Sunday, November 14, 2010

Lara, you got nothin' on me.

I despise winter. I would be totally okay with it just being fall and skipping winter all together, aside from maybe a light snow on Christmas day. Snow storms always wreck the one event on my social calendar that I am the most looking forward to, then the snow turns to slush and wrecks my cheap flats and the cold wind blows right through my thirty dollar Old Navy sale coat.

But today is one of nostalgia. Fall is in the air, and I am transfixed by the beautiful landscape as the leaves change their colors. It reminds me of hot chocolate and bonfires, hoodies, stale candy corns left over from Halloween, and gearing up for those terrible holiday visits with certain extended family. Ah, good times. It's just such a wonderful time of year. Since I am in the mood for reminiscing, I decided to have a throwback post to one of my favorite embarrassing moments of all time. Perhaps its a fav because I was in my horrific preteen/puberty stage and I have since had time to heal.

It all took place on a fall day similar to this one, and of course it wouldn't be a wonderful embarrassing moment without, you guessed it, a boy. Those turds always show up for those times where you literally want to smother yourself with a throw pillow and everyone else because it's just too terrible to bear and yet, you still have to. My friend suggested this idea when we were kids that guys should just live in their own society underground, completely set apart from females until the disgusting middle school metamorphosis has run its course. It's both freaky and brilliant.

His name is Payton Radley, the guy that literally every girl and their mom had a crush on, or in my case? An obsession. He had perfect wavy hair, a muscular, tall build, pearly whites and a smile that slayed everyone. I say all of that in the past tense because although he is cute-ish presently, the years haven't exactly done him well; that was when he was in his prime. He has uncanny athletic ability and he was very focused on baseball and nothing else. Girls, especially dumb ones like I wasss...well whatever. We will go with was, were definitely not on his radar.

Ethel Larkin, poop brown hair, cut all the same length, braces, boy/lesbian-esque style, and boobs I had no idea how to properly holster so they were just kind of...there. My athletic ability is limited, but I try to make the most out of it. The part that kills me every time is the pre-game trash talk that I fail to live up to when its time to play the actual game. I get to flirting, which means I tell them I'm going to beat their asses in the game cause I'm awesome, blah blah blah. But like in a hot Lara Croft kind of way, trying to act impressive and tough, and the guys just eat that shit up! The real issue is when you go to play and you can't actually live up to the high expectations you set about yourself for everyone else by being a cocky liar face and making yourself out to be a kick-ass bitch like Lara. But in the end you just look like a bitch. That lives in her own fantasy world where she is good at athletic things. That she sucks at in reality here on earth. Dumb.

Okay, but I'm getting ahead of myself! So I'm at this park with a large co-ed group of awkward middle school kids, which let's be real, was the most exciting thing EVER because a) it meant being free of my parents for a little while, and b) I was ready to step up my game and I was sure I would win Payton's heart. So as it usually goes in sixth grade, the girls went off to the swings to be away from the boys and the boys started picking players for their baseball game. I boldly announced that I was playing, which raised a few eyebrows but no one contested.  I was jovial as I ran to join up with my teammates that were gearing up to bat first. P.S. I don't actually know anything about baseball, so for those of you that may be reading this and are awesome and know all of the correct terrminology, etc. please do not be offended by my crude retelling of the game details. Just a heads up.

Payton was pitching, using those sinewy arms to pitch lightning, Zeus-like..uh, throws at those that were batting. My turn came, and I stepped up to the plate. I was for sure exuding a vibe that said "I am a pro". Payton gave me a quick little side smile before straightening up and getting ready to let the ball loose on me. Man that sounded dirty. You know what I meant. I felt a little thrill as I hit the ball and it actually went where it was supposed to go, which must have been a result of my positive thinking or a pure miracle since I have no idea how to use a bat.

