In the last few years, I've discovered that my ability to create awkward conversation is only surpassed by my ability to create irrational worst-case scenarios. (Tyler doesn't pick up my call? Gahhhh that means he's being attacked by ninjas in the produce aisle of Dominick's! Not because he's driving and is trying to be safe. Obviously.) But today's post is about the former.
I walked home after an intense Zumba class this morning because, as it turns out, the Y is like 3 blocks from my apartment. Who knew? Anyway, so the way my apartment building is set up, there are two sets of doors to get in. The first set opens to a teeny foyer so you don't have to wait out in the rain/snow while waiting to get buzzed in through the second set of glass doors. After you get through the second set of doors, there's a very narrow square of carpet where exactly two people (or one person in a puffy coat) can stand, and then immediately beyond that is the stairs. So basically, the entryway is very tight.
I was standing in the foyer, and before I put in my building key, I noticed that it smelled all perfume-y and beautiful. I'd noticed the fragrance before on one or two other occasions, and have not been able to figure out what it is/who wears it, but it smells amazing. Some of you may know a thing or two about my Great Fragrance Searches, and some of you have even generously donated your time/dignity to tromp through department stores with me, and then patiently letting me spritz, and then smell, your wrists, forearms and elbows to help me figure out what perfume I'm trying to find. (Thanks Sunnyyyyy, you're the besttttt.)
So I'm there, breathing deeply and trying to memorize/place the scent. After maybe 3 or 4 minutes, I decide that I've got the scent sufficiently locked into my olfactory memory bank. I turn to put my key in the door and am startled to see that there's a guy on the other side, waiting for me to get out of the way so he can exit the building.
What I should've said was: nothing. I should've just smiled and walked past him, not saying a word about my weird fragrance obsession.
This is what I said instead: "I'm standing out here because someone's perfume smells so good and I'm trying to figure out what it is! I've smelled it before, though! Ha! I'm not crazy! Ha!"
"Oh," the guy said, and then gave me one of those indulgent smiles that you give either very small children ("Your daughter says she wants to be a ladybug when she grows up") or mischievous elderly people ("Grandpa just mooned the neighbors again"). He squeezed by me and left me alone, wondering how I could never quite manage to keep myself from word-vomiting.
So that neighborly encounter didn't go as well as it should have, but whatever. I had more things to worry about, like how I was going to make it up 3 flights of stairs to my apartment with legs that felt heavy, squashy wheels of cheese. (Very slowly, as it turns out, was the way to go.)
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
zumba your heart out
January has absolutely just flown by, and I only have one blog post to show for it! So much for my unofficial 2011 resolution of blogging more. My goal is to write at least once a week. Obviously I've failed miserably.
But it's a new year, and it's time to do new things so we can give it up after 3 weeks of saying we'll do new things. For instance, I joined a gym. Yes, I am now a card-carrying member of the YMCA. Basically what it comes down to is that I have a bridesmaid dress that I must look good in by July, and Chicago's deep dish, deep-fried everything is making that prospect somewhat dismal. So I joined the Y.
Not only did I join the Y, I actually took a class. No, not a remedial yoga class. A Zumba class.
This all came about because a friend asked me if I'd take in a class with her, and I thought, "It's a new year! I'm doing new things! Yesss let's do this!" In the excitement of doing new things, I completely overlooked the fact that:
1. I am an embarassingly bad dancer.
2. At my peak, I ran a 6-minute half-mile.
3. I can't remember the last time I did something continuously for an hour that didn't involve some sort of sitting or sleeping.
Nevertheless, I showed up for the 8:30 a.m. Zumba class on Saturday. The instructor was a very thin white girl who looked like Mary from Medill, dressed in a tank top and boy shorts, and was basically one back-flip-off-a-car away from being Channing Tatum from "Step Up." It took all of my concentration just to be moving in the same direction as the rest of the class...and it was awesome. I kid you not. It was so much fun, especially since there was such a huge range of age, diversity and dance ability. Some people had the most incredible lightness of step and awesome wiggling abilities, while others (like me) could only hope to be clambering in the right direction. All in all, everyone seemed to be having a really good time. My favorite was this very, very old gentleman who stepped and pivoted happily, sometimes to the beat and sometimes not, choreography be damned.
Who knows, maybe I'll give this up in 2 weeks. But I overheard one older lady say that, since she started the class, she's lost a ton of inches in her mid-section and doesn't even have to diet or do sit-ups anymore to keep toned. That alone is enough incentive to keep me coming back!
But it's a new year, and it's time to do new things so we can give it up after 3 weeks of saying we'll do new things. For instance, I joined a gym. Yes, I am now a card-carrying member of the YMCA. Basically what it comes down to is that I have a bridesmaid dress that I must look good in by July, and Chicago's deep dish, deep-fried everything is making that prospect somewhat dismal. So I joined the Y.
