Monday, September 30, 2013

not that fbi
If you look up FBI Italia on google you get everything from a romance novel cover to a stack of pancakes, from a police headquarters to shirtless FBI agent's photo from an email that was featured on the huffington news. In fact, I was looking for a gym related item such as this one :

What FBI means to me is that on Sunday the fancy gym was invaded by about 80 very fit instructors wearing tight black tee shirts who came to steal my usual classroom. To be fair there was a note in the weekly gym newsletter, but when I asked my colleagues about it they were suspisciously vague.
Ever so chipper and helpful, Alessandra told me to look it up on the internet. So I did.  I found only this facebook page:
And it scared me.
Then my dear, sweet (cough cough) co-worker Lisa told me she would find out and let me know because it would involve free training classes that might interest her. She never did let me know. She suited up with the rest of them and her boyfriend Ricky who wore a white transparent unitard. It's his favorite. Neither of them seemed to give a rat's ass that I was gong to be teaching in the other room. Neither did anyone official, as they were mostly home in bed on Sunday morning, I imagine. 
I managed to squeeze into the large classroom just in time to drag the giant garbage bag of balls out from under the stage, and I checked that I had enough weights in the smaller classroom. It never occurred to me that the buggers would have stolen all of the gym mats as well. It was bad enough that I hadn't loaded my ipod properly and I had to ask F to bring me the computer in the pouring rain to reload the music at the last minute. i know, I know, he is a saint. 

F saving my butt.

My makeshift, uneven little stage.

I opened the door to the big classroom after class was already in progress and tried to run around the periphery to get to the pile of mats at the front. Unfortunately, the black suited robot teachers were doing this very aggressive style of step choreography. Although, I got up to the front unscathed, it occurred to me that I had just been lucky.  The choreography had been leaning away from the right end of the bench, but if they should start dancing on the right side I would have to choose to go down the pentultimate aisle of the room and hope for the best. I chose poorly.  Several robots collided into me. I was half blinded by the mats which were sticking up in my field of vision. It was only when I barely made it out of the room that I noticed that I hadn't grabbed enough because in their folded up form there appeared to be more than there actually were. Luckily some of my brave and outraged students got mats for themselves.
I had to ask Alessandra to move the little stage for me. It is not terribly heavy, but I couldn't risk my already jeopardized back. She is shorter than I, but she doesn't do my method and so she is absolutely bulked out with muscle. "Strong like bull," as the Russians say in every badly dubbed, badly written American crime movie. She complained that my request would pull her out of the crowded main room, where the action was. Alessandra likes to be in the middle of the action, you see. But seeing as she was the only official colleague I had in the whole gym apart from Sylvia who works in the office, I had to ask her for this huge favor which took exactly 40 seconds of her time in total. Sylvia let me vent to her for a minute and was perplexed when I threw my arms around her in gratitude, but little does she know what I have to go through just to teach exercise for 50 minutes.

The class went well and I had about 20 people on a rainy Sunday morning. When I went into the clients' changing room to say goodbye to some of my friends afterwards, the head black tee shirted FBI lady gave me a chilling and hostile glare from under her flaming red bangs, but she is the least of my problems. Angelina Jolie, eat your heart out.
I can't be liked by everyone; it's hardly the case that everyone has good taste!

Friday, September 27, 2013

Why in the world do we need to have staff meetings at the fancy gym every two weeks? Isn't there a law about not having staff meetings more than once a quarter? There should be. I attended the meeting with my back taped up because, in the end, thanks to Ricky's refusal to vacate the classroom on time, I did try to move the weight rack by myself and I tweaked my back. Ricky was not in attendance -- thank god. He didn't have to come because he sent his girlfriend. She said she would be the delegate and made the joke that our staff meetings can be like a meeting of the condominium and since she is there he doesn't have to be. Whatever. I didn't miss him.

Actual things that happened, at least to the extent that I could understand them (in Italian):

Boss: We are now going to go around and hear from you about how your courses are going in the here and now. And I do not want to hear 'I'm so psyched and I can't wait to get going this season.' I want to hear some constructive self criticism and honesty.
 Font of negativity girl: Well, I feel that as a whole the gym has less clients and worse energy than in other seasons. . . Don't other people feel this way, too?

Total silence.

