Saturday, December 08, 2007


I noticed the brake lights go off on the car far ahead of me. I couldn't even tell what kind of car it was, it was so far away. But I pressed on my brake and slowed down.

Then I noticed they hadn't just put on their brake, but stopped. On the freeway. Going 65MPH.

I laid down on my brakes and felt my blood pressure rise. My small stuffed bear that sat under my back window flew to under a seat, and my Victoria's Secret Dog slide forward and almost fell off as well. My purse came off the passengers seat and lodged itself under my glove compartment, and my tires started to slide.

My brakes had locked up, and I was skating as if on ice towards the car in front of me. At this point I thought I'd skid to a stop because I was still so far away, but my body was frozen while my car careened forward, smoke spilling from under the tires.

I got closer and closer, and it felt like forever. Eventually I realized I was going to collide with this car. I cringed, prepared, said "Oh No!" and closed my eyes.


I opened my eyes and saw the car in front of me pulling forward. I was puzzled; didn't he know I had hit him? Where was he going?

It took me a moment to realize his bumper was rubber, and I had bounced back. I checked my brakes again, this time they worked like nothing had been wrong, and I pulled off to the side of the road.

I was sick with worry. This guy was going to kill me. I'd kill anyone who had rear-ended me. He's going to be so mad. I didn't want to get yelled at for something my death-trap of a car did to me. It was my fault, but it wasn't. I felt like such a victim.

He got out of his car and looked at his bumper, which thankfully looked free from any damage. I couldn't even imagine how hard I had hit him. I'd been slowing down the whole time, but I'd started out around 60MPH.

"I am so sorry!" I said, running over to him. "My brakes, they...I'm so sorry. I can't believe that just happened. Is your car alright?"

"Yeah, actually, it just looks like a scratch. I barely missed the guy in front of me, he stopped dead for no reason at all, it's his fault. Do you want my insurance information? I don't have any damage, but you can have mine if you want."

"Not if don't want mine, my car has all the damage. I'm so sorry!" I couldn't stop apologizing. I was still in shock, I was having a hard time dealing with the fact that my car just betrayed me.

"Are you okay?" The man asked, seeing my obvious spiral into despair.

"No, I'm fine," I lied, then said "I'm so sorry!"

"Okay, well I'm kind of already late for something, so I'm going to go, as long as you are okay."

"No, no, go, I'm sorry to keep you! I'm so sorry I hit you!"

He pulled away, but I stayed awhile, freaking out. I got back into my car and went to the gym, where I was headed in the first place. I ran a mile and a half on the treadmill, then got stuck in traffic on the way home.

Stuck in traffic is where the shock wore off, and the whiplash came in full force. The tears came flowing forth, and I laid my head on the steering wheel and sobbed.

I was driving a death machine. And I have to pay off $12,000 more before I can get rid of it.

Sunday, December 02, 2007


I was in heaven.

My city had finally seen it fit to outfit us with an H & M. That wonderful place where things fit and don't cost that much. Those wonderful Swedish designers keep me clothed. I've already spent $60 there and they haven't even been open for two weeks.

During my third visit I was rounding the corner into the dressing rooms when a woman caught my attention. She was wearing one of those tiny vests and jeans, sort of like this:
Only she was busting out of everything. It was not pretty. She strode past me with an air of insolence, so that make me think that she worked there. Still, I couldn't hide my disgust of her choice of outfit. Not only was it not fitting well, but it looks like she was missing the cute white shirt that should have gone under the vest. Thankfully, she didn't see me.

However, I did see the same look I was wearing on the salesgirl ahead. Obviously vest girl didn't work there if she was looking on with such disdain. I couldn't help but to smile at her.

Her eyes traveled to me and immediately her features changed to embarrassment. I handed her the outfits I wanted to try on and she said "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to stare it at her, it's just that..." I whispered to her; "Well, I didn't want to say anything."

