Thursday, November 4, 2004

I just got back from flamenco. I am hopeless. Right and left are strange and foreign concepts to my feet (wha! they aren't interchangeable?). My arms, spread-eagled, are just not very elegant. And did I mention my hips? Like a piece of bad art that I am forced to look at, my hips are always significantly broader than I remember. I keep trying to send loving thoughts to the ol hips, I don't want them to desert me or anything, but every one else is so damn skinny. After the second week, the idea of arms and feet moving at the same time is still hard to wrap my body around.

The people watching was good. The little boys were bored out of their noggins (they spent half the time trying to disassemble the barre). Their moms made them come, apparently. There was an incredible blonde, who had a very plain face and she hired a manic tattoo artist to compensate. That is my theory... every bit of skin (with the exception of the previously-mentioned face) that I could see was inked. I had a fashion twin, as well. We both wore flaming red shirts with black bottoms. It was pretty odd, I didn't stick around to yak about it.

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I blog about life and soup, but mostly soup.

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