Thursday, November 28, 2013

Talk Fit

I alternate running a club on Wednesdays after school called Keep-Fit with another girl, where I make the girls do wall-sits, run ladders, do workout videos, plank, race, and play games. Sometimes I take them on jogs or to use the school fitness suite. We often end up bantering and telling stories while we exercise. 

The girls are getting progressively lazier as the holidays approach. A few weeks ago, when we were doing wall-sits, one of the girls asked (in earnest) if we could do chair-sits instead: “… and we can just see who can sit in a chair the longest.” I’ve had to start bribing them to run by promising the winner a pack of Oreos (yes, I realize the irony).

Last week, the gym was being used, so we had to go into the fitness suite. Most of the girls were at a drama performance, so I only had to look after three of them (ages 11 and 12). They waffled about, and one of them said, “Can we do ‘Talk-Fit’ instead, and talk about people who are fit? And eat doughnuts?” I laughed, which I think encouraged them. While they fiddled with weights and walked on the treadmill we started to tell stories and secrets. As the secrets got more exciting the exercise became less.. existent. By the end of the class we were all gathered on a mat in the middle of the fitness suite, telling each other about doorbell ditching and shipping the teachers.

The secrets were so juicy that I think I put on a few pounds.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013


Yesterday was my day off, and I was on my way to get cocktails with my friend when we were lured to the front of the Ashmoleon Museum by the light of large torches. We wondered what event was happening, so we went to the front doors. There were guards there that asked to see our student IDs. Luckily enough we both had our old ones with us, and they let us into the museum.

It was a bit surreal. There was an acapella group performing, and it echoed around the museum. We got free beer tickets, and were told that we could go on free tours, sing karaoke, and play games. There was a gargoyle making class too.

After having some drinks and learning a load of random facts about Islamic art, I made a beautiful gargoyle for my sister that she is really going to treasure and appreciate for…ever (if you’re reading this, Anna, you’re welcome—and sorry to spoil the surprise… well, I guess you’d probably be better off warned).

Nothing too mischievous happened. But it was a random (albeit awesome) way to spend the evening!

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Like Grandfather Like Granddaughter

Sometimes I am ridiculous. Luckily, there are times when I can blame it on something like my nationality (“Oh, uh, in America everyone dances like this.”) or my home state (“Is this weird? Mormons don’t think this is weird.”). When I travel I can blame it on jetlag. So here are some accounts of my jetlagged brain.

I went to California this last week to visit my boyfriend, and on Halloween, like the fancy people that we are, we went to the opera to see The Flying Dutchman. It was amazingly well done, and the orchestra was incredible. Here’s a quick synopsis of the play--

The Dutchman is condemned to sail in an invincible ship and never die because he appealed to Satan to save his life during a storm, and Satan cursed him. The only way he can break the curse is to have a woman be loyal to him until death. He’s allowed to go to shore every seven years. He meets a Captain who promises his daughter to him, and the daughter falls in love with him. He returns to her, and some other possessory rival who wanted to marry her is being a prat. The Dutchman overhears the prat and the girl speaking and thinks she stopped being loyal. He goes back to his ship, and the girl drowns herself to break his curse, and then they both die.

Wow, I should write for Sparknotes. So succinct.

Anyway—I was severely jetlagged, and because the play was so fantastic, I only fell asleep for less than five minutes… during the final scene.

“So… They lived happily ever after, right?”


My flight to the airport was at 11, so we woke up at 6 to get ready, make coffee, pack, and go to the airport. In a morning rush of finding the right terminal, and being emotional, we were having some trouble finding my gate. My boyfriend said, “Wait a minute.” He typed a few things into his phone, and then a curious expression formed on his face.

“What?!” I asked, thinking that we must’ve been in the wrong part of the airport.

“11… PM.” Ahh, apparently my English major did not prepare me for close readings of travel itineraries.