Again, she started to apologized, but I stopped her. "Please, everyone in this room was thinking the same thing you were, don't worry about it."

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Yeah, We Work Out

"You two have exxxxcellent form." The overweight foreign man leered to Mischa and I.

I smiled wanly and we continued our workout in the pool. As per usual, we spent some time in the steam room after the work out. Creepy Fat Man (CFM) Followed us inside and commented again, "You two are in great shape. Amazing form. I'm not just being nice. When someone has good form like that, you have to admire it, to acknowledge it." After being thoroughly creeped out, we decided to haul it over to the shower (because rinsing off is something we've learned we have to do.) before going to sit in the hot tub.

Yeah, he followed us in there. He continued to tell us how great our form was, and then came out with this whopper.

"You two didn't train in the states. You two were trained in Europe."

Except for swim lessons as a kid, and swim team for me, we've had no 'professional training' nor is our form anything but mediocre. Which is what I tell this guy, and then we promptly leave.

Why do the weirdos come after us?

Saturday, August 25, 2007

The Short Goodbye

"Does that have provolone on it?" The gruff cashier asked me.

I had just been daydreaming about where Zeet and I had gone wrong. The second he had opened the door and he hugged me I knew it was over. I knew it was over because he hadn't even showered. Somehow his lack of trying to look presentable for me indicated that it was over. I was busy being sad as I paid for my over priced sandwich, while Zeet already sat down, not even waiting for me.

I was sad, and grieving for the loss of my friendship when the cashier rudely interrupted my thought pattern.

"What?" I said, my credit card hovering above the machine to scan.

"The prosciutto sandwich comes with the provolone, I don't see it. I can't touch your sandwich...Lift up the top for me, let me see."

I was still confused as to why this was becoming such a big deal, but I obliged and lifted the bread on my sandwich. It was sans provolone. I looked at the guy, and the shit hit the fan. He lost it.

"Jerry, are you the one who made this sandwich? You are such a boneheaded idiot, how about adding some cheese to the fucking thing? You are lucky I don't fire your ass right now." He continued to add a string of profanity-laced commands to others before taking my card. It had gone from just paying for my food to a highly awkward situation.

After a minute Jerry returned my sandwich to me, saying he was sorry he forgot my cheese. "I didn't even notice, it's no problem." I smiled at him, sorry that he had such a tyrant for a boss. I've been there to many times not to know his pain.

I picked up my basket of sustenance, and walked over to what was sure to be the most awkward end of a friendship ever.

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Creating Drama Part II

She leaned into the kiss, wrapping her arms around him. His breath tasted strongly of fluoride, and she noticed his toothbrush had fallen into his box of belongings. Seeing something as ordinary as a toothbrush in a box took her a little out of the fog she was in. She pulled away from Logan, but didn't remove her hands from his back.

Logan took this gesture as her needing some air, so he dipped down to shower kisses all over her neck. The smell of his aftershave and shampoo intoxicated her, and she felt herself falling back into the fog. Her desires for him overcame her head, and she moved her hands up the back of his head.

Without looking, Logan kicked the box back into the apartment, then swooped down and picked her up. He brought her inside to the kitchen, never breaking contact with her mouth. Setting her down on the breakfast bar, he reached over and removed her remaining shoe. She noticed there was a stereo on in a faraway room, pumping out a techno-tronic song. It seemed to only heighten her senses as his hand traveled from the arch of her foot to the inside of her thigh. The combination of the frigid air conditioning and his hand on her hip made her shudder.

She could barely form a sentence, but she was going to try.

"Logan, what--"

Logan put his hand over her mouth and leaned towards her.

"Shut up," he whispered in her ear, " You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this with you."

Logan's on again, off again girlfriend flashed briefly in front of her eyes. She wanted to ask him about her, but his hand was still pressed firmly over her mouth.

