The Element of Surprise

Ever had one of those days where you get an itch somewhere (for the sake of decency, let's say you're ear) and you finally submit to the driving urge to scratch and then you notice that the guy who dumped you is sitting across the room looking at (guess who?). Or, even worse, the person you have most wanted to impress in your life, or the media camera pointed and ready to put you at the top of the fool's list? Okay, I MAY be being a bit dramatic but you gotta know why. I've been beaten at my own game. See, I have this little, uh, what to call it - perverse desire to surprise people with presents, particularly fiber. I tried to sign up for those secret pal thingies but I'm always too late to sign up or they don't allow people with polka dots and horns coming out of their heads ...you know, life is difficult that way. ANYWAY, so far I've been lucky enough to hypnotize convince some of the bloggers I read into giving me their addresses and sending them some batts. When the biggie (not size but, like, the one whose blog I click on every day and stomp and whimper if she hasn't been there in a while) had a birthday and I fired off a package. Just when I went to pick my nose, scratch anything that itched, or realized my fly was open, said mentor complimented my fiber. Why does everyone in my house hate me? Oh, is it the stupified grin that seems to remain undaunted by teenage fits of rage, whining of two younger victims of teenate fits of rage, and whining of parental victim of teenage fits of rage (are we seeing a key element, here?). Well, if you hate me for smiling, too, then you'll be glad to know that MY birthday amazon order arrived and I thoroughly got my butt kicked by this...
I know, this is not a belly dance blog, but - wait a minute - it is my blog so I guess it could be. Anyway, we're not talking about disc 3, people, but disc 1 that had me huffin and puffin and sweating like a whore in church on sunday (southern slang - not a slight to any religions). I was immediately humbled...but I'm still smiling. This Jillina, for those interested, is a MASTER. She's like the great yoga instructor who gently reminds you that you shouldn't dislocate a rib doing a crescent, you know, because she knows you're challenged enough to just TRY the poses, let alone THINK about them. Second only to my favorite belly dance instructor (Love you, Lorien) whose classes I cannot attend at the moment, I'm sticking with J because she seems to know I'm working with belly that has held three babies and survived a hip to hip emergency c-section. Yet, she drives me like a pack of dogs and also seems to be devoid of any pity for such condition.