Thursday, February 28, 2013

I had to Leggo my Eggo
First of all kudos to T who managed to find 100 pages of research on the internet to printout for an assignment on American realism for her art class in the amount of time allotted. In Italy if you don't pick the same topic that everyone else picks and you try to march to your own drummer, you will find that there is nothing in the library or online in Italian to use to form a bibliography for your project. Or so T tells me. And yet she did it anyway.

I did not fare so well this week. Things did not bode well from the jump. It was a new members carnival party night and despite the fact that the parking lot was full, I kind of knew that no one was going to come yet again on a Wednesday night at eight to take my class. What I didn't know was that curly haired teacher would take so much delight in it. She made sure to parade in with her dozen students at the beginning and the end of my class to return her monstrously over-sized weight bars and have a nice gloat session. She even called out to me while I was teaching and gave me a little wave. Seriously? I had three students. It was sad. Made only sadder by the fact that this embarrassing photo of me in pastels with a three quarter view and my leg and leg warmer covered arm is plastered on two giant billboards on the highway entrance that everyone in this city passes by all the time. It is so horrible that it is really funny. Tyra Banks would send me home immediately for that pose, but trust me that my photographer who has never heard of photoshop was a far cry from being Gilles Bensimon.

I have been having long conversations with a zit that was threatening to add the cherry on the sundae which is my face and explaining to it as nicely as I can muster that I have suffered enough already this week. Even my most devoted students are ruining all of their results by taking these macho man kind of classes which are the bulk of the offerings at most gyms, but I am not allowed to tell them that because we are not supposed to talk badly about any of the other classes. We are apparently allowed to create these fake dramas on FB like my curly haired colleague has, but that is another story.

I get all of my information about where my boss is concentrating his energies by looking at the FB page of the gym, which they update daily. This is how I found out that they are doing an open weekend two weeks from now and that I would be involved. I was worried when I saw that they are offering sexy chair class and I am not teaching it because I really need another five hours of work from them to become official. It turns out that the Jane Fonda lady is teaching it. She has let me know that all things burlesque are her territory, but the boss had proposed that I teach the class. I cornered my boss before class time and he said that I will probably be teaching burlesque this month for women's month. In Italy they don't have just Mother's Day in May, but Women's Day in March where everyone gives out mimosa flowers and Berlusconi tries not sleep with anyone more than forty years younger than himself. Jane Fonda will only be sexy on the chair for one special day. She has been at the gym for 17 years and I am pretty sure that she has more than five hours of work a week so I am not going to cry for her.

I finally found out where the instructors' changing room is, and unlike the 5 star dressing room the clients use, ours is a glorified and smelly unisex closet. The fancy gym's female clients all have rolling, over-sized backpacks with our logo on it that contain pads so that their feet never have to touch the spotless floor, bathrobes, slippers, make-up kits that look like the kind you see on America's Next Top model, and of course a change of shoes that includes stilettos. The instructor's changing room has cubbies with people's name in tape, but there is no space for me and so I just threw my coat over somebody else's on the hooks and dragged the rest of my gear up to the classroom. There is a thin white curtain that we are supposed to change behind, but I would never do that since there are men in there so I guess I will be hiding in the bathroom with the door closed, if I am ever that desperate.

Meanwhile, my personal training buddies are dropping like flies and those that I still have continue to cancel at the last minute a manca e a destra. Nevertheless, I don't take it personally because they still like me enough to invite me to dinner. 

He had a little run in with some rash cream.

Ah parent teacher conferences . . . what a $#&%*$ joy!

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