She puckered her lips and kissed his open palm. He smiled at her, and replaced his palm again with his mouth, making her dizzy with his kisses. His other hand continued it's trek along her thigh, and he leaned forward into her, making her lay down on the marble counter top. He walked his hands under her bottom until he reached the small of her back. Logan hooked his fingers under her string bikini bottoms and slid them off her body.

With a smirk on his face, he slingshot-ed them into the living room.


She pulled the blanket up around her chin and nestled her face into Logan's chest. He responded by melding his body into hers while leaning them back into the overstuffed chair in the living room. She didn't remember feeling this much at peace in a long time. She couldn't figure out why this felt so amazing with Logan when it never felt this way with Brayden. It was like she and Logan were cosmically connected. He anticipated what she needed, bringing her over to the chair and putting the blanket around them when he noticed she was cold. Brayden never thought to do anything for her anymore.

Logan had made her feel so sexy, so alive. She thought that this must be what its about; this is why people have affairs. The moment couldn't last forever though, and she kissed Logan goodbye and went searching for her clothes. She found all but one shoe, and couldn't find it. She and Logan looked all around the house for it, though they'd only been in the kitchen and living room.

Logan stopped the search to look at her and say "Next time we'll have to make it into the bedroom."

Suddenly she realized where the shoe was. She opened Logan's front door and looked down at her shoe. It stood in the middle of the expanse of astro-turf, sticking out at an odd angle with the entire heel under the ground. Her heart sank as she saw her single shoe, stuck, and alone.
She sat by the shoe and started to cry.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Creating Drama Part I

She stood at the door, her fist an inch from the painted wood. Emotions coursed through her body, and she suddenly had an urge to run. Her heart started pumping in her ears, and her vision blurred. She knew if she knocked, it would be the end of her current relationship. She loved Brayden, she didn't want to ruin it with him. But she was drawn to Logan, and she couldn't explain why.

She guiltily thought about those two days he crashed on their couch. That morning she awoke before everyone else and saw his muscular chest rise and fall, sprawled against the leather.

She shook her head out of the daydream and tried to get a hold of herself. She was imagining the looks they'd shared, the sexual tension between them. He was never interested in her, and never would be. He and Brayden were best friends, there was no way he looked at her as anything but an association. She was just going to drop off the stuff he'd left at the house and that would be it. She would be surprised if he even invited her in.

Convinced, she rapped on the door quickly, as if doing so would cause Logan to not hear it, and she could convince herself that she'd tried. After not hearing any movement inside the apartment, she bent down and set the box on the ground. Just as she was bringing herself upright, the door swung open with a gust of air conditioning blowing out.

She was eye-level with his amazing six pack abs, and she inhaled sharply. Panic washed over her again, and she struggled to keep control of her emotions. It would do no good to throw herself at her boyfriend's best friend...she refused to be that girl.

"I was just dropping your stuff, you could have it." She stumbled all over her words, and he watched her with his amazing blue eyes, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He dropped down to pick up the box, and leaned towards her. She didn't move as he approached her, she was paralyzed with fear. He leaned over the balcony and spit out the toothpaste in his mouth, then thanked her.

He looked as if he was going to touch her, and she took a step backward instinctively. All at once the heel of her shoe went into the cheap astro-turf of the front stoop, and she went flying backwards.

Logan dropped the box and caught her by the waist in one fluid movement, and she suddenly found herself on the ground clutching him. She'd nearly went over the edge, and her breath had quickened.

"You are okay." He said simply, firmly. She suddenly realized how close they were, and she started to pull away, her cheeks flush with color. His grip tightened on her, and she looked up into his face for an explanation. Their eyes locked in a stare, and he put his hand on the back of her neck and drew her towards him in a passionate kiss.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

There is no P in OOL.

After swimming laps, Mischa and I always sit in the sauna and then rinse off and warm our muscles in the hot tub. Usually the sauna is reserved for complaining about our flaky friends, and the hot tub conversation is usually comparing injuries.

"Body Pump totally kicked my ass! My triceps hurt so bad, try to stretch yours!"

"Oh, that hurts!"


