my ankle is sprained or strained, probably from aerobics. it's been tender since last week, but after i worked out last night it actually felt good. i woke up this morning, however, to undeniable swelling and more than a little pain. i limped around at work until my friend got the safety guy to wrap it in a cold pack and an ace bandage, and now i have the entire department at my beck and call. "no, don't get up, what do you need?" (insert evil laugh here, moo hoo haa haa)
punk aerobics last night kicked my ass, it was shorter but much more intense. ryan drove nicki and i, and mark and alysha met us at the belmont so that alysha could work out with us and ryan had a drinking buddy to keep him company. channel 7 "action news" showed up out of the blue and interviewed the aerobics instructor julie, and nicki, and filmed us working out and looking like assholes. thankfully, i was not featured in the broadcast, which was headlined "punk, sweat, and beers". the week prior, a local weekend magazine was out taking photos and ran a big story on the punk aerobics phenomenon as well, and there is a faraway pic that you can see nik and i in (too bad it wasn't closer up, i was wearing my suicide girls tank top!)
apparently, while we were almost at the end of the workout, a creepy guy came up to ryan and mark's table and remarked, "looks like easy pickins," gesturing to us sweaty girls.
"we're here with our wives," mark and ryan told him.
"both of you?" the dude goggled, trying to do the math in his head...2 husbands equals, um, how many wives? subtract 2 from the total number of girls, and apparently he felt his odds weren't that diminished.
when we finished up, i went to the table and put my water bottle down and proceeded to roll up my yoga mat on the floor beside the table. "how about her?" mr. creepy asked.
"she's our friend's wife," mark told him warningly.
"she's rolling up her mat," he astutely observed. "anybody could roll up her mat for her," he opined hopefully.
"she's doing fine all by herself," mark told him. i had no idea what was going on, but the guy looked just off sort of, so i pointedly ignored him and started up a conversation with nicki. later on we noticed him sharing drinks with the resident Bar Whore, a polish lady (remember, the bar is in hamtramck, detroit's little poland) who barely speaks english, wears too much makeup, and sports the same loud polyester shirt every week.
every week there is a different adventure.
punk aerobics last night kicked my ass, it was shorter but much more intense. ryan drove nicki and i, and mark and alysha met us at the belmont so that alysha could work out with us and ryan had a drinking buddy to keep him company. channel 7 "action news" showed up out of the blue and interviewed the aerobics instructor julie, and nicki, and filmed us working out and looking like assholes. thankfully, i was not featured in the broadcast, which was headlined "punk, sweat, and beers". the week prior, a local weekend magazine was out taking photos and ran a big story on the punk aerobics phenomenon as well, and there is a faraway pic that you can see nik and i in (too bad it wasn't closer up, i was wearing my suicide girls tank top!)
apparently, while we were almost at the end of the workout, a creepy guy came up to ryan and mark's table and remarked, "looks like easy pickins," gesturing to us sweaty girls.
"we're here with our wives," mark and ryan told him.
"both of you?" the dude goggled, trying to do the math in his head...2 husbands equals, um, how many wives? subtract 2 from the total number of girls, and apparently he felt his odds weren't that diminished.
when we finished up, i went to the table and put my water bottle down and proceeded to roll up my yoga mat on the floor beside the table. "how about her?" mr. creepy asked.
"she's our friend's wife," mark told him warningly.
"she's rolling up her mat," he astutely observed. "anybody could roll up her mat for her," he opined hopefully.
"she's doing fine all by herself," mark told him. i had no idea what was going on, but the guy looked just off sort of, so i pointedly ignored him and started up a conversation with nicki. later on we noticed him sharing drinks with the resident Bar Whore, a polish lady (remember, the bar is in hamtramck, detroit's little poland) who barely speaks english, wears too much makeup, and sports the same loud polyester shirt every week.
every week there is a different adventure.