An Hour on the F train

[gktkd]

I got into the Ian Roberts class, which is the last class I'm taking in this streak of classes that I've been on since October. This class will also end on my anniversary of my first class.

My pilot is faltering and I have written zero sketches for practice tomorrow. I need to make myself write. I'm usually shitty about making myself sit down for whatever period of time even if it's just to write an email. Let alone a script or sketch which I think about all the time.

At one point in my life, my writing was prolific. I would use a line in conversation and I would grow obsessed with it. Within 2 days, it became a beginning, middle, and ending. The reason I started this journal was thinking maybe it would make me write on more a schedule. I figured not having it on the first page would make me think of something grand.

It has gotten better.

I downloaded a piece of free scriptwriter from the internet to write this damn pilot which is coming from nothing. I can't figure out how to use it and since it was free, it doesn't have an owner's manual for reference.

We had our first post-Cagematch Street Meat practice and I think it went well. Mainly, I think everyone had a great time. We're going to put sketches on the back burner for now so that we can build on the time the two but linked projects.

The tank is so much better now that most of tetras infected with rot have kicked it. But it has developed this hazy orange tint to the water.

I lost both of my new comedy notebooks. I decided that it would be best to keep a five subject notebook, rather than my old-school style fancy books from Marshalls or Old Navy. Since I don't use it solely as an emotional writing outlet, why dedicate an entire book to my neurosis? I bought this great five star which was even small enough to fit in my purse. I have no idea to where it disappeared. So today I bought a new one on the way to rehearsal (I'm hoping we're beyond the concept of a practice group.

If you want to find me this week:

Monday- Trying to solve my unpaid bills issue now that I finally have a paycheck
- Laundry.
- Write while dirty underwear spins around the machine.

Tuesday- Harold Night 8pm.
- Write while on train home.

Wednesday- Ash Wednesday (cause I don't go to enough independent shows).
- Write while on train home.

Thursday- Write.
- Restock supplies.

Friday- Lunch with Knoly.
- Free beer night with Lena. Try not to get blotto the night before my first Ian Roberts class.

Saturday- Stumble to first Ian Roberts class
- More laundry

Sunday- Rehersal

Woo hoo!

 

[gktkd]

'm starving. Since I was running mundo late, I decided to pony up the twenty spot for parking and drive into work. I love, love, love driving to work. I got to work in 25 minutes, still five minutes late but I beat my boss in. Though I could have taken the train, shown up twenty minutes late and still gotten in before she did.

This morning has been insane. First thing when I came into the office, there was a suspicious package. The bomb squad was called, they evacuated all the offices on the NorthEast wall, but no one let us go home. Now someone has pulled the fire alarm on the twentieth floor. Every ten minutes the fire safety director comes over the intercom and the elevators have been called down to the lobby.

And all I'm thinking is "If there's a bomb threat, do I still have to pay for parking?"

I'm exausted. Last night after my last journal entry, I continued to research script drafting software. I have so many demos and freeware programs on Geo's computer that I fear running Ad-Ware before I complete my own evaluation. I started writing the pilot last night on a demo of Final Draft (how much you want to bet that it will cause me to shell out the gigantic amount for the full software). I don't think I currently use it enough but I'm wondering if I had it, would I write more? I could put it on my computer and if I can't have the internet, at least I would have some scripts going on.

I've been reading a lot more now that I'm commuting again. I read a biography of Dorothy Parker, which was delightful and a cautionary tale as well. I've had way too many people compare the two of us. I read _Party Monster_ by James St. James, which was a shrug of a book. It was kind of cute but it was so aware of its attempts of cuteness that it rendered completely uncute. Though it did make me want to do lots of hard drugs.

 

[gktkd]

So I'm not shelling out for Final Draft because my car's battery died and because I have a VVI engine, it took the starter with it. I always knew my mad gas mileage would come back and bite me in the ass. I also have to re-program my radio stations.
But at least it's back together for the early morning workshop on eleven. Cause you bet your ass, I'm driving. I'm even going to pick up Cheryl, I'll be stopping at Dunkin' Donuts anyway. Mmmmm...everything bagels with lox cream cheese and a gigantic coffee...

 

[gktkd]

I just slept for 14 hours.

Yesterday was the first day of my 11am Ian Roberts class. I am never going out on a Friday again. I was doing the horrendous head nod which is uslaly reserved for a college or a work setting. Since Geo has been working at night, I usually wait for him to order dinner, so we eat at 11 and I pass out sometime between 12-1am. It's nice to have a reason to go to sleep. It's not nice to be falling asleep on the job.