"You know what really hurts on me? My shoulders, trying to stretch them out. Do this!"

"Holy Crap, that hurts!"

"I know, isn't it awesome?"

"Oh Yeah!"

We are just getting the ball rolling on our list of "hurts so good" when the other people in the hot tub start to complain. Loudly.

Not about us, but about another man who has just climbed in the hot tub. A woman complained loudly that he “always does this,” and it's disgusting and rude, and she's going to talk to the gym about it and get them to put up a sign. We have no idea what she's talking about, but her voice is so filled with venom that it shocks our conversation into silence.

Another man joins in and begins to complain about this offending man, but they don't state exactly what he's done, so we are confused, and feeling a little awkward in the middle of all this hostility. Thankfully they die down, and we try to jump start our conversation and forget about it. After all, we need to get in more hot tub time.

The offending man sits across from the angry man. Not more than 30 seconds later, the angry man looks at offending man and says, "Why don't we all just pee in here?"

That stops our conversation cold yet again, and we stare at each other in shock while listening. The angry man continues; "Yeah, come on everyone, let's just start peeing in's the same as you coming out of the sauna and not rinsing off before you get into the tub. We are all just sitting here in your filth, so why don't we all just pee in here?"

Mischa and I looked at each other, not believing where this conversation had turned. The offending man didn't say a word, he just sat there and took it...I think he was actually ignoring him completely.

"Time to go?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, we are out of here!" She replied, and we were out and on our way to the locker room, with plenty of sideways glances back.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Body Pumped

So, it's been a few months now. The Gym Mafia has me firmly in their grasp.

And I haven't lost one single pound. I'm still as fat as ever...more even. I've gained three pounds. Three.

And the first person who comments that it's muscle is going to get stabbed in their eye; I don't care what it is, it's extra and it's on me. It needs to get off.

Occasionally we'll bite off more than we can chew, like tonight. Tonight was the newest edition of Body Pump, (complete with new crappy music, I don't like it to much.) and then we decided to do Yoga to stretch out our muscles.

Big Mistake.

Body Pump has been transformed into an aerobics style class, instead of a weight lifting class. I wasn't expecting that. It's really, really tiring. We were late today, so I didn't get my usual spot in the back of the T-zone (Center back of the room, so I can still see the instructor, but no one can see me!) so I felt like I needed to try harder. I still didn't really make it. My back hurts so much I just got up to get answer the phone, and I *almost* fell.

And because we are suckers for punishment, we hobbled over to Yoga afterwards. I expected it to be old people Yoga, which is what I needed after Body Pump. My muscles yearned to be stretched.

What we got was Emo Boy who wanted us to "hop" and pull and kill ourselves and call it Yoga. I'm sure it wouldn't have been that bad if we weren't already fatigued from Pump, but we were, and it was. Mischa and I had even forgotten our Propel (no product placement, it's just that I'm addicted to Mandarin Orange Propel. Seriously, it's almost taken Starbucks place in terms of addiction.) so we were dying of thirst.

Next week, we've decided, we are going to do the first 9 days of the Fat Smash Diet. Basically it's just fruits and veggies, but we are hoping it cures us of our "let's share a dessert" every time we go out.

Of course we aren't starting now, now is to soon!

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Attracting the Wrong Kind

Like an episode of Sex and the City, my girlfriends and I were all sitting around the table of a trendy restaurant discussing men.

Melrose noted how she really liked the clean, professional types…but the artistic soul is what draws her in sexually.

Mischa falls hard for the emo-types, but has a hard time attracting them with her all-American good looks.

My physical type was the surfer look, but Lover Boy is far from it, and I love him anyway. He’s my ideal emotional type, which I find is what keeps relationships once the initial attraction wears off.

“I think it’s great that we all have different types, because we’ll never have to be competing for the same guy!” I said, trying to look on the bright side of things.

“Well, we are very different types of girls too, so I think different guys would be attracted to us.” Melrose said.

