Is That A Sunburn?

So I got a massage today and the first question was, "Thai massage or oil massage?"

In the spirit of experimentation I decided on a Thai massage, not really knowing what that was. As it turns out Thai massage is code for menthol. Why so much menthol in Thailand? I will never know. Menthol gum, menthol candy, and menthol rubbed into just about every crack and crevice of my ever expanding body. And not the wimpy kind of American Vick's VapoRub Menthol, but the bad ass Tiger Balm stuff that the jocks slapped into nerds jock straps.

All in all, the massage was pretty nice, but now my whole body is burning and tingling so badly, I can't tell if it is a sunburn or the Menthol. Probably a lethal combination of both.

Operation Asia

If anyone is keeping track, Operation Asia commences in approx 4 days. Whoot, Whoot.

Considering my current state of boredom...this swelling excitement may cause my head to literally burst. Most of the necessary preparations have been made. My veins are coursing with all sorts of vaccines, my lonely planet guide is highlighted and tabbed (like a true ocd sociopath), and I have watched Bridget Jones, Edge of Reason and taken copious notes. Short of shaving my legs and having an international diplomat ex boyfriend waiting in the wings to bail me out of a Thai prison....I'm ready.

Dear Heavens, I wish it was Saturday.

And I wish I could bring my dog.

Is That a Rug?

I have a whole mess of hair. An exact metric ton, I believe. And it's curly. Getting up and just running a brush thru it is not an option. I take it like a trooper. Heaven knows I'm not one to complain. In fact, people who constantly gripe, "I wish my hair was_____ or ______. It would be so easy. My hair is just so straight," kind of get on my nerves.

Since I have to start from freshly washed in order to do my hair, I have mastered the art of pulling it up...or so I thought. This morning I took my dog to the park, but of course, was not about to shower and blow dry my hair to go sit there. The minute I got to the park some lady said to me, "Wow your hair looks great like that. It looks like one of those hair pieces."

I'm not sure if anyone but a curly haired girl can fully understands the indignity of that comment, but by no means was I flattered. It looks like a hair piece? Are you kidding me? Who says that? That's not a compliment.

Rest assured I went right home, washed my hair and immediatley began the process of fixing my rug.

Officially Dumped

I should have seen it coming, but I was completely blindsided. I didn't even really want a personal trainer to begin with, but that didn't take any of the sting out of being dumped by him. Looking back, I may have played a pretty large part in being dumped, but I think my excuses for cancelling were more than reasonable.

"My dog swallowed a corn cob and I have to take him to the vet."

"I have to go to the doctor and get a typhoid shot."

And my personal favorite, which, I believe was the straw that broke the trainers back, "I just got a pedicure."

Monday, with all of my excuses exhausted, I went to the gym and ended up getting "the talk." I got all of the standard dump lines. "I think this is for the best," followed up with, "I'm no good for you," blah blah blah. He swears that he wasn't dumping me. As he put it, he was setting me up with someone who would be better for me.

Basically, I find the entire concept of personal training wildly awkward. It doesn't matter who the trainer is. I am a chubby girl at heart. Always have been, always will be. Being the center of attention is not my cup of tea. The idea of a person just standing around watching and commenting on my workout is horrifying. Fictitious or not, all I can hear is the trainers interior monologue, "Man this chick is a mess. I can't believe she is so out of shape. Does squishy have a mascot?"

Anyhow- The first couple of half hour workouts with Newby weren't that bad. Then came the first of our one hour sessions. Newby knows how I feel about working out, and is aware of my self consciousness whilst at the gym...and yet still he had some ridiculous new ideas that he tried to trot out and see how they would fly.

I really think that he came up with the most humiliating and demoralizing exercises possible, just for kicks and giggles. First thing I had to do was jump rope with the SHORTEST rope in todo el mundo. Newby, while he is cute as a bugs ear, is about 2 inches shorter than I am and fit as a fiddle, so he had no problem demonstrating how this all should go. That made the hunched over, sweaty, uncoordinated, bouncing boob fiasco all the more humiliating.

Then we moved on to crab-walking, followed that up with bear crawls, with push-up's every couple of steps, and the cherry on top of the humiliation sundae was WHEELBARROW'S!!

