hip shakes and fun dreams
1) Zumba class. Went to it last night. I had expected something latin and dancey and fun. Instead I got a lot of jumping around and shouting in Spanglish. While I sweated and definitely exercised, it was not my cup of tea. I realize that I like to learn something when I'm in a class - back in the day I took hip hop classes at an old gym, and the actual class was learning a routine that you performed at the end. That was awesome. This...it was shakira's sloppy seconds. Disappointing.
2) I had a crazy dream this morning - I had "inherited" an apartment from my best friend and his husband. I loved the place - it was a three-bedroom apartment on the first floor of a busy street. It had cream walls and black laquered trim and details. Very Salon Paris. It had a washer and dryer, a (nonworking) fireplace...and all of their shit still in it. Now, for those of you know know my best friend, you will know that my nickname for him is Hurricane Wilma. He blows in with a bunch of shit, throws it far and wide across the space, and then leaves it all for you to pick up. As I waltzed through the guest room (furnished), sewing workshop/walk in closet (furnished and supplied with tossed-about boxes of fabrics and loads of costumes/drag/jewelry), and the pantry (replete with more glassware than I could ever use), I called my honeybunny and lovingly chewed him the fuck out for not holding a yard sale before he left.
I know that this dream serves two purposes: a) that my apartment is a freaking mess and I had best clean it up post haste, and b) that I miss my bestest with all my heart. I messaged him this morning and told him I loved him and missed him, and that he has too much crap.
2) I had a crazy dream this morning - I had "inherited" an apartment from my best friend and his husband. I loved the place - it was a three-bedroom apartment on the first floor of a busy street. It had cream walls and black laquered trim and details. Very Salon Paris. It had a washer and dryer, a (nonworking) fireplace...and all of their shit still in it. Now, for those of you know know my best friend, you will know that my nickname for him is Hurricane Wilma. He blows in with a bunch of shit, throws it far and wide across the space, and then leaves it all for you to pick up. As I waltzed through the guest room (furnished), sewing workshop/walk in closet (furnished and supplied with tossed-about boxes of fabrics and loads of costumes/drag/jewelry), and the pantry (replete with more glassware than I could ever use), I called my honeybunny and lovingly chewed him the fuck out for not holding a yard sale before he left.
I know that this dream serves two purposes: a) that my apartment is a freaking mess and I had best clean it up post haste, and b) that I miss my bestest with all my heart. I messaged him this morning and told him I loved him and missed him, and that he has too much crap.