This Is Not My Story

This is the long promised post about the friends I had made, the friendship that was complicated and difficult for others to understand. Just so we all understand; I am not the hero, I am not exceptionally good, I didn't do anything other than make some friends which is something people do all the time, I am no saint, I am no samaritan. I simply did what I do with all my friends; we hung out, we talked about cats, we talked about books, I borrowed books to them, I looked forward to seeing them.

I thought about not using their real names, but I want people to see who they are, to know them like I do.

Another preamble to this story is that I don't talk to people. I don't like starting up meaningless conversations about the weather or whatever sports teams is doing well or terrible. I'd rather not be asked directions somewhere by a stranger, I generally don't say "hi" to people I pass. So, the fact that I even went up to her in the first place means it was just one of those things that were meant to be. When I say "meant to be" I don't mean in some devine intervention, I mean it in a "right place, right time" sort of way.

I had seen her on my way home from the subway station most days after work. Sometimes she was with a guy, sometimes not. Then she had a gray and white kitten with her. I have to admit, it was the kitten that broke the ice for me, because of my own horrible/adorable kitten at home. Her kitten's name was Chi, and we talked about how terrible they were, but so damn cute that you couldn't stay mad at them.

I guess from then on, we were friends. I'd stop most days that I saw her and we'd talk. We talked about how she couldn't stay at her mom's house because she had chosen to live with her boyfriend and her mom didn't approve. How even if her mom did let her in the house, she didn't want to deal with her step-father's abuse; but she did want to see her new baby sister. She apologized for "complaining" but I told her that everyone needs someone to listen sometimes; how it made her boyfriend uncomfortable so she felt she couldn't talk to him about it. She told me how they slept in Compton and it was scary.

Eventually she had to give the kitten to a friend, because it was too difficult for her and her boyfriend to keep track of her. She still got to see Chi, though, by stopping by her friend's house.

We talked about how she had turned 19 not too long ago, and it was a bad day. How she had been ignored all day, and there wasn't money for a present or anything special. So, I got her a cupcake, because it's my theory that everyone should get cake on their birthday. (White cake, chocolate frosting, and rainbow sprinkles) She insisted that have the first bite, because she had so little to share and because birthday cakes are meant to be shared.

It was hard for me to be her friend sometimes; I loved spending time with her, but I wanted to do so much more. I felt so inadequate to what she needed, that all I could do was listen and give her the ten dollars I had in my wallet, saved specifically for her and her boyfriend.

My own The Boyfriend was wonderful and supportive, he understood my desire to do more and convinced me that what I was doing was definitely enough. He said sweet things like when he started busking to practice street magic, he'd give his earnings to them because he didn't need it. (I'm pretty sure that I fell in love with him all over again after he said that) He fully supported me in growing in this unusual friendship and knew that if I had made two new friends, it was important to me and he knows that I do anything for the ones I love.

At first I didn't think her boyfriend was good for her, and I wished she would be able to get away from him. I thought he was an anchor. But the thing about anchors is that they also keep someone from drifting away and getting lost.

I hope she doesn't mind that I'm telling her story, the parts of it I know at least, I hope she will be able to see how important she is to me and how much I miss her.

The first time I met her boyfriend, he kept passing out, he was drunk, they got into an argument and she said it was best if I headed out.

The second time I met him, he was alert and awake and bright. His eyes were ice blue and wide with something akin to mania. I learned that he has a B.A. in english literature and has some short horror stories published in a small literary magazine. Nobody is what they seem. I could tell by the way he was with her, that he was hopelessly in love. She was his lighthouse as he battled with drug addiction, bi-polar disorder, anxiety, and depression. Not enough money for his medication, so he self medicated with whatever he could find. He talked about rehab and I fully believed him, because he looked at her when he said it. She was his lighthouse, but he was her anchor.

I love the days we talked about books, how much they missed having them, I offered to borrow some books of mine to them. I know they didn't have a lot of room and didn't want to be carrying books around because it's heavy; but I would happily loan them a book and when they were done switch it for another.

