The Highly Improbable

I know you're going to find this inconceivable, but I recently became a certified group fitness instructor. In plain English that means I can teach aerobics. This coming week I have an interview plus a practical demo with one potential employer and an actual step aerobics class with my only real employer since I've been certified. This will be the first step class, or any for that matter, that I've taught in six years. Needless to say, it's time I addressed some concerns.

First, I'm not built to suit a fashion model's size. I weigh XXX (hint: this is a really big number) and if those gym rats come in expecting to see Suzanne Sommers they're going to be really surprised when they get Queen Latifah, okay? The whole point in initiating this hobby was to give me an incentive to reach my fitness goals. The fringe benefits of being a fitness instructor are 1) someone is paying you to work out regularly AND 2) a free gym membership. No one wants to pay for those these days.

Another concern is I'm a gimp. I have one foot, to be honest a whole leg, that does not work like it should. I've broken my right foot, never went to physical therapy and still walk with a limp. Further studies on my gimp leg have shown that the problem with my noticably smaller right leg may not be easily remedied anytime soon. So, in addition to getting Queen Latifah for an aerobics instructor, my lovely students are getting Daniel Day-Lewis in My Left Foot (except it's my right foot). I've just gotten inspiration for the title of my class: Quasimodo Step. Maybe I'll add the byline "If the instructor can do it, you can too!"

Anyway, I guess I'm up for an adventure. At best, I'm hoping I don't entirely cripple myself or anyone else. I guess I could always teach a geriatric class or something. Nursing homes need aerobic instructors too, right?

I'm Outing Myself

I like zombies.  It all started with a mercilessly violent video game that my brothers used to play called Resident Evil.  I would watch them murder the living dead (and zombified canines) in the cold and dark basement and either cover my head, close my eyes or scream as the situation on the screen warranted.  At the end of the zombie slaying session I came to find that I had enjoyed myself.  Fast forward a decade or so later and I have seen all the Resident Evil movies, of which there are three.  The last one, Resident Evil:  Extinction, I saw by myself.  I don't want to go into what a bad idea that was right now, but my point is that I went out of my way to see a zombie movie with no encouragement.  

Enter stage left my brother the zombie lover.  He is seriously "Zombie or Bust" and is well prepared should the zombocalypse occur tomorrow. He knows the best weapons to use in any zombie vs. human battlefield scenario and is intimately acquainted with the cinematic history of zombies starting with black and white movies.  If you could obtain a degree in zombie studies, he'd have a doctorate.  It is really he that influenced my decision to choose zombies over vampires as my death dealing monsters of choice.  In addition, my sister gave me a book about the zombocalypse called World War Z that I surprised myself by liking.  Believe it or not, the book was boring at times, but it had frightening highlights which I thought were quite redeeming (i.e. the computer nerd in Japan that was forced to fight off zombies with an ancient samurai sword).

There were two distinct events which made me realize I have an in-the-closet, voyeuristic fascination with zombies.  First, as I was mindlessly channel surfing one afternoon I happened upon a B movie on some no-name channel about a zombie outbreak in a prison which I could not stop watching.  Needless to say, it was ghastly.  Second, a few days ago I saw the mecca of all zombie movies, Dawn of the Dead.  I really enjoyed it although I'm not sure the chainsaw accident was necessary.  Even so, I am still pondering adding it to my top ten favorite movies of all time.  I'll put it between Pride and Prejudice and The Little Princess.  So there.  I am officially out of the closet.  I just couldn't handle the secrecy.  I hope that I will not be discriminated against in any manner because of my preferences.

Powerball

I'm not the biggest proponent of gambling but I was sorely tempted to enter the Powerball lottery recently. Don't get me wrong, I've pulled a slot machine handle on the rare occasion but in general I try to avoid gambling as much for religious reasons as for logistical. I like to hold on to what little money I have. Anyway, this Powerball lottery was calling to me in silky beckoning tones and I had to ask myself, "Is playing the lottery really gambling?" A part of me says "yes," but a part of me says "tsk tsk tsk!" Let's get this straight, I spend one buck, choose 6 numbers and could potentially win 87 million dollars? Sounds great, where do I sign?

Alas, I was too late in getting off the fence. The latest drawing was Saturday, February 28th and I am still shedding bitter bitter tears over my lost millions. At least I have the profound meaning in my last fortune cookie saying, "There is in the worst of fortunes the best chance of a happy ending." I take that to mean the next Powerball lottery is all mine!

Tea Time

I grew up watching my grandmother drink Celestial Seasonings tea. Her favorite flavors are Chamomile and Red Zinger. It's peculiar how I can remember little details like that and forget the more significant ones. Entire events have melted away into the black void that is my memory but I remember grandma and Red Zinger Celestial Seasonings tea. I wasn't a big fan of tea in those days but I have grown to appreciate tea since, and have developed a particular affinity for Celestial Seasonings. It helps that my sister is currently finishing up her dissertation and she has to have her Lemon Zinger tea to stimulate her writing juices. She always offers me some, so I've had more tea exposure than usual of late.

The quality of Celestial Seasonings tea is excellent and it's Mormon approved (aka caffeine free), but my favorite thing about it is the packaging. There are inspirational quotes on every box. For example, I'm staring at a box of Lemon Zinger and reading, "The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to ourselves." The quote is attributed to someone named Montaigne. I should probably know who that is, but I don't. There is an equally insightful quote on the bottom of the box. When the occasion strikes, the Celestial Seasoning quote angels will put a poem on the back of the box, or an excerpt from Life's Little Instruction Book. Celestial Seasonings has had these wonderful sayings, quotes and poems on their boxes as far back as I can remember.

