As I was folding clothes at the laundromat last night, I heard a tune on the radio. It’s been stuck in my head ever since. Yep, an earworm.
As I remember, it sounded like a love theme. The yearning, aching kind. The radio arrangement was string-heavy and quite pretty. It was familiar; either it’s part of a film score or opera I saw recently, or… or…. GAAHHHHH! I DON”T KNOW!
I’ve been student teaching music classes for almost two months. Teaching is hard. Anyone who says otherwise should be chastized, fined, and dropkicked into a stagnant pond.
Lately, I’ve been deaming of a cushier life. A life with fewer glockenspiels. A life filled with travel, dry wit, freshly pressed clothes, and fine food. Less warm demander, more man about town.
May I please be reincarnated as Bertie Wooster?
And could this happen soon? Before another week of 4th graders with squeaky plastic recorders?
Thank you,
Rebekah, an exhausted rag bag formerly described as “Jaunty”
I have never been a mover and/or shaker. For one thing, I can’t tell left from right; the hokey-pokey’s hard for me, forget real dancing. By the time my brain has processed “ball change, shuffle, allemande!” the dance is over and the band’s gone home.
Sure, I took one semester of jazz dance… but once you’ve been GRADED on your ability to prance whilst swinging a cane and wearing a red sequined top hat, it takes real courage to face another thirty-foot mirror.
Luckily, real courage is my hallmark. (Yes, it is. Just decided.) So when Annie invited me to a free Zumba class, I girded my loins with sweatpants and shook what my mama gave me. Weeks later, some of it’s still shaking.
As much as I hated the [gimmicky, overhyped] idea of Zumba, I loved the reality. I always walk out of class feeling happy, brave, and strangely sexy. Yes, me! Really!
Here’s What I Learned:
1. Don’t judge a book/person/fitness program by its cover/name/ad campaign. Give new things/people a fair chance.
2. There is a time and a place for fleshiness; if I were bony, what would I shake during Zumba? Latin dance and hip hop were designed with jiggling in mind, and it feels great.
3.Don’t think so hard. While doing Zumba, I catch myself overanalyzing. You know, trying to mentally notate syncopations and wondering how dance pedagogues classify various body movements. Years of college have warped my brain. FOR CRYIN’ OUT LOUD, LADY, WILL YA JUST DANCE?!
Over the past six months, I’ve been weaning my scalp off its shampoo habit:
1) I diluted my [eco-heinous] shampoo and put it in a foam pump bottle. Mr. Jaunty and I have been sharing that big ol’ bottle of Tresseme since 9/3/2009; I wrote the date on the bottle to monitor how long it’d last. It’s standard, environmentally icky stuff, but we’re using less daily and adjusting our scalps to less detergent. Baby steps, yo.
GOOD NEWS: It has lovely ingredients, smells nice, and lathers beautifully (which, we now know, means nothing). It left my hair feeling squeaky clean —which was initially unsettling— but it always looks normal once it’s dried.
BAD NEWS: It’s about $7 a bar, and there’s no WAY it’ll last as long as Liggett claims; as recommended, I’ve left mine on a wooden soap dish to dry between uses…and it still shrank down considerably after a mere dozen washes.
NOTE: livecurlylivefree.com says that shampoo bars should always be followed with a vinegar-based rinse to balance their high alkalinity. I put two tablespoons of apple cider vinegar in an old Dr. Bronner’s bottle, filled it with water, and keep it in my shower for days I use the Liggett shampoo bar. Easy as pie, and the vinegar smell disappears once my hair’s dry.
3) Most days, I “wash” my hair with a no-silicone conditioner; I pour a quarter-sized dollop in my hand, rub my palms together, and massage the conditioner into my scalp with my fingertips. Works fine! I’m currently using el cheapo White Rain conditioner from the Dollar Tree, but will upgrade to something less chemically once the bottle’s empty.
So! That’s my scalp.
DISCUSSION:
Have you tried any “no ‘poo” routines? Fancy hippie shampoos? Something else entirely?
As I was walking home from school, I noticed seated stranger leering at me. Not a casual glance, mind you; this guy’s eyes were GLUED to my skirt.
“Waiting for the bus?” he asked.
“No.” I answered, avoiding eye contact. “You like to walk, eh?”
“Yes.” “I can tell! You got some BIG ol’ legs!”He said, making an enormous circle with his hands.
Before I could lob a brick at his head, he continued;
“They’re beautiful! You got a boyfriend?”
“I do.”
“He’s lucky!”
But he was too late; I had escaped, taking my thighs with me.
Once I was out of earshot, I snickered. Of all the abysmal pick-up lines…
Did this story give you flashbacks to the Worst Purchase illustration?
Guess who gave her [mandatory] Senior Recital yesterday?
It was me! MEEEEEEE! Ms. Rebekah R. Jaunty! It wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had— I’m not a Singer, so performing publicly for thirty minutes was… ~cough cough~ ~AHEM~ challenging. Still, I survived. I could have skipped town or faked my own death, but I stayed put, stayed alive, and plowed through. I’m proud of myself.
Now that THAT’s taken care of, guess who may have time in the near future for reading, pondering, exercise, and The Finer Things in Life? Who may even resume blogging faithfully?