Jock guy: I'd like to hear from Cheerleader girl who was filled with things to say in the locker room.
Cheerleader girl: Well, okay. If you insist. I would just like to say that I'm psyched and I can't wait to get going this season. (collective invisible eyeroll) I just love my job and working here blah blah blah.
Part owner of gym: I want to say that the blank blank form that we are using to track our own progress and self critique our performances has proved to be very useful and I think that it is a very important tool. . .
Shrewd player/kiss ass: I would like to jump on what the part owner just said by reitierating every word of it.
Me: Um well I would like to ask for your help. I am still fairly new and I re-entered this season ready to present the second phase of my method and I realize that it is more difficult material. I thought I would have the same students more or less as in the past, but most of them are brand new. Whereas last season my expert students came in the afternoon this year they are coming at night so I have had to make the afternoon and morning classes much easier for beginner students, but then I don't know what to do if an expert student comes during an easy class. Plus I have a ton of logistical issues like the direction I face on the stage. If I am vertical people complain they can't see my legs, but if I am horizontal then everybody turns in different directions and we end up on different legs. Today I tried to turn 45 degrees and I fell right off the stage. Anyway, I am sure you are all much more expert than me with dealing with these situations and I would love your help.

Total silence.

Boss: Well, okay then.

Boss: How did your written homework assignments go from last time?
Cheerleader girl: I have to say that I can't write. I don't like to express myself in writing. I wrote on nine pages and crumpled them up one by one. I just can't write.
Bikini lady: I don't like to speak or write. I can write beautifully, but only if I am pissed off or in love. My husband says I could write a book when I am feeling romantic, but I told him I can't because I am dedicating myself to the fancy gym.
At this point the part owner who is very pale turns beet red from the neck up and I count how many seconds it takes for his ears to descrease from scarlet to a shade of lighter pink. I worry he won't be able to stand after the meeting.

In other news, we got blamed for the lack of clients at the opening year party despite the fact that the real problems were the lack of advertising free food, the quantity of free food, and choosing the wrong date, our boss told us it was because we didn't empathically involve our clients enough to convince them to come.

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

I had a pit in my stomach the whole day today worrying about the rip in the garbage bag that holds the 30 multicolored gymnastic balls that I need for tonight's exercise class and knowing how little time I had to drag it from sala/studio uno to sala due. It is also a problem that there is less space in sala due and that there is no stage. I have to teach on two high and unstable boxes pushed together so that the people in the back can see me. Since both studios are occupied until 7:50 pm, I only have ten minutes to set up my music, drag the new garbage bag that I got from the gym kitchen filled with the balls, and convince poor Andrea the trainer on the main floor (who now hates me) to help me get the weights and the stage set up.

Worst of all was the fear that my boss Giacomo would have forgotten to tell Ricky, the Jack La Lane of the fancy gym, to finish his class with the ten minute grace period that we are supposed to afford our fellow teachers. Somebody told me that Ricky didn't like me because I got one of his classtimes when they hired me and somebody else told me that he doesn't like me because I am from New York and he lost out on a chance to become a New York Yankee back in the day. I figured he hated me because I told on him for putting me in a choke hold during rehearsals. As it turned out, Giacomo did forget. And when I told Ricky I needed ten minutes to set up, he told me he wasn't clearing out one minute before eight o'clock. He flatly refused to give me the grace period. And not only did he wait until the last minute, but he left the stereo system set to CD and I didn't know how to set it for my Ipod so that wasted another five minutes right there. I was so anxious up on the stage with Ricky's girlfriend Lisa watching me start my class, hands on her hips, and her head cocked to one side, that I botched up a bunch of things right off the bat.

 For one thing, the room was too dark and I couldn't see the abstract art clock that they have on the far wall so I had no idea how to manage my time. I like to call that clock "that m*ther f**king clock," but I'm too classy to do so here. The stereo is about half a block away from my stage so everytime I had to pause the music, it was a nightmare. This young girl who is a powerful zumba cult member and could bring fifteen friends with her, brought her mother who was as uncoordinated as they get and I couldn't help her out because the evening class is advanced and fast paced and we were already running late. She left about a quarter of the way through. I sat by and helplessly watched her leave because I couldn't jump up and down off the cube to go help people by making corrections. After it was all over, my friends asked me why I was so nervous during the lesson  right as one of the gym owners was passing by and so he threw me a concerned look. I finished the night by begging the receptionist to leave my boss a message explaining what happened. I can only imagine how uncomfortable it will be to sit with all of them in the staff meeting on Thursday night.

