And two more! And one more!...

I called up my friend, Jenna, who is a very talented dancer for a bit of advice. I wanted to know, what kind of dance class would best limber up my very stiff and puffy body. "No doubt about it," she said. "Pilates is the way to go. But, start off slow because - though it doesn't feel like it at the time - your whole body is getting a workout. If you don't feel it that night, you'll feel it for sure the next day." After about 15 more minutes of Jenna singing the praises of pilates, I decided to give it a go. I hung up the phone and signed-up for a six-week class at the cute little yoga studio down the street from my house.

The class started Tuesday at 7pm. I arrived at the studio with about five minutes to spare. I changed quickly in the sparsely decorated dressing room and ducked into the back of the class. I looked around. All types of people were in this class. There were a few women in their 50s, a pregnant woman and several other women in their mid-20s and -30s. When our instructor walked in, I was genuinely surprised. Her name is Julia and she's probably in her mid-50s. I'm thinking to myself, if this old bag can do pilates, then I can certainly handle anything she could throw at me. Julia explained her experience with Pilates. "I've been doing this for 25 years," she says. The only thing that I can think is that after 25 years of doing this, her body should look A LOT better than it does. Maybe pilates won't give me the kind of results I need to see...

"We'll start with 'The 100'. Turn onto your back and lie flat. Put your feet up into the air and your arms straight back. Now, with your feet in the air and arms straight back, lift your head up off the floor and flap your arms vigorously for a count of 100." No sweat, I think. But, I don't even get to her count of five before my head falls back to the ground with a thud. I see stars. I'm panting already. This is not a good sign! "This is one of the basic warm-up moves in pilates," she is saying. Warm up?! If this is the warm-up, what's the workout gonna be like?! At this point, my arms are lying flat by my side and my head is lolling to the side like a ragdoll. I look up and Julia is standing over me. Her pink legwarmer is right by my mouth. From here it looks like cotton candy. I want to bite it off of her. "Are we having trouble here?" she asks. Um, I'm half dead. What do you think?? I want to scream. Instead, I say, "No, just taking a break," and immediately raise my head (with strength that I get from where?) and start pumping my arms like a fiend. "It's a little early for a break," she says, shaking her head with a "tsk-tsk" look. "After you get rid of some of the... 'bulk'... that you're carrying and strengthen some of those muscles, you'll be able to do this exercise without stopping," she quips with a syrupy sweet (super fake) smile. Fuck you, too, I think. Just when I think that I can't take another minute of "The 100", Julia screams out "Two more!" with a glee that sounds slightly psychotic.

By the time the class ended and I made my beeline for the door, she had asked us to roll like a ball, suck in our stomachs so that our navels touched our spines and to throw our legs over our heads. After I slipped out of my (very sweaty) Lycra and back into my street clothes, I headed for the reception desk. The young crunchy kid behind the desk was eating hummus and pita and chitty-chatting on the telephone. "Um, excuse me," I say. She puts up one finger to tell me to hold on for a minte. I twirl my hair while I wait for her to wrap up her trite conversation. "Yes?" she says. Whatever happened to "how can I help you"? Kids these days, man! Anyway, I say, "What's your refund policy?" She smiles a knowing smile and says, "After the first class, you are able to recover 90% of your tuition. Each additional class that you attend diminishes your refund by an additional 10%." Hmmm... "I'd like a refund please," I say quickly. We complete the transaction and I am out of the door. So much for bike riding. That shit was HARD! And Julia can kiss my "bulky", fat, jiggly ass.

Butter face!

After spotting the black cat on Halloween, I can't say that anything particularly creepy has occurred. Certainly, nothing exciting enough to document here. So, we'll just take that as a fluke incident and exorcise the negative implications.

At any rate, in my quest to find a suitable mate, I've made one decision. I have to work some of this weight off my fat ass. How fat you say? Fat enough that I now have dimples where smooth skin used to be. And, I'm only mid-20s, so there's no reason at all for me to be dealing with the "dimple dilemma" other than the fact that I prefer truffles to treadmills and eclairs to ellipticals. I am, simply, exercise averse. It goes against my nature to exercise. I'm sedintary in nature, which really hasn't done much for my girlish figure. I don't think that I'm to the point where men no longer find me desirable. But, I will say that the number of catcalls has fallen off since my college days. The truth is that a man will take a skinny girl over a chunky one anyday. Now, people may choose to disagree, but the simple truth is this: ask three rational men whether they'd prefer to date a girl with a dancer's body and a butter face (i.e., "Her body is ridiculous! But, her {"butter"} face... eww!") or a plus-sized model (in other words, a fat girl with a pretty face). I bet that the ugly chick with the fly body gets more play - at least 2 out of 3 times. Go ahead. Try it. And, get back to me with the results.

Until then, I'm going on a diet. Here's the plan: each day, I will drink nothing but water with fresh squeezed lemons; I will eat oatmeal and boiled eggs for breakfast, salad greens with plain tuna and low-fat dressing for lunch, and grilled chicken breast and steamed vegetables with brown rice for lunch. No more 2-scoop hot fudge sundaes from Baskin-Robbins or 3-piece chicken dinners from Popeye's. That's my word. This also leads me to recognize that since I am - by no means - the "model type", I need to get that dancers body! What better way to do that, than to... DANCE?! I took ballet for three years from ages 5-8. I learned it once, I could learn it again. It's probably like riding a bike. I mean, how hard could it really be? I guess we'll see...