I got Street Meat practice today. Stefan starts with us next week :banana:
That should mark (I love when I unintentionally have some pun) the beginning of a more stabilized roll call.

I really need to do laundry. I'm out of clothes. Yesterday, I wore my old Drama League shirt and this long green velour skirt that I've had since the 7th grade (and somehow still fits).

 

[gktkd]

AWESOME! Part I

If you're thinking that's probably the word I use the most, you're probably correct.

Speaking of Awesome, right now I'm being paid to do nothing. My boss is out sick and I didn't really havea nything to do on Friday and now I really don't have anything to do so I'm going to type up my improv notes and Street Meat Phone List. Now this is a job.

Seriously, even if you don't know me, AIM (msksepulveda) me and we can talk about the joys of im'ing. Or I'll just start posting like a mad woman. And you definitely don't want me posting like a mad woman or writing bored emails to loved ones or writing bad song parodies. Do the world a favor and save me from myself.

Last night I dreampt that I was hanging out in an old school New England house, straghit out of Willamantic. I love love love Willamantic, though it can seem like a depressed and abandoned small town. There's this bridge with gigantic gilded frogs with gigantic *even for a frog* eyes and they look like if you get to close they would spin you mount you from behind. The PR population is almost the majority in the town and the primary drinking and dancing establishment is mecca fountain of Bacardi and Coke, spliffs in the "garden"/"alley", and beautiful drag queens hustling people at pool.
Oh, in this dream, I was making out with one of my benign crushs.

Awesome!

Rehersal went really well yesterday. So well I couldn't stop laughing. The littlest thing through me into a giggle-hole. Mark showed up, which was rad. I haven't played with him in eons. I don't know if he's taken any classes since our Level II, but the man is so fucking talented, you would never know. I got nothing but mad respect for that kid. Plus he's Puerto Rican. So between him, myself, and Cheryl representing the Latino coalition with 30% of the team; add Rachel's Asian seasoning...we *might* be the most "diverse" non-ethnic specific team going these days. We also have a 50-50 gender split. Demograhics are not the biggest deal, but I kind of dig it.

Speaking of PC bullshit, I'm really excited about the week of UCB programming during the Republican Convention. I think I might be able to get Geo to go to one or more of the shows with me. Ever since he's gotten into the VH1 clip shows, I've been able to say "But honey, the show is with people you like". And that's why he actually went to Assscat and now that he's not working on Saturdays, we might go see another show on a weekend. Thank you Respecto for saving my relationship!

 

[gktkd]

I just wanted to post publicly and eternally that my life is pretty awesome right. And by pretty awesome, I really mean...

Awesome!

I went to Harold night with Amy and Cheryl and had a fucking ball. Before the show, Amy and I met at Dallas BBQ for "Texas Size" Miami Vices. At the show, I ran into some lovely faces who I haven't talked to in a while. Saw Stefan and am now triply excited that he's gonna be jumping on board.

I don't want to strangle my live-in lover.

My job is awesome! My boss is awesome!

I'm totally adorable. Everyone in my immediate spheres are adorable. I'm turning the world on with my smile.

I'm not as broke as I think I am.

My commute is abysmal but if everything was going great in my life, I'd probably find out I had colon cancer or something equally atrocius.

Today, I am the goddess of light. Except for my growing rage at the President, the House of Representatives and Republican Convention. I got to go back to being more political.

 

[gktkd]

Because what Kershaw wants Kershaw gets...

So just when I think NBC has decided to pity me and give me my life back, they pull back their freedom hats and bestow upon me SEASON THREE of LAST COMIC STANDING. House 1 versus House 2 for cash and prizes...Are you kidding me? I can't fight against that.

I'm going shopping on Saturday, after class (I swear I will be in class), at the Staten Island mall. The only reason I am going to the Staten Island mall is to go to Torrid (www.torrid.com). As a hefty woman, it is darn near impossible for me to find fabulous clothing. Nevermind the fact that I hate to shop and I'm incredibly cheap when it comes to clothes. So despite the fact Jesus died so that I could wear this dress (http://www.torrid.com/store/product.asp?LS=1&RN=206&ITEM=583382), I probably will simply cluck my tongue upon viewing the price tag.

The other thing about shopping in Staten Island is that I get to hang out with my friend, Bryan. And by "friend" I really mean "guy who I made out with all the way from Brooklyn to Manhatten on the 3 train after an eight hour date." And by "date", I mean "heavy drinking arranged after hours of AIMing after responding to his Nerve ad."

