May 9, 2012

An Unexpected Happy Place

I haven’t exercised steadily in years, and it shows.  The Lord did something special for me, I think.  I was *tricked* into joining the new gym in town because my cousin had secured a sweet group deal that meant that the fee was two for the price of one.  In order to be considered a group, they needed four people: my cousin, his wife, my husband, + me.  I was very hesitant to join wondering if I would actually use the membership (because my m.o. has been just to talk about doing something) but after the sweet deal and some convincing/coercing from others, I decided to take one for the team and join. 

Come to find out, said sweet deal was only for the first month inscription, and not a monthly group discount.  IS this a case of a Spanish to English miscommunication or God helping me out?  As it turns out, I think of the four people I am the only one consistently using the membership.  Now, I am not saying this to toot my own horn, because this is not a “me” thing, it is a GOD thing.  I have been going to the gym to do aerobics as often as I am able because I found an unexpected happy place there.  Let me tell you why (other than the obvious reasons of endorphins, better health, feeling great):

My aerobics instructor, Jonathan (pronounced Jo-NO-tan), is a piece of work, and I mean this in the nicest possible way.  He yells.  He dances.  He locks the door so that no one can escape (FOR REAL!)  He prances.  When he turns around, the women in the class stop until they think he is ready to turn back around and then they quickly start back up for fear for their lives.  He will CALL YOU OUT if you stop or take a break or wimper.  He even gives the little old ladies in there who are trying their bestest to keep up with his gyrations a difficult time if they fall behind OR heaven forbid – stop! 

I try my hardest not to make eye contact him, which is not all that difficult because after he shows us what move to do, he watches himself dance in the mirror – and let me tell you, the guy can M.O.V.E.  After I got over being offended that most of the time he is not doing the same exercises as the class but continues to yell at everyone to “SIGA! SIGA! SIGA!” while he checks himself out in the mirror, I started to be distracted from my physical pain by his dance performance, which is very entertaining by the way.    So everyday that I am able to work out, I leave the gym sweaty and with a big, fat smile on my face that not only did I exercise and receive a free performance but am  thankful that the Lord orchestrated my being there.  It is my new, unexpected happy place.  Thank you, Lord.

P.S.  I would love to include a video snippit of my class  because I really think you will have to see to believe, but I haven’t built my courage up yet to ask him if this would be possible.  However, this is probably not the last you will hear about this. 

May 7, 2012

NOT FUNNY, Mr. Sticky Frog

There will be NO PHOTOS in this post.

First off:  I’ve got issues.  Some rational.  Some irrational.  But that is another blog.

ONE of my irrational fears is of sticky frogs.  Right now you need to wipe out of your mind images of colorfully speckled tree frogs and what not.  And yes, I guess this is about appearances because I don’t think that kind freaks me out.  Dominican sticky frogs are a less aesthetically pleasing variety.  They’re a sticky/slimy variety (think pickled okra in the form of a frog – but stickier) and then imagine the distinct color of puke – you know what I’m talking about, right?  AND THEN, imagine a smug little frog face and super long legs for springing long distances.  And there you have it:  the sticky frog.

I have had several traumatic run-ins with sticky frogs, but the BIGGEST problem that I have is with one particular sticky frog (we’ll call him, Mr. Sticky Frog) that cohabitates IN MY ROOM – AND, AND, AND – it TORMENTS me!  Almost every night when I turn out my bedside lamp and close my eyes for about 30 seconds, it starts croacking, as if on cue. At first, I thought it was just outside my window (Jon ASSURED me that it was – probably because he didn’t want to spend his evenings hunting said sticky frog down for his obsessively fearful wife!)  

Anyways, yesterday, I was sitting on my bed putting my makeup on, and I felt a little drip of liquid on my foot (not startled yet because we live in a leaky house and drips are rather common). You need to also understand that the roof over my bedroom is more like a covered patio roof.  There are wooden 2 x 4 beams making a grid, and on top a corrugated heavy plaster type roof sits.  

HOWEVER, when I instinctively glanced upward to see from whence “the leak” came, I spied two ginormous sticky frog legs flopping on top of one of the beams.  NOT FUNNY MR. STICKY FROG!  And what was THE LIQUID?  I ran flailing and muttering sticky frog curses from my room calling for my knight and shining armor to rid me of this menace.  By the time he arrived, Mr. Sticky Frog had slipped away into the shadows of the beams, but I KNOW HE’S UP THERE!

Last night I spent the night sweating due to the fact that I was entirely submerged under the protection of my covers, and every once in a while I did the something’s crawling on me freak out dance.  NOT NICE.