Sunday, November 06, 2011

"Is this my gym?"
My Gym's Birthday Party
What a totally weird night! Having never been to a gym's birthday party, I did not know what to expect. But I certainly did not expect to find my nice little friendly gym transformed into a nightclub with disco lights, an outdoor pavilion, a DJ, a professional cake display, a fashion show of knitwear, and a table full of expensive artiginal chocolates, including ones in the form of chess pieces that T and her friend Natasha ate cheefully. Check.

Being a gym instructor at a party like this is a lot like being a priest. My female students would eat some cioccolatini and then come to me to confess their sins. This is always weird, and it also used to happen in Park Slope, because I, of course am not sitting in judgement on any chocolate snarfing that may or may not occur on any given day, especially if I am doing the snarfing.

I did not partake in the group staff photo with the cake because I did not want to push and shove my way into the shot and no one asked me to join in. Does anyone hear the song loser like me from Glee? Just me.  T and N came to round up babysitting business which was impossible as those Italian babies have grandma forcefields around them to keep anyone else out of the competition.

Here is the staff photo I did not appear in.
"You're not my grandmother!"

I did have a few nice chats with some students. There was one awkward conversation in which one of my bosses tried to talk to F but F did not know it because he is too tall and the electronic music beat was all that he could hear.  My supervisor who did not know what to think instead directed his gaze and me and I had to make excuses about how zen Californians are only to find out later that F is more deaf than he is mellow. So there is some truth to how's the weather up there and all that. He was easily seven inches taller than the tallest guy there.
"Seriously, what did you do with my gym?"
Anyway, we left early and on foot and I managed not to be the drunk American dancing like a maniac to the annoying electronica music. I achieved this great feat in the same way that I managed not to stand on the tables at Barnes and Nobles on Seventh avenue and take off my clothes and yell obscenities. I never did that, but I was always afraid one day I might. So viewing the night through those cautionary lenses, it was a success. Tuesday back at work should be weird, though, because even though I am an upstanding citizen, responsible mom, and lip reading wife, I am still the weird hip hop dancer who sprayed mosquito spray in my hair and tends to shake her booty on the tread mill.

Arrivederci, Brooklyn!

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