Smells Like Summer

Yes indeedy, my little cupcakes! Nothing puts a calm, serene grin on an Assassin’s face quite like summer. The feeling of the warm sun on your skin, making your hair shiny, burning your cheeks and your conk and making you look like an alcoholic for the first couple of weeks till it tans… And by “you” I totally, 100%, mean “me”.

And although it’s only May, it’s been around the 80 degrees mark all week with a nice breeze. It's like freaking San Diego here! Take that Red!

However, being almost summer makes a person start frowning and pulling at their fleshy bits in disgust and thinking about making those fleshy bits a bit smaller. You see, having just emerged from a cold winter spent mostly watching TV, painting and eating scads of cheese and chocolate and doing virtually nothing that involves breaking a sweat at all, spring means shedding the consequences of such sedentary behaviour, eating fruit again and doing something more energetic with your spare time.

So that means walking where possible. Which is fine. I made playlists for every occasion because Lord knows I cannot walk anywhere without a playlist because that would involve suffering my own company for an hour without entertainment. The horror!

And also? Zumba.

Yes, you heard me right. Zumba. As in Latiny-gyratey-dance aerobics.

You can stop laughing now. I appreciate your skepticism, I truly do, because I have about as much dancing talent as a drunk man with one leg and vertigo. I’m ok with this. I’d love to be a natural lithe, snaky-hipped, all abs and rubber bones, sexing-up-the-dancefloor type of mover, but clearly I’m not. So I just do the best I can and have fun with it. So what if I look like someone who’s in desperate need of a bathroom? So what if my expression is less, “Hey baby, I’m hot!” and more “Good God, hemorrhoids are a bitch!”, I have FUN damn it.

Besides, I only do it at home for now, not in public for heaven’s sakes. If I was doing actual classes I’m sure I’d be on YouTube by now under, “Hilarious Rhythm-challenged Halfwit, Dancing like cripple”.

Only, you know…with less grammar. Because it’s YouTube. It’d probably be more, “Yo Batshit Crazy Beeyatch Gitz Grooveh”.

It’s all Alyson's fault. I use her full name because that’s what people do when they want to let certain other people know that they’ve been a bad girl. She introduced me to Zumba, therefore, is fully responsible for me looking like a constipated ostrich. And also because I watched some demos and thought “That looks fun, how hard can it be?”

Yeah. Now I not only dance like I’m on drugs, I ache everywhere it’s possible to ache and so I now walk like it too. So thanks for that Aly. Truly.

So when I haven’t been Zumbaing my ass off in the mornings to wake me up, I’ve been painting in a nice, leisurely fashion, in a paint-covered, oversized t-shirt and cut off, drawstring sweat pants and flip flops (and that combo is as sexy as it sounds, people) so all in all, I think balance is achieved. For now at least. Between that and the fact I am hideously addicted to Kashi’s Fruit & Grain bars in Chocolate Raspberry, I am a contented little fucker.

Talking of painting, I finished another Airstream. I now have twelve Airstreams in my series. I’m a freaking Airstream maniac. I decided not to fret about this and just embrace it.

So yeah. Back to work. Have a lovely afternoon my little pumpernickel buns!