Sweet Jenny the Alien Archives

I drug myself out of rehab–the kind you go to for sports injuries–and back down Wade Hampton Boulevard yesterday and reported for torture. The Queen of Pain was AWOL, and in her place was Jenny. Y’all remember a while back I told you about Jenny-the-cutest-little-thing?

I knew it was only a matter of time before sweet Jenny morphed into alien Jenny. She has all the right equipment–she’s beautiful, skinny, and can dance like a maniac for an hour without breaking a sweat. And, of course, she was trained by the QOP herself.

Alien Jenny is the closest thing to a Casey-clone that we’ll likely ever see. She put a hurting on me that the QOP would have been proud of. I was into the blue (the section of the exertion chart that’s not actually a part of the chart, but the top border) by song number two. The thing about Jenny is that, while definitely an alien, she’s still sweet. The sweetness oozes out of her while she’s killing you–it’s bizarre, actually. It’s like she’s Casey before somebody gave her the intravenous sarcasm–which, by the way is one of the things I like best about Casey–I don’t mean that ugly. She makes me laugh. And trust me, when you are being bent, folded and mutilated by Casey, you need something to laugh about.

Yesterday, as I was sweating like a Charleston roofer in August, hair all in my eyes, mouth hanging open, face squinched in agony as Jenny pushed me toward a cardiac episode, she smiled serenely, looked out across the class and said, “You look awesome!”I can only guess the rest of them must have looked better than me. I still don’t know how she said it with a straight face with me right there on the front row.

Hmmm… Maybe…maybe sweet Jenny isn’t as sweet as she looks. Maybe she’s just as sarcastic as Casey, but sneaky about it. You know, like those women whose mouths won’t melt butter when they say, “How niiiiice,” but you know what they really mean is something no Southern lady would ever say out loud.

She bears watching, our Jenny. She may be a new breed of alien.

I’ve gotten two classes in this week…I’m doing better. Maybe in the morning I’ll drop in on the caring and nurturing one. If I’m out of traction.

Peace, out…

Susan

Thanks to Casey’s little green book–in which every morsel that passed my lips in the last week has been recorded–and, of course her Personal Touch torture sessions which should seriously be considered for interrogating terrorists, I have lost 1.8 pounds in one week. Yippee!!
This in spite of the fact that I ate like a pig at the trough at a dinner party Saturday night. The day I turn down homemade cheesecake and strawberries dipped in chocolate is the day you will know I have been kidnapped and replaced by a clone. It just isn’t going to happen. But apparently, I was careful enough the rest of the week that I still lost a little, even if I didn’t reach my goal of losing ten pounds the first week.
The last week hasn’t been a good one for writing. Too much static in my life. Also, I am trying–with limited success–to get my body to accept 5:45 Jazzercise. This means getting up at 5am, which would be okay if I could get to sleep by 9pm, but that’s not likely. So, I’ve been operating on 5 – 6 hours of sleep which makes me fuzzy headed and not very creative. If my brain function doesn’t stabilize this week, I’m going back to 9:20 classes.
Someone suggested that I should take one of Julie’s classes, so I could blog her. Let me tell you, back in the days when I first started going to Jazzercise–over at the Faux Greer center–I took hundreds of Julie’s classes. And actually, I have taken a few more recently in Taylors. Julie is a breed apart. Julie is hazardously perky. If the energy behind her Jazzercise routines could be harnessed and used to power cars, we would be forever free from middle eastern oil.
The danger, to the average Jazzercizer, is that that perkiness is infectious. It causes one to exert more energy than one actually has in the tank, which can lead to passing out. This has only happened to me personally twice. Just kidding. But all that effervescence does induce me to over-exert myself. I’m better off with the mean instructors.
Having given you the scoop on Julie, that only leaves me with two un-blogged instructors at the Taylors Jazzercise Center: Donna and Jenny.
Donna is Wendy’s sister, and I’ve only taken a couple of her classes. She usually teaches at 4:30. She gets teachers after school’s out. Most of these ladies, as you might imagine, have frustrations to work off. But Donna is the most serene of all the instructors. This defies logic since she is a school teacher herself.
Jenny is the newest of the instructors. She is one of those young women about whom people say things like, “She’s just so sweet,” and “Isn’t she just the cutest thing!” Both of these things are true, but more relevant is this: she’s Casey’s sister-in-law, and is being trained by the Queen of Pain herself. Just wait. Remember what happened to sweet little Michelle when they gave her a microphone. It’s only a matter of time before Jenny-the-cutest-little-thing morphs into Jenny-the-Jazzer-Nazi.
On a more sober note, it’s been 27 days since my last Mega Moo Mocha Moolatte. Having discovered that there are 884 calories in one of these divine dairy and caffeine concoctions I have sworn them off. I resigned myself to ordering Starbucks venti non-fat mochas instead. Then I found out there are 375 calories in one of those. How do they do that? How can coffee and non-fat milk have 375 calories? I think there is a conspiracy afoot to make Americans fat. Extra calories (probably in the form of lard) are being stirred into everything we eat. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.

Talk to y’all tomorrow. Meanwhile, beware the lard conspiracy. You never know when your physique is under attack.

Peace, out…

I Told Y’all This Would Happen

I Feel Skinny Already

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