Hot People Are Big News

Ok - so I've been terribly errant in my posting. Please just believe that my life has been IN-SANE. I just did the dishes for the first time in about 2 weeks on Sunday, and the pile is getting big again. I found myself doing laundry after midnight last night. It's been that kind of November.

So, you can understand why sitting in front of a computer to hammer something out for you guys has been difficult. To put it in perspective, I'm totally at work right now (ok - it's a break - but I'm still at work.) To keep you all from chewing your arms off in anticipation, I have a hilarious story to break up the monotony of a lack of Miss T antics.

Big news: I have a boyfriend. A real live one. Last weekend, we had planned to enjoy the beginning of the festive season by watching the Christmas Parade in his very small hometown. We met up with a few friends and watched all the heavy machinery within a 40 mile radius of town drive down the main street decorated in lights and shrubbery while drinking heavily Bailey'd hot chocolate out of travel mugs as the first major snowfall of winter pelted down upon us. We followed this with drinks at friends', followed by drinks at the curling club, followed by drinks at the only bar in town. Needless to say, we were not in any state to drive the 40 minutes back home that night, especially given the snow. So we stayed the night at my boyfriend's parents' house.

In the morning, his mother insisted that we attend the local Christmas arts & crafts show. So, like good little children, we did.

On of the things that's making my life INSANE right now, is a play I'm performing in. My character is 9 months pregnant and, since I am not, requires some prosthetic costuming. I had a number of things planned for Saturday, and in my hungover stupor I needed to give myself verbal reminders. One of those things was to see the costume designer about my prosthetic. I told my boyfriend "Oh yeah, I need to go see that lady about my belly." The boyfriend looked at me, confused. "You know, my pregnancy belly." I remembered this AT the arts & crafts show. Beside my boyfriend's mother. Who looked at me aghast.

"Good God!" I exclaimed, realizing my tragic error, "For the play! It's for the play!"

She looked relieved. "Oh, you're in the play. The same one that he's in?" (I had roped my boyfriend into performing with me when our previous leading man dropped out).

"And do you play a couple?" We answered in the affirmative.

"And is the baby his?" We answered in the affirmative.

And then she SCREAMED "Oh my GOD! I'm going to be a grandmother!"

Six blue-haired ladies from around the arts & crafts show ran over. We tried to set them straight, but they were old and hard of hearing and we're sure that not everybody went home with the truth.

And that's the story of how an entire tiny town in Northern Ontario came to believe that I'm carrying the child of one of their favourite sons.

Further Miss T antics to come. I promise.

Hot People Just Look Away

So, I've been pretty busy with my last few days of work (It's my last week! As of tomorrow I will be, for the first time, legitimately unemployed)...so I've let the exercise slip a bit. Also, I like to do it outside, and it's effing cold out, which has made even the outdoor WINTER sports unbearable.

One of the INDOOR exercises I've taken up this year is something called Zumba - I think it's supposed fuse Latin rhythms with easy-to-follow steps so working out can FINALLY be fun. And for a long time, I thought it was fun. I thought it was fun because I was in a big room with a bunch of forty-ish women who weren't really that fit (you know...the one I'll be when I'm forty-ish) and had little to no sense of rhythm and couldn't really follow along with the steps (in their defense, the instructor is pretty terrible at calling out the steps ahead of time, but still...). I had rhythm, and my hips were shaking...I thought I looked like a hot mama...especially in comparison to the forty-ish crowd.

But last week, my Zumba class was moved to a smaller facility. Not only was I hampered by the fact that someone with no rhythm (and therefore no way for me to predict whether their next step was going to be on my toes) could bump into me at any time, but there were also two large plate-glass windows at the front of the room. They were surprisingly reflective. This allowed me to see exactly what I looked like in my work-out gear, shaking my hips and trying to keep up with the delayed step calls. Hot it was not. To call it spicy would be laughable. After that, I spent more time worrying about how I looked than actually getting a great workout and having fun. Zumba was ruined by a window.

But that's not the only time I realized that I'm not so graceful when I'm being active. My uncle and cousin and I went ziplining for my birthday (btw, this is SO fun. Do it. Go out and do it now. Stop reading! [ok, don't actually stop reading...]). It was like flying - you're suspended over the tops of trees by a piece of cable. Birds look graceful when they're flying...why shouldn't I?
This looks pretty epic, doesn't it? Upon closer examination, though, THIS is what was happening:


















Is that a sweater around my waist? A particularly wide belt? Is there some kind of canvas netting in the harness? Please for the love of GOD explain this picture!!!

Nope. That's my midriff. It's hanging out like a pre-teen at recess.

ALL of the up-close pictures are like this....feet ungracefully flexed and belly-button out to wink at everyone. Fan-effing-tastic.

And this made me think of all the things I really enjoy doing for exercise...and then it made me curious about how I looked doing them. Apparently, I look reasonably ok doing the "light" setting for DDR:


(Yes, that is the world's fattest cat, of World Weekly News fame. She lives in my house)

But increase the difficulty, and you stop being able to tell that the thing I'm dancing to has a beat.



It's especially attractive that I'm continually adjusting my bra straps. If only this habit were limited to vigorous exercise...alas...

Pilates is just as bad (if not worse). Observe:





My favourite part of that is the extreme panting at the end. I am out of breath due to the exertion of a single sit-up.

So, I think it's obvious that exercise has got to be a major part of Plan Ab-tastic. Otherwise, I'd have to starve myself such that the fat surrounding my current abs dissolves...and I have a wealth of theoretical knowledge explaining to me why THAT's a bad idea. But the glimpse I caught of myself in the plate-glass window has me worried...what if all those times I danced like nobody was watching, somebody actually was watching? I don't want to be some stiff-hipped girl with her midriff hanging out!

I need brain-bleach. Stat.

Photography and Cinematography courtesy of my 13-year-old cousin.