OK, so the activity that I've taken up on Sunday afternoons before my film screening isn't kickboxing (heheh), but bellydancing. BELLYDANCING. I don't know, anyone who knows me knows that I enjoy dancing in the privacy of my own room or in department store dressing rooms while the store is tuned to some sort of soft-rock slow jams station. But I get self-conscious about dancing in the presence of many other people, really, as any true Nerdly McNerdhead does ...

Yet, at the same time, I have good childbearing hips (or so I've been told -- not based on actual experience), so when I saw the flier for lessons, I decided WHY NOT FLAUNT THE GOODS. Especially because I forgot about the other semi-athletic activities I thought about joining.

I could always informally shake my coconuts but oh well. 'Tis interesting. We listen to Greek and Turkish versions of things like "Mambo No. 5" and it reminds me of my job at the bakery, except instead of messing up people's coffee orders and giving Mafia members free baguettes, I stand in line with other girls and work my robotic torso.