TMI

There was much more to my dance workshop weekend a while back which I didn't really want to include in my review. It has to do with my flu.

First, I'd like to hearken back to an incident which occurred while I was still in high school. I was hit by a virulent flu, and in the middle of the night, I had to run to the bathroom to vomit. I didn't quite make it. Somehow, I managed to Pollack two walls without getting even the smallest drop on the floor. The worst part of it is when Mom made me clean it up myself, when all I wanted to do was hug my friend, the toilet.

So fast forward a decade and a half, and there I am, divesting myself of my breakfast in a dancer's bathroom. I thought the worst was over. I certainly felt a palpable surge of relief when the puking had stopped.

But it wasn't over yet. My flu had changed gears, and moved down to the other end.

Throughout the day, with very little warning, I experienced violent bouts of explosive diarrhea. Very explosive. The worst was when I just made it to the toilet, and when I went to wipe, I discovered very little in the bowl, and very much on the toilet tank and the wall behind. Dear God. I spent a lot of time on my hands and knees cleaning up a literal ass-load of liquid shite. At least there was toilet paper. And at least I didn't soil my clothes. And at least it was not at someone's home....

I'll tell you, though--it sure is tricky to do a dance workshop when you're afraid you're going to crap your pants.

Do It Now

La la la...

Work is slow (for now). I'm basking in the slowness of it all, and sipping hot chocolate.

I went to the gym both yesterday and this morning. I broke my gym fast of two weeks, and I'm feeling it in my pecs. It's funny how you can stop going to the gym for two weeks, continue eating the same amount of food as before, and yet still be surprised at the roll of pudge which magically appears around your waistline. I'm not exactly back to square one, but I'm back to square two or three. With my renewed exercise regimen, the blubber's not bound to last.

Sooooo.... Party tomorrow! This is your invite. If you can read this, you can come on over. Wear a costume, and bring a snack. We're having a costume/potluck party (duh).

My grandmother is coming over, too, but not for the party (thank goodness). She'll just be there for the morning before she's back to her gingerbread house in Nova Scotia.

Now, you should feel compelled to write something which will entertain me during this slow time.

This Means You

Oh yeah, for those of you who have been afraid to come to one of my infrequent shindigs for whatever reason, here's your chance to do it somewhat anonymously! Just wear a costume, and you don't have to be shy. I don't bite.