What about your boyfriend? Aren't you guys doing better?

That's why I'm gonna have all my friends call me on the hour. I ain't no fool.

Maybe you should just not go to Staten Island or at least not with him.

I'm dangerous.

 

[gktkd]

Yesterday was part of my weekly series of almosts. I almost went down to the FNC (& RNC sitting in a tree) protest but just thinking about made me exausted. Even though I'm only 23, I feel like I've been to enough rallies in the last three years to last me a life time. Or at least my crowd hating life time.

The best/most effective was in front of the Stanleyworks plant in New Britain. The problem was that the company had decided to move their corporate headquarters to Bermuda to avoid paying federal and state taxes. Not only would they get to keep their tax money but it also gave them excuse to move the entire factory some where out of the country and cheaper. I don't know if you've ever been to New Britain but it's one of those decaying Connecticut industrial towns. The Stanleyworks factory had been there for 150 years and was the number two employer. There were rallies out there 24-7 until the company realized their corporate greed had been outed. The factory stayed and the late great Paul Wellstone as well as never late barely great Rosa DeLauro (D-New Haven) started pushing legislation that bars corporations who exploit the reincorporation tax loopholes from receiving military contracts.

The most amusing rally was the Drop the Roc last year. Great cause and awesome organization by the Hip Hop Action Network, but from where I was standing it was like the sidewalk in front of TRL. There was a mob of 14-16 year old girls standing in front of me and Geo (I think that attending that rally was about as political as he gets) who were trying to rush the stage and when the stage held Fabulous (who really is a pretty-almost-too-pretty man), they took to screaming at the security guards to let them on stage. The highlight though was the look on the white cops faces every time a "fuck the police" chant rang through downtown (I would say every 12 minutes). There were blunts being passed in every direction and no arrests. Too bad the protesters yesterday weren't able to harness that kind of power.

I hate iceberg lettuce. I love kanapas.

I almost went grocery shopping and I almost did laundry, but didnt because I thought I was uber-broke (That's for you, baby). I am not in fact uber-broke. Time to start putting money to credit cards!

 

[gktkd]

Went grocery shopping yesterday in order to break the take out cycle/start a diet (examples of foods included in cart: mac and cheese, hot sausages, and case of coors light). Now you may thinking to yourself, "Kristina, you're one proud bitch. Aren't you too proud to be whining about your weight? Don't you go postal when other whine about being fat?" Here are the Kristina Sepulveda Guidelines regarding talking about one's weight or anatomical flabbiness.

1) You got ten pounds to lose- shutup. I mean it. Even other skinny girls who are listening think you're being an asshole.

2) You got 110 pounds to lose- you can walk the discussion line, just don't fall over.

3) Only bitch about your weight to some one skinnier than you lest you desire your jaw to be broken, wired shut, and then you can drop those final 8 ounces by not being able to devour solid foods. I was friends with girl who was a dancer, who moan and groan about how ugly she felt when she was putting on weight aka going from a size zero to a size 2 (I'm not even exaggerating). At the time I had just gone from a size 14 to a size 16, due to break-up poundage (mmmmm...Rolling Rock and New York Super Fudge Chunk).

4) Another reason why is to fish for compliments, hear "You're crazy. You're not fat". Pull that on me and I'll be pointing out your body flaws faster than your sorastitute sisters. I'll even break out the black sharpie.

5) If you joke about your weight, don't do it to gather pity or compliments. If you say to someone "kiss my fat ass", you better have a front butt as well.

6) Fat "empowerment" is the same thing as certain ethnicities (how PC am me?) reclaim popular slurs. It's not empowerment, it's insecurities. No one is proud of huffing up a flight of stairs or eating their feelings. I can't think of one time that seeing those "fat is phat" chicks made my favorite jeans fit again or hid my shame of breaking out into a sebateous downpour at 72 degrees.

None of these guidelines have anything to do with verball celebrating any major weightloss, or gym milestone, or eating modification. Because then it's not all talk. The talk is connected to the action. The action is interesting, based in variable and determination. The talk is nothing but hearing your own voice.

Now I step down off the soapbox, I think I hear wood cracking.

 

[gktkd]

Yesterday, I conquered the often-forgotten fifth borough, Staten Island. It is not worth the eight bucks it costs to cross the Verrazano. Even though I got my surburban rocks off.

