Lady of Leisure

Ok, I'll admit it, I am not completely opposed to my current lifestyle as a woman of leisure.  A lady who lunches.  All euphemistic terms of endearment for "have no idea what to do with my life."

Sure, life would be a teensy bit more leisurely if I had a limitless source of income, a la Gossip Girl Upper East Siders.  Then I would be lunching much more often, let me tell you.

However, the leisure itself is not bad.  

Sure, I get a little restless at times.  Like when I realize the high point of my day is washing my car because, oh man!, now I can cross something, anything, off of my To Do list.

(Although, in my defense, the car wash WAS a big accomplishment, because dipping your already cracked and dry hands into frigidly cold water, and prancing around the soapy driveway for a half hour in the thirty degree weather is NOT exactly my idea of a good time.)

So the problem is not so so much the leisure time.  Rather, it is the extreme lack of social interaction.  The complete abyss of human contact that results from living in a part of New Jersey where deer outnumber people.  A part of New Jersey in which there is a buffalo farm only ten minutes from my house, and yet it takes twenty minutes to get to a movie theater.  

Yes, my parents and I spend an awful lot of time together.  Which is lovely, don't get me wrong.  Mama is also a lady who very much enjoys a good lunch.  Like yesterday, when we went to a glorious glorious diner (aren't diners fantastic creations?) and ate a whole lot of bacon.  Yes, I know, it's a rough life.

So my parents and I bond during the week.  And I spend the weekends with Jared.  Otherwise... well... let's just say that's pretty much it.  Except my elderly friends at the gym.  Of which I am accumulating a disturbing number.  

You see, I may have mentioned this previously, but the gym right in town is affiliated with the local hospital.  Therefore, it does a lot of lovely things like physical therapy and rehabilitation.  Therefore, the average age of gym-goer is approximately 65.  Therefore, I stick out like a large, knobby thumb.  A very young thumb.  

So, in addition to my obvious youth, which attracts attention from all the old folk, who do their daily laps around the track while I emerge purple-faced and sweaty from step, or hi-lo, or Zumba, or any aerobics class that does not involve snooze-worthy elliptical machines, I also like to stretch.  

It's the stretching that does it.  Because, you see, since I am in major withdrawal from my ballet classes.  In other words, I get crabby every time I look at the clock between the hours of 6 p.m. and 7:30 p.m. on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday because I SHOULD be in the breathtakingly gorgeous studios of Alvin Ailey pirouetting away while Vladimir plays the piano, and instead I'm doing step with the elderly.  Or sitting in my pajamas while browsing the Internet.  

So, what I'm getting at is that everyday at the gym I try and retain the teensiest bit of flexibility (the minimal amount I possess by dancer standards) by putting my leg up on the railing and stretching.  Like this and this and then this.  This becomes quite the conversation starter, let me tell you.

Now I have a whole following of men 70+ who say hello to "the best conditioned girl in the whole place!" and tell me "I'd break my leg right off if I did that!"  I also have become friendly with the female crowd, who step and sweat with me in the aerobics classes.  They've taken to exclaiming "Dancer is here!" when I enter the room.

See, who said I was bored?  Who said I didn't have any social interaction?  

I am very busy eating bacon and stretching on railings and chatting it up with senior citizens, thankyouverymuch!   

And now I'm going to cap off a very full day with some J&K8 and House Hunters.  

Maybe I'll have time to write again soon.  But I can't make any promises....

{Photo via glamoraglam}