This morning, I went on my first solo run. Up til now, I’ve always gone jogging with at least one Josh, but Whitney’s out of town, and Lauren was hanging with her family, so today I went by myself. To keep myself on track with the timing, I downloaded a podcast designed specifically to help people with Couch to 5k programs. Each week, you listen to a different episode, and the lady on the recording tells you when to run and when to walk. She also plays upbeat music for you and tells you you’re doing a great job.

My lady is called Chubby Jones. I think her real name is Mia, but she tells you she’s chubby to make you feel better about being chubby. She also is kind of chubby, probably due to the fact that she’s just a normal gal who likes to jog. She’s not a health nut who talks to you the whole time about eating fruit and counting calories. She talks to you about how she’d rather dance than walk and how she likes to drink. A lot. I like her for that – not that she likes to drink, but that she’s not one of those women who’s naturally a size 4 and thinks everyone can be a size 4 if they work hard enough at it. Chubby and I are never going to be a size 4. I would be over-the-moon ecstatic with a size 8 and super-duper proud of a 10. I think Chubby would be proud of me for that too.

Anyhoe, today’s run was definitely harder than usual, but that could be due to one or more of the following factors:

• It’s more humid today than it was on Saturday when I did week 3 for the first time.
• I ate breakfast before I ran. I haven’t done that in the past.
• Chubby Jones didn’t give me any 3-minute walks. I alternated 90-second runs and 3-minute runs with only 90-second walks between each.
• I didn’t have anyone to talk to.
• I only had one day of rest between runs.
• I have a bit of chest congestion.

However, I am very proud to report that I finished it, which means that (not counting the warm-up and cool-down) I walked for 6 minutes and ran for 9. Yep, yep! I’m now running more than I’m walking (not counting the warm-up and cool-down)!! Apparently, the next step includes running for 16 minutes and only walking for like 5, but my body cannot even comprehend that right now, so I’m not going to think about it any more.

One step at a time, friends. One step at a time.

Well, you’ll never believe it, but Josh and Josh and I got up and went running this morning. Now, by “got up,” I mean “woke up naturally,” and by “running,” I mean “running and walking, but mostly walking.” But still, for me, that’s pretty miraculous.

Lauren started doing this “Couch to 5K” running program, and Whitney and I have now joined her. Today was my first day, although Lauren had done it a few days already, and Whitney joined her on Tuesday. It wasn’t too awful. We warmed up walking for five minutes, then we alternated running for one minute and walking for 90 seconds. We did that maybe six times? Then we cooled down walking for another five or ten minutes. We were out there in all for about half an hour.

I was really surprised how short the first minute of jogging felt. Then I was equally surprised how long the last minute of jogging felt, but knowing that it was the last one helped. Mostly, I was a little surprised that I did the whole thing having not worked out AT ALL in a long time. A really long time. So if you’re thinking that you’ve gotten flabby lately, and you need to exercise, but you either hate or can’t afford the gym, I’m here to tell you that you can do this. I am not a runner by any means, but I’ve now lived to tell about it.

So I want to keep doing this to build up running stamina, but I’m also going to do some other things to train. I’ve got two private lessons at Arthur Murray coming my way and that pole dancing class. And then, once I start getting paid, I think I’m going to join the Y and hit up some Zumba classes.

Hooray for not dying in middle-age of heart disease!!

In the past 48 hours, I have gotten in two good workouts and sufficiently cleared out my sinuses, which I didn’t even know were full. I’ve also worked on evening out my tan a little bit, which is no small feat, let me tell you, considering the bizarre kayak burn I got two weeks ago. What had happened was that I put on sunscreen before I left my house, and then I put on a skirt over my bathing suit, which rubbed off some of the sunscreen. Then, when the water dripped off the paddle, it washed away the rest of the sunscreen, and 3.5 hours later, the fronts of my thighs were a color I did not know skin could turn. Seriously, they glowed in the dark.

They’ve turned browner now, and they don’t hurt or ache any more, so I’m all good, thanks for asking. But now I have these large, tan rectangles on one part of my legs, and the rest of them is still as pasty as always (“I do have pasty, pasty skin”). I’m going to have to add my legs to my no-farmer’s tan goal for next summer.

