Friday, May 18, 2012

Hairspray/Lacca

Aside from the in-joke of my fitness classes that I keep killing American music icons like Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston and now, sadly, Donna Summer, with my Metamorfosi exercises, the other theme is hairspray/lacca. And I'm not talking about the time I thought I was using hairspray, but instead sprayed my whole head with mosquito repellent. I'm talking about my student Laura who discovered by working backstage on a runway show that the models spray their thighs with hairspray to minimize signs of cellulite. She mentioned this again the other night at her festa di trucco/makeover party and apparently one of the guests went home and tried it. I said it would also work as a contraceptive, since, I imagine, it would glue your thighs together. 




Last night F vanished for quite a few hours because the artistic psychiatrist who hired him and his friend Alessandro to handle the technical and design aspects of putting his feelings into a website had the sudden realization after years of using Led Zeppelin music and 2001 Space Odyssey images that there was something called copyright infringement. He sent them a copy of the laws in full and threatened not to pay them for the billion hours of work that they had already done if all of the images from his OLD site weren't pulled by first thing this morning. So F was on clean up duty while Alessandro made me mixed tapes of Etta James and Billy Holiday for my stretch class.


It is getting awkward at Happy gym since my attendance rate has gone from twelve to two now that the sun is shining. I'm just waiting for two more weeks to get laid off for the summer, I guess. A lot of women who live here feel that it is unbecoming and uncomfortable to do anything but bake themselves if the classroom environment gets above 23 C/ 74 F. Then again they have made justifying smoking as a diet aide and hitting the sun lamps into an inalienable women's right so I bite my tongue a lot. Actually the other day, F asked me what I said when I realized that this one client came in several shades darker and had obviously been hitting the tanning beds. I looked at him sheepishly and admitted that I had complimented her on her beautiful abbronzatura. F just rolled his eyes and said,  "O no you didn't." Argh, now I feel guilty. I guess I probably shouldn't have told my student on that crazy protein diet how slim she looked either. It's just confusing in these dressing rooms when you have nothing to say and we're all suddenly baring it all. Twice in my haste to try to get my pants up, I have almost wiped out.

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