I think my favorite conversation, the one when I knew we were friends, was when we got talking about how we all suffered from anxiety and how panic attacks were the absolute worst thing ever. Kindred spirits.

The last time I saw them was the day I had the first two books for them. I had spent the night before carefully choosing books based on what they said they liked to read. She liked biographies and manga, he liked mysteries and fantasy. I wanted something with hope, something good.

I was excited, because they were so excited to have a chance to read books again. I came up to where I usually could find them, and saw them talking to a police officer. It was a mounted police officer, so tourists were taking pictures of the police horse. I was mad that people were taking pictures of my friends' life. Finally, after they had received warnings for loitering and panhandling, they had to move. They cut through the hollywood boulevard crowd with a practiced speed. I raced to catch up to them, the books in my hand.

I caught them at a red light. I asked if they were okay, she said they weren't. They thankfully didn't get a ticket and even more thankfully didn't get arrested. I asked if she needed a hug and she accepted. (Those who know me, know that I rarely hug and never initiate the hug) I gave them the books and their eyes lit up. I pressed ten dollars into her hand. I walked with them until the intersection of Hollywood and Highland, he was already reading his book like it was an oasis in a desert.

Then they were gone in the crowd. Just another two, young homeless people on the streets of Los Angeles, their entire life in a duffle bag.

I haven't seen them in about 2 months. I hope they're okay. I hope that their absence is because he has found the help he needs and she found a job and a little apartment. He said she's an amazing cook, she said she's a terrible baker. I hope they have a little place with a horrible adorable kitten. I hope they're safe and that's why I haven't been able to find them.

So, anyone in LA, if you see a girl with straight black hair and an Australian accent. Her name is Anastasia. Tell her I say hi and that I miss her. If she's with a boy with ice blue eyes bright with dreams and thoughts and grand plans, and tangled blond curls, his name is Justin and he's so much more than he seems. Please, please tell them that I hope they're doing okay, that I have the next books ready for them, that I would love nothing more than to see them again. Tell them I look for them every day and think about them often. Tell them that I consider them some of my very good friends and all I want for them is happiness, love, and safety.

If you see Anastasia and Justin, just talk to them and let them know you're a friend of mine and that I've been missing them and then please let me know how they're doing.

It's The Comeback, Kid.

You're not mistaken, it has been about two months (to the day) since my last post. Yes, I have completely shattered the idea that I would post once a week. I'm going to try to get back to that, and I swear, for the one person that I know reads Fiction Friday...I won't leave Kent and Violet hanging.

So, here's what's been up.

Ah, man. That opening sequence...gets me every time.

For realz, though.

So, the beginning of August, I was let go from my job. Yeah, came as a total shock to me, too. Like, TOTAL shock. But, looking at it (and with the proper dosage of Paxil) it wasn't the right place for me. I was incredibly stressed out by the office vibes, paranoid, and jumpy. I didn't have the right background to do well, so everything I was doing (thought it was my best) just wasn't enough. It sort of felt like trying to do a simple surgery after studying an anatomy book, watching a few episodes of ER, and being pretty good at the game of "Operation".

So, anyway. That was on a Monday...happy Monday! And I got home, was sad for a bit and then applied to places like The Natural History Museum and Whimsic Alley. I didn't get those jobs, but it was fun to apply. I was officially unemployed for a total of one week. I also suspect that a lot of my "this is a new opportunity, I can do whatever I want" came from the awesomeness that is The Boyfriend. To be all mushy and lovey-gross for a moment; he makes everything better and when I freak out about how I'm going to end up strung out on skid row because I don't have a job...he reminds me to take a Xanax and also that he won't let that happen.

I got a new job as assistant to an owner of an auto body shop, a bit random, I know; but the title also comes with the job description of "writer". Any letters, voicemail messages for the after hours phone number, emails, and memos...I have the opportunity to write for him. It's actually nice being able to use my B.A. in Creative Writing for good use. I'm happier, more relaxed even though I have to deal with more people, and happier. It was one of those situations, where I didn't realize that I wasn't happy until I was somewhere else.