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Artsy baby
Our friend Massimo had an art show and I invited some friends to come and see his amazing paintings. He draws the ink part of the designs with his eyes closed and then colors them in with tempera. I love them. Unfortunately, it was one of those nights where I couldn't speak Italian. When the Italian isn't flowing, I get nervous. I did embarassing things like not know the word for "compagna" which is the polite way to introduce somebody's significant other if they are not married without slighting them in any way, which I did unintentionally. Oops. Also I made this whole weird speech to Massimo's brother's girlfriend about how all of my friend's loved her haircut. Not just that I loved it, which I did. For some reason I felt compelled to exagerate. I'm sure she knew that my friends didn't really weigh in on the issue because, obviously, nobody was really looking at her haircut. We should have been talking about Massimo's paintings anyway, but in actuality we were kind of talking about our hair. My two curly haired friends formed an instant sisterhood and they had to change product names and the phone number of one of their hairdressers. The girl in question had a nice haircut, but I mean it wasn't the main topic of conversation. I bet you're shocked that I can go on and on about nothing when I'm nervous. Sigh.
I know this is the same outfit I wore last night, but I only have like three choices and I was too crunched for time. It turned out too be way too fancy. You can't go wrong with jeans and heels in Lucca, but I haven't found the right skintight ones that all the women here have. But the second thing to know is that when in doubt wear black or beige. And I hate beige.

me and la T

Massimo and the girl with the cool haircut in the foreground.

When you're feeling blue . . .
I want to suggest that if you are feeling just a bit sad or down in the dumps you watch this video over and over again. My theory is that it is an alternative creative dance theater group reenacting how a praying mantis goes about eating their husband post coitally. . .Check out the lady on the back wall and let the good times roll!

Monday, September 23, 2013

This is T and her friend N's original video:

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Feet, hair, and a normal Saturday in the life

Today we walked half an hour away to a hair salon outside the walls that is popular with teenagers so that we could get T's green hair turned back to chocolate brown. There was a bike race and the roads were closed. She is so edgy and avante garde that the green hair was almost beyond necessary anyway. It took about two and a half hours. Just saying.


 The big difference between an American little dinner amongst friends and an Italian one has got to be the footwear. I mean, obviously, the food is a ton better here, but so is the footwear. I had to prepare my tootsies on the dashboard before we went up to Bianca's house because there is usually a lot of sipping wine while standing in the kitchen to do before one ever gets to see a table. F thought it was hilarious that I stole his toe covers in the car, these little plastic toe blankets he wears routinely to avoid blisters.

This is a Britney Spears moment. I'm like seconds away from shaving my head.

I manage to be lost in Tuscany even when I am in front of the correct door.

I jazzed up the dinner conversation by describing the plot of the movie Adore in broken Italian.

I only had one (and a half) glasses of wine, but I am pretty sure I included sound effects.

My shoes were designed by T on FANCY!

Friday, September 20, 2013

I have never watched the tv show Dexter, but now I can say I know what it's like to be in the presence of serial killer. Okay I'm exagerating. But yesterday morning as I was rushing to set up the studio for my class at the fancy gym, I got my foot stuck in the stereo wire. I tripped and the stereo came crashing down. I don't remember if I landed on the floor. I don't know why I don't remember it is just one of those things that happened very quickly and my eyes were closed. There was a huge booming noise when the stereo flipped over. What I do know is that one of my loyal clients asked me if I knew my coworker Lisa. I told her that I do know Lisa and Lisa knows me and that I just said hi to her about five seconds ago. That's weird, she said, because Lisa just kept going about her business and chatting with her clients even when you crashed, as if nothing happened. She works at a shoe store she informed me where they all have each others' backs. I then had to ask my coworker for help to get the stereo to work and when she had no success, she sweetly -insert spooky serial killer music here- offered to go get help from one of the guys. I was so thrown off my game for the whole morning and the little hairs on the back of my neck refused to relax themselves back down. I am sure it is nothing personal.