Anyhoe, I got a little sun on the backs of my legs yesterday, but most of my time on the beach has been spent in the water with my dad and sister playing with “Juicy,” the Nerf football that soaks up half the ocean and then feels like you’re throwing a watermelon. I woke up all sore on my right side today from throwing it yesterday, so today I switched to left-handed throwing to even it out. I’m told I look completely spastic throwing left-handed, but I’m ok with that. I am considering this my first 1/2 marathon training. And it was good. Next week: Just Dance.

I live in a musical, if only in my own mind. There’s always a song playing in my head, always a lyric to fit the occasion, and if I had my way, we’d all burst into spontaneous, choreographed dance in the streets daily. The weather (natural lighting) would also fit our moods, and our outfits would always range from just a little over the top to holy sequins, Batman! This is my ideal world.

Unfortunately, the rats on the street don’t all dance around my feet encouragingly (Hairspray), getting mugged in New York is almost never a golden opportunity to throw caution to the wind and start from scratch (Thoroughly Modern Millie), and I fear most child laborers don’t psych themselves up for a long day’s work with a robust song and dance around the city square (Newsies).

The real world isn’t an ideal world, but I can create one by writing a musical.

This is something I’ve been talking about for a while. It’s an idea my sister and I had on our way to Mom and Dad’s house for Christmas one year. We were listening to Neil Diamond, and when “America” came on, we both heard it – really heard it in a new way – as an opening number.

Click play, then read on as you listen.

The strings start out low and ominous as we see the city, quiet and dimly lit in the early morning. Then as one, hopeful, sustained note plays, the sun begins to rise as the city comes to life. Husbands kiss wives good-bye as they head off to work in their suits and hats, women shake out rugs from their balconies, florists open their shops and sweep off their stoops, restaurateurs haggle with fishermen over the price of their daily catch, and as the bell chimes, we see a boat coming into the harbor, its passengers on deck, groggy and shivering, but hopeful as they catch their first glimpse of the Statue of Liberty.

The music picks up as dock workers and the ship’s crew begin preparations for the boat’s arrival, throwing ropes, sacks and crates in time with the music and readying the gangway.

A male passenger on the deck of the ship sings: Far. We’ve been traveling far, without a home, but not without a star.

Another passenger, surrounded by his wife and several children sings: Free. Only want to be free. We huddle close, and hang on to a dream.

Someone on shore sings: On the boats and on the planes, they’re coming to America. Never looking back again, they’re coming to America.

You get the picture. Characters continue singing lines of the song until everyone aboard and ashore is singing, “Today!”

The captain of the ship descends the gangway slowly singing, “My country, ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Of thee I sing today!” Then everyone joins back in with the “todays,” and as they leave the boat and enter the immigration building, they stop singing until all that’s left onstage is one boy, looking at the statue, almost whispering, “Today.”

Just thinking about it is making me want to watch it. There’s just one problem: In order to watch it, I have to write it, and I don’t know ANYTHING about writing a play. I honestly don’t know anything about writing fiction. Listening to several Neil Diamond songs, I see scenes playing so vividly in my mind, but I have no idea how they are related to each other or how they’ll string together to make a story.

And that’s part of the reason I want to go to the Living a Better Story Seminar in Portland. Living a story means knowing what a story is all about, and living a better story requires the ability to envision it. That’s basically what you need to write fiction too, am I right?

And ok, so I lied before when I said there was just one thing standing in the way of me watching my musical. There are lots of obstacles:

1. I have no idea how to write a play. We’ve now covered that. I need writing classes/workshops/groups to help me.
2. I’ll have to get Neil Diamond’s permission to use his songs.
3. Once a play is written, I’ll need performers, a place to present it, people to design/make costumes and sets, a marketing team/plan/materials, and money to pay for all of these things.
4. Not to mention, once the show is written, I’ll need to concentrate all my efforts on getting it ready, which means I’ll need funds to cover my living expenses for a few months.
5. I want Neil Diamond to appear in the show as Brother Love of “Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show.”

I’ve got a lot of work to do. I’m hoping the conference will teach me a little about story-telling, but also about finding the resources I’ll need to do this (or any other big thing I might want to do). I’m hoping it’ll be an encouraging thing and that it’ll get my creative mind thinking about where to get the money to take the classes and pay the people to build the sets and make the costumes, etc. And I guess I’m really hoping it’ll teach me how to invite others into my story in a way that makes them want to participate and/or follow a big dream of their own.