Also, I'm about 4 blocks away from Whimsic Alley.

Lately I have been thinking of blog posts I want to write, random things, as is my style. But I knew I owed you this one, first.

And, I sprained my foot last weekend. I was walking, wearing flats, tripped on an uneven spot of sidewalk, nearly recovered, and then fell completely to the ground. Yes, I'm that graceful and talented.

My mom asked if I fell off my shoes, and that was the reason...again, I was wearing flats. My boss asked what else I was doing besides walking...nothing, just walking.

The x-ray proved it wasn't broken, though it felt like it and a week later it's still sore and bruised. Go me!

That's about 3 days after it happened...yeah.

Anyway, that's about all that's happened. A complete job shift in addition to the usual Lupus temper tantrums (they only last about a day, if I can sleep them off) and the usual Felix mischief. Speaking of, she had a birthday last week, one year old. Now she can grow up and calm the hell down.

I'm not sure if fiction friday will return this week, I've been staying late at work to try and get ahead of the Christmas card project; somewhere in the neighborhood of 9000 cards...yeah. Anyway, things are good, different, but good.

Here's to weekly blog posts again and getting back into the normal routine of life.

So, Halloween is coming up fast...and I've done little other than think about how I want to do a femme version of Alex from A Clockwork Orange.

I think I just want an excuse to wear suspenders, a black bowler, and carry a pimp cane.

Whatevs.

See you next week.

Still Here

Yes, I am completely aware that I have not posted here in about a month. The unplanned absence was due to a number of things which did not break my fingers, did not render me unable to remember words, and did not strand me someplace without any sort of electricity or internet. It was mostly a combination of being busy, being out of state, and my own crazy throwing a crazy party in my crazy head.

First, the good stuff, because everyone likes good stuff. I went back to Minnesota to see family and friends and visit where I grew up. I go about twice a year, and while I love having a week of winter with snow and cold...there is something beautiful about the vibrant greenness of a Minnesota summer. As oppressive as the humidity can be and as ravenous as the mosquitos are...there is a persistent, intense, deep passion for everything to be as green as it possibly can be.

I got to visit my best friend's adorable and perfect little baby boy. He is as sweet as he is adorable. I got to visit with my best friend and talk and catch up and discuss how impossible it is that our 10 year high school reunion is next year and that in a few months she will have a one year old child. I saw family friends, and my mom, and biked a total of 24 miles. I saw the new library and talked with the librarians who still remember me from the summers I spent there as a kid. I got a donut from the bakery and saw the house I grew up in.

Pictures!!

So that was the good. Will all of the friends and green and catching up, there was no time to sit down and write.

Now the less good.

As mentioned in Stressy McStresserson work has been sort of a stressful place. Both before I left for Minnesota and after I returned, I've just felt paranoid and resentful towards a few co-workers and in a mental war of standing up for myself and wanting to duck my head and stay under the radar. I know what I need to do, I just need to shove the anxiety aside and do it. Easier said than done, but I will.

Since February, I've sort of felt like things haven't slowed down; one big event after another. All good things, but exhausting none the less. It's like I can't hardly keep up, when I've just about caught my breath, something else comes and I'm off and running again. Some panic attacks have returned as well as just a higher level of constant stress despite my best efforts to keep things in perspective and calm myself.

So, after a few doctor's appointments, I've increased my anti-anxiety medication a little. Hopefully things will calm down again.

I'm trying to get back to things I like, reading and writing and feeling calmer. The busy and crazy have just taken my desire or the feeling of having enough to sit down and write, but I'm fighting for it.

There are other things I want to write about that have been happening, like my making a new friend, but she deserves at least an entire post to herself and I need to think more about how to write it so that it comes across right. It's a complicated situation, sort of out of the box for most people's friendships. But I like her and I don't make many new friends, because I don't enjoy talking to many new people.