Did I previously mention that I was wearing a dress? Nope, don't think I did. Why? WHY? That's what you're thinking. I know I said my style was butch then so I don't really have much of an explanation for my wardrobe choice that day. I'm sure it was ugly, and I probably was trying to be like a hot tomboy kind of person or something. So I hit the ball and it came crashing down somewhere further out in the field. I took my time running to first, soaking in the pure joy of success. A little premature. As I made my way to second base, I felt my stomach sink. Plunk. I totally just tripped over my feet, and landed flat on the ground, right in front of second base. Like two inches from there actually. But I was so horrified I couldn't even move! Everyone got kind of quiet, aside from the few punks snickering to the person next to them. No. NO. Oh my god, no. My dress was over my head, my bum in my skeevy underwear just out for the world to see. That is worse than wearing bad panties and having a car accident and everyone in the ambulance having to see your wretched drawers. Side note: that is something I literally think of before I put on my underwear almost every morning. Same with shaving my legs.

So there I am in all my glory, bum out for all to see, laying there paralyzed with shame and horror. Payton was just staring at me, with an amused look on his face. Is he laughing? He took his good old time walking towards me with the ball in his hand, drawing out the humiliation and he completely enjoyed it, I could tell. He slowly bent over me, staring at the ground almost as if he couldn't look at me. But then he got right in my face and smiled, and then tagged me with the ball and sauntered off back to the pitchers mound. He didn't even help me up that douche! I still loved him, but come on. He could have helped me out. Anyways, I picked myself up and pulled the skirt of my dress down to its rightful place and made my way back to my team. After a minute or so, I called, as if in response to the girls nearby, "What Lou Ann? Okay, I'm coming!" At least I left with my dignity still in tact.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

I am lubberly like it's my job.

The past few weeks haven't really strayed from the norm. As usual I am living my life ungracefully but this week and last have been peppered more with constant, small awkward occurrences than the routine, colossal am I being punked?! moments that are commonplace; this story is about one of the more memorable moments from last week. Lubberly means a big clumsy fellow, in case you were wondering to yourself, "What the hell is lubberly?" Yeah, that's what it means. It also means clumsy seaman which...doesn't really work but whatever.

So this week I went on a road trip with one of my best friends Shea and ironically her boyfriend, Jay, to Virginia. Jay thinks he is a rapper (he's not), which made for a long a trip in the car with him "rapping" to Usher and listening to instrumental tracks throwing down his theme song he wrote about himself. After the two day drive we finally arrived in Virginia, and the relaxing week we had planned was long overdue. Lynchburg, Virginia is a small college town. All three of us have family and friends that attend one of the University's there so we planned to make a good time out of it with our college friends (none of us are in college right now, so we essentially wanted to live vicariously through our friends. That's normal, right?).

So one night the three of us, along with Shea's sisters that live in the area and some of Jay's friends, all went out to see a film at the dollar movie theater. Earlier that day, Shea jokingly told Jay he should hook me up with one of his hot friends since I'm newly single. I agreed but I was being completely serious; I was excited about the possibility of some new guy to at least flirt with and have fun. We got to the theater and were just waiting on Jay's friends before going in and getting our seats. Well, the turn out was disappointing. Two guys came, and one was very cute but of course, had a girlfriend! The good ones always do.

I was socializing with a few of the girls before going in and then abruptly Jay said, a little too loudly, "Jake, Brandon, I didn't introduce you! Ethel! Come over here! Guys, this is Ethel." Shoot me. I turned around, flummoxed, heat seeping into my cheeks. What is he doing?! Horrified I looked around at everyone's faces; yeah, they all seemed pretty embarrassed too, and happy that it was not them. I made my way towards the two guys, trying to keep eye contact and be nonchalant. I don't know why, considering they had no problem completely ignoring my existence. As I crossed the threshold toward their side of the room, I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach, before the reason for it even registered. Delilah, Shea's little sister pushed me right into Jake, the very un-single good looking, crush-worthy man that was currently pretending I wasn't there. Why she pushed me is still a mystery, but I don't even allow myself to ask questions like that anymore. Because small questions like that all add up to one enormous question which is, why is my life the way that it is?! It's better to just accept that I am a magnet for such things and move on.

Luckily I recovered my balance right before I could make matters worse and take everyone out in my path. Blushing and shaky I tried to laugh it off and extended my hand in greeting to Jake, trying to be a proper adult. Both guys reluctantly shook my hand, muttering their acknowledgment of me in hushed tones while avoiding my gaze. I slunk back to my corner of the room and hid behind Shea. At that moment I was ready for the trip to be over already.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

There is a good reason for the phrase, "Don't kiss and tell."

Whirlwind romance. The word "whirlwind" is actually quite romantic sounding in itself. When you hear it you think passion, love at first sight, destiny. That time is no obstacle for love.

My whirlwind romance went something like this: a friendship that led to a few pseudo-dates, a date, and then a committed relationship all in about a months time. To me I thought of it as all of the words listed above and more. He confessed his deep poetic feelings to me like, "When I am married someday I want a wife that, when she walks into the room, my breath is taken away and I am overwhelmed, wondering how I ever got so blessed with someone I am so unworthy of. I feel like I have that with you. I think we are going to last." Did I feel pure ecstasy as those beautiful words rolled gently off his tongue? You better believe it. He swept me off my feet before I even knew he was coming, and then continued to run off with me at a breakneck speed like the devil himself was chasing us down. Then after exactly two weeks, he broke up with me. Now the word whirlwind simply means stupidity in my book, and I have a bad case of whiplash.

A few days after Jeremy asked me to be his girlfriend we had our first kiss, a.k.a. makeout session. And it was perfect. The whole night I couldn't sleep because I was completely caught up in the "whirlwind" that I had constantly been a part of since the second I met him. Every day I was falling harder and harder for him and after that night, I was completely enraptured by him and his charm. Sadly, the next day he left to go visit his family a few states away, so my obsession had to be fed by mere text and phone conversations. When he finally got back in town I was so excited to see him! And kiss him of course. He was coming over to watch a movie with me so before hand I groomed myself to perfection, or at least as close as I could get to it. I mouth washed four times after brushing my teeth, flossed, perfumed, and the list goes on. We watched our movie and had a good time. No kiss yet. He got ready to go and still no kiss. So I decided I was going to take things into my own hands. I am not an experienced kisser whatsoever, so initiating was not something I was comfortable with. But he aggravated me into making a move. I walked him out to his car while we held hands and talked. It was such a beautiful night; starry and cool and it was drizzling a little bit but just enough to feel refreshing and make noise so there wasn't awkward silence. He hugged me and when he let go I could tell he still wasn't going to kiss me!

Needless to say I was seriously annoyed at that point. I decided I was just going to give him a peck on the lips and that was it. Just the cutesy kind of kiss, not breathy and passionate. I went for it, and as I was pulling away he started doing things with his mouth and tongue. That should be good news right? Well because I was unprepared for his response, I pulled back. I totally could have recovered from that and smiled and just gone back at it, but there was one small problem. It was the sound that accompanied the kiss that I initiated, and it came from my body. You've heard people talk about out of body experiences? This was definitely one of those. The noise I emitted (it was not voluntary), was an eardrum-breaking "muah!" sound that I had never made before in my life. It's like what grandma's do when they're creepy and gross and its in a movie. Only I had just done that to my new, hot boyfriend. His face was incredulous and I could feel the heat instantly rush to my cheeks. In retrospect the best thing for both of us probably would have been if we had laughed it off and said goodbye and pretended like it never happened so that hopefully the next day, his feelings of repulsion would have subsided. But the expression of horror on my face was firmly planted there and before I knew what had happened I ran away from him into the safety of my home. Literally, I just broke away from him and booked it into my house without a word but "Bye!". That is not normal behavior, and most of you are probably thinking to yourselves, "No wonder he broke up with her after two seconds". You're supposed to be on my side. Anyways, that evening blew up in my face and even though he was kind about it that night when I called him to apologize, he never kissed me again while we were together.

Jeremy was technically my first boyfriend. Even though this is an anonymous blog that I do not advertise, I know there are people out there that read this. Yes, you. And despite the fact you will never meet me (at least not knowingly), at times it is difficult to be so transparent about the things that I do every day that are so embarrassing. Just like when I tried being vulnerable with Jeremy, it was hard! Being open in that way is not something that any of us come by naturally in my opinion. But the things that make us vulnerable are a huge part of who we are! Jeremy never really saw this side of me when we were dating: the awkward fumbling side of me and the sense of humor that I acquired to be able to deal with it. But looking back on our whirlwind romance I realize that there is a lot of light to be shed on that short moment we shared. Awkward, embarrassing acts such as these are a big part of what makes me, me. And the fact that he couldn't handle that and I wasn't comfortable enough with him to be that version of myself, the real version, must mean that it wasn't destiny after all.

I'm glad I was able to share my story with you. Goodnight to all. Muah!

Smurfs and Feelin' Blue.

Wow, it has been an eternity since an awkward moment has been posted! I have had a serious case of writers block these past months and not because they have been uneventful. Let me tell you, I am about to completely unload my best ones that have been happening while I was away. My awkward curse has an overactive imagination and has really been on a role as of late. I'll start off with my most recent event in this post.

I just began a new venture called, 'being a nanny'. The family seems wonderful thus far and it really has been an easy transition for the most part.  Because I am new I want to make a good impression. I wear clothes that are obviously not the most ideal for chasing kids around but I still haven't found the balance between being a professional, and dressing for a job which a lot of the time comes with some wear and tear. I also have struggled with not cussing by accident, etc. I'm sure there will be a time when that slips and then I will have a really juicy story to tell you.

 Anyways, I want to impress, you get the idea. I decided it was time to wax the old mustache (quit judging me), so I pulled out my handy waxing kit and went to work. I've only done it one other time, so I had no idea that the seemingly innocent looking tub of wax was actually past the point of boiling and had turned to straight lava. Result: a majorly burned mustache.

My medical knowledge is limited, but I figured aloe was probably the best way to treat it. I lathered it on all through out the day and it seemed like it was helping. I made sure to reapply before bed and then hit the hay hoping for better things to come in the morning.

Bloody hell. As I gazed at the face that I only recently came to terms with, my stomach turned. I stared disbelievingly at the site of what my mustache had since morphed into. My face was marred by...a...a...

Blue mustache. Blue?! Blue. Bblluueee. Not like baby blue, but a bright, smurf-y kind of blue. The aloe I used to "treat" it had stained it that not so neutral hue. The burn had really come into its own at that point; it was huge and cracked and very very visible. Did I mention it was blue? Sadly, when you're an adult life must go on even when you're facing certain humiliation, i.e. death. Well maybe not death, but it definitely felt like it! I went about my day, first getting stared at by every member of the family I work for. Luckily they are very polite and didn't bother me with stupid questions about it. I went to the gym and tried to avoid eye contact with everyone there. Soon after I just up and left because I couldn't handle the stares. I mean there really is no normal reason for anyone to ever have a blue mustache. I made matters worse and accentuated it by wearing a bright blue shirt to match. Looking back I think that may have been a mistake.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

This new diet is...effecting me.

I'm still on the island and loving the island lifestyle. You might think me to be crazy, but I've been staying in a tent. Yes, a tent. But I love it, and it's totally an acceptable way of living here.

The diet change has been pretty drastic. Now all I ever get to eat here is whole wheat crap, fruits and veggies. Healthy stuff. Which is good; I needed a diet change anyway. And I am constantly aware as I don my swimsuit every day. 

Anyways, when I first got here I decided to go into town with some friends to a coffee shop and use the internet. It was so great to be back in touch with the rest of the world. I went over to a different coffee shop in the next shopping center over, and told my friends to call me when they were ready to go. A few hours later I had responded to all my emails, checked facebook, finished some homework and was ready to go, so I walked back over to starbucks. 

And they were gone. I called, and nobody answered. So it was pitch dark and that meant I got to make the hour long walk home, in the dark, without a flashlight and all of my most expensive belongings on me. It was hell. 

So when I was finally done, all I wanted to do was take a shower. I was grabbing my stuff for the shower house and throwing things around (I was in a very pissy mood) when all of the sudden, it hit. I tried not to panic; the porta-jon was only a little ways away, I could make it. But the creeping sense of urgency in my bowels was not convincing. I  dropped all of my shower stuff and began walking brisquely, legs together trying to talk myself through it. "Everything will be ok. You can totally make it." Then I started running. I swung open the door and just as I went to drop my pants, can probably figure out the rest. Oh Joy.  

Palm Trees, Blue Skies.

Sorry I haven't been on in a while. I've definitely missed it, but with my new class schedule and everything life has been hectic. Have you missed my awkward life? I've missed telling you about it.

So you know how I said I was going to a tropical island? Well I went, and its amazing. In fact, I think I'm going to stay around for a while. But as always there is an awkward story to relate to you.  

When I first arrived on the island, I was completely overwhelmed by the beauty. Especially when coming from the currently arctic mainland, it was such a breath of fresh air. Everyone here is so laid back its fantastic.

One of my friends that lives here on the island came to pick me up from the airport, and I hadn't seen him in forever. So of course I wanted to look good, act cool, and just make a good impression all around. He had all kinds of great plans for us to explore the island and eat some great food. But first, we needed to stop by his bungalow and pick up a few things. 

We pulled up and parked up against some bushes that were blocking the passenger door. So naturally I had to crawl over the seat and the stick to get out while he's watching me. 

Fail. I tried to crawl over the stick, all the while laughing awkwardly and taking forever. I got my shirt caught on the stick and my hand slipped off of whatever I was holding. So I fell half way out of the car, with my shirt stuck, my boobs falling out of my shirt, my hair in my face, stuck to my chapstick, and he was attempting all the while to help me by grabbing me in awkward places. He managed to catch me right before my head hit the ground. After a few more attempts to get out I finally made it, face flushed and hair unkempt. I wanted to make a good impression, but instead I fell all over him.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Bikini or Brazillian?

Next week I am taking a vacation to a tropical beach. That sounds so nice I think I'll say it again: I'm going to a tropical beach. Bitch. As I'm sure you gathered, I am incredibly excited about it. It is long overdue. 

Fabulous bikini: Check. Lose a lot of weight to look equally as fabulous in bikini: uh...onto the next one. New make up: Check. Cute sun dress: Check. 
What am I forgetting?


As I'm sure any woman can relate, the bikini line is a never-ending source of frustration. So I decided to get it taken care of the hard way: bikini wax.

I made the appointment without hesitation but I would be lying to you if I said I wasn't freaking out on the inside as I breezed through the spa doors. Even as she was slapping on the wax I was panicking, trying to think of a way that I could get that wax off later if I just walked out right then. 

And ladies, it was great! A little uncomfortable yes, but not nearly as painful as other women have made it out to be. You hear all of the crazy stories about weeping and gnashing of teeth and only getting one side done. Well they must have had some shitty waxers or a low pain tolerance because it wasn't even close to being that bad!

I was over joyed as I walked out of there. "This could really change my life!" I ran errands before meeting up with some girlfriends for dinner. None of them have ever had one so I was excited to fill them in on how great it actually is. We talked and ate our dinner, and then rushed out of there to make it in time for our movie. As I stood up I immediately thought "Owa..." probably followed by a confused/tortured look on my face. Trying to ignore it I caught up with the girls and we made our way to the theatre. 

But the pain got progressively worse from the box office to the concession, and the concession to the theatre. Half way through Sherlock Holmes my nahnah was in some serious pain. 

So word to the wise: if you're going to get a wax, make sure and buy yourself some aspircream. 

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Taking Other People's Advice Can Seriously Screw You Over.

I went to a movie recently with a buddy of mine named Carl. I'm honestly not sure why we ever go see movies together, because we have extremely different taste. We usually agree on what movie to see but if I love it he loathes it, and visa versa, except for the occasional movie that we both hate.

Of course the theatre was packed because of the holidays, and he was all stressed about getting good seats and beating the crowd. Me? I typically could care less. Unless its a very significant film I've been anxiously awaiting, then that's all part of the fun. Flying by the seat of your pants; 'will they have tickets?  Will there be an obnoxious group of teenagers in front that I have to throw popcorn at? If we get kicked out, what will we do tonight?' You know, stuff like that. Carl on the other hand acts like a grumpy old man the majority of the time.

So I had already been out that night hanging with friends and he asked if he could tag along to the movie. "Of course! The more the merrier". Well I'll back up for a second and fill you in on some history: 99% of the time Carl acts like he is in love with me. He's sweet, polite, and kind of shy and we always have the best time together. Whenever we watch movies he observes my face to see how I'll react instead of paying attention to the movie. Same with tv. Or he'll poke me and try and distract me, which never works because I get so into it. Well this movie wasn't much different. Only he started out that way, and then just quit all together. I never go to movies with friends and just sit there the whole time, quiet. I like to know what they're thinking! Discuss the plot, characters, etc. So I started bugging him as much as I could, the whole time trying to be cute and flirty, which rarely works well for me.

The movie ended and surprise, surprise, he hated it and I loved it. So a few days went by without hearing from him so I texted him when I got off work and asked him if he wanted to hang out, chill at his house and watch a movie or something. So I met up with him and we drove around town aimlessly. It was fun though; just talking and listening to the radio. He said he wanted to look around Best Buy so that was the first stop. After that he asked if we could just walk around the shopping center. It was arctic but I agreed, and after some time had passed we made our way into Borders: one of my absolute favorite stores on earth. I perused the cooking section, history, poetry, and of course-the classics, while he stepped away to make a phone call.

"So," Carl said, "I left my electric toothbrush at my parents house. Do you mind going on a little adventure with me to pick it up?" "Sure."
His parents live an hour away. And I later found out that several of his closest guy friends have never even met them before. So you can imagine that I would be a) very confused b) nervous, and c) trying very hard not to read into it. And electric toothbrush? Really? Lame excuse.

We started the long drive and once we made it into his hometown he said he wanted to take the back way so he could show it to me. "It's my favorite drive." Not reading into it.
He pointed out his elementary school, childhood best friends house, etc on the way there. I'll admit, I like Carl, and I was quite enjoying this little peek into his life. Like I said, he's shy, so getting any personal information out of him is typically near impossible.

Pulling up to his folks beautiful country home, my nerves were out of control, but I tried not to let it show. The house was beautiful and quaint, and his mother was absolutely lovely. Friendly, kind, and probably one of the funniest people ever. As I was looking at her I kept thinking, "She looks so familiar. Who does she look like?" It hit me all at once: Me. Still......not...reading into it.

After we had watched tv and chatted for a while Carl gave me a tour of the house, told me the stories behind the pictures on the walls, and introduced his family pets to me. His mom kept telling me stories about him growing up, showing me baby pictures, mentioning what a great man he is...OK, so I was reading into it. But come on! I'm a woman! It was all just too much to sweep under the rug and say "None of this is significant. We're just friends. He really was in desperate need of that electric toothbrush."

So when we were getting ready to head out, his mom gave me a big hug telling me to come back any time, and waved at us as we pulled out of the drive way. Another moment of honesty: I totally felt like the fiance or something, meeting the mom for the first time. It was so weird! I mean, I liked it, but Carl and I had never talked about liking each other. So we finished the ride home, listening to big band music with him sharing personal life experiences about his family, and childhood and so on. What a great night.

A week went by without a word from him. I had texted him once without a response, so needless to say, I was very confused. But whenever I would talk to any of my girlfriends about it they would say "Oh he's so in love with you. He's just shy. He's putting himself out there waiting for you to make the move." Or, "He took you to me his mother?!" And other similar responses, that only confirmed what I ultimately believed.

