Open letter...

...to the lady in my belly dancing class that insists on asking for intense workouts and increased abdominal undulations for practice....yeah, you...in your obnoxious red skirt with all the bells

Ma'am,

I admire your interest in extracurricular activities, however, if you've been in the same intermediate class for two years now, maybe you are beyond improvement. Maybe you've toped off at some stagnant level you'll never escape. I'm pretty sure that's the case. For the love of Allah, don't make us suffer for your plateau. I'm sorry you can't touch your toes or open your ribcage enough to control the upper to lower undulations without moving your hips. I'm sorry if the piston is too advanced for you and corkscrew turns aren't your thing. But why, dear god, WHY, must you ask for more ab work? You're not even trying. I watched you...and by 'watched' I mean 'gave the death stare'. If you really want a more intense workout, for god's sake, make the jump to an advanced performance class already and leave us be.

Cause if you don't stop soon, I shall kick your ass. Well, that is, once I regain full range movement of my arms and legs and my abs don't spasm every twenty minutes, leaving me curled in a ball of the floor. A very real threat. There will be suffering, oh yes...and not just the abs.

Boredom pays...in small, miserly doses

I sold a print! I sold a print! I sold a print!



Wait. I'm not done gloating yet...I sold a print! (Best if read in a sing-song voice, but your call.)

Okay, now I'm done.

Clarification: Not the first print to be sold, but the first of the shots I'm willing to admit are mine. Oh, and the highest price tag to date.

Yesterday's daily intake

26 pages of Mother Jones

2 hours Monty Python and the Holy Grail

2 cups of coffee and 32 oz. of water...for dinner

1 microwave explosion...quite possibly the highlight of my day

3 hours in the print lab developing photos from 2000

4 consecutive hours of NPR...my roommate hates me, I just know it

7 hours of sleep

0 naps...I still manage to surprise myself

All in all, BOREDOM. BEYOND. BELIEF.

That job as body shot girl at Avio's is starting to look tempting. No, no...it started to look tempting weeks ago. Now it's just a viable option.

Mad Hatter

There's a store on Main Street no one ever enters. A store with an odd theme and a funny name. A senile shopkeeper and a billion hats. Vintage bowlers, neon fedoras, sailor caps and Derby kitsch. Logically, there must be a clientele in order for the shop to have survived this long, yet no one mentions the store. No one glances in, references the odd shop window or even questions it's existence. An apparent anomaly. Survives despite neglect, receives continual neglect out of habit. To walk in would break some unspoken rule.

But Dre and I did. A rather Breakfast at Tiffany's day. And I've got to say, it is now my mission to make sure every last soul that walks the streets of Lexington ventures into that shop even if just to shake the hand of the crazy old man dedicated enough to own and run a hat store.

The aftermath:

The best people to talk to in this town are the employees at Speedway...no joke. We had a concise, interesting conversation about Tibetan prayer wheels over the course of a checkout. I even managed to laugh.

'Impressive' isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind.

The worst people to talk to in this town are the employees at AAA. If I could spit on them I would. If the Japanese could spit on them...well, they wouldn't. But if they knew what was good for them...they would. Spent twenty minutes convincing some lady my 440,000 yen were authentic, which she vehemently denied. Brief desire to smack her. Urge controlled. She called the central office to inquire about the exchange of yen. Claimed that 10,000 bills were not acceptable as they didn't register with the AAA website. She wasn't having any of what I was saying. She said they didn't make 10,000 Chinese yen bills. I said, "Well of course not...they don't make any Chinese yen...they use YUAN you -expletive optional- moron." (Not all may have been loud enough to hear...but I think she got my point.) I absolutely hate when people try to make me feel like the incompetent idiot...because honestly, embarrassment is only embarrassing if you deem it so, and I didn't...besides, I knew I was right. Oh how I love to prove smug, uptight employed women wrong.

The bills were clearly labeled in larger-than-necessary-for-the-poor-of-sight print and in English with 'Japanese Yen.' Who hires these people?

Better question...why am I still unemployed?

Redneck fest

Burning question of the day: What does one wear to a country concert? I'm afraid walking into a crowd of rednecks without either cowboy boots or a hat might single me out as a Yankee...that or resemble those dreams where you go to school naked, and I'm not quite prepared for that.

Yes people, I, the biggest slanderer of the country "music" genre, am about to embark on a road trip to Cincy for Rascal Flatts. I think this speaks highly of my friendship qualities. Masochistic enough to subject myself to four hours of suicide-inducing lyrics for the sake of a friend's happiness.

If I die tonight I shall be canonized.

Just don't tell the authorities I'm no longer Catholic, might lessen my chances.

Not in Kansas anymore

Last night I followed my nightly Japan routine - smoke on the front porch with iPod in tow, followed by a walk around the neighborhood. Only this time a friend called. (Who knew I had friends?) A vaguely Wizard of Oz moment...definitely not in Japan anymore.

Am I correct in assuming that Katrina was the ruin of the House of the Rising Sun?