I haven't been to Pilates class lately, because Pilates demands discipline and time and energy and the ability to care. I had a lovely nap this afternoon, however.
Perhaps I need Dale. Dale taught the kickboxing class that Julie the NephewsMama and I attended when I lived in Cincinnati, and it bonded us immensely, as sisters, because when Dale enters the picture, you only have each other for safety and comfort.
Dale would simply materialize in the gym; no one ever saw him outside of the context of the aerobics floor, he just sort of appeared, or beamed in from Planet Kickboxing Instructor, or whatever, with his clip-on microphone and his tapes of world-ending music and his shorn legs and arms.
“Oh,” my sister would say as he pulled off his sweatpants, “not the lime green shorts.”
“It is,” I said. “It is indeed Lime Green Shorts Day.”
“HOW ARE YOU FEELING!” Dale would say into his microphone. He did so love his microphone.
“Mmmffpt” class tended to respond, following him into a series of warm-up kicks and light punches.
Dale would then take two steps off of his instructor’s platform. “I SAID, HOW ARE YOU FEELING!”
Julie often chose to applaud rather than disgrace herself further by yelling louder. “YAAAAY!”
He retreated. “Don’t make me come out there!”
My sister and I adjusted our territory on the aerobics floor so that we had enough room to move, but not so much that Dale could accost us should he choose to Come Out There, a horrific experience consisting of Dale, who, when dissatisfied with the quality of excitement issuing from the floor, charged into the class and corraled students at random to throw punches into his outstretched hand. This was accompanied by a stream of shrieked encouragement: “PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! ARGH! ARGH! PUNCH! PUNCH! COME ON! WHOOOOOOOO!” All eyes were cast pityingly upon you, and sweaty glistening Dale was, like, right there, and you had to touch him, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
We normally withstood two Coming Out Theres per night without personally experiencing Wrath of Dale, but we always moved again during the cool-down exercises, though, to the back of the room, because Dale likes overmuch to splay on the leg stretches, especially when it was Lime Green Shorts Day.
15 comments:
Let me guess... a student turned in a paper formatted like this?
And BTW, you're not fat.
Help! the horrible font is causing my eyes to bleed!
And no, MB, you are most certainly not fat. Listen to JTP.
OK, just testing new things. So that's two votes for "please no make the horrible font stop," then.
You're not fat.
The old font is tried and true.
MB, you're not fat.
We all need a nap sometimes.
The new font is bad.
Hmmm...
Trying to be brief,
And it became a haiku.
It is time for bed.
I went to a church a lot like that once ... very similar to some "you're just not excited enough!!" song / worship times there when, you know, if you didn't jump up and down with glee and cartwheel and wave a flag (which of course is just fine if that is genuinely what one feels like doing) about you just weren't one of Jesus' true little sunbeams, ya know?
Betcha can't even look at lime green without a little vein in your forehead pulsing now :( ;) .
PS: And, by the way, you couldn't look fat if you tried, love, you're just gorgeous :).
So let me see if I understand this... through the lime you saw the coconuts?
I like the new style only if we are to believe that we are reading a manuscript which you intend to publish.
Or, equally acceptable, all other fonts in the world have been accidentally deleted from your one and only computer and the nearest Kinko's is farther than your new car can take you on a single tank of gas.
P.S. That font makes you look phat. But that word has been retired. So now you're a retired kind of phat. Which is better than def, but not nearly as good as sick or whacked.
I read a quote today that follows your theme of procrastination. I can't remember it exactly but it is something like, "Procrastination is fine but if you take it too far, it turns into extravagant self destruction"
Here is one more vote against the horrific font.
Oh, and you are not fat. Please. Unmotivated, maybe..but not fat.
Dantelope's comment on the coconuts is too funny."Put the lime in the coconut..."
MB, seeing a new blog entry, in any font, when I come here, makes my day brighter.
I am not a fan of this font... but I am a fan of yours... does that make my dissing the font easier to handle?
Follow The Monica: Haikus to Describe the Disaster That is the Font.
by the Dantelope
The font is simple
Your writings much more complex
Style words, not letters
Pen is mightier
Than blogger's dumb font choices
Use your wit instead
Attempts to change things
Result in negative views
Spoken out of love
Man. The one thing I always manage to say to even my crappiest writers is: "Nice font." Now I've taken even THAT away from me!
Tomorrow: WingDings
Not a huge fan of the font, only because it makes me think of work, rather than entertainment, and thinking of work is bad these days, but in any font, your writing is always entertaining, so to summarize, I guess the font doesn't matter much, so long as you make me laugh. Worst. Run on sentence. Ever. Sorry!
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