Mischa and I borrow clothes all the time, and I noticed that all of us prefer pastels and have blonde hair. I thought we were the exact same kind of girl.

I never thought of myself as having a “personal style,” I just threw on whatever fit. Sure, I have a tiny bit of love for the 60’s Mod and slightly wacky hairstyles…but I didn’t think it set me apart from anyone. I don’t think I go overboard with it…although I think Melrose, with her design degree, would beg to differ.

Nevertheless, the past couple of days I’ve noticed some…attention…I’ve been getting. From the wrong set of guys. Not that there is/are anything wrong with these guys…they just are totally not for me. Like the guy behind the counter of Hot Topic who burned me that pile of mix tapes just because I was interested in the song playing at the time (What can I say, I’m a sucker for punk covers of 80’s songs), or the spiky-haired eyeliner wearing guy walking around Urban Outfitters.

Then when I was pumping my gas today, a smile came from the guy using the pump on the other side. His face was nice, and his car was really nice…and he had a medium sized Mohawk.

Why do I attract those guys? Is Mischa’s type really attracted to slightly overweight blonde girls with their hair in goofy pigtails? Really?

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Pride Always Goes...

She was looking good, and feeling good. After rock climbing for the first time the night before, and taking a sculpt class, she felt as if she could take on the world. She was wearing her new Capri’s from Guess (okay, the outlet…but they were still damn cute!), and her high heel shoes, and she strode down the parking garage with power. Feeling her newfound energy, she decided to take the stairs down to the casino level.

She turned the corner from the third floor to the third, and without warning, her heel caught on a loose piece of metal attached to the stair.

Cue the slow motion fall.

Her hand flung out, trying to catch onto anything that would keep her from falling down the entire flight of stairs. The first thing that she made contact with was the banister from the fourth floor.

The motion of her arm snapping her body back made her flash back to playground days, when someone on the Go-Round grabbed you when you were going the opposite direction. Only she was older now, and it hurt.

So did whipping around and slamming face first into the side of the stairs. She had saved herself the huge fall, but man did her shoulder hurt! Being as she was on her way to work, she had to shake it off and go about her day.

Two days later she felt the knot of muscle form right beneath her shoulder blade. The next morning she noticed she could actually see the knot in the mirror.

When telling her mother about this, her mother said “It might be a blood clot! You should go to the doctor.”

“Thanks ma. Now I’m worried.”

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

You Say It's Your Birthday

"Gunns!" I smiled and looked into his deep blue eyes. All 6 foot 4 of him engulfed me in a hug, and suddenly all was forgiven. I’d missed his school-boyish charm and charisma, and I was eager to catch up. He’d been seeing a girl for about a year; though they weren’t living together he described them as “comfortable.” I seemed to think that spelled trouble, but I kept it to myself.

Gunns had gotten himself a new gig, protecting the entrance of the newest club in town. The last time I’d seen him was at a place he wasn’t too thrilled with. I said goodbye to him, and saw the defeated look in his eyes; he was no longer doing the thing he loved.

That spark was back in his eyes, and he was in his element. He loved to take care of people, and seeing as how it was my “uber-late” birthday party, he invited us in and sat us at the interactive VIP table.

That’s right, I said interactive. Beneath the glass bounced all sorts of psychedelic objects. Gunns gave us all drink tokens, and threw one of them on the center of the table. All the objects went toward it like a vortex and cleared the table. By dragging our fingers around the table, we could make shapes and words out of all kinds of things; little people, hearts, flowers that bloomed with each touch. My favorite was writing in bubbles, then an octopus appeared and swam along the stream of bubbles.

After a few hours, someone wanted bottle service, so we were unceremoniously dumped out onto the dance floor with the unwashed masses. My friends took it in stride, and we stayed out dancing for awhile.

