Reading Between The Lines

Ok, this is not a Debbie Gibson post, even though none of you know that Reading Between The Lines came from her 1988 Album Out of The Blue...but I digress...

Have you ever been told something and then thought later, "oh, did they mean ME?" Being oblivious to a lot of things these days, I think this happened to me today.

As you may be aware, I tweeted today about considering joining a cardio kickbox session this summer. 18 classes. Not for the faint-of-heart, literally. The instructor requires a doctor's note approving participation in his program if you've given birth in the past 12 months.

First off, birthing is the most kick-ass workout your body can have (rah rah, mommies!)...but all kidding aside, yes, he wants approval. Having never spoken to the instructor before besides emails, this guy likes to talk. He rambles on on how he believes in the safety of his participants and doesn't want anyone to injure themselves in the process. A verbal yes from the doctor isn't good enough, as I SUPPOSE there are people out there who, because they desire to do their body GOOD and not HARM themselves in the process (!), will actually PRETEND that their doctor said it's okay to join when in fact it would be unsafe, for whatever reasons. Um, why would I intentionally subject myself to the pain of his classes, thinking I was helping myself when in fact the opposite would be true, and waste my money in the process because I hurt myself so bad I would have to bow out and not receive any refunds? I can find plenty of ways to hurt myself (walking included) that don't cost me a dime! Okay, fella, I'll go get that doctor's note...

So my doctor's office is mailing me a note, at no charge (because EVERYTHING is starting to cost something these days). But in the last email the instructor sends me, outlining how his cardio kickboxing class is "unlike any bootcamp class out there", "extremely high-impact", involving "kicking and punching pads at full speed" (oh, so you don't say....BRING IT ON!), he continues to beat me down with his worries about injuries. Okay, I get the picture!

So, here's the kicker. In his post-script, he asks me who referred me to him, as he doesn't advertise and he likes "to screen people coming into the class to make sure they don't bring negative vibes or trouble to the class."

So, with the Mommy Brain I have, it dawns on me an hour later..."does he mean ME? I would bring negative vibes? I would bring trouble? He's screening ME?" I don't get screened...

First off, bring on your silly little martial arts class and let me kick ass. Secondly, I'm the most unobtrusive character he'll probably ever have in his class. I don't talk in large groups (though I can, but refuse to unless asked), I don't crack jokes (though I can, but I doubt anyone would find me funny), and I don't complain (though I can, but why pay him to listen? I get that at home for free!).

Am I reading between the lines, or what? Is it me or was that condescending?

Has this ever happened to you?

PS: The instructor has since emailed me back and acknowledged my misinterpretation of his email. In his lengthy email (again!) he explains his expectations to each new participant and will actually refuse people entry or ask them to leave if this is the case. He has since invited me to watch a class before committing.

Geez, it's like I'm joining The Armed Forces or something.

"Apology" accepted.

Photo Credit:

Boxing Gloves by andysteel

Facebook's 25 Random Things

I spewed off some ramblings last night while checking my Facebook page. 25 random facts, habits and goals I thought to share on my blog as well. Don't judge me...I am who I am! Happy reading!!

25 Random Things

1. I was a huge Debbie Gibson fan. Still am.

2. I was the clerk who took Trevor Linden's photograph when he wanted to rent movies at Mega Movies (this was about 12 or so years ago). I kept the other copy that was supposed to go with his file. I think I still have it.

3. I was also a Kevin Costner fan....until I heard he cheated on his wife. SOB.

4. I shop online...at times, a lot.

5. I own bowling shoes.

6. I hate mold. The deep, black, icky kind. Seriously, it creeps me out.

7. I put on my socks first before my pants. Yes, deliberately.

8. I wear socks to bed. My feet get cold.

9. I need to lose 30 pounds of pregnancy weight...I'm hoping by June.

10. I ran a half-marathon in 2 hours and 16 minutes.

11. I dated a guy for 10 years...then he finally asked me to marry him. I guess that makes me patient.

11. I planned my wedding in 9 months. No, it wasn't an emergency wedding. I just didn't want to wait any longer than I already had.

12. I blog.

13. I used to bite my nails.

14. I hate eggplant.

15. I can't share my toothpaste. The idea of your toothbrush on my toothpaste gives me shivers.

16. I still go to confession.

17. I signed up to take acting lessons downtown while in high school...then chickened out and got a refund.

18. I can spend all day at my computer, if my husband let me.

19. My car has seen speeds of 180 km/hr. It didn't seem as fast at the time.

20. I've been at my job for over 11 years.

21. I'm double-jointed.

22. I type an average of 80 wpm.

23. I had the worst case of cystic acne ever...2 rounds of Accutane!

24. I own a squash racquet and court shoes.

25. My name is Cheryl, and I'm a Pack Rat.

Brain Farts

What the heck was I drinking when I wrote that last post? I apologize for the melancholy...I shouldn't be allowed to blog at 2am!

Anyone who knows me knows that I take on a lot on my plate; I can't concentrate on one thing alone. I multi-task. I have lots of hobbies, or could-be hobbies; if I had the time, I'd do it all.

While sitting at my desk at work today, my mind my buzzing. Brain farts. Yes, brain farts. A rather obtuse description of my rather flatulent brain working hard. Here I present a smattering of what went through my head today.

• Half-marathon. Yes, I would like to try it again. I did it once, back in 2003. 2:16:11, give or take a few seconds. My only problem is (ok, there is actually more than one!) I used to have quite a running base before tackling a half-mara. I did a few 5 and 10k runs before hand. Hey, if Katie Holmes can run the New York, and look fantastic, can't I get a piece of that satisfaction too? Could I even afford new shoes? Katie probably had 7 pairs...

• laineygossip.com. If you haven't checked out Lainey's website, it's a hoot. Wow, I wish I could sit around all day and blog about juicy celebrity gossip AND get paid! A sweet gig on eTalk doesn't hurt either. Sure beats looking down a microscope.

• University of Phoenix. Do people actually receive real degrees or are they the collegiate-equivalent of those postage-stamp adhesives I see in the bulk mail envelope advertising for high school diplomas, amongst the other highly-coveted choices of Professional Dog Walker or overweight Fitness Instructor? I fondly recall the chuckle I enjoyed when I saw this high school "diploma" belonging to the 16 year old son of my mother's friend, the same kid who, at Grade 10, was failing miserably at the real school he skipped out of constantly. I guess he needed a permanent vacation.
  

• Vegas. I need an el-cheapo flight from home to Vegas in the long weekend in March for a stagette. Yeah, right....so do hundreds others. Party weekend....bring on the booze!

• Pregnancy. When's the best time? Is it time? Gotta wait until after the March weekend of debauchery. Gotta wait until after that half-marathon I'm crazy enough to consider. Gotta wait until the wedding in November I have to attend in Virginia. Gotta wait.

• Birthdays. My sister is turning 30 this week. That makes me 34 this year; I'm getting old. Little brother is turning a Quarter Century. Ugh, I'm double-old.

I pretty much blanked out after that. Then I repeated the whole loop again with something else off-topic, starting with Guitar Hero (So grateful to have finished the last Battle on Easy in Career Play last night!) and ending with antiperspirant (you apply it at night, even before a shower, and it still works? Guffaw!)

And as soon as the brain farts occur, they cease, just like that, without a warning. Thank God; sometimes I wear myself out thinking so fast.