Friday, January 29, 2010

I May Look 23 - but My Legs Disagree.

Here I sit. I have been sitting here for the last two hours. I am a bit chilly because I haven't changed out of my sweaty dance outfit. Yes, not only is that incredibly disgusting but I am now telling the entire world. There have been some frequenters to my site from Saudi Arabia and Costa Rica, some of them have even poked around on it for upwards of 2 minutes and 17 seconds. I am practically famous.

Anyways, back to my gross outfit. The reason why I haven't changed is because I am not 17 and I do not have the energy to do so after attending my first dance class in six years. Ya, ya, ya, I get it I am young... but I have an old lady body. An old lady body that has not broken into a sweat for upwards of maybe two years. When I was in high school my friends and I (Shout out to Brittney and Abby) used to dance for upwards of three hours a night, four days a week. At that time I would also come home from school and eat half a pack of oreos, half a sleeve of wheat thins, and if allowed a package of dill cream cheese - in one sitting. The other half was usually eaten by Brittney and if Abby showed up we would divided everything into thirds and then polish off a case of coke. I am not saying I can't do that anymore its just that you can't buy oreos here and my thighs just don't react in the same way they used to.

Either way, I think I might go back once a week it as was actually a lot of fun (even though I don't have the range of motion to do a lot of it) and it helps with my Hungarian (egy, kettö, hárem, négy, öt, hat, hét, nyolc!!! I can count to eight like no one's business). Another thing to add to my list of weekly events - tutoring, Hungarian lessons, choir (haha! I know, right?), pub trivia night, dance, blogging.... I am such a well rounded young lady now please introduce me to someone tall, funny and has the ability to grow a nice beard.

Excuse me now, I have to walk the two feet to the stove where my pot of soup awaits me then crawl to my bed.

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