Here’s a video about the conference for anyone else who’s interested. Wasn’t it so sweet of Don to make this for y’all? I’ll be sure to thank him properly if he picks me to attend the conference (I’m thinking cupcakes, but feel free to leave suggestions for how to thank him properly in the comments).

Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.

I want to tell y’all this story really fast before I go to see Iron Man 2 with my roommate. I don’t think I’ve already told it, but if I have, forgive me.

So my friend Rae was at this thing one night. I don’t really know what to call it. I’d say it was an open mic night if the performances were all musical or spoken, but they were not. They were all kinds of things including white, middle-aged, suburban women doing some kind of African tribal dancing, which was Rae’s favorite. And the whole time all these performances are going on onstage, there’s a dude off in a corner painting naked women. Not painting pictures of naked women, but actually painting ON naked women. Live. In public.

So somebody (I don’t know who. The MC, maybe, or the host, or a news crew. Who knows?) goes over to interview this artist in the corner, and here is what we now know of him:

His name is Moon. And he didn’t always paint on naked chicks. I think he did more traditional art before. Heck, he might have even done some commercial stuff. I don’t know. But he woke up one day dissatisfied, and he decided that the logical thing to do was to ask his paintbrush what it wanted to do. So he asked his paintbrush, “What do you want to do?” And the paintbrush replied, according to Moon, “I want to dance!”

I like to imagine that the paintbrush did some jazz hands there.

So Moon interpreted this to mean, “I want to paint on naked chicks,” and that’s what he does now.

The End.

This is not necessarily a story I want to write with my life, but seeing as I do not have that post finished yet, and this just came up the other day, I figured I’d tell y’all about it.

I was talking to Emily Furr Hogan about that summer (I think it was ’98) when we did the BeeGees puppet show for the kids at Vacation Bible School, and Patty Astronaut TP’d the sound booth (naughty Patty). I’m not sure why we were so insistent upon making the theme of VBS that year disco when it was clearly space. I guess we just wanted to have it all. And we did. As the kids were arriving in the morning, we had “Disco Inferno” playing, and when we were put in charge of telling the Bible lesson that day, we worked up a very elaborate puppet show that involved both of us working at least two puppets AND a boom box, which is quite a feat when you’ve only got two hands, and one of them is constantly stuck up in the air. But we did it, complete with “Stayin’ Alive” intro music when each new character arrived on the scene and a duet of “How Deep Is Your Love” with Jesus and Peter center stage and two other disciples singing back-up.

I don’t know if those kids still remember that, but we sure do, so it got us to thinking…we should write Vacation Bible School curriculum! I’m pretty sure all you need is a theme, songs with hand motions to go along with the theme, cheesy videos to go with the theme, Bible stories that can be vaguely related to the theme, and lots of themed…stuff – name tags and cardboard cut-outs and workbooks and stuff.

I think we can do it, and here are my ideas for themes:

• Roaring 20s – The VBS kids would learn to do the Charleston and steer clear of alcohol (like good little Baptists and prohibitionists). They’d also learn about freedom in Christ through the new-found freedom of women in the 20′s to vote, cut their hair short, wear shorter skirts and go to work. Then they’ll learn about how pride comes before a fall when we talk about the stock market crash of ’29. And that brings us to…
• The Great Depression – The kids would learn about the danger of worshiping idols and the certainty of God’s provision. The songs might be a little depressing, but I think the message would be powerful. All lesson materials would be printed on the backs of scraps of last year’s materials.
• Woodstock – Message of the week: Peace and love, kids. That’s what Jesus is all about. Every large group gathering would be held outside in the grass. There would be no videos or mandatory hand motions, just music and free dance time. In craft time, they’d just be encouraged to let the paintbrush do whatever it wants to do (which reminds me of another story I have to tell you later…don’t let me forget).
• DISCO!! – Clearly Emily and I already think this is a great idea. I mean BeeGees songs are already written in an ideal octave for little kid voices to sing them, and we’ve already demonstrated that “How Deep Is Your Love” is the perfect song to teach the reinstatement of Peter. We can talk about eternal life in heaven with “Stayin’ Alive” though we might need to Christianize most of the lyrics (not a problem, I’ve done it before). And we can learn to resist the devil with “I Will Survive.” The church is going to need a complete overhaul for this VBS week, though, with mirror balls, strobe lights and paneled floors that light up when you step on them. But oh my gosh how much fun would recreation time be? We’ll all do the Hustle and other groovy disco moves.
• Awesome 80s – Every day, the kids will make a different piece of their totally tubular 80s attire in craft time. One day it’s a slap bracelet, the next they’re bedazzling a denim jacket, then they’re making some crazy asymmetrical sunglasses (to wear at night), and the next thing you know, they’re all decked out and ready to go to the lake or the high school football game! The theme song for the week is called “Jesus Is Totally Radical.” It’s upbeat and peppy and gets stuck in your head whether you like it or not.

