Demonic Transmogrification and Other Escapades

Yes, the kitty is still up to his usual hijinks, licking my ankles dry after my shower and wreaking havoc upon my sleep cycles. He was so bad last night that I had to shut him in the kitchen, and I was so tired that his "demonic transmogrification" (he meows so much that he starts sounding like a gremlin in labor) didn't even wake me. The first words I awoke to, delivered with flat British smarm, were, "And now, the clarinet concerto in B flat." I flew out of bed and turned the radio off, shuddering. I can't think of anything I'd like to listen to LESS than a clarinet concerto at 5:35 in the morning.

D and I drove a half-hour after work last night for chachacha lessons with Corky Ballas. I was grumpy for several reasons, but I got much better after some leftover steak and some chit-chatting. Corky started out my little social class with American rumba (ugh) and then abruptly started doing chasses, which we did for about a half hour, baaack and fooorth. That's all I'm going to say about that, which means that there's a lot more to say. Meanwhile, D did advanced samba technique in the other studio. I watched the advanced class while Robertas tried to blind me with his camera flash, since I was observing without paying for the lesson. Hah! After watching the first 40 minutes of the advanced lesson, I was thinking, "hey, I ought to have paid and joined in!" And then the rondes started, and I was completely lost.

So, yesterday consisted of working out, working, kitty patrol, and dancing. Today will consist of working out, working, and then more dancing. WHERE IS THE SLEEP?!