Wednesday, February 22, 2012


Cross eyed. Lovely shot. Not drunk at all.

Fat Tuesday/Martedi Grasso
Today has gotten off to a weird start. I didn't sleep again last night, probably due to all of the stress at Olympia Club yesterday. Then I taught this morning and my friends at Massimo Pretty Hair gave me quite the elaborate hairdo for tonight's party. It is sort of a half up ponytail with a teased top and curls cascading down the back.  I didn't have time to nap so I tried to stay awake by watching the Bachelor in slow motion on our high speed Internet. Ha.

Birthday boy on Fat Tuesday.
It struck me that I should probably write my students to see if they were still set on going through with this plan to party instead of exercise tonight. I confirmed with my private client  and asked if she wanted to come early so that she was sure to get her full workout in beforehand. First she wrote me back that it sounded great and then she wrote me back that her dog had taken a bite out of her pet chicken and that she was rushing to the vet's office in Pisa. Not a message that I can say I ever received even once when we lived in Brooklyn. I had a bit of coffee with lunch as a last resort so I can't even nap. Not to mention that I have a ton of bobby pins pressing into my scalp. I am going to have to just read aloud in Italian and then hope that the dance bug stings me so that I can perform tonight. Either that or drink more prosecco than usual. Stay tuned.
After seven cakes.

Our crazy, crazy group.

Blurry much.

Well, I got to the gym with the red wine chocolate cake that F made and a real rose bud that I had placed on the top for decoration. People greeted me by saying, "Oh no another cake! We've had seven today." Not something you hear people say every day (out loud anyway) at a gym. Two of my students arrived with grocery bags filled with potato chips and such.  We started drinking straight away. I still couldn't get past my tiredness and my legs felt that numb heavy feeling that makes you want to cry. I know this post is getting sloppy, but bear with me. There was a terrible moment of silent screaming in my head when I realized that my playlist didn't load and I was going to have to go back and forth to my Ipod all night long.
Refueling between dance numbers.

Also not blurry.


I plead a fifth.

Trust me on this: Nothing will make you want to do bodily harm to yourself more than beautiful Italian women yelling, "No, not that song. The good one!" all the while never giving you any specifics or further clue as to what the good one might be. Not rap, as it turns out. They dig Latin music, if anything. And then I remembered the Beyonce` number which I had spent all weekend memorizing and that went over big time. Well, that was satisfying. But still the ladies were feeling shy and encumbered until one had the idea to turn out the lights. In the pitch black about ten of us went frenetically crazy dancing about in a circle and jumping up and down like we were at a rave. The people working out in the main room were completely dumbstruck. We, of course, didn't care. We, of course, had had five plastic cups of prosecco. Then they put the lights on and told me to pole dance. I obliged with a number straight out of the movie Burlesque. I didn't see the movie, but I am pretty sure that Cher would have been proud. Then we sat in a circle to eat the cake and realized we had finished all the wine. So the gym owner came in with three more bottles from his office. Oh, now you are going to tell me that this doesn't happen every day at your gym. Well, what can I say? I found the right place. God, it's me K. Please let me sleep tonight.

No comments: