There are some exclamations one never expects to hear. In example, a very gleeful: I totally just flushed the toilet paper….on purpose!!

This is one habit I hadn’t planned on breaking. Three cheers for Starbucks and their American plumbing. As for the rest of Mexico, scented paper flecked with colored hearts/flowers/swirls/etc sits in receptacles by the loo after use. As a kid I never wanted to be the one to take out the trash. That loathing exponentially multiplied upon arrival in Guadalajara.

Last night Laura and I went to a club (discoteca/antro) with some classmates and Mexican friends. I’m all about affirming stereotypes, so had no qualms about busting out my white girl moves. My sorry attempts at salsa were further magnified when compared to the Mexican girls, who I am convinced are double jointed from navel to kneecap.

My gym offers dance classes, so I’ve been attending those to boot. The first was one of the most bizarre experiences in my life…….ever….ever, ever. After the fact I discovered it was a dance therapy course. A title that (had I been able to translate) might of given me the heads up on the shenanigans that would almost certainly follow.

As it was, I went in clueless. My teacher was either trying to get in touch with her inner smurf or else overdosed on raspberry straws. Something. Her hair was windex blue and she had glitter stripes tigered on her cheeks. She’d also adorned herself with teal freckles to match her hair.

The class started off rather normal, a yoga-Pilates combo which I was totally capable of tackling. Then our teacher had us join hands and form a circle…of three…did I mention only one other girl showed up? This is where our class morphed from this tranquil, Zen filled encounter into insanity. Really. The walls should have been covered in padding instead of mirrors.

Our teacher had us tense our muscles, then she started squeezing our hands and flexing until she turned all flushed. Next she leapt into the air flinging her hands about, sort of like a fish flopping around gasping for air. She later explained that this was to rid herself of the “badness, very bad badness” in her head and her heart. The cathartic craziness continued when she tried to talk us into closing our eyes and letting her steer us back on course before we walked into a weight rack. I decided that pretending not to understand was better than playing Helen Keller.

I think she must have popped some e on our water break, because when we resumed the workout it was to have an impromptu dance-off. I’ve never seen such erratic arm flailings and at one point she was slithering/crawling/rolling/howling on the floor.

Afterwards she asked me how the class made me feel. I excused myself by saying I felt a lot, but sadly couldn’t share it in Spanish.