A lot of what I've learned this past year is that my anxiety and the way I don't want to deal with crowds or feel the need to have a million friends...that is as much my own unique personality as it is anything else. I don't need to be the life of the party or even like parties. Who I am is enough, and while there are things I would like to do without (anxiety), fundamentally, this is me and nothing has to change. Life isn't high school, I don't "need" to fit myself into a clique. My friends are who I choose to surround myself with, my social life is when I choose to engage in it, the people I love and those who love me understand that and that's why we're friends.

Fiction Friday will return at some point, when things sort of get back on track. It feels good to be back here.

Stressy McStresserson

This week (and the week before) have sort of been a climb to the top of Everest of stress and anxiety for me. Not because I was actually climbing Everest, but just for the mental picture. A lot of it has to do with things at work; feeling under the microscope, incapable, watched, paranoid. It's been exhausting and stressful. I've also had a couple meetings about my work, nothing bad, just going over things, but the anxiety takes that as free reign to jump aboard the 'i'm a failure and a screw up' bandwagon. Awesome, stop.

On top of that, I'm going back to Minnesota next week. Which is great and wonderful, and that always stresses me out and I have a habit of not applying the stress to the activity that is causing it, so things like my pen going missing or the blankets feeling like they are strangling me become the end of the world.

So, next week, you'll get some pics of Minnesota (theoretically) and if there is no post, it's because I'm in Minnesota playing with my friend's baby and living on her farm with the goats. (not, like in the barn with the goats, I'm sure I can stay in the house...but the farm has goats)

I think the point I really knew I was Ms. Stressy McStresserson was when I felt attacked by the messages inside of the Dove chocolate promises that I was eating by the handful in moderation.

It helps if you read the following in the batman voice. You know, The Batman Voice.

The entire message changes when you think of them as threats rather than suggestions.

Thankfully this week is almost over, I appear to have survived thus far, and going back to Minnesota will be relaxing and good and nice.

I'm going to go and buy some non-threatening chocolate...or maybe ice cream. Ice cream never tried to give me life advice.

E.A.A. (Enhanced Abilities Anonymous) - Chapter 8

Previously on E.A.A.

By the time it was the evening of the bowling date, Kent was so nervous he could hardly function. He put his shoes on the wrong feet, twice and nearly used toothpaste to shave with. He looked at himself in the mirror.

“Relax, Kent. It’s just like meeting her at the coffee shop, or ice cream in the park.” He didn’t believe himself. “I’m doomed.”

He was ready an hour early, but he couldn’t stay in the apartment without running into the risk of completely changing his outfit again or managing to talk himself out of going. He nearly turned back twice as he went down the stairs in his building and then tried to convince himself that he forgot his phone once he was outside, even though he knew it was in his pocket. He looked up at the perfect sunny day and was trying to see if there was even a hint of rain.

His phone rang. “Hello?”

“Quit looking for reasons to get out of this and get to the bowling alley.” Imogene stated without any sort of greeting.

“Did Dex?”

“Kent, I know you, Dex didn’t need to tell me anything. Go, or I’ll escort you myself.” She hung up before he could protest.

He walked the remaining mile to the bowling alley as though walking his last steps to his execution. The neon lights that happily blinked “BOWLING” essentially read “TURN BACK NOW” as far as Kent was concerned. He walked through the doors and was greeted by the sound of bowling balls crashing into pins, just like how he imagined his potential love life was going to sound as it came crashing down.

Kent glanced over the crowd and didn’t see Violet’s trademark headphones. He sighed, he could still leave and nobody would know.

His phone vibrated with a text message. On the screen was Imogene’s name and under it read, You’re probably at the bowling alley by now. Get your shoes, take a breath, and have fun. I will come down there if I have to.