The purpose of my journey was to loot and pilage the massive Staten Island Mall. I was in and out, with consumer purchase. Bryan joined me but every time I had a question the boy was completely useless. From there we went to the lovely CUNY Campus of CSI to watch the collected works of Big Bad Franklin. Two thumbs enthuastically way up. The boys have been batting around taking their sketchness on the road or at least on the ferry and bringing into the city.

Ate at Chilis for dinner, drinking 2 dollar pints of Coors Light after buying my $2.99 reusable glass pint.

Finally slowed down my reading rate yet have not slowed down the rate in which I gank books from work. In order to make all these free books profitable, the weaker ones in their ranke have to be sold. But I made a deal with myself that I would read or at least begin reading everything I take.

Blake Nelson, the author of _Girl_ and one of my angsty favorites from age 16, has been picked up by Viking. Luckily, I walk by the Viking take shelf every day. His most recent release (in hardcover even which mildly confused me for a second) is _Rock Star_. It's another very young first person POV. The narrator is a 17 year old boy and the book is pretty good. Good enough that it won't get sold but not good enough that I would recommend it to anyone who doesn't already have a weakness for the man.

This is where I should start wrapping things around to a central theme. Something about how reading Girl when I was 15 and already neck deep in the SRQ downtown scene.

 

[gktkd]

Yesterday was a cheese shit entry. So I'm going to give you two in one weekend. And for this one, I will write it while delaying laundry and drinking Diet Coke. Why is the Diet Coke telling? Because I'm too lazy to make coffee.

Today the plan is conquer my life-long nemesis...Sir Smelly Laundry. While, by nature, I am definitely a fighter not a lover (as most of my previous relationships have undoubtedly proved). Some people I know enjoy doing their laundry. They use it as alone time, away from their social circles and roommates. They are soothed by the monotanous whirl of the machines. I, however, find it to be an absolute waste of my time. Last time I did laundry, I did it for 4 hours, because that's how it took to do enough sheets and blankets for Lisa's last visit. Sometimes, I am wise enough to do it at night and catch up on my long distance calling. Which I might do tonight since I didn't wake-up until 2pm. A full 11 hours of sleep- what long weekends are for.

And cooking. In an effort to continue my rock and roll lifestyle on a publishing salary, I have decided to become one of those people who cook a big thing of something on the weekend in order to eat it during the week. Friday night, I made a reletively healthy pasta salad and then I spent the whole weekend eating it. I'm take out outed. The only delivery I can even fake hunger over is the new Pizzeria because they have a really hefty menu and I have not tried everything yet. Granted at the rate we get food from there, I will have tried everything in about 3 months.

It comes with being a voracious person...

...a voraciously hungry person.

Puente, Lil' John, and I hit the China Club for the "Labor Day Music Party"/Opening of the Jade Terrace (an outside smoking area). Now I haven't been to many clubs in this City. Actually, I've been to two: Red and Black and Rain Lounge and Black Betty, all in Williamsburg, and in reality are nothing more than a bar with a DJ and a dance floor.

The China Club is a hellmouth, I assure you. The smoking terrace is lovely, however, the speakers are set to double volume since it's outside so there's no where to escape the samba version of "Crazy in Love" (which wasn't as bad as I set it up to be but I was in such an atrocious mood, everything sounded bad to me. On the main dance floor, there was no room to move without getting butt bumped by some Bridge-and-tunnel couple (you know who they are by the man with white t-shirt tucked into their jeans and the women with their bi-level lipstick). Plus the DJ kept shouting over the music. Do people really enjoy that or is that something DJs did once and no one called them on it?

 

[gktkd]

Just had lunch. Still hungry. Not one of my favorite feelings.

Summer hours are over and while that means no more half day Fridays (which is the single best management concession since health care), it also means that the work day ends at 5pm again. Since I have never had the opportunity in New York to leave before 6pm, I have what will prove to be irrational fear of the commute home.

Should I be worried about why my water glass tastes like tooth paste?

I'm going to go with, "Yes."

I thank you for your concern.

 

[gktkd]

Harold #: Whatever the hell it was last time.
Shows seen this week: One (and I haven't actually seen it yet cause it's not for another...7 hours!)

So I may or may not have a car at the end of today. Go me and my reckless sense of parking entitlement. So be prepared for a drunken rant later this evening. Guarenteed to use words like "cocksmoker" and "my bitches".

I'm having a rather productive day at work since my AIM list has one name on it (online that is, I'm not that much of a loser). Where the hell is everybody?

