What I Learned This Weekend: The Belly Dance Edition

In a fit of determination to become more svelte and less diabeticky I decided to look up some belly dance work out videos and give it a shot. Some of you may remember that I had an aunt (she was rail thin... she married into the family) who was a professional belly dancer. She taught me a few moves when I was younger and considerably more limber. Also, my impressionable teen years were mostly spent in the company of exotic dancers when I worked at the head shop across the street from Gate 5 at Little Creek Amphibious Base in Norfolk, down where bikers, sailors and half naked hoochie mamas would co-mingle 'til all hours of the night

So it wasn't THAT much of a stretch for me to decide to hop back into some belly dance moves. I thought.

Here's what I learned:

• It is not wise to attempt a belly roll right off the bat, when it's been a good 20 years since your last try. You may discover that you have acquired more belly than roll.
• Work out videos that involve "snake arms" need to come with a ceiling fan warning. Now I have three bruised fingers and a wonky fan that makes a mind numbing whirring nose.
• Do not look in the mirror. Focus on the rail thin twin shimmy goddesses on your monitor and you'll believe you're doing a good job. Once you catch a glimpse of your reflection, you'll realize that what you're doing can only be described as a clusterfuck of flailing arms and jiggling butt fat and bears no resemblance whatsoever to what you think you're doing.
• The heavy breathing you hear is not the dog having a seizure. It is you. 
• Wear a bra. It doesn't matter that you're in the privacy of your own bedroom. When you start to do shoulder pop thrust thingies... or God forbid.. attempt a shimmy.. someone could get hurt. If you don't want to wear a bra, be responsible and outfit your pets with protective eye goggles.

On a side note, in case you were wondering, I'm still at the Asylum working for Bossholio and the pervert. If that changes, ya'll will be the first to know.. well maybe not first... but I'll keep you posted.

Ya'll have a good week. We'll talk again soon.. if I can survive all this healthy living.

Later Taters!

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Hot Gossip in The Holler

It's cloudy and cool in the holler this morning. The skies are dark and ominous, teasing us with the promise of an atmospheric disruption of some kind before the day is done.

Just the way I like it.

The turmoil isn't just in the sky over the holler, the townsfolk are all stirred up, with tongues waggin' wildly over the latest Frog Pond Holler gossip, involving Shannon, one of only two tellers down at the bank.

I've always felt sort of connected to Shannon, in a weird sort of trailer trash way. Not only do we share the same Rubenesque figure, but she favors most of the women on Ma's side of the family with jet black hair and fair skin.Which is weird, because Shannon was almost my sister.

I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but for Ma, getting pregnant was a nightmare. She was on fertility drugs for five years before she had me, had multiple miscarriages and used to be quick to point out, "and look what I got stuck with."

But anywho...

When Shannon's mother was pregnant with her, her family encouraged her to put the baby up for adoption and word traveled back to Norfolk, via the family news/gossip pipeline, sending Ma and that asshole pervert she was married to and Pa back home to the holler to see if they could get themselves a youngin. But bringing home baby Shannon just wasn't in the cards for them I reckon, because her Mama changed her mind and decided to keep her.

I have no idea if Shannon knows any of this and it's not the kind of thing you wanna bring up while you're standing in line at the bank.

Anywho, last Friday, Shannon packed up all her stuff at quitting time, exchanged tear filled goodbyes with Jeraldine, the other teller, and took off for Georgia to meet up with some man she met on the internet.

That alone would be scandalous enough if it weren't for the fact that Shannon leaves behind bubbahubby #4 and FIVE youngins.

Hellfire and damnation, if I had five youngins I'd be runnin' off with someone too. Or without someone. I'd just be runnin' like hell. Off a cliff.

In other news...

The black plague of death, mucus and coughing so hard you pee yourself crud has made a second round at the Asylum. This place sounds like the TB ward at the sanitarium. You have to keep your head low, lest you be accosted with a can of Lysol.

I'm so sick of snot and phlegm.

Oh and? The doc's nurse called me yesterday. It's now official. I have diabetes. I get to go back next Tuesday to get lectured on being old and fat figure out what "we" are going to do. I see a future filled with Glucerna shakes and water bottles.

It's coming off and no one's cutting me open to do it.. which will probably be a fight between me and the good doc, but I stand firm on that point.

Soooo yeah. That's the current state of Mahala and The Holler. I'm sure we'll talk more soon. Ya'll have a good one.

Later Taters!


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My Weekend in a Nutshell

We're having a heat wave here in Frog Pond Holler, with temps predicted to hover around 60° today. If I have a sudden urge to take off my shoes and frolic carefree in the field in front of the office, hopefully my coworkers won't have me locked up.

Here at The Asylum we're being assaulted by a second wave of Black Plague infestation. Lulu, Bossholio, the GM and Jasper are all hacking, snorting and spewing assorted bodily fluids. Back at home, The Amazon has been doing all of the above, with added bouts of whining, snoring and a little drooling.