In other news, T had a new classmate come over and she appreciated my winning sense of humor, our clean house and F's chocolate chip cookies so it was a roaring success even if she came a whole day late, the cookies were not warm, and I spent the day she could not come acting like I had been stood up by a new boyfriend. We LIKE people who like us back, so there.

F is feeling on top of the world because he spoke to a phone operator after our internet service went out and after he surrendered the phone to my friend Francesca, the tech person/phone operator said that his Italian skills were impressive. Now he is impossible to live with and goes around strutting with his chest all out and emanating a certain suave, Italian masculinity. It will pass.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

3 Days of Chaos
Monday afternoon I looked up from my strange pretzel position, 
Yeah, right. (See actual photo from previous post.)
to find that I had a room full of very unhappy clients. I then realized, with a little help from my boss Giacomo, that I will have to teach a completely different class two mornings and three afternoons a week than I teach on the weekend or on Tuesday and Thursday nights because the crowd is completely different. I will have to slow down. A lot. In a perfect world I would just teach every night at eight o'clock because that is the fun bunch who can do the exercises and enjoy a difficult workout and my real and, lets face it, silly personality. In the mornings I am more like the nice nurse who makes you do things you don't want to do.

T came home from school fairly miserable about a entrance test/esame d'ingresso that she had taken in Italian grammar. It was frustrating because she knew the answers about four seconds after it was too late to change them. Everybody else, allegedly, was saying that it was easy. But for all we know they could just be pathological liars. Or there is also the possibility that it is easier if it is your native language, but try telling that to T. Also they are making her wait to the end of the week to get it back and she is worried about making a good first impression on everyone.

Jumping back to Sunday, I would just like to say how lucky I am to have found Alessandra, Monica and Giada. Giada had to entertain some relatives that are visiting from France, but the other two stayed after class to have a vegetarian gourmet lunch with me in the fancy gym cafe and then to take me to the fair which caused our car to be towed last Saturday. They have the best senses of humor and really make me feel grounded and keep me lauging at the same time. Towards the end of our meandering and comparison shopping, Alessandra told me she would just drop my gym bag off later in the day because it was still in the trunk of her car. I panicked because my ipod is my life, and, not realizing how far it was from where we had started out, I told her I'd just go get it now. That is when she set off by herself in the rain, striding up a huge hill and came back fifteen minutes later with my very heavy bag, which she carried through the rest of the fair. I told her that she should have told me that I was wrong; and that I didn't realize how far away it was; and that she should, for goodness' sake, let me carry it, at least. But she just shrugged and said she knew that I had a bad sense of direction and that this was what friends do. Adorable. And my aching shoulders are eternally grateful.

Anyway, Tuesday was crazy because after I taught the soft version of the class in the morning, and guided Francesca through the hard version in which we wear weighted ankle bracelets in the afternoon, T came home as miserable as a girl could be. I thought I was so smart ordering her books off this used text book website, but some of the books had to be returned this summer because they had naughty scribbles all over them. And now it turns out that they left off the third Greek book of the trilogy. T wasn't the only one to not have her book with hers as it is heavy and many opted to leave it at home. Those without tried to look on over the shoulders who did have the book. Her professoressa singled T out and announced to everyone that T was a step behind everyone else in the class, which is, you have to admit, a bitch move. While I called my client who has a daughter at the high school, T facebooked a bunch of people she knows and  I repeatedly got a phone message that it was about to be, was, and had been the mid afternoon closing siesta/intervallo from the one book store in the city that carries text books and would I please email them instead. Sending an email to get a response from a bookstore for an emergency order is just a fart in the dark, so we cooked up a plan in which T went on a mad dash with F to her new friend Camilla's house to borrow the book for twenty minutes in which they had to come all the way back home to make copies because the copy store was closed for the intervallo. T gave Camillla some muffins and a heartfelt thanks, and, by some miracle, there was one copy left of the book at the bookstore last night even though by this point in the term it is impossible to buy text books anymore.

"Everyone's so nervous these days. Everyone you talke to seems hysterical. Isn't it true, Snoopy?"

T spent the afternoon agonizing about first impressions and carefully writing the Greek alphabet over and over again and then sorting Greek words which had been translated in Italian, into English in some cases, and then sorting them into their various parts of speech. Today she has a math test and Camilla is coming over which means F and I have to spend the whole morning cleaning and baking cookies.