Could go bowling tonight, Could stab myself in the eye. It's a toss up, really

 

[gktkd]

Harold Count: 36
Shows seen this week: Uno

I have discovered the most disgusting SmartOne yet: Peppercorn Fillet of Beef. First of all that is title is way too complex for a frozen meal. The "beef" I believe is really rump of Chihuahua. The mash potatoes (which is the only form I will take in potato) are spongy and involves chewing despite the lack of a standard mashed potato lumpy appearance.

I finally did the laundry (I haven't worn underwear in days and no, it's not that sexy). And by that I mean, dropped it off with the lovely Russian woman on the corner. It's going to be 15 bucks out of the "Get Kristina's Car out of NYPD hoc but dammit I don't have enough fashion sense to stretch the remaining articles of faded, stained, and ill-fitting garb.

Seriously, I bleed like a fetus. The 15 dollars are the best 15 dollars spent this month.

Going to a magazine launch/cocktail hour this evening with Pagan and Puente. Save your "Three slices of pan de mantequa walk into a bar..." jokes. By the end of the night, we will be drunk on "Pink Cosmos" (girlie but free) and will have told them all.

 

[gktkd]

Shows seen this week: Dos

There's a fly hanging out in my cubicle.

Hung out with Erin last night for Miami Vices and Harold Night. We only stayed through the first one. Cause we're both world weary. One of my improv crushs was there, looking mighty fine; that was the cherry in my thick frosty glass.

I did get my car out and it took less than an hour which I guess is the good news off of a shitty situation. And of course the first thing I do is dance with the DUI fairy.

I'm booked up solid for the next two weeks. Which is funny because I am normally very lazy. But I always think I'm going to do better things with my time than watch television with a blank legal pad in front of me. I won't, in all honestly, do more than smoke a j and eat some rice pudding.

Assscat, Bust Party, Harold Night, Whose your Daddy?, Modest Mouse, Jamie Kennedy ----> Swarm, Dunkin' Donuts ----> Ian Roberts class ----> Farmers' Market, Practice--> Patton Oswalt, Dl Hughley, Harold Night/Sunshine Gang...

I just posted my schedule so all you hotties can see it and drool over my independent spirit...

or seeing it in print makes me feel important.

Where's my nap at?

 

[gktkd]

I never saw "whose your daddy?" I chose instead to go home. It took two hours. I ordered pizza.

Right now, I have two improv-related tracks in my mind. One is Openings and the other is Festivals.

Openings- I want to try a new opening. I'm not the biggest fan of pure organic, but I'm getting worn out on pattern game (we do at least three every practice and if we're late, we do it in the car on the way over). I really want to do a monologue Deconstruction. It's for selfish reasons though, because I have a lot of stories of a ridonculous nature that I love to tell over and over and over again. I love the openings of PCR, Ms. Jackson, Fatty Four Eyes... I like the idea of dressing a scene.

Just had great idea for a form and emailed it to myself. Going to bring it up at practice this week.

Now festivals: The only one I've ever been to was this year's DCM, which of course Street Meat is going to apply for this upcoming year. I've been doing research on the specifics of different ones in 2005. I think even if we don't make it (which we will, I assure you!) to CIF2005, I'm going to go anyway. Maigin, a buddy of mine from high school, is doing her music there and I haven't gone to check it out yet. She's been there for years. I really have no excuse.

 

[gktkd]

Whose Monogamy is it any way?

So today I'm thinking about:

Forms- I've been contemplating the ins and outs of You Are Here. I read a description and it's the closet thing I could find to what I've been thinking about.

Lunch- I had a grilled cheese with a completely yellow tomato. 2 years ago, I would have freaked out if there was a non-processed tomatoe on my plate. Now a fresh Caprese salad is my weakness (mmmmmmmmmm A&A pizzeria).

Comedy tickets- I have an extra ticket to see Patton Oswalt on Sunday and another to see DL Hughley on Monday. If you at least psuedo-know me (and by that I mean met me once or twice), pm/email me and be my plus one.

More fun with my name- Went to see Modest Mouse but couldn't get in because instead of spelling my name Kristina Sepulveda, they spelled it Christine Cepulbaba. The dick working the door said it wasn't close enough. However, Stephen Smith (who got the hook up from me) got in. This is why there isn't enough racial diversity at these things- they get their names butchered on the list...and the ones who get in are smart enough to spell out their names on a voice mail. I would play half a race card, but I'm only bluffing.

Staten Island- I hate it. Let New Jersey annex it.