Sometimes he wondered just how much Dex told her and just how well she knew him. Kent knew that Dex mostly only knew big, newsworthy things, sort of like a human Wikipedia; so Kent’s love life was most definitely not on the list. That left it to Imogene’s own knowledge of his personal life. That information in her hands was most definitely dangerous. Thank goodness she was his friend rather than his enemy.

He walked up to the counter and got his bowling shoes. He tried not to think about who wore them last or how well they were cleaned as the teenager behind the counter seemed to hardly care about anything other than the screen of her phone.

With a shaky breath, Kent sat down and put the shoes on. He tucked his under a chair and set about trying to find a ball.

“I always get stuck with the pink ones meant for little kids.” Violet said from behind him. “I completely lack upper arm strength.”

Kent nearly dropped the ball he was holding. He turned. “Hey.”

“I’m not going to bite.” She picked up a green ball and then set it down. “Just relax.”

“I just, I don’t do this often.” He found a red ball that his fingers wouldn’t get stuck in.

“What, bowl? Believe me, I’m no pro either.” She sighed and picked up the pink and purple swirled ball she had been trying to avoid. “Yeah, the only one my fingers fit in and that I can lift.” She walked towards a lane. “Come on, lane 3.”

She sat down at the score computer and typed in her name. It took Kent to realize she had written The Florest. “What’s your superhero name?” She looked at him.

He couldn’t help but smile. “Seriously?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of one. We all have. The name we’d want printed in the papers when the mayor calls us for help. So, what is it?”

“The Firefly.” He felt an odd sense of pride at finally saying it out loud. For once, he felt awesome.

“Nice.” She typed it in and the game had started.

They didn’t talk much, the first few frames. They both were trying to throw something other than gutter balls and have at least somewhat of a decent score. If Kent had to be honest with himself, this was the most fun he’d had in a long time.

“How was your grandmother?” Kent asked after he bowled his second consecutive gutter ball.

“Good, she’s knitting me a sweater for Christmas.” She bowled and hit two pins. “She always knits me a sweater for Christmas.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Usually pretty good, unless she tries something experimental, like the one year with the vest cloak thing.” She rolled another gutter ball. “I’m usually much worse at bowling.”

Kent laughed. “Me, too. You must be lucky.” He picked up the ball.

“She wants to meet you.”

He nearly dropped it on his foot. It rolled so slowly down the lane that it took a full five minutes before it tapped one pin over. Kent stood motionless the entire time.

“Are you all right?” Violet stood up and walked over to him. “Kent?”

“She wants to meet me?” His voice was much higher pitched than he intended.

She shoved his shoulder. “Nothing that serious, geez. She just is interested in all my friends, being that I don’t have a million of them.”

He cleared his throat and tried to regain some composure. “You told her about me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She shrugged. “We’re sort of a minority. There’s a bunch of normal people and there’s a bunch of enhanced abilitied people. We’re just the ones whose ability is so obscure that nobody really needs it. We’re not part of the normal crowd and not part of the ‘super’ crowd. Therefore it’s harder to make friends outside of our group.”

He had recovered enough to bowl his second turn. “I can see that, I guess I never really thought about it. I figured it was my own awkwardness that kept my friend list down.”

She smirked. “I wouldn’t completely rule that out, but I sort of think it’s endearing.” She picked up her ball and regarded the pins with a pro bowler’s focus. “The few other guys I’ve dated have either been totally preoccupied with my ability, but they were normal people. The others were abilitied, but they were totally obnoxious about it.” She lowered the pitch of her voice to mimic a conversation. “Yeah, so I was at the mayor’s last night for dinner, you know, for putting out that fire at the orphanage with the water that shoots from my nostrils.” She threw the ball and got a strike. “Even the Nose Hose, who has the worst super name by the way, thought he was leagues above me.”

“I don’t think anyone could be better than you.” Kent said it before he could stop himself.

Violet turned at met his eyes, she smiled sweetly. “Really?”

“…a-at bowling.” He added lamely while furiously blushing.

She smiled knowingly, but there was still the light of the compliment in her eyes.

