Trampolining!

     I have decorated my room in the latest fashion--wall hangings.  And these are not just any wall hangings: no, these are top-notch, designer wall hangings.  Want to guess? Underwear.  Underwear and socks.   Pairs of underwear and socks are draped off of every bedpost, spread out all across my desk.  Not only is it extremely fashion-forward and makes the room smell like clean laundry, it helps accomplish one important task--drying my laundry.
     Our laundry machine is one of many malfunctioning items in our apartment.  The machine cleans them quite well, but when it comes to drying, it clearly does not understand its duties.  Thus our whole apartment is regularly decorated with pants, shirts, socks.  It's quite glamorous.  The poor maintenance man has been at our apartment three times already, and has to come back at least twice more.  First he fixed my broken toilet seat, then changed the moldy curtains, then looked at the washing machine, and now he has to get us a new fridge, repair my broken towel rack, and fix the TV.  Every time he comes back, we've discovered something else wrong.  He's too nice to say this, but I'm pretty sure we are the DestructoGirls in his mind.  I, for one, will be completely satisfied once he replaces our fridge and our milk stops turning into Elmer's-Glue-like sludge after a few days.  Is it too much to ask?
   
     Other things going on:  I joined the Trampoline Club!  Along with the Dance Society (for ballroom/Latin dance lessons), the Choral Society (we're singing Brahm's Requiem!), Christian Union, and the International Society.  It's quite exciting.

     Trampolining has been an interesting challenge.  As many of you know, I am an unmitigated klutz, and I didn't think that bouncing five feet in the air would help. I was right.  I started out like this....

I look so scared.

....and ended up like this.

....for good reason.

Which is surprisingly how you're supposed to look, albeit with infinitely more grace.

     Ballroom dance has also been extremely fun.  Again, the klutziness doesn't help, but everyone was a beginner so I didn't feel too bad.  We learned the cha-cha and the Argentinean Tango, an embarrassingly sexy dance that I don't quite have the hips for.  True to form, my polite British partner (a superb dancer himself) assured me I was wonderful and very graceful.  It was a bald-faced lie, but I didn't mind too much.