My interior monologue went a little something like this, "Seriously, does this fool not know how much I weigh? Has he no soul? This is precisely why I nearly got an F in jr high PE. I can remember exactly, to the day, when it was that I last did wheelbarrow races. I was in 3rd grade with Danior Martin and that didn't end well. I have successfully avoided any semblance of such activities since then, and that is by no means of chance. There is no freaking damn way I am doing this."

What this train of thought translated into was me sitting Indian style on the floor of the aerobics room with my arms folded and shaking my head, "Absolutely not. I refuse to do this. With all do respect, you have got to be eff-ing kidding me. Under no circumstance am I doing wheelbarrow's with you. No way."

Yeah-I didn't win that battle and it was every bit as horrible as I thought it would be. If I didn't remember why I stopped going to the gym in the first place...I can kind of remember now.

Diet Coke and a Pizza, Please.

That's exactly what I ordered for lunch today.
And I shimmied a little when I ordered it.

I Used to be a Respectable School Teacher

While respectable is a matter of opinion, I still am a school teacher. Sting, however, is not. And I could not be more happy about that. I never thought that The Police and I had much of a chance together. They were long since broken up by the time I started kindergarten, but a long, twisted path, and 25 years brought us all together.

While it was a disappointing path for some, I could not be more happy with the stroke of luck that brought me to the concert. I don't even care that I seem to be turning into a permanent plan B. Sick babies and elderly grandma's, your plight really does sadden me. Truly it does, but only just a little.

Grandma didn't want to climb the stairs at the Staples Center, so I got to see Mr. Manilow. Helen had a sick baby, so I had to go with Maury to see The Police! Whoo hoo! Hope you feel better soon, baby!



Truth be told, I don't even care about being Plan B. My love for Sting overrides any and all pride that I might have once had about being a fall-back plan. It really has worked out quite well for me.

I am a little sad that Helen wasn't able to go. She really would have loved it. She schlepped herself down to the MGM to buy the tickets in person and everything! But whaddayagunnado? Sell the sick baby to the gypsies? I actually give her a lot of credit for not taking that route. I mean, The Police reuniting? That doesn't happen every day.

I have been trying all weekend to recap my favorite part of the show. Aside from them each being absolutely amazing on their respective instruments, I think that the best part was that they looked like they were having a great time together. That made me happy, like the world was right again. Stewart Copeland was mind blowing as he hustled back and forth between various drum kits for "Every Breath You Take" and Andy Summers messing with Sting when he couldn't remember the next song in the set... hilarious. "I have no idea what comes next," followed by Andy messing around on the guitar for a bit. "You're just making that up, aren't you? You really are. You're just making crap up!"

As we were leaving we overheard one man say, "Imagine how much better the world would be if everyone listened to Sting." I think that pretty well sums up......well, that sums up just about everything.

Today, I am sad

This last week at school has been a bit of a roller coaster ride. I guess not a roller coaster ride so much as a free fall.

Monday, they found a 13 year old girls body wrapped in a carpet and dumped in an onion field right by my school. Turns out she was a student at a neighboring jr high, but don't know much about what happened to her yet. That same day we got word that one of our freshman passed away due to complications from an emergency operation. Then, later that week one of our teachers was arrested for having sex with a student. I am not even going to begin to editorialize on the details of these events, for a number of reasons, but oy vey. Rough week.

Anyhow-The freshman who died was not in my class, but I have had both of his brothers and know his family well. Such good people. Sweet, kind, thoughtful. Quality people. I am glad that I was able to go to the service today, even though I felt like a bit of a fish out of water. I've never been to a Catholic mass, let alone a mass in Spanish. I think my Mormon was showing all over the place. I understood very little of what was being said. I tried to be the quiet observer and stand at the right times, kneel when everyone else did, etc. but I must not have done a very good job. After the service, but before the precession, one of my cute little girls came over with tears in her eyes and said, "Why don't you come with us Ms King? You look confused." She was so sad, but worried about how I was feeling. Then seeing the boys say goodbye to their brother and seeing what sweet and thoughtful kids I get to work with everyday, that was right about the time I lost it. It was overwhelming to say the least.

Ughhh. Long, sad day. Burying kids is rough.