From Vendetta To Valium

Warning: This post contains mention of female anatomy and menstruation. So, if you're not interested, please feel free to skip this one.

*Names have been changed because it's more fun that way, I mean to protect the identity of all parties.

MaryLet’s run away to cotton candy island.

I think our dramatic yelling to the sky moment will be scheduled around 1 this afternoon, if that works with your schedule.

Christ.

SaraHaha, perfect, count me in!

I have an oil change today at 1:30 so thank God I get to run away for a while.

MaryLucky.

You know those days where you just never should have gotten out of bed? That applies to this entire week. Thank god for pilates today, I definitely need it.

SaraFOR REAL.

Cotton Candy mountains sound so DAMN appealing right now….or crack cocaine…whichever comes first!

HAHA, secret bashing in email today with you is making me super happy

MaryIt is definitely helping.

remember when mr drama was our biggest problem? How naieve we were.

I do love the irony of all the things I have been accused of…online shopping, facebooking (on my phone), being on my phone, loud typing, internet surfing; it’s like they’re looking at the wrong computer. Mr. ebay for guitars and amps, facebook, twitter, omegle, random internets, google chat, facebook chat, typing up a storm.

SaraAt this point I think that they are deliberately choosing to ignore his behavior. IU swear, its all because he’s a new dad, and a band manager that probably has connections they need.

Lets tell everyone we are pregnant, see how quickly things change in our favor.

MaryOkay!

Pregnant and in a band. The Fertile Myrtles! Lots of angry emo girl hormone driven punk rock.

SaraLet’s scratch out the emo part, and I am in!

I really want to box today

MaryDone. Fertile Myrtles are no longer emo, just strongly hormone driven.

Piloxing is tomorrow. There’s also piloxing at 6 today, during the time that I do normal pilates.

SaraDamn, that sounds amazing right now. I am so torn of emotions.

I wanna box, I wanna eat loads of salt and I also want to get laid. EFF you hormones!!! This is exactly how I feel right now…

MaryYeah. Let’s kill the world, eat ice cream and pretzels, screw boys, and watch lifetime movies!!! All at this exact moment.

SaraHAHAHA, being a woman is so ridiculous sometimes. Thank you for being my uterus sista. Didn’t you show me a uterus pillow once?

MaryNo, I was not the presenter of the uterus pillow.

No wonder in the 1800s men just had women committed during their period or gave them historectimies and called them hysterical. Dear lord, we are nuts. Guys get a rush of hormones at about 16 and then it just stays there, indefinitely. Women get the hormone rollercoaster until they’re 50 and then everything explodes, and then stops. Meanwhile, guys find their second wind at about 70 and want to revert back to everything they’ve said at 17.

Btw, Uterus Pillow is the Fertile Myrtles first hit single. Followed closely by I hate to love your stupid handsome face to round off the charts.

SaraHAHAHA, I like the way you think. It was this one that I saw.

How stupidly cute is this dumb thing.

MaryHe’s like an adorable pink female anatomy shaped ghost holding grapes.

SaraIf this was ghost that you get when “Hey do you wanna buy a ghost” guy comes to you, its like heck yes!

Put if it’s the ghost you shoot during Johnny skull Id be like, “nooooo…save him!”

MaryWhen I become a ghost, it will be like this one.

SaraHAHAHA That would totally be you!

Jebus, I just yelled at the parking attendant because he asked why I didn’t wear make-up today and I told him I don’t live to please you with my beauty. What he said was damn rude, but I need to be tranquilized before I go on a hate spewing spree.

MaryNah, we’ll just get wasted at lunch and then say whatever the hell we want to everyone! Be warned, world, Sara and Mary are out for blood.

SaraJeeze, is’nt the fact that we have enough blood coming out of us the problem???

A glass of wine sounds divine though.

MaryMOAR BLOOD!!! THE BLOOD OF THE INNOCENTS!!!! THEIR BLOOD MUST SPILL FOR OUR BLOOD SPILLS!!!!

