Friday, February 3, 2012

Today at gymnastics

So I attend this adult gymanstics class at the same time as the kiddos. Usually, I scare the crap out of the coach, because there's a lot of stuff I just won't try because it would simply be too hard to get my oversized body to do... (Like uneven bars. I mean, seriously? What kind of crackhead wants to bang their hipbones hard against a wooden bar, flip over said bar like a giant Cabbage Patch Doll, then try to not fall face first onto the floor? Pssht. Right... sounds like a blast!) ...But then he'll tell us to try something on the vault or the trampoline, and I do it. 'S cool. So he wants us to do it again. So I add a flip or a twist and scare the crap out of him. Then he yells at me that I've got to tell him what I'm doing *before* I do it. And I laugh. Because it's friggin' hilarious to make the guy have a mild cardiac episode at least once a week.

Anyhoo, he finally gave up and began giving instructions like, "Ms. Laurie try a front pike, Ms. Moshie, work on your back tuck. Ms. Adrianna, try a front tuck. New lady - I forgot your name again - just try to go as high as you can to get used to landing after jumping off of this. And Ms. Tiffany, do whatever the hell you wanna do. Just don't kill yourself."

I may suck at the uneven bars, but this event, I've got this. I've got mad tramp skillz, yo. (So says Laurie, the uber-Christian, ultra sweet accountant, never says anything off color... except to remind everyone of my mad tramp skillz... and *always* blushes when she says it. It cracks me up every time.)

So today I was waiting for my turn on the stupid bars - where the coach can't even do the trick he was trying to get me to do (which I did actually manage, and didn't fall at all!) - and singing along to the music blasting from the craptastic local station over a boom box almost as old as me. They do occasionally play something I kinda like... but this song gets stuck in my head for days , which is irritating because I don't know but half the words and none of them make any sense: "Inside Out" by Eve 6.

What were they *on* when they wrote that song? "I would swallow my pride, I would choke on the rinds, but the lack thereof would make me empty inside. Swallow my doubt, turn it inside out, find nothing but faith in nothing. Wanna put my tender heart in a blender, watch it spin 'round to a beautiful oblivion. Rendezvous, then I'm through with you. Rendezvooooo-oooo. Rendezvoooooo-ooo."

So far, the rest of the group's still talking and ignoring my bad singing. "I alone am the one you don't know you need. Take heed, feed your ego. Make me blind when your eyes close, tie me to the bedpost." I swear, they just strung together random words.

But the other moms in my class finally took notice that I was singing along, right at the words, "tie me to the bedpost." Great. I didn't think I sounded *that* enthusiastic. I don't even have bedposts!
They laughed, I grinned, "No, that's not what those bruises are from!" while hiding the imaginary bruises on my wrists from them.

From there, we leave the bars of hell (because the Lord loves me) to head to the tumble track. Sweet! Now, the tumble track is a super-long trampoline that's only four feet wide and ends with a pit full of foam blocks to land in once you launch yourself off this thing. (It smells like feet and teenage boy. I have decided to try and jump over it to avoid it altogether. Yay! A new way to give the coach a coronary!)

Of course, the foam blocks cling to my pants like velcro, so the pit is like a vortex of warm taffy laced with super glue. And I can NEVER get out of the stupid thing!!! I give up and let the coach pull me out most of the time... after I make sure the dadgum blocks haven't grabbed hold of my pants to suck them into the abyss of stinkiness at the bottom of the pit. Again. (No one saw the first time. They just got irritated that I took so dang long getting out of the friggin' pit. They didn't know that I was engaged in an epic battle to keep my pants above my knees. I was like a Jedi knight fighting the Dark Side. Or at least the 'Let's Take Tiffany's Pants in Mixed Company' Side.)

So then I'm waiting my turn to do some kind of pure awesomeness off the end of this mile long trampoline, getting ribbed for my "mad tramp skillz that come from being tied to the bedpost"... when I hear one of my kid's coaches talking about his free time.

I spun around, eyes bugging in shock, and said, "Did you just say you make bongs for fun?" They all bust out laughing, because that's not what he said. Oh. "Bombs," he said. Like that's better. He has fun blowing crap up. (But, really, who doesn't?) But they're all still laughing with me (not at, because I'm pretty dang amused myself). And my kid's coach thinks I was excited, not shocked, at the prospect of him making bongs.

So, now, I'm apparently going to be known as that kinky stoner chick.
I hope they're just razzing me, because I'm neither, but I am fo dang sure that they'll never let me forget it.

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