It's going to get me. I know it is.

I've been sucking down bottles of water laced with orange flavored powdered drink mixes that contain uber doses of vitamin C and B, making the sign of the cross whenever any of them get near me and using my Bath and Body travel sized hand sanitizer like a vial of Holy water while I chant in pig Latin.

But I can feel it creeping in my chest.

~*~

Over the past week or so, I've been spending all my couch time, diligently crocheting away on a lovely afghan to list on Etsy. It was burgundy, dusty rose and ecru and done in squares with a wagon wheel motif. I was so proud of that afghan I could burst.

Then I washed it for blocking.

It came all to pieces.

I guess I'm out of practice. Thankfully I took a pic of it with my cellphone before I washed it:




I feel like such an assmonkey.

After I take the sewing machine apart and pick all the bird seed out of it, I've got plans for some pillows made from sari fabric. Once that is accomplished I'll make a new baby afghan.

Maybe.

And now? Now I'm going to take advantage of Bossholio's absence and rest my eyes.Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

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Like an Italian Prostitute

Before I begin today's rant post, this is going to include more tidbits from our beloved General Manager here at The Asylum. If you're going to get annoyed that I keep complaining about it, yet refuse to do anything.. well.. I don't blame you at all, I'm a little annoyed with myself, but be forewarned that I probably won't ever report him. I just need to vent, and more importantly, use his comments as fuel to drive me to find a better job.

I'm not that strong woman who takes on the establishment in those Lifetime channel movies. I'd be in the throws of an anxiety attack so fast your head would spin if I even considered trying to tell anyone.

Sooooo anywho...

The day after his little bikini comment, which, if you could see the ample fabulocity that is Mahala, you would understand was intended to humiliate, not compliment, the GM was still feeling a little froggy. Conveniently, at a time when everyone else was out of the office, with Lulu on her walk and Bossholio out in shipping, the GM wandered down the hall and stopped at my cubey door.

I'd like to take a moment to stop here and point out that I am still the only one left in a cubey, in the effin' hallway.

But I'm not bitter.

Much.

The GM looked at me and smiled that creepy, old pervert smile, his nicotine stained grin causing me to shiver... and not in a good way.

"Hey sweet Mahala," he crooned. Then, he looked around, sat his coffee on my desk and moved around behind it, blocking me against the wall. He put his arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze and whispering in that low, gravelly voice, "You sure turn me on."

The GM is a tall man. His position put his... business... right by my face.

A strong woman would have jumped up, slapped his nasty old ass into next week and told him to go to hell.

But me?

I laughed it off and told him he needed to learn to control himself. My reactions to his bullshit cause a hailstorm of self loathing, but not enough for me to grow a pair and do anything different.

This morning, when he spotted Lulu and I chatting in the hall, he said we reminded him of those women who stood along the streets of Italy back when he was in the Navy.

I'm pretty sure he wasn't talking about frumpy old ladies, but that's what we dress like here, lest we excite the pervs. After he moved up the hall, I told Lulu I was getting kinda tired of being compared to a prostitute on a daily basis. She agreed. Whenever she's out on her daily walk, the GM says, "Lulu's out street walking again."

I went back to my desk, dug around in my bag and found my clip on nose ring, some giant hoop earrings (yes I carry them with me... don't ask) and picked out some warpaint.

I can look like an Italian hooker if he wants. I said I wasn't that strong, I didn't say I wasn't a smartass.

Anywho...

That's the latest. I'm calling another company that I have a resume in with this morning. Keep your fingers crossed.

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters.

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Of Nose Rings and Neanderthals

I think I'm having a mid-life crisis ya'll. I ordered myself a nose ring. For serious.

Okay so... it's a non-pierced nose ring. I said it was a mid-life crisis, not a total breakdown. No one is coming near my face with a needle unless they've been to medical or dental school. Even then, there'd have to be substantial justification.

Anywho...

The Amazon went for a drug test yesterday for a call center job. It's full time, with benefits and more $$ an hour, so that will be awesome if she gets it. It would also most likely be in the evenings, so she'd still be home with Ma during the day and the best part? She'd be right across the street from Wally World, so she could stop and pick up stuff before she headed home to the holler.

I sent my resume to another place this morning, for an office/admin. position. I'd have to drive to downtown Big City, but it would be worth it. The low end of the starting salary range is $7k a year more than I make now.

And I assume there wouldn't be a nasty old GM asking me to go home and put on a bikini so he could use my picture as the background image on his new phone.

Seriously.

Love. My. Job.

Anyhooter..

I should probably get back to work. And I need to go find the engineer who is banging on a big chunk of steel with a mallet... IN THE OFFICE... and kill him.

I work with Neanderthals. Apparently.

Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!
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