I don't care much for Jillian Michaels (I haven't ever liked any workout guru; I still even harbor a holdover resentment to Jane Fonda), but the workout as a whole is a good one. I certainly feel it. All over. Name a muscle group, and it's sore. This is in addition to my walking regime (3-5 miles a day) and dance rehearsals that are kicking my rear end (not to mention slapping it). Dancing for 4 hours in 3 inch heels will do good things for your legs, let me tell ya.
And by good, I mean they really, really hurt.
Pain? What pain? I'm not in pain... No....
I've got my costumes for The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. (Shopping for purposely provocative clothes is very freeing. :D) They are, as a whole, low cut, animal print, tight, lacy and sheer. Which explains the whole first part of the post. Except I should have stopped eating last February if I wanted to look like some of the other size two girls. One of them said, "Whores come in all sizes, Carrie."
That may be, but in this show we have 1) itty bitty and... 2)me. So... *sigh* What can you do? I have good hair. They can't take that from me.
One of the other "whores" in the show is having to leave the company to join the Broadway touring production of Phantom of the Opera, to understudy and eventually play Christine. I'm so happy for her. I'm the teensiest, tiniest bit jealous, to be completely honest, but really, really overwhelmingly happy for her, on the whole. I don't know what they're going to do about filling her spot. Selfishly, I'd like some more lines, but it'd probably be best if she were replaced, for all the dance formations and libretto parts.
Past that, I've been busy trying to get the house clean; we're a host home for one of our church's home groups every Wednesday night until December. And we're having people over to dinner Friday. And Mom and Tom are coming on Saturday.
Holy cow, I've got to get off the computer. I've got STUFF to do.
Y'all have a great day!
P.S. Farkle is ridiculously addictive.