That’s all I’ve got so far. I just think the cowboy and space themes are way played out, and EFH and I are just the gals to bring some fresh new ideas to the table. If you’d like to join us, feel free to share your theme ideas in the comments!

It’s a good thing I’m not a people-pleaser, because I feel like I am constantly letting someone down with all my coming and going. I leave Raleigh, and people are sad. I go back to Raleigh, and people in Asheville threaten to lock me in a closet because they don’t want to lose me. I tell my students I won’t be back next semester, and they look at me with such disappointment that I honestly wonder if I’ll ever see them again. What’s the point of continuing a relationship (even a teacher-student one) that’s just going to end in two weeks?

It’s really sweet, and it’s flattering for sure, but it upsets me at the same time to know that my actions are upsetting to others. It’s like I can’t go anywhere without leaving a mark.

True story: I worked at Caswell in the summers of 1999 and 2000. In 2001, I went down for a weekend visit, and when I walked into the staff lounge, a guy I’d never seen before pointed at me all excitedly and said, “You’re Beth Parent! I want a massage later.” Because apparently word of my healing hands had gotten around the staff house.

That’s a silly example, but the dude knew my face, my first AND last name, and my hidden talent before I ever knew he existed, which means there was extensive discussion of me with accompanying photos before I arrived. This happens a lot, and that feels so weird to me because I’m just living my life, you know? I’m not doing anything spectacular except having a crap ton of fun, and yet somehow I am special to a lot of people.

I know it’s starting to sound like I’m complaining about how fabulous and popular I am, but that’s not it. It’s really quite humbling to think that I have this gift I’ve never really noticed or thought about before, and it’s just a part of who I am, but what do I do with it?

What does this ability to impact people require of me? There’s a great and weighty responsibility that comes with it, and I haven’t figured out yet how to carry it.

If I were a character in a story, after such a realization, I’d be at a point of decision. Where do I go from here? Given the experiences I’ve had and the things I’ve learned and become, how do I proceed? Everything up to this point has just been background and character development. And here is where the story actually begins, but what’s it about, what do I want, and why does any of it matter?

I want my life to count for something. I want to love people well and help those who need it, but I also want to really relish life and facilitate the fun and enjoyment of others. I look at some people’s lives, and I think, “My life is pointless. He’s digging wells by hand so villages in Africa can have water, and I’m writing a book called My Husband Ride Me.” But you know what? I love that I’m writing a book called My Husband Ride Me. I laugh out loud as I’m working on it, and I hope that one day dozens of other people will get to enjoy it the same way.

I don’t want to give up those quirky little things that make me the person everybody wants to have around. I just want to figure out how to use them better.

I want to live a life of such freedom and adventure that when my great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughters read about it, they think, “So that’s where I get it,” and feel free to be exactly who they are because they know they’re not abnormal for being adventuresome.

I want to live a life that awakens people’s imaginations as to what their lives can be, and I want to encourage them to follow those dreams even when doing so is hard.

I never want to believe or say that it’s too late for me to do something I’m really excited about. It is never too late to live the rock-n-roll life, and I mean that both figuratively and literally. Have y’all seen Young at Heart yet? Because you really must. I own it. Come on over, and we’ll watch it together just so I can prove my point.

I want to make people laugh. I want to make other people wonder what’s so funny. I get down on myself sometimes because I think I’m not doing anything meaningful. I mean, clean water is clearly more important than jokes, but here’s the thing: Laughter is bonding, and people need connection with each other. Laughter is healing, and there is a lot of pain in the world. Laughter might not be a part of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, but it should be. I don’t know if happy people live longer, but they sure do enjoy it more.

