Kitchen Kung Fu and too many life aspirations

On my way to check on Sweet Peas Hostel from 9 hours of Baby Sitting, I saw this guy text messaging on a bike on Charlotte Street at 5:30. Who does that? I wanted to yell something at him but I cooked this meatloaf at my nanny house and I smelled like it. Does that make sense? it does to me.

Anyway, while Baby Patrick (my new favoritest guy) was napping I imagined I was a Kung Fu master. I may or may not have tried to catch a fly with some chopsticks. You know the final scene in the Karate Kid? Take that 14 year old handsome devil out and insert me. I kicked ass, by the way. humbly.

I just moved to West Asheville last week, there's a Kung Fu studio right around the corner and I'm gonna go check it out. Monetarily and timewise, what with my yoga addiction and worktrade, the new band I'm in where I can't remember the name right now, managing Sweet Peas, and nannying Patrick I probably don't have time. But, I wanna crush a walnut between my thumb and forefinger. I also want to be able to stand gracefully on one leg and fight a bad guy with the other via a series of intricate ankle movements. This is probably like when I thought I was going to play the violin, and become a swing dancer, and take over the world, but what-evs, a girl can have dreams. Did I mention stand up comic or epic author of adolescent literature? (those last two are still on my life agenda)

Two years out of college and your grammar gets all shoddy.

I kind of think of taking Kung Fu as an education/body/mind investment though. What if I became a teacher? Then all the time and money would have been an investment.

Also, exercise is my sanity. AND already aforementioned nut-cracking abilities. Comes in handy at fancy Christmas parties. just sayin'.