Thursday, June 06, 2013

And so yeah that happened

After taking advil, claritin, quercetin and about 87 cups of tea with apple cider vinegar and honey, I snurffled myself over to see T's fantastic performance of Lady Macbeth. Not only has she come a long way, baby, but the bidella/phenomenal lady who helps kids out at school who can be brusque  wrapped her arms around me when she saw I had brought her a little box of chocolates and realized I was T's mom. This woman has scared the pants off me and has not looked me in the eyes for three years, so it was rewarding to garner this kind of a reaction. It was also satisfying to be wearing the "right thing" and not to stumble with my Italian for at least one event. The show was super dramatic and Italian for a Shakespeare performance. It made me laugh that T had to put away shoes during her speaking part as she never actually puts away her shoes at home.


Here is a classmate of T's losing her mind: That's T on the far right.

From T's school I went to the gym where I had to turn off the music every time I needed to speak to my class because my voice was almost gone due to this lovely June flu that is inhabiting my sinuses and chest. This woman, who we will call Carmen because that is her actual name and because I am pretty sure she will never read this blog, hired me as a personal trainer, but hasn't started with me yet. She canceled on me twice and this week I canceled on her. Carmen had a dramatic baby tantrum during the class and walked out. She said it hurt her to lie on her side with her weight on her forearm so I gave her the modification of lying down with her arm long and her head resting on her arm. She said that hurt, too. That is the rescue position for the Red Cross First Aid, woman, what do you mean that hurts, too? That is the position that you sleep in at night. She left. There goes the fifteen euro that I would have earned schlepping to the gym on Friday mornings at 7:45 AM. File this under the least of my problems along with being unable to breathe through my nose and nonstop all night coughing.

It turns out that I might as well have participated in the stupid Reebok fashion show at the Fruit party for the gym on Saturday because the costumes we have to wear for the show are going to be much, much worse. I believe they are talking about having me spend 23 euros on white leggings with geometric patterns on them -- the only point to them being that Ginetta likes them and that they will make my thighs look much, much bigger than hers. By the way, you have to assume that the people at the fancy gym have never seen the Fruit-of-the-Loom underwear commercials or they could never have a Fruit party in a non-ironic way.


 Anyway, then I changed out of my sweaty clothing since I was shivering and uncomfortable and went back upstairs to the rehearsal where my colleagues, in a group display of indifference to me, spent an entire hour talking in a drawn out and leisurely way about and rehearsing the Reebok fashion show while I lay on the floor having a fever and trembling. Thanks for that.


I don't know what Giacomo was freaking out about last night because they really only added four counts on to the end of the dance in the two hour rehearsal that I missed last night. We did the dance two times through. I messed up both times because I can't see through the stupid mask, and I can't hear the music with my ears all stuffed up. F showed up shortly afterwards so Giacomo let me go home early so that they could make more important decisions without me.  He also forced everyone to say goodbye to me in some sort of weird show for F's benefit. They never say goodbye to me so why start now? It was like what the head counselor makes the rest of the campers do when one kid has to leave because of their serious lice or bed-wetting problem. It made me feel very loved. So far there has not been one event at the fancy gym that has not been emotionally scarring and terrifically blog worthy in some way. What you need to know is that my male coworkers are over the moon about their costumes. I think they like it because their, um, junk is clearly visible and this makes them feel more masculine.


My fantasy is that Sophia Grace will jet by and rescue me off the stage over the swimming pool by throwing a ladder down from her pink helicopter. We will swoop off with Rosie, Nicki Minaj and Ellen and put our tutus on and proceed to get high on sweets. Don't worry, my fever will probably break soon. . .

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