On night three, I made a new friend, a client of the fancy gym who is also named Francesca. About sixty percent of people here are named Francesca, so that was no surprise. What was a surprise was that I had been transferred into the smaller classroom that is more isolated and has no stage. The 30 magic spheres/rhythmic gymnastic balls  that I am working with and all of the weights were in the other room and Ricky finished his training of two people thirty seconds before I was supposed to start. I got everyone in and ready to go at just five minutes past the hour, but it was a packed room and the new people in the back couldn't see me and I had to yell out the instructions. That said, it all went well, until after class when Luca, the veteran pilates teacher and part owner of the gym, told me that his thirteen clients had signed a petition to have my evening class moved to another night. This would take away all the fun and chance I have to succeed at the gym because symmetry is important in Italy. People who come on Tuesdays do so because they will also come on Thursdays. If you come Mondays then you might come also on Wednesday and Fridays, but never two days in a row. Tuesdays and Fridays would never work and all my young people go partying on Friday nights and are too busy doing their hair to exercise. I would roll over for Luca, who I love, for most things, but not this. I was nice, but firm about not wanting to move and we said we would agree amicably to let Giacomo decide. Oh shit. We'll see. Is it really only Wednesday???

Monday, September 16, 2013

per la cronaca/for the record . . .
This is the picture my coworker at the fancy gym took of me and put up on fb from the season opening party. I rest my f---ing case. Jack Nicholson eat your heart out.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

I always wanted to be an air hostess & other myths
Last night was the opening party for the season at the fancy gym. I arrived on time despite a good amount of traffic, only to find out that I was late. This happens a lot. My boss Giacomo told me to come around eight and when I got there, I found the whole gym deserted. Except it wasn't. This happens a lot. In the sense that I think I know what the heck is going on. But I don't. Actually when F pulled the car up to the front door I asked him where he thought everybody was and he said, "They are probably out back." "Doing what?," I asked. "Talking smack about you," he replied and proceded to laugh so hard that he almost coughed up a lung. That was so funny, in fact, that even I had to laugh. Except then, of course, it turned out to be true. I went out back behind the gym and I found all my coworkers, about 75 in total, eating pizza and looking at me like they had just spend two hours setting up the party without me and thus eating a well deserved pizza. I was wearing the require white button up blouse, jeans, and high heels and I went to the trouble of getting my hair done for two hours beforehand. This was a lot of effort lost on my still sweaty and sweatsuit wearing comrades, as you could well imagine. I would have come earlier and helped, but nobody told me. At least you believe me, right?

It happened kind of organically, in that the staff who were around that afternoon got together and worked and nobody told me until it was too late. I felt better after I heard that my new friend Patrizia was told to get there earlier only to find 65 people engaged in moving about four tables, and ended up reading her book for four hours. Anyway, I was on the outs. This continued on into the night as we were awarded our special accessory which turned out to be a piece of shiny orange material to wear as a neck tie. Mine was doubled in bulke so instead of looking like a playmate I looked like someone wearing a weird lobster bib to a seafood dinner. Luckily Claudia intervened and made me look like everyone else. Minus the the fake tits, the perfect thighs, the tall frame, and the tanned skin. Sabotage? Who knows. It was thwarted in any event.


In theory, I should have been manning the stand where the fitness teachers were supposed to answer questions that clients might have about our course offerings, but when I saw Stefania and Ginetta already filling the rather tiny stand, I thought twice about trying to fight them for the clients' attention. I went upstairs where there were video screens, and a real plexiglass cube filled with fire, a dj booth and a smoke machine amongst other offerings. Oddly, there were no clients. Unfortunately for us, this didn't change terribly much as the night went on. Luckily my friends Serena and Bianca showed up and so I hosted them around and we decided to dance. Dancing was the best way to interact with clients because the music was too damn loud to actually do any talking in any case. Unfortunately, the zumba zombies only want to do the prescribed steps to the accompanying songs and since I don't know the steps I always just make up my own moves. Little did I know that Lucca is like the Italian version of Footloose in which creativity is sneared upon. Literally. I was happy to leave at 11 pm since we only made it home after the traffic jam and the difficult time finding parking by midnight because I knew I had to find the energy to teach the next morning. I have since come to find out that each teacher was introduced to the crowd individually and the powers that be were none too pleased that I wasn't there when they called my name. Oh well, sleep happens.

