Hold the Glimmer

Posts Tagged ‘1 million things i’d rather do

Hi, kids.

I totally understand your complete lack of interest in the blog.  Really, I do.  With the zero posts that you’ve received and read in the last year, I fathom the disinterest.  You see, I became the editor-in-chief of my school newspaper and all writing has come to a halt while I deal with building a new, baller resume.  That resume may or may not include the four jobs I currently hold to keep living the dream and also full-time school schedule.  I’m pretty sure the last time I wrote a post, I was also diving in to a new, severely INCREDIBLE relationship.  I’m the happiest I’ve ever been and (gross yourself out) madly in love. In addition, I lost a bunch of weight, gained some back, lost some more and then ran a 5k in 30 minutes.  I’ve been battling body image issues like a mutha, but the gym has been newly found therapy and in the few spare hours I have per week, I hightail it over and get my ugly-sweat on. To say that I am busy is an understatement.

But, I care! I swear I do!  I need to keep this blog alive!  If I could turn back time (cue Cher voice), I would be documenting all of the absolutely ridiculous events in the last few months, but hey.  I’m here now, right?  Can I tell you about a cinema class I took over winter break?  It was horrible. and magical. and really miserable.  but also really wonderful.

Let’s start with the wonderful:

  1. I’m watching movies I’ve never seen and probably never would see because I have a fear of watching movies.

Tracy.

What.

I know.  You see, it’s not that I can’t sit through one (well, that’s a slight fabrication…) I get emotionally invested … easily … in everything.  I cry over commercials.  I cry when the right song comes on at the right moment.  I cried watching The Real World the other night.  The Real World.  It’s the THIRD EPISODE of THE SEASON and P.S. I’M TWENTYNINE.  When you’re this emotional about the MOST INSIGNIFICANT THINGS, it’s really difficult to commit yourself to a full 90+ minutes of a storyline, let alone an ending that may or may not play in to what your head has already concocted.  I’ve started slowly falling in love with actors and movies I never thought I would have any interest in.  Would you believe that this girl is actually enjoying- nay, seeking out silent films?  I know.  Breaking barriers here.

  1.  Adults in college level classes talk a lot and I do not want to be one of them.  I know that technically every student in the room is an “adult”, but there are two or three guys that are older than 35 that LOVE to hear their voices whether they’re being relevant or not.  I debated putting this in the “miserable” section, but it is truly a wonderful experience whenever they chime in and I don’t.  I’m constantly reminded to shut the fuck up because I’m borderline the fourth oldest person in the room and in competition with two other people for teacher’s pet.  The teacher’s pet part is due to the fact that the professor is also my journalism professor during the regular semester and he constantly reminds me and the class of how much time we spend together.  If one of the old guys isn’t interjecting with one of their irrelevant non-movie stories, it’s usually my professor asking “Hey Tracy” this or “so Tracy, what do you think about…”

and, well ya.  There’s the wonderful.  The list of miserable?

1.  You’re either absolutely insane or grinding your ass off if you sign up for an 8 a.m. class during Winter Break.  It’s the worst.  I’m barely alive before 11 a.m. and to have a professor that you like expecting you to be engaged in the class because everyone else except the four 35-year olds is asleep is the worst.  The. Worst.  And now I’m the teachers pet because no one responds to “Who is Judy Garland” and I don’t want my professor to feel that old.  See, I care.

2.  No coffee.  How the fuck I survived a morning class without coffee or food is a goddamn miracle and in my books an automatic A.  The classroom had a “problem” with insects and animals.  Yes, animals.  Food and drinks were strictly prohibited in the room and I sat through a MOVIE CLASS for three hours per day, four days a week without a perk.

Someway, somehow I passed the class and am currently missing it more than ever.  I’ve been busting my ass every week as the editor-in-chief for this newspaper and am flat out exhausted.  It’s tolling spending hours upon hours on a project that you 1. aren’t getting paid for and 2. have to be the biggest cheerleader for even when everyone has doubt in your abilities.  I’ve learned more about myself in the last three months than the last twenty years.  I’m constantly reminding myself that everything that happens in the newsroom is a learning opportunity and I will apply it in my professional life at one point or another.

 

And, I need to write more.  I need to remember that this is important to me.  Just holding the glimmer over here guys, holding the glimmer the best I can.

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If one defines the word “survive” as “still breathing”; then yes, I survived boot camp.  Barely. Let’s dig a little deeper, shall we?

On that fateful Wednesday afternoon, I saw a shadowy grey cloud loom over the San Fernando Valley and thought to myself, “Self.  It’s going to rain.  You are in the clear.”  To further support my notion that an exercise class would never force its poor, fat students to stand out in the cold rain as they threw medicine balls to each other, I gave the boot camp a call.

The phone rings, and a burley sounding man answers, with (I shit you not) patriotic band music in the backround. I cringe.