Random Making Out- There's just not enough of it going around. Seriously, I want to walk out of bars and see people devouring each others faces in the alley. On the train, on the plane, wherever your motion kicks in.
No more walks of shame at seven am after going home with someone so that you don't go back to your 5x11 bedroom after a night of cheap red wine. Stick your tongue in 4 different mouths, then you're guarenteed to feel popular...or fuzzy inside. Wake up in the morning sleeping diagonal with swollen lips. Your boyfriend comes home from a night partying with his buddies, laugh at the hickey on his neck, whether or not it's your creation. They're funny little boy scout badges of honor. A random make out session also solves the dilemma of office romance. Is there a cutie in the next cubicle? Pucker up and feel his butt at the next Xmas party. Work out all your attraction and next time you're in a meeting together, you can lock eyes across the conference room and have a little moment that will make your blood pump in your ears for 15 seconds, yet hallways aren't as awkward because you don't know that he has genital warts and/or his fifth grade girlfriend's name tattooed above his choo choo.

 

[gktkd]

Lazy Rainy Sunday

And the boy is running the a/c at 66 degrees and high.

Earlier last evening, Puente and I hit the live taping of "Premium Blend". We were ruckusy audience member. At one point, I hollered at the perfect time to break Jamie Kennedy's line in half and force him to dissolve into giggles. I'm not a big Jamie Kennedy fan, but I got a nice size kick out of cracking him.

Went to the big party as well. I don't mean to be a total elitist bitch, but I am shocked to hell how few people in this world know how to handle a keg. I'm a total ass when it comes to that type of thing. But it became a running gag in my head. I get frenzied in crowds for some reason. "Stop pumping. Release the pressure valve" became my night mantra. Until I was able to relax more...and by relax, I mean, smoke.

Finally rolled home at 4:30am and did not make it to class. Again. I sure know who how to maximize my money. But to quote a great dancer, "This is improv class!" and so we kept dancing.

Now back into hiding.

 

[gktkd]

Geo's been reorganizing the bedroom for the third time since the beginning on the summer. While I was at rehersal, he poured himself some Bailey's and 1 percent milk, which inspired him to push around furniture. Where there are holes, he raids his supply of planks of wood and particle wood from furniture that has otherwise broke. He drills holes in the wall to put up shelves and removes old brackets like he owns the walls.

And leaves drywall dust all over my cds.

At practice today, my mind went blank for the first time in an improv scene. Maybe "black" is a better word for that. I couldn't have told you my name. All I could do was let out this mini cry of frustration, stopping a scene for the first time. Also I'm addicted to using chairs.

 

[gktkd]

This week, I plan on exploring the world of beginning dance classes. I went to a hip hop class once at NYSC and had a grand old time. But the only time I could do it, it was all the way on 92nd street in Manhatten. So funk 'dat.

I have absolutely no dance experience other than that one class and a kiddie modern class I took when I was a wee lass. All I remember from that class was it was almost all stretching and even at 7, my tendons were steel cables.

The only thing carrying me into dance classes is my complete lack of shame. My rhythm, while not flawless, is stronger with each passing hip pop. My aerobic capacity is low to the ground so by the third or fourth pass at the combination, I should be as red as the zit left of center on your back. But I will make it through to the end, when I will light up a cigarette and walk to the subway with a new bounce in my step. Taking in Harold night will render my brain breezy as more endorphins are kicked into my system.

When I wake up Wednesday morning, I will be curled into a ball of sore twitchy muscles. The subway commute will be atrocious. I'll have brought my (I mean, my boyfriend's) yoga mat in the hopes of making it to a class at an opposing studio. The yoga mat will poke people on the train. My gym bag will knock over small children. I will walk like my great Aunt Virgina who suffered from scolisis and advance osteoporosis.

The opposing studio will be smaller and less intimidating. Laura does her work/study there so she'll already be behind the desk. She will laugh at the black and hot pink Converse I wore for such an occasion. I'll be talked into taking Beginning Modern, which will return me to the days when I was a wee girl. I will crave diner rice pudding, heavy whipped cream light cinnamon. My mother would always take me for pudding pre-class as a pre-reward for exercise. She never appreciates the irony of that system when I bring it up at the dinner table.

After the hour and half of bending in ways my body was not built to bend into, I will hobble home, cursing my way through my Atlantic-Pacific change. The boy will rub out my shin pain, after convincing me to shower for the good of my bones and the cleaniness of our sheets. There will be sweat marks through the cloth of my sweat shirt.

There will be more laundry.