SaraHAHAHAHA, what the hell is wrong with us?

MaryRelax and chant with me

Yeah, that conversation really happened.

I Got Skillz?

I wasn't overly blessed with coordination, or depth perception, or balance, or grace, or poise, or...you get the picture. I was never passionate (or particularly good at) dance or gymnastics and I was terrible at all sports involving throwing, catching, or hitting. In gym class I mostly just got hit in the face with any sports ball that happened to be in the air at some point.

Recently I have started working out at the local gym where I work, nothing serious, just to be in better shape overall. Whatever. Anyway, I started there thinking I would only run on the treadmill...but then some of the classes offered started to look interesting.

I tried my hand at pilates, which I really like and it's super relaxing and whatnot. Then last week I just wasn't feeling the treadmill or elliptical, but I was in time for a Piloxing class. What is piloxing, you might ask? Apparently it's a mix of pilates, dance, and boxing. The internet says it looks like this.

Needless to say I was intimidated by the coordination skills needed. But then, something surprising happened. I didn't totally suck. I kept up with the group despite it being my first time and I had no idea what the eff I was doing, AND the instructor told me after that she had a hard time believing that it was my first piloxing class. What the what? Hold up. I was kinda good at something athletic-y? The girl whose hometown librarians STILL know her name despite not living in that town for the past 8 years? The girl who has been hit by footballs, volleyballs, softballs (their name lies!), basketballs, tennis balls, and soccer balls? (I'll admit that during the one leg balance part, I totally sucked and had to use both feet, but the rest was actually kind of fun. And HARD, this was a Workout with a capital W.)

I can only attribute my supposed success to a blending of my past randomly acquired skills. I'm not talking about using algebra in everyday life, like we were lied to told. I mean skills that I NEVER thought would be used except for the odd things they were designed for.

The first, is pilates. Just knowing some forms and placements of your arms/legs/spine were helpful. (not much, but a little)

The second, is my obsession interest in the show Dance Moms so that I learned some dance terms and stuff. (yeah, we'll go with that)

Third can be attributed to the dance themed flash mobs that I took part in. (Mostly Thriller, and yes, I do know the entire six minute dance) We had just a couple weeks to learn the dance, sometimes just a couple hours.

I'm the Zombie dressed as Where's Waldo. Did you find me?

And finally, I give my success to something that I thought I had blocked from my memory. High School Gym Class. *shudder* I went to school in Minnesota, in a very small school (think 4000 people in the entire TOWN, so my graduating class was 97 kids) During the winter we had enough snow to not even know where exactly the track or football field was, so here was the school with 4 grades of gym classes (broken up into about 25 kids per class for each grade, so 16 gym classes) with 7 periods in the day all needing time and space for gym.

Some time was bought with health class (my grade defaced the books by adding penises to anything and everything, 10 books had to be permanently "retired" after my grade went through) The other option was to do weightlifting in the weight room (the old library) and the final option was Tae Bo. In the wrestling room.

Now, if you've never experienced the joy of a high school wrestling room, be thankful. Ours was about 20 feet by 15 feet, walls and floor covered in mats that teenage boys sweated all over as they practiced wrestling. Gross. Gross gross gross!

Ours was red and black, the perfect colors for hiding EVERYTHING. (gross)

The gym teacher would herd us all into there, we'd try not to touch anything (including the floor) and the teacher would put in a Billy Blanks Teaches Tae Bo VHS into the VCR. Then for the next 40 minutes we would follow along to the amount of minimal effort that would get us a decent grade best of our abilities.

If you haven't had the pleasure of seeing these videos, look them up, it's worth it to understand some of my horror.

So oddly enough, these random skills have turned into some innate ability to not totally suck at Piloxing. So, if you ever need anyone to fill in at a piloxing class who looks like they sort of know what they're doing...I guess I'm the one to call.

Thanks Michael Jackson, Billy Blanks, and Abby Lee Miller. You have given me completely useless but somehow helpful skills.