The Singing Alien Archives

Okay, today was an interesting day in the torture chamber, and I’ll tell y’all all about it just as soon as I get something off of my chest: there ought to be some agency that regulates people who manufacture scales. I have cut WAY back on what I’m eating–I’ve not had a Mega Moo Mocha Moolatte since way before they closed the Dairy Queen in Greer. I’ve even cut back on wine–I only drink it only on weekends. And I’ve been exercising my derrierre off every day.

And today, that lying piece-of-junk scale said I’d gained a pound. Myra should have that thing calibrated more often. With all those starving people with aching muscles running around the place, somebody could snap. It might be me.

Anyway, today, I danced with Donna, who, previously I had thought of as “The Serene Alien.” She just has this peaceful aura about her that calms your nerves while your blood is pounding in your ears and your left arm is tingling. Today her serenity was taxed when there was a music malfunction. Now, with no music, many Jazzercise instructors would have immediately opted to switch to a body sculpt format, which would have meant getting to lie down on the mats sooner, but lots more spot torture.

Not Donna…in Donna’s class, the show does in fact go on. She SANG the songs to us, seamlessly inserting cues into the lyrics. It hepled that Donna actually CAN sing–she’s quite good. But the truly amazing thing–and the dead give away that’s she’s a high ranking alien–is that she never lost her breath nor glistened while dancing the highest intensity song in her set and singing the whole time.

Betty was Donna’s class manager today. Class managers log the victims into the computer and keep 911 on speed dial and such. They also assist in technical emergencies. Things really got interesting when Betty joined in to help Donna out with the singing. Don’t get me wrong–lots of us sing from time to time: with the music playing at rock-concert levels, who can tell that you couldn’t carry a tune in a Kate Spade purse? But, there was no music today…

Betty, bless her heart…the best thing I can say about Betty’s singing is that it’s better than mine. And I’ll say this: Betty didn’t sing long before Donna somehow fiddled with that sound system and got that sucker kick-started.

I’m going to get my aspirin. Then I’m going to Goggle the manufacturer of that sorry excuse for a scale…

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…