After taking polls and asking peoples advice, everyone said to just ask him. In these kinds of situations my fear of rejection runs deep, not that it's an easy task for anyone. But with all my friends backing me up, I felt confident that this time would be different.

I waited for the right opportunity to ask him in person, but it never came (and no that was not just me wimping out) so I finally decided a text would be the best way to ask. I hate the idea of having that conversation over texting, but I thought it might take the most pressure off of him since he is so shy.

His answer: No.

I was thoroughly disappointed and embarrassed. How could that be?! All the signs were there. All my girlfriends agreed.

So now, things are sufficiently awkward I would say. I haven't heard from him since and when I ran it by a mutual guy friend of ours he said "Well I could have told you that." Ouch.

I know that I shouldn't let that keep me down, and discourage me from trying again if the opportunity presents itself with someone else. But I'm not going to lie, I have zero desire to EVER put myself out there again. Am I the only one?

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Don't Fall.

For Christmas this year my mom gave me three gift certificates for personal training sessions. What a great gift! I'm always trying to get in shape and lets face it, it's difficult (and all of you buff or tiny athletes can just shut up. I'm talking about my fellow carb-lovers). I've tried everything; I think its just hard for me to stay consistent and I don't typically choose very good accountability partners-they usually binge with me. So I was psyched out of my mind (and a little nervous) in anticipation of my first session.

My trainers name is Sanya: a cool bleach blond 40-something that's crazy ripped. She's very nice and personable and I was feeling great about our upcoming session together. We started out with a little warm up that was no big deal, but quickly moved into some intense cardio. I immediately went from feeling good to feeling...dead. I was thinking, "I've got to get out of here." She had me jumping on and off of this high stool, alternating feet and going at a seriously fast pace. I'm not incredibly coordinated when it comes to...I don't know, things like that. Or perhaps just exercising in general. But I generally think of myself as an athletic person (or at least average) and let me tell you, I wasn't feelin it just then. She was probably working me so hard because I'm young and let's face it, I should be in better shape.

I am out of shape.

So as I'm jumping on and off of this giant pain-in-my-ass stool, Sanya's chatting with a passer-by that had a fitness question. Before we began our session Sanya had asked me if I ever pass out. "Uh, no" I said, a little bit cocky. "Well you'd be surprised; I've had a lot of clients black out on me". I was thinking that there was nothing for her to worry about. No way I would pass out. Never have, and probably never will.

Well as I was jumping I missed the step and fell. Bugger. She rushed over to me, and I was attempting to laugh it off because it was humiliating and I felt like a big fat retard. "Let's...uh, try something else, shall we?" 'Can we try like, sitting?' I wanted to say.

We started another routine but I was having trouble focusing as Sanya tried to explain the steps to me. Everything was getting fuzzy. I was feeling a little bit queezy, and...dizzy. Apparently my face was showing it because with a concerned look she asked if I was doing alright. My response: tripping my way into the bathroom. I sat for a few minutes over the toilet ready to puke. Soon it would pass and I would try and stand up but to no avail-that stupid puke monster always came back, so I would sit back down again. I had begun to feel bad for the trainer who's time I was wasting. So I got up and unlocked the stall door. Sanya was looking at me funny. "Do you feel like you're going to pass out honey?" I tried to explain to her that I have no idea what that feels like, because I never have passed out before. But that was soon to change. She ran up and grabbed my arm, dragging me to the fitness room. She laid me down on a yoga mat and put my feet up on an exercise ball. IN THE MIDDLE OF A ROOM FULL OF PEOPLE. With my hands over my head she fanned me and put cold cloths on my head.

I had started to pass out. She kept reassuring me that it happens all the time, blah blah blah, but who cares if it happens all the time?! Here I am laying down, the weeny that almost passed out after working out for fifteen minutes. The room was also filled with hot, buff guys, so that was a plus. All in all, it turned out to be quite a first experience. I will say that my sessions since have been great, because I don't want to discourage any of you from trying it. Just make sure you eat breakfast at least an hour ahead of time, don't drink too much water, and don't think that you are invincible. I did and I was dead wrong.