So I got to thinking, being the inspirational quote addict that I am, who selects and assembles these quotes? I want to be that person. That is a job I can definately do. Forget medicine, I can inspire and touch people's lives by picking the perfect words to adorn a box of Celestial Seasonings Tea. But what to put on my resume . . . Hmmm, maybe I'll disclose that I always bring a couple pages of my favorite quotes and sayings when I workout on the stair stepper or the elliptical machine. Maybe my 4 months working for Franklin Covey will impress them, that place is the mecca of inspirational quotes. I think my store manager got sick once from an overdose, actually threw up. She had been working with the company for years, though. Besides, if I get the job and nausea overcomes me, I'll have tea to soothe my tummy.

"Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections but instantly set about remedying them--every day begin the task anew."

 -Saint Francis de Sales

Political Merchandise

I went to a rally and got an Obama T-shirt.  That's the only paraphernalia I have that has anything to do with the new president.  I think this is admirable considering my options.  I have been completely overwhelmed with the amount of Obama merchandise out there.  Kelly Ripa has an Obama watch, Sherri from The View bought an Obama bobble-head, I can't watch TV without seeing five commercials advertising commemorative Barack Obama dishes, I mean plates.  To top it off, I have even seen commercials for Malia and Sasha beanie baby dolls.  It's an Obama-wonderland.  In the spirit of honesty and forthrightness I admit I thought about purchasing Ojamas, which are Obama pajamas I heard advertised on the radio when I was driving.  Hey, they sounded soft and inviting!  They might give the Snuggie a run for its money.

If I wanted to, I bet I could furnish any room in a house with Obama stuff, an Obama couch, Obama wallpaper, Obama carpet, Obama coffee table, you get the picture.  As for the kitchen, I'd already have the plates.  Out of deference to our president himself, I will embark on no such cause.  In his inaugural speech he did kinda call Americans out for irresponsible financial behavior.  When the president calls me to action, I'm there baby.  My Obama room will just have to wait until he ushers in times of peace and prosperity, at which time I think I'll purchase an Obama handbag with matching Obama shoes.

Relative Comparisons

My sister and I think her newest baby (Littlefoot) looks like our mom when she was a baby.  So I thought I'd post a few pictures and let you decide.  Above is baby and here's mom . . .

Maybe you can't really tell because she is small in this picture, but I think you'll get the general idea.  So, what's the verdict?

Monster House

When I moved in with my sister and her family I was introduced to a fantastic movie called Monster House.  Monster House is an animated film about 3 kids who attempt to survive increasingly aggressive attacks by a haunted house.  It is an excellent and hilarious movie.  Do yourself a favor and watch it.  You won't regret it.  My nephews have seen the movie so many times that they spontaneously erupt in dialogue from it.  The reason I'm telling you about this movie is because there's a real monster house.  We saw it.

My nephews, Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent, got bicycles for Christmas.  They are extremely enthusiastic about these bicycles and want to go bike riding everyday after school, so I go bike riding.  Alarms should now be going off in your head given my previous near-death experiences riding bicycles.  The bike I ride was originally intended for a 6 year-old and says Tony Hawk on its miniature chrome crossbars.  When I ride Tony (I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate the rumors surrounding that statement), I have to leave the earrings at home because I swear my knees brush my ears.  Unfortunately, I have not mastered the art of riding a bike standing up.  That would solve the problem of me eating my knees every time we go bike riding and solve the problem of my bum getting sore.  Think 6 year-old bike seat--OUCH!

I mistakenly made the comment on the first day of bike riding that my butt was getting sore.  On our next day's bike ride Clark Kent, who is 4 and always lagging behind because of his training wheels, yells up to me "NAJAH, is your butt sore?!"  I was mortified and ignored the question out of shock.  Undeterred Clark screams all the louder, "NAJAH!! Is your butt sore?!!"  Luckily the street was vacated which gave me the chance to yell something back that I will not disclose at this juncture.  I deliberately navigate away from the topic by suggesting we bike to an abandoned and dilapidated house the kids have nicknamed "the monster house".

The monster house is located at the end of our street as you turn onto a backwood winding road.  I wasn't too scared to approach it because I had my nephews to protect me.  They do attend an after-school program called Little Ninjas, so I was leaving the defense part of our plan to them.  Anyway, we left our bikes at the stop sign and walked the short distance to the monster house.  The boys believe it was the first house ever built, and from the looks of it that could be true.  Bruce Wayne, who is 6 years old, initially wanted to venture into the house but as we neared it and the eerie ambiance of the house enveloped us, we decided against entering.  We looked through glassless and broken windows into deep darkness.  We could barely make out a dilapidated mattress flipped on its side in one of the rooms.  We dared not tread upon the rickety porch in order to turn the rusted doorknob of what must have been the front door.  

The three of us stood there silently getting spooked out by how creepy it all was.  Suddenly we heard a startling noise that became a nonverbal cue for all of us to simultaneously start running for our lives.  You'll be surprised to note that I didn't scream, out loud anyway.  We made it safe and sound back to our bikes without being attacked by poltergeists and we rode home to a conversation that sounded like this:  "Man, that house was scary," and "That house is going to give me bad dreams tonight!"  Then, of course, we rented Monster House.