Tuesday, January 29, 2013

The Audition Zone: An American Horror Story

I blame the earthquake. We had a 4.8 on Friday afternoon when we were all home under two different doorways with T upstairs and us downstairs. I had a good view of the chandelier swinging wildly.  School got canceled the next day and that part made T happy, at least. Italy is considering extending school for 11 months of the year and T just informed me that if that happens, she will be moving back to the USA. The three of us seem to be trying to cram every day filled with as many disparate activities as one family can and the house looks like a tornado blew threw it, but I don't have the energy to clean it. Somehow since I last wrote I had a disastrous dinner party, took T to the orthodontist and the diabetes specialist, taught twenty two exercise sessions, and couldn't come up with one interesting thing to write about. I hate not knowing what my schedule is going to be and knowing that it is about to blow up in an impossible way.

I am trying to stay zen, but it's not working at all. Men look away, because this blog is about to get very female and I can't help it. My German Barbie skin doctor with the perfect skin told me that she really couldn't help me with the acne cysts if the problem is a hormonal imbalance so that maybe I need to go back on the pill even though I went through all the stages of inferno to get off of it before we moved here because I didn't like the idea of being dependent on it. The ones she recommended don't seem to be the brands that they use here and I am worried about the side effect of weight gain because I am still in the audition process for the fancy gym. As a last ditch effort, I decided to start eating 30 grams a day of crushed flax seeds because that is supposed to lower testosterone in women by 80 %. Unfortunately it is really gross and mushy in a muffin or pancake so F has been grounding it into peanut butter for me which I eat with granola for breakfast. It seems to be having some effect, but the effect is that my cycle is off by five days and so I am really uncomfortable. Then one of my clients told me as she was walking out the door that she was coming down with something. Unfortunately she didn't tell me that it was the flu before she blew into my mouth as I was massaging her neck after the lesson. I have had a red throat and exhaustion ever since.

They hated this picture. That is sad because my photo-shopped self looks better than my real self by a long shot.
They also hated this picture. I'm not sure what they are looking for.
 Yesterday I couldn't get out of bed due to this virus, so going back to the gym to follow up on the boss' proposal to take some of the other classes was out of the question. Today I woke up less sick, but full of fear and with a new acne cyst. Nevertheless, I decided that I might as well go to take that class and get it over with. Then my cell rang. It was the boss. He wants me to teach a demo class on Sunday, February 10th and also send him some photos they can use for the announcements. F made me two which were the best we could do on extremely short notice. He didn't like either of them. My swollen tendon didn't like the bare core workout (I think they meant barre core) and it was very stressful forcing myself to go and make another appearance when I am feeling so down and out. Bare core was mostly doing plies and releves in a rhythmic manner and then some stretching and glute lifts. The teacher I had was very sweet. She smiled through the whole class although there was never really anything to smile about, and so this made me a bit wary. She didn't use a microphone but she spoke really loudly and constantly and it made me wonder if I will be able to do that in Italian with my own material. But dai! she was sweet and she asked me to come and show her what I do on Friday. I agreed because maybe she will be an ally and I doubt she can steal my stuff after just one session without it being really obvious. But I will give her a really difficult lesson just in case.

As soon as I got home, I hopped in a hot shower and stared at my bloat and my cyst and the phone rang. It was the boss. He wants me to come tomorrow for a photo shoot. I bet Tracy Anderson never has days like this. I had to put him off while I tried to move everything around for tomorrow and came up with a solution that will be almost humanly impossible unless I can bend time. I ended up getting his voice mail and he got mine and after four tries I had lost any hope of being seen as cool. To make matters worse I overused the word perfetto in a markedly geeky way. I wish I could stand to see myself in the mirror without foundation covering up my scars. I am scared to sweat too much which is not a great quality in a fitness instructor, and I am worried about my swollen tendon.  I am supposed to go to an osteopath in two days from now who is doing an exchange with me for a bioenergy treatment. If all else fails, I'll channel Jamie Lee Curtis in the 80s flick Perfect where she portrayed a fitness instructor. Here's the math so far: I have quit three and been fired from one out of the six gyms I know about in this region of Italy. One of the remaining two will probably not survive the year and the other one is really far away. I wonder if Jamie Lee was on the pill?

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