For starters, morning zen meditation/vinyasa flow screeched to an abrupt halt when one of the 'rexics passed out. (I mean, really. What are they doing putting the starvers into an EXERCISE class? Hello. Rehab 101, people.)
If that had been it, I would have been okay. But no.
Zac of the Sensitive New-Age Fro hunted me down after lunch and asked if I’d be interested in joining his Creative Movement Group. I tried to demure, assuring him that a.m. zen/vinyasa is about as creative as I get with my movement.
Like, what does he want me to do—choreograph an interpretive dance to express my feelings about being tossed in here for crimes I didn’t commit? Please. It would mostly involve a lot of Tae-Bo jabs and uppercuts.
Resistance was futile. He wasn’t having it.
I pointed out that for what my 'rents are paying to keep me locked up in this incense-stanked wanna-be resort, it’s pretty much a do-as-I-please scenario. He countered that “do-as-I-please” does not apply to repeat offenders.
Apparently they want to make an example out of me. He even had the nerve to suggest that I buddy-up with the Incredible Shrinking Fainter, and act as a mentor or something retardo like that.
Her name is Ocean. YAK.
So, um. Sure. Why not? There’s lots I could show this Matchstick Mary. Starting with the best way to covertly access the pro-ana online community from the contraband 'Berry. LOL.
Just kidding. Maybe.
Also, Ocean was eyeing SoapDish during our dusk beach walk last night. I know I said I wasn’t getting involved while I’m here, but STILL. I called dibs. And girl is way out of her league.
Ocean oughta just let herself drift out with the tide, you know?
location: the spa. I don’t care if I am beholden to the sophomore schedule; sometimes a girl just needs to exfoliate.
status: patchy. hence the need for exfoliation.emails from home: about six zillion—and they’re all from Kaylen. Dial it down, K! But she did have some juicy theories about a certain fashionista getting friendly with the golden girls’s BF most recently. So that was interesting. . . .