Suddenly I found all my friends and 4 or 5 guys staring at me. “What?” I yelled above the music. MoMo’s voice faded in and out of the music, but I gathered that she had just told them that this was my bachelorette party. Before I had a chance to deny the claim, the guys were surrounding me, and one went so far as to start grinding with me. “We are doing a bachelor party too!” The guy screamed in my ear, then motioned to the nerdliest one of the group. I finally broke free of his grip and said “Are you making sure he’s having a good time?”

“Oh yeah, I’m the best man baby!” He moved closer to me again. I put up my hand and said “then you have a mission; get off me and make sure he has a good time…not you…but him.” And I tried to walk away, but within a few steps the groom stopped me.

“You too, huh?” He motioned to me, then said “It’s my funeral too.”

I looked up at him, astounded. Anyone who would make that statement clearly wasn’t ready to be married. It seemed like an extremely unfunny thing to say. It made me a little sad, and I decided to take the bathroom escape.

We danced for a little longer, took many silly pictures, and ended the evening on a high note. I gave Gunns a hug and a kiss goodbye, and he smiled and said to me "Hey, we'll always have Fiji."

I smiled, socked him in the arm, and sashayed away.

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Green Eyed Monster of Asses

"I'm cutting this a little close!" I thought as I rounded the corner to get up the stairs. A group of people were going straight and were a little ahead of me. I sped up to make the cutoff a little less mean of me and made it. I was up one step when I felt the hand collide with my my butt.
Now, before you get bent out of shape, I could tell by how the hand didn't grab me that it was an accident. In fact, the guy had said "Oh my god, I'm so sorry" before I could even turn around. I had to giggle a little...after all, it's not often that I get accidentally goosed. "Don't worry about it," I said and smiled at him, redding slightly. I was up on the third step by this point.

As I started to turn back around I saw his girlfriend push him from behind. Hard. He actually almost fell. I must have a twisted sense of humor, because I found this funnier than the butt "brush."

Why is it that girls get jealous over the tiniest thing? I'll be the first to admit that if someone is chatting up my significant other, and she isn't observing the three feet away rule, my hackles go up. I shake my finger up in the air and bob my head and say "oh no you didn't!" (Not really, 'cause I'd get beat down...not to mention made fun of...but I do it in my head!)

It's not a matter of trusting him, because I know he'd never cheat on me. But it's like when someone tells you to put on your seat belt. When you say that you drive safely, they say "It's not you I'm worried about, it's everyone else on the road!"

Girls' are sly and before you know it you are kissing them, and even you are surprised that it has happened. Some guys get thrown against a wall and kissed before they have time to think about saying "no." (I won't reveal your identity, but you know who you are! Three times...for shame! You'd think you'd keep to the middle of the room!)

Sometimes I feel like I'm an animal and someone has just crossed over into my territory and is going about sniffing in my trees like they are going to pee on them. It's like the Discovery Channel as I run over to Lover Boy and ask him to introduce me to the bit-uh, young lady to whom he is speaking. Yes, he IS my mine. NO, you may not pee on him. Who let you off your leash anyway???

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

It's in his DNA

Lover Boy participated in an AIDs walk last weekend. He got home from work around midnight the night before, and got caught up in getting ready. Before he knew it, it was 2 in the morning. It was then he decided that he'd just stay up all night, since he had to leave around 6am.

It was around 3pm that he was so tired he couldn't handle it, and he came to bed. He left late, around 7, and arrived at registration around 8. It was then he found out that registration lasted 2 hours, then the walk started. He was less than enthralled.

Because this was an AIDs walk, there were a certain amount of...religious zealots. Thankfully they were pretty low key, as far as zealots go. They just handed out fliers to their church, and kept away from the whole "homosexuality is a sin" thing.

Everything stayed pretty peaceful until Crabby Lover Boy got approached by a little old church lady. She held out the card to him and simply stated "Jesus Saves."

Before he could even stop himself, he said "Of course he does, he's Jewish!"

