Let's get ridiculous...

Zumba…what can I say about Zumba? I think someone should know the instructor is on drugs. No, really. She was disgustingly, over the top even for a Friday happy and I knew she was on some sort of illicit happy juice that made her smile so wide I was worried she’d swallow her head. How does one deal with that emergency?

Operator?

Yes, what is your emergency?

We have someone here who has lost their head.
Is she a Zumba instructor?

Yes.

Is her body writing our of control in wild, sinuous spasms?

Yeah, it’s not normal.

Is she calling out ‘whop, whop’ continuously and jumping into the crowd, thrusting her pelvis at everyone? Is her stomach on display and abnormally muscular looking?

Yes, operator. What do I do?

Do you have the abnormal need to bump and grind amongst strangers?

No.

How far to the local liquor store?

Not far.

Okay, you sound like a sensible woman. Shimmy away for the mob, don’t make eye contact and get the hell out of there.

What about the others?

Are they all ‘whop-whoppíng?

Yes, it’s horrible.

Don’t be a hero. You can only save yourself. Get out now.  If you show signs of whop-whopping, go immediately to the hospital.

Not fat, just swollen...

So, I went to the physio this arvo due to a pain near my knee. It has been hurting like hell when I slow down. If I keep moving I’m fine. Anyway I stripped down to my undies – always a delightful sight – and she turned my legs this way and that, remarked on my stunning flat feet, with me all the time thinking I probably should have shaved my legs but I’m a slack arse, and only swearing once when she twisted my left leg in a certain way and said ‘Did that hurt?’ Well yes - yes, I believe it did hence the reason I spoke in tongues to express my discomfort and sorry about the hands around your neck. Her thoughts? It appears that this is most likely due to a hard fall I had 5 months ago. I ignored the pain then because it happened in a crap period of my life when I was busy, busy, busy and stopping to acknowledge the pain wasn’t on the agenda because I was busy, busy, busy. She said ‘your knee’s swollen.’ I responded it was just fat. But no, it’s swollen. So, I’m thinking, ipso facto, any other body part of mine that’s fat is really swollen. It makes perfect sense to me. Please feel free to use that excuse too.

Upshot is I am not to run for two weeks. I can walk and box etc but not run. And she wants me to wear this tube thing on my knee when exercising to remind myself I’m not as invincible as I believe. I am actually invincible but I’ll humour her.

The effects of caffeine dependency....

So, I was asked by - let’s call her Penny - at the local coffee shop that I frequent, what I thought about Zumba. I said “Bunch of white women without any rhythm whatsoever.” Penny said she wanted to go Friday arvo after work but she was scared to go alone because she ‘might look silly’ and would I go with her? Hmmm,  me, a white woman without rhythm? Check. Scared? Me? Never. Looking silly? Me? More than likely but my care factor was negative 12 on that. Helping someone who needed help with fitness but was scared to venture out in lycra and made my coffee every morning? I could do that. Besides, she caught me at a weak point - over coffee.  So, Friday, we Zumba. Just another experience in life.     

And he shall be named Gland...

So, there’s this dude at the temp job who keeps calling me 'Amanda.' I either pretend I can’t hear him when he does or I call him 'Gland.' His name is Glen. It annoys him when I call him Gland...really? Boo hoo. Today he called me Amarinda. Correct. Lesson learned, Gland.    

Ooh, fluffy rolled up eggs....

I walked back to the office, through the mechanics workshop – it’s hot, sweaty, grease filled with loud noises abounding and a myriad of obstacles to avoid falling over and down. I pushed open the door into the office and four of the mechanics – big, bouffy blokes – were oohing and ahhing over some sort of machine on the internet that makes eggs in a rolled up tube and getting all giddy as to what sort of fillings they would put inside the rolled up egg thingy. Now hey, I’m all for equality and for men cooking but it was kinda funny to see them all engrossed in fluffy eggs, swapping recipies and wondering how well the machine would wash up – and ‘oh, ooh! Do you think it would make a rolled up crepe that could be filled with cream?’ That had them all excited. I stepped inside, banged the door behind me, smiled and said ‘Hello boys.’ They scarpered from the office fast. Men. Funny, scared creatures. No wonder women are the stronger sex.

Whiskey over the rocks...

I chatted, on the phone, to mate and US based author Anny Cook today.  Whenever I speak to the husky, smooth whiskey-over-the-rocks sounding Ms Cook, I see in my mind’s eye a sultry Ava Gardner who knows what’s what. We spoke about everything from conspiracies to politics, chooks to the weather, books to badgers…okay, maybe not badgers but I expect she would have an opinion on them. I like that. I like people who think outside the square and the conversation is not all about their books. Writers who talk only about writing does my head in. But, not so with the articulate Anny. Good convo mate. We’ll do it again.

Never heard of Anny Cook? Seriously? Well you should. Go immediately to www.annycook.com and buy a Cook book. 

Just because...