I had my first belly dancing class last night, and that shit absolutely ROCKS!

It was held in this absolutely peaky little store front, an un-airconditioned little store front that had a particle board floor that has been varnised a few dozen times and has some dippy places in it. This little place is behind the old Heights fire station that the City of Houston, in it's infinite wisdom and penny pinching stupidity, closed down a few years ago. When I got there I found that the burgular bars over the door where locked and my instructor was whirling around the empty room atwhat seemed like a hundred miles an hour while music blasted from a corner. The instructor loaned me one of her hip scarves, with finge and beads and coins no less on it, and when class started, the fat and the beads just went to flying! Thankfully, the beads and the coins made more noise than the fat did.

I was really hurting by the time I got home, and my right foot looked like something that had been attached by Dr. Von Frankenstein, so I fired up the electric blanket, got a shower, gobbled down some Tylenol and hit the hay. I was so damn tired I couldn't sleep, and I was dreading just a little bit how I would feel this morning. I passed out just about the time Vincent D'onofrio come on the screen. I like Vincent D'onofrio, he does something for me, but not enough for me to stay awake last night.

This morning I woke up feeling great. I had a little residual pain in my right foot, but nothing that I haven't walked off before.