Not only did I join the Y, I actually took a class. No, not a remedial yoga class. A Zumba class.
This all came about because a friend asked me if I'd take in a class with her, and I thought, "It's a new year! I'm doing new things! Yesss let's do this!" In the excitement of doing new things, I completely overlooked the fact that:
1. I am an embarassingly bad dancer.
2. At my peak, I ran a 6-minute half-mile.
3. I can't remember the last time I did something continuously for an hour that didn't involve some sort of sitting or sleeping.
Nevertheless, I showed up for the 8:30 a.m. Zumba class on Saturday. The instructor was a very thin white girl who looked like Mary from Medill, dressed in a tank top and boy shorts, and was basically one back-flip-off-a-car away from being Channing Tatum from "Step Up." It took all of my concentration just to be moving in the same direction as the rest of the class...and it was awesome. I kid you not. It was so much fun, especially since there was such a huge range of age, diversity and dance ability. Some people had the most incredible lightness of step and awesome wiggling abilities, while others (like me) could only hope to be clambering in the right direction. All in all, everyone seemed to be having a really good time. My favorite was this very, very old gentleman who stepped and pivoted happily, sometimes to the beat and sometimes not, choreography be damned.
Who knows, maybe I'll give this up in 2 weeks. But I overheard one older lady say that, since she started the class, she's lost a ton of inches in her mid-section and doesn't even have to diet or do sit-ups anymore to keep toned. That alone is enough incentive to keep me coming back!
Thursday, January 6, 2011
another year, another anniversary
Happy 2011! I hope everyone had a lovely and safe holidays, no doubt filled with health-conscious eating and responsible drinking of moderately-alcoholic beverages.
A few days ago, I endured my quarter-century milestone. Yes, I am now 25. Or, as Tyler so tactfully put it, "You're now half-way to your mid-life crisis!" THANKS BUDDY, so nice of you to remind me that I'm officially now in my mid-twenties and have yet to do anything with my life!
I remember in high school and college where 25 seemed so unbearably...old. 25 meant stable 9-to-5 and reeked of babies and unkempt husbands. But from this perspective, 25 hardly seems like anything at all. While I am gainfully employed, my ideal career is still in very fledgling stages, and I'm zero percent married nor with child (thank goodness).
Speaking of marriages, today is the 26th anniversary of my parents' marriages, as well as Elleen's parents and Carolyn's parents. What are the odds, right, that three couples from Taiwan who got married on the exact same day would all eventually move within like 20 miles from each other? They've been married longer than I've been alive. In one sense, it's like "Well, that's quite a stretch of time, I mean, it's longer than my whole life has been." In another, it's like "But yet, I feel like it's no time at all, as I've apparently done very little thus far."
I wonder if they even think about their marriage as an accomplishment, or if it's such a part of them by now that it's nothing really to think about. It's just another given thing in life, like breathing or blinking or buying shampoo that you don't need. I suspect that all the relationship theories and divisions of labor and all of the idealistic notions that single people my age talk about, all of that goes out the window when you finally get married for real. Nothing's perfect and nothing's predictable, right? All I hope is that one day I'll be as lucky as they are to be a part of something that feels as natural as breathing. And I hope our kids are cute. And I hope we're happy, too.
A few days ago, I endured my quarter-century milestone. Yes, I am now 25. Or, as Tyler so tactfully put it, "You're now half-way to your mid-life crisis!" THANKS BUDDY, so nice of you to remind me that I'm officially now in my mid-twenties and have yet to do anything with my life!
I remember in high school and college where 25 seemed so unbearably...old. 25 meant stable 9-to-5 and reeked of babies and unkempt husbands. But from this perspective, 25 hardly seems like anything at all. While I am gainfully employed, my ideal career is still in very fledgling stages, and I'm zero percent married nor with child (thank goodness).
Speaking of marriages, today is the 26th anniversary of my parents' marriages, as well as Elleen's parents and Carolyn's parents. What are the odds, right, that three couples from Taiwan who got married on the exact same day would all eventually move within like 20 miles from each other? They've been married longer than I've been alive. In one sense, it's like "Well, that's quite a stretch of time, I mean, it's longer than my whole life has been." In another, it's like "But yet, I feel like it's no time at all, as I've apparently done very little thus far."
I wonder if they even think about their marriage as an accomplishment, or if it's such a part of them by now that it's nothing really to think about. It's just another given thing in life, like breathing or blinking or buying shampoo that you don't need. I suspect that all the relationship theories and divisions of labor and all of the idealistic notions that single people my age talk about, all of that goes out the window when you finally get married for real. Nothing's perfect and nothing's predictable, right? All I hope is that one day I'll be as lucky as they are to be a part of something that feels as natural as breathing. And I hope our kids are cute. And I hope we're happy, too.
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