I don’t know what the plot of my story is yet, but I hope it involves a husband I can goof off with, travel with, raise children with, and grow with for the rest of my life, demonstrating radical love to everyone around us. I hope it involves at least a short stint in Spain (because I freaking love that country for no apparent reason). I hope it involves all the friends I currently love and all those I haven’t met yet. I hope it involves a lot of writing and a lot of foreigners, a home with an open-door policy and awesome flea market chic decor, delicious food and wine, full passports, surprises, and tons of music and dancing.

If it’s a story I’m writing with my life, it’ll be on Broadway one of these days. Mark my words.

These are the first of my thoughts on life that will hopefully win me a trip to Portland to attend Donald Miller’s conference. These thoughts are too vague, though, so for the rest of the week I’ll be writing more specific stories. Then we’ll pick the best one, and I’ll enter it in the contest.

I’m excited about my upcoming move to Raleigh. I really am. And I know that it’s the absolute best thing for me right now in a lot of ways, but this weekend made me extra sad to leave Asheville.

Friday night, I had dinner with my friend Jen (aka Community), who is actually a friend from Raleigh, but her parents live here, so she visits sometimes, and she’s probably going to move back up here after her crazy South-America-to-California trip in August/September. If I were going to be here as well, we would have some good, good times.

After dinner, we met up with my friend Eden and some of her friends for her birthday celebration. It was supposed to involve salsa dancing, but instead, we went to the Sky Bar, which is basically tables and chairs on a fire escape. It’s a great view, though, and Eden’s friends were lots of fun.

On Saturday, I did very little, and then I met up with some friends at Shindig on the Green – a FREE bluegrass show downtown. There were little kids and grown (some over-grown) men and women clogging, lots of folk and bluegrass groups performing, and the weather was just perfect.

On Sunday, after church, “Do you want to get some lunch?” turned into seven hours of walking in and out of shops downtown, wandering through a random craft fair, and eating delicious food with friends. It was GREAT, although I’m pretty sure Armageddon is going to take place on July 31 when my Asheville friends fight my Raleigh friends for me.

Y’all should really come up with team names, by the way, and uniforms, and Community, you’re going to have to pick a side while I make the popcorn.

In the meantime, I’m already through the first two stages of moving, and I’m currently in the middle of 3, 4 and 5.1. In fact, “Sexy Back” and I are headed home right now to do a little organized packing. Wish us luck.

To say that I’m “goal oriented” is a horrid, awful understatement. Without clearly defined, publicly documented goals and/or mortifying public consequences for not achieving said goals, I just sort of coast. The last time I really exercised was the Washington, D.C. Avon Walk. In 2008. I’m just not one of those people who likes to work out because of the health benefits or the endorphins or even the smaller dress size.

When Brookie and I were living together, we both wanted to lose weight. I lost 20 pounds, but only because if I didn’t, I would have to wear a bikini at our apartment complex’s pool. In front of boys. And disgustingly tiny 18-year-old girls. I need very strong incentives.

It’s not that I don’t know I need to work out, or that I want to watch my waistline become absorbed in a gelatinous blob of flesh. It’s just that those aren’t concrete enough reasons to get me to the gym. But lately, I’ve been feeling a little sluggish, and I know it’s time I got active again (even though I’d much rather sit on the couch watching an entire season of Bones).

So I guess Amaris just caught me on the right day (the day my brain fell out) when she tweeted:

considering starting training for a half marathon. who’s down???

This started a twittersation that went like this:

• Me: Can we start when it doesn’t feel like we live on the sun?
• Amaris: oh, definitely. deeeeeeeeefinitely.
• Me: Can skipping and spastic dancing be part of the training?
• Amaris: girl…YES.
• Me: Can we celebrate each attained goal with cookies?
• Amaris: YES!
• Me: Can we run it somewhere awesome and make it a vacation too?
• Amaris: like new york? orrrrrr hmmm…seattle?!! San Diego?? puerto rico? i vote the last one. we can, um, “practice” espanol.
• Amaris: so what all did I promise again? Colder temp, cookie incentives, skipping/spastic dancing…anythi OH! And Puerto Rico. That all?
• Me: That’ll do it!

Soooo…Amaris and I are going to go to New Orleans in February and run a half marathon. The way we decided on The Big Easy is that we figured a city called The Big Easy would make running 13.1 miles not as agonizing. No, that’s not how it happened.

