I love Oreos.
Sneezing is so awkward. Ok, so the actual sneeze itself isn’t so bad (unless you have a really stupid sounding sneeze or you tend to spew boogers everywhere) but the pre-sneeze anticipation always ends up being kind of wonky. Everyone has their own distinct pre-sneeze facial expressions and they’re all ridiculous. Mine involves my mouth sort of hanging half open with my eyes all squinty and my nostrils super flared. It’s really attractive.
Today I feel like an 85 year old woman. Everything hurts. That’s what happens when you spend five hours at Ikea and another five hours sitting on your floor putting together furniture from Ikea. Don’t. Go. To. Ikea.
Jordan Cohen and I, circa sophomore or junior year of high school.
According to Wikipedia, Zumba is defined as, “a Latin-inspired dance fitness program created by dancer and choreographer Alberto “Beto” Perez in Colombia during the 1990s.” According to me, Zumba is defined as, “something else I can not do.”
Zumba is supposed to be one of those gym classes where people are like, “Gosh, it’s so much fun, I don’t even feel like I’m exercising!” Except for me it’s more stressful than fun. I’m one of those people who have a problem with the whole rhythm and coordination thing, making it kind of difficult to do anything involving the art of dance. During Zumba class I end of doing a lot of flailing and odd bopping, kind of like a chicken with its head cut off…a chicken with its head cut off trying to do Zumba, that is.
I think the aspect of Zumba that is particularly troublesome for me is having to do something with my hands and my feet… at the same time! Maybe, MAYBE I’d be able to the just the hands or just the feet, but both at the same time? Nope.
But you know what, I go to Zumba class anyway. Because if I’m gonna suck at something, I’m gonna suck 100 percent in the most awesome way possible. I’m not going to mediocrely suck, I’m going to suck all the way. So in conclusion, I may suck at Zumba but I least I suck absolutely worse than anyone else in the class!
My 6th grade school photo. I think it speaks for itself.
Everyday we are faced with dilemmas. To be or not to be, yadda yadda yadda. Well, I feel compelled to share one such dilemma that I happened to face today.
Whilst walking down the street I noticed something about the woman in front of me. She was rocking a small red price sticker smack dab in the middle of her back. It was just hanging out there, completely unbeknownst to this woman/victim of red price sticker stickiness. The second I saw it all I could think about was whether or not I was going to tell her. I wanted to tell her, I really did. I mean, who wants to walk around with a red price sticker chilling on their back? Why, certainly not me! I felt like it was my duty as an upstanding citizen of this fine city to kindly alert her to this unfortunate sticky situation.
But then I said nothing. I just couldn’t figure out an appropriate way to tell her. I couldn’t exactly take it off her back and be like, “Yo, you had this red price sticker on your back but don’t worry ‘cause I got it for you!” I guess I could’ve just told her point blank that there was a red price sticker on her back but I feel like that would’ve been so complicated because she wouldn’t have been able to see it. And I would’ve had to guide her through the process of getting it off her back and then she wouldn’t have been able to get it and then she would’ve thought I was a crazy liar who just made up the whole red price sticker story for some sick amusement and then she would’ve punched me in the face and I would have to deal with a black eye for two weeks.
So for the sake of my fragile eyes I made the difficult decision not to tell her. I feel like a horrible person because if it were me I totally would have complained for hours about how no one told me about the red price sticker. But at least I don’t have a black eye.
During my run this morning I got to thinking about…running. It’s actually bizarre to me, this whole concept of running for recreation. Back in the day people ran for survival; the cavemen didn’t run just to burn a few calories. No siree, they ran to get the fuck away from the giant badgers! Or whatever it was that hunted them…
Who woulda thunk it?! Running merely for the sake of fun (and by fun I mean torture aka exercise). Like for realsies y’all.
Also this is totally off topic but yesterday someone sneezed on me in the street and it was really gross.
Happy Labor Day weekend!