horses, hair wild, thighs burning, eyes blazing with big happy grins. Oh yes, we had forgotten muscle-building drills.
I got home, showered, sat with S for a while, then I decided to climb in bed with my book and a wee nip of Irish whiskey. I like a night cap, I think it helps me sleep, but last night it was completely unecessary since I woke up this morning and it sat, untouched, on S's dresser along with my book. I asked him if he found me asleep when he came into the room last night & he said I was all curled up sideways on my book like a cat.
That sounds about right.
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