“Hi……..(long, awkward pause), is this Feel the Burn Boot camp?” –me

“Why yes it is! Are you registered for our class tonight?” –burley man

“Well, yes. But it’s my first class and I was just curious if you still hold classes in the rain? I mean, it’s very cold outside and with the rain, I’m afraid I’ll catch some kind of pneumonia!” –me

“Rain or shine sweetie; just like the coupon says.” –burley man

“Oh. Ok. Well, but what if it starts raining really hard?” –me

“Rain or shine lady.” –burley man

“Right. Hmm… well…What about snow?” –me

“Lady, were you even alive the last time it snowed in Los Angeles?” –burley man

“Do you mean last weekend in the foothills, or in 1989? And my answer is yes to both.” – me

“What’s your name?” –burley man

“Tracy? Why?”-me

“Well, I will see you in two hours, Tracy.” –burley man

(fuck.)

*sigh*

(super fuck.)

And thank God for that rain.

Remember my pretty sweat issue?  Well, when you’re covered in mud and grass, tree branches and leaves hitting your head, heavy rainfall and surrounded by beached whales, my now fairly reasonably attractive sweat wasn’t even noticeable.  In fact, at one point I mentioned to one of the whales that I couldn’t tell if I was sweating, crying, or if all this “wet” was my soul escaping my body, which resulted in a few laughs.  At that point, Sgt Burley Man picked up on my comedy routine, called me out by name and promptly asked yelled at me to do jumping jack/push up combos.  I rolled my eyes, of course, and fell flat into the mud and in push up position.  You better believe I was getting every single penny out of this horrible “work out”.

As I watched a few of the whales wander off from the “too brutal” work out (it was fucking ridiculous and I have no idea how I even mustered the idea or energy to get out of my car, let alone complete the class), my integrity kicked in…or something like that.  I told myself: “Self, you are not allowed to leave.  If you leave, you will become a beached whale.  Nobody likes a beached whale.” So I stayed.  And my body still hurts.  A week later.  Maybe it was from the medicine ball sprint throw?  Maybe it was from leap frog with your hands tied together with weights?  We’ll probably never know seeing as I’d rather push needles into my own eyes instead of attending that god awful class again.

And I now see nothing wrong with beached whales.  People help beached whales, right?  Maybe they just wanted to lay in the sun for a bit? What’s wrong with that??

PS- What ever happened to Missy Elliot?

Editor’s note: I cannot emphasize how mad I was at myself for even blogging about this, which then forced me to actually attend the class, in complete fear that my 4 readers would verbally and then physically attack me for fabricating such an exquisite piece of writing.  But, I showed up.  And, well, as we can see, it took a mere 7 days to compile my thoughts, let alone have the actual ability to type one post. You win again, Groupon.

  My mom would consider my fitness routine to mirror that of a sloth.  Or Paula Dean, “TWO sticks of butter, ya’ll!!”  (thanks mom) But really, who am I to argue?  Sloths are cute (SO CUTE) and I love butter.  I live for butter. Butter makes the world better. I’m not entirely adverse to burning a calorie or two, in fact I sometimes even enjoy it (all fabrications, I fucking hate it.)  The worst part for me though- the sweating.  You know that scene in Along Came Polly, where Ben Stiller is playing basketball with a bunch of overgrown MANimals, and poor little Ben is stuck covering the sweatiest, moley-ist, downright grossest man on the team? Oh, right.  This guy-

Well, that’s how I feel every time I try and burn a calorie.  No, not like poor Ben Stiller, but more like The Moley man in all his shirtless, sweaty glory.  That’s me…without the moles. That’s my problem.  I don’t sweat pretty and it affects my life to no end.  I have friends who work out in their makeup.  I have friends who wear ONLY sports bras when they jog. I have friends who leave the gym and then go see their boyfriends, only to further infuriate me for not having pit stains, red face or wet sweat hair. I don’t entirely hate them with their pretty sweat; I just hate my genes.

Well mom, guess who got bored doing spreadsheets and splurged on yet another Groupon?  This girl.  And take an even wilder guess at who will be attending “Feel the Burn Boot Camp” tonight at 6pm.?  *sighs*

This girl.

And of course, gchat to the rescue:

Duke: Nice. So what does this boot camp involve?

me: an hour of hardcore something something that i bought on groupon

  guaranteed to burn 1700 calories

  is that safe?

  isn’t that my daily intake?

  *assumed

Duke: Yeah in order to lose weight you should be burning more than your daily intake

 me: well i get that

  but not in ONE HOUR LONG CLASS

Duke: Lol there’s a lot of exercises that burn ridiculous calories like that

me: i again agree

  but not in ONE HOUR

Duke: Lol I’m sure it’s not dangerous for a 26 year old with no heart conditions or asthma

 me: that smokes a pack and gram a day

and eats little to nothing before 4pm

 Duke: Yeah you might want to eat something today

  Skinny bitch

 me: FINE! I’ll eat some egg beaters

  which strangely remind me of wife beaters

  which then turns me to wanting to beat someone up

  with a hammer

Duke: And off you go, trolling the corporate hallways for wimpy kids and scared accountants to rough up and shake down for loose change and paperclips…

So, here I am with an urge to hurt people and burn calories.  I’m hoping for women over 220 lbs (duh, so I can look AWESOME), little to no military back rounds or fatigues, and rain….so that the class will be canceled.

 Clearly, I’m also hoping to live through this experience and repost tomorrow.  And if that doesn’t happen, please call Courtney and ask her to delete my porn and emails.

To be continued……we hope….


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