First of all, I’ve never been there, so that was an immediate draw. In February, they’ll be getting all hyped up about Mardi Gras (even though it’s not until March 8), so that’ll be lots of fun. Plus, we can make rockin’ green, purple and black running outfits and wear sparkly gold afro wigs for the run! Aaaaand (this is the best part) it’s a Rock-n-Roll Marathon, which means that bands will be set up all along the way to play us on to the finish line. That beats the Avon Walk hands down (Remember how we had to walk up that hellishly long hill past the water treatment plant between miles 18 and 21? Yeah, not inspiring).

So there you have it. We’re still working on our training plan, but I think mine is going to involve some sensual fitness, I know we’re both looking forward to Zumba classes, and of course, we’ll have to jog (except we’ll pronounce it “yog”). If you want to join us, I’ll make you a sweet running skirt too, and you can help us with the choreography for every time we pass a band!

Orrrrrr, you could just come down with us, hang out in the French Quarter, and cheer us on as we pass. We’ll give you a stiff five and a shimmy!

First of all, if you want to win the 18×24 poster, go read all about it and enter. The contest ends tomorrow, so hurry it up. And now for a very special announcement…

I’ve been waiting to make the formal announcement until after I’d told some people in person (or over the phone). I just didn’t want them to find out from the blog. And now that I think about it, probably 90% of my readers are those people, so for the other 10% of you who might not even know me and therefore don’t really care, this is for you?

I’m pregnant. Just kidding. But Andrea is, and Paige and Amy just gave birth, and well…I was feeling a little left out. Plus I lie sometimes. No, the real announcement is…

I’m engaged!! Kidding again. I told you I lie. And now no matter what I say, you won’t believe me. I may as well just hang it up. No? You’re still curious? Ok fine…

I’m moving back to Raleigh. And here’s where I pause to let you not believe me for a second before I try to convince you that I’m serious. It’s sort of a long story, and I still have mixed feelings about it, but it looks like I’m moving on July 31. The feelings I have are as follows:

• Bummed outedness. I love Asheville. Asheville is great. I love living in such proximity to downtown, I love walking around downtown, I love just being here, I LOVE waking up at 9 and not having to be anywhere most days until 6:30 p.m. And I’m just starting to make more friends and really feel at home, but I know this is the right move.
• Relief. I know I’m southern, and that it is therefore impolite, impertinent, unladylike and possibly dangerous to discuss my finances in such a public forum, but let’s be honest. I’m running out of money, and the job in Raleigh pays WAY better than it does here. It’s like lots of wealthy people have moved into Asheville from other places, driving the cost of living up, but the wages haven’t caught up yet. So I’m living at medium-sized city prices on small town wages.
• Excitement. Living here has, in one way or another, shown me what I really want out of a city, and it’s not that Raleigh doesn’t have those things. It’s just that I didn’t know I needed to find them before – things like a writing group, the quiet of nature, and a Trader Joe’s. (I knew how great TJ’s was before. I just took it for granted.) But now that I know what I’m looking for, I feel like I can go back and do things better than I did when I lived there before. Maybe I’ll even take that adult dance class I’m always talking about.

  I’m also excited that I get to hang out with all my buddies again regularly; I’ma Call You Josh (our Rock Band band) can get back together and go on a reunion tour. I’ll finally be able to save money again, perhaps to take a trip in 2011. I won’t have to drive 30 minutes to work every day. I won’t have to work four nights a week (just two). I won’t be so far away from everybody (2 hours to Wilmington, 4 to Asheville, 2.5 to WILKESBORO!!!!!, 5 to D.C., international airport just up the road). I’ll be back with an awesome group of co-workers and a great boss.

I’ll definitely have to come up and visit Asheville a LOT now that I know people and love it (and now that I’ll be able to afford to do things here), so don’t you fret, Ashevillains. I won’t forget about you. You’ve all been great, and I’ll miss you. A lot. More than you know.

And hey, if anyone knows of a place I can live in Raleigh for say…$400 a month around Wade Ave., Cameron Village or 5-Points, let me know. I could probably go as high as $500, but I’d rather not. And I would also consider places off of Tryon, Duraleigh or the Six Forks/Wake Forest Rd./Atlantic Ave. area. Nothing too shady or drunken college student-infested, please. I have to get up early for work.

Now. Who’s going to take aerobic pole dancing classes with me?