No tutu = Less Failure

I know this comes as a disappointment to my friends and some of my more sinister family members, but there will be no tutu worn in this year's recital. HA. Of course, this means the likelihood of getting them to sit through a three + hour dance recital just to watch a nearly thirty year old express herself through the art of *dance* (imagine jazz hands right there) is somewhat lessened. That's a hit I'm willing to take.

My feet hurt

On the diet and exercise front, it turns out watching yourself leap around for nearly 4 hours a week in a giant mirror will really provide a lot of motivation. I mean, you're watching every part of yourself jiggle in every possible way. Jiggle in a graceful, pretty way. Jiggle in a soulful, lyrical way. Jiggle in an upbeat, tap-a-tap way, and finally Jiggle in a White Girl, you just keep on with that Hip Hop, Bless your heart, way. Food-wise, I'm doing Nutrisystem for a month to jumpstart everything. Since I don't cook (hate it more than anyone has hated anything, ever) it's much easier for me. I'm hungry and sort of vaguely unsatisfied all the time, but then I think back to last night, my jiggle gliding and twirling across that floor and I shut my mouth and don't feed it. Turns out that's basically what dieting is. Quit feeding your gaping maw, Sarah.

Anyway, I feel I'm doing those of you that I WILL entrap into attending this thing a favor. If you have to watch a person my age dance their heart out to a U2 song, at least I can try and look nice doing it. Now that I took your beloved tutu sighting away.