These photos are from the setting up and procession of Santa Croce. I stood outside for two hours being shoved by tourists waiting for this client of mine named Ilaria who told me she wanted me to see her sing with her parish. She was way at the end and I was about to topple over, but it is a very sweet night of togetherness in our teeny city.

I have a weird life, right?

Saturday, September 14, 2013

My inner child has an umbrella
While F was out getting our car back, I was at a postural workshop taught by this lovely person named Patrizia. It was love at first sight: she has lived in New York and Hawaii and speaks English perfectly and knows about bioenergy. Then I found out that she is only a consultant and would never want to work in this "den of snakes" with me. Well, you can't blame a girl for trying.

Anyway, there I was drawing a picture of either my inner child or what someone living in my genitals would look like. I didn't quite get where she was going with that so I drew someone who I really hope is not living in my genitals as she had an umbrella, and that would hurt. And I was right next to Giacomo and Chiara, my boss and his assistant, and Ginetta, the teacher with whom I exhanged words earlier in the week. We lay down on these nylon skis with rods in them to align your back while we breathed deeply. It would have been even more relaxing if everytime I closed my eyes, I didn't imagine my coworkers with knives pointed at me, but it was still pretty relaxing. At the break, Patrizia, unknowingly, put me with Ginetta to talk about our feelings. I tried to clear the air about the other day, and she said that she knew that I didn't stay late to mess her up on purpose. It didn't seem that way at the time, but if it's true that is good news. Then she talked to me about her menstrual cycle as if she really wanted to be my friend. Maybe she was just hormonal the other day, god knows I wouldn't hold a grudge about that. Once again, I had a glimmer of hope that in five or six years they might just stop not liking me just because it is so old hat.
Don't even think of parking here!

One might think that after several days of warning that half the city would be no parking for the procession of Santa Croce that I (F) might have read the Divieto di Sosta sign in the parking lot outside town a little more closely. I had dutifully moved the car out of the huge swaths of streets where the Parrocchie (parishes) assembled and had even discussed having one's car towed with two of my students yesterday! But this morning when K and I were walking into Borgo Gianotti, we saw a solid mass of people and all the big white vans of an Italian street market--and no little blue Nissan.

K had to get to the gym to take a workshop, so we started to hightail it there on foot while I called my friend Fabio who said we needed to find the Vigili who are a kind of junior police here. (In true Italian style, there are the Caribinieri, Polizia Statale, Polizia Stradale, Polizia Penitenziaria, Polizia Regionale, Polizia Comunale, Vigili Urbani, Guardia di Finanza, and probably several others). The Vigili however, are the ones when you get you car towed.

Crossing the river, we found one of the Vigili acting as a crossing guard and she shouted out a phone number to call. Which of course didn't work. Then after a bit of deduction, we figured that maybe you had to add the local area code. Then the call would go through, but was continually busy for a while and then it wasn't busy, but they hung up on us. Persistance being the key to life here, K finally got through and determined that our car was in Sant Anna, the neighborhood to the west of town on the other side of the river from where we were.

After dropping K at the gym only a few minutes late, I asked at the bar on the corner how to get to the footbridge across the river. The barista and a customer acted out a version of the old "Bert and I" routine:

But in the end, the directions finally agreed on were to walk down the road until you see the brown sign for the "Parco Fluviale" and then turn right. When you get to the river, turn left.
Under the white sign is a brown sign that says "Parco Fluviale"
However about 50 meters further is another sign that says "Parco Fluviale"
Which, if you had to guess, is the correct one to follow? And which, if you had to guess, is the one that I followed? (If you answered the second and the first--you're correct)!

That long long meander to the left was the result. Total distance--almost 10K!
Lots of walking through farms
Finally the footbridge
When, 10K later, I got to the garage where they had dragged the car, there was a cute Irish-Canadian couple in my exact same situation having complete communication breakdown with the woman who ran the garage. They at least had a good excuse in that someone in the tourist information office had told them to park in that parking lot and so they were a bit bent out of shape as well as being flummoxed as to what they had to pay when and to whom. In the end they toodled off to the Cinque Terre for the afternoon. And the nice lady at the garage gave me a small discount for my assistance which somehow made it all seem less of a moumental pain.

So now we have a car to get K to the giant gym cocktail party tonight!