I haven't posted since not one but two guys at my job bragged to me about how quickly and effortlessly they had cyberstalked me. One pretended it was a coincidence. He apparently happened to be reading a book that was a compilation of letters to Ask Cecil, when he came across my tirade about dual citizenship laws. Don't get me started on dual citizenship; I become eerily emotional.
But anyway, it's hard not to blog. There are so many crazy things happening in the world inviting comment. Like! One of my cyberstalking friends taught me to hula hoop last week! (I realize that I should've already known how, but my memory of hooping is that you can maybe balance 3 or 5 times, but after that it slinks to the ground. Unless you're married to the president, of course, and then you can casually hoop 23 times in a row while doing an interview about the presidential fitness council and wearing a matching spring sweater set.
So when Sam threatened to bring his hoop to work, I knew that I needed to at least try to be like Michelle Obama, even if I never regained my dignity after the attempt. Neither Sam nor I have parking permits this quarter, so our cars were tucked neatly away on a quiet side street away from the prying eyes of our coworkers (although I suspect he may have secretly taped the whole thing).
Sam brought a giant-sized heavy-duty hoop out of his trunk, that he claimed he made himself at a hoop-making party. (I never get invited to stuff like that.) It was made from some special plastic piping, soldering was involved, and I had to listen to a discourse on the friction coefficients of different types of duct type. There were no beads swirling around inside the hoop, which I considered a major design flaw.
Sam disagrees, but his credibility was lost sometime around when he started setting hoops on fire and then hooping with them until the flames died down. Anyway, his tricked-out hoop was a little intimidating. I worked really hard to keep it aloft and was, to my astonishment, actually doing it, despite that Sam seemed to be laughing about something -- maybe a friend had just texted him a joke? After I stopped he told me, "You can stand in one place. You don't have to walk around while you're hooping."
After that, we discussed the exact knee motion (ovals, mostly front to back) and I resumed operation loss of dignity. I was much better this time -- hey, hardly any motion is required! I suddenly saw how people could do this "indefinitely." And I saw how I could be one of those people, which really made up for the whole swirly bead disappointment.
I mean, imagine my new life. I'd move to Washington, D.C. I'd stand outside the White House. I'd have my whole sweater set picked out. And then all I'd need to do is start hooping. Before very long, Obama would come out, tell me (without naming names) how much better I hoop than anyone he knows, and then, because I'm so easy to cyberstalk, he'll mention that he read my letter in Savage Love (but hopefully not the one in Ask Cecil) and summarily divorce his wife and embark on a lifetime of optimal friction coefficients with me.
It's that simple, people! Knees in an oval motion!