He then took a speed walk stance and took off for the finish line.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Mommy and Daddy are Fighting Again

"Are you here for the belly dancing class?" A woman asked us outside of the doors for the class. We nodded in agreement and she said "Well, they are already late, so go inside now." She gestured to the spinning class stretching out inside. She all but pushed us inside and we stood awkwardly inside the doorway. Mischa and I stood by helpless as BDI (Belly Dancing Instructor) and SI (Spin Instructor) squared off.

"You are supposed to stop 5 minutes before, you are late!" BDI bellowed to the SI with her indistinguishable accent. Her voice reverberated against the walls, and the Spin class froze mid-stretch.

"It's 5 till on this clock inside the room," SI pointed out, "We are just putting our things away now."

"We go by the clock outside, and it says you are 5 minutes late! You need to pay closer attention!" BDI chastised SI with a major finger wagging. It seemed to end in a stalemate until one of the Spin students approached BDI and told her that it was rude and out of line to talk to SI that way. BDI freaked out on her, and started complaining about everything else, from how she does this all the time to how she has to clean up after her class.

"I'm never going in a class before yours again" SI said, outraged. She stormed out of the room, leaving a mat behind. "You see, I have to clean up after you all the time!" BDI spat out. SI shouted "clean it up, bitch!" and slammed the door behind her.

Then we began our nice, calm, easygoing Belly Dancing Class.

Yeah. Awkward.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Feel the Burn Forever

"I need to sign up for the gym, and I need to make the body sculpting class in a half hour. Can you do that?"

"Have you toured our gym already?"

"Yeah, Yeah, I know where everything is, I don't need a tour. I'm here all the time with my friends."

"Okay, well, then I just need you to fill out this paperwork. I'll be right back, I'm just going to make a copy of your driver's license."

He leaves me alone in the tiny office to read. I have to be at that class, my friends are meeting me there. Then I see The Clause. I'm locked into paying $20 a month to this gym for two years. What is this, a cell phone agreement? What a damn sneaky way to get your money! Then he showed me the paperwork which stated how much that turns into by the end of the year...over $500 dollars!

So I sign my name to the paper with an angry florish, as if someone in the paperwork department will see my anger and change their policy. Afterwards I ask what they do if someone has to move? Seeing as how back home, this very minute, my father is laying in a hospital bed and no one knows what's wrong with him. I might have to move back to take care of my family.

He said that wouldn't be a problem, I'd just have to bring proof of my new address to their office, or if I got hurt a hospital bill. Of course, I'd still have to pay them $50 to opt out.

So this was it. I had joined the gym gang. The only other way out of this is death. I damn well better be skinny and hot by the end of these two years. At the very least I'll have lots of blogging material.

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Greatest Comic Book Guy Ever

I pull open the door with a total lack of confidence and step inside. I feel the door close behind me and I take a deep breath, completely out of my element. I look around at all the comic books and shutter slightly.

The ideal situation would be that the three guys talking animatedly at the front counter would see I was a girl and obviously see I needed help. That wasn't what happened. They paused, the guy behind the counter said "Hi, how are you doing?" and went immediately back to saying how awesome Kitty Pride is.

I was stranded in Geekland with no assistance. I was going to have to find my own way to the reason I was there. Why oh why did they have to make season 8 into a comic book? I'd never felt more uncomfortable in my life.

I looked around in a panic, like I was looking for a way out. As luck would have it, it was sitting on a shelf in plain view. I breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed it and headed to the counter.

I stood behind the guy at the counter thumbing through comics and began to wait patiently.

"Hey, you knew what you wanted! You walked in with a purpose." He joked to me, then said "Come right over here, Hun." He took the book from me, and I followed him to the end of the counter next to the cash register. The man thumbing through the books was still standing there, so I stood behind him and decided to get lost in my thoughts until he was done.

Guy Behind the Counter (GBC) says "Okay, that's gonna be $3.95 sweetie." There is a long silence, and suddenly I realize that all three guys are looking at me.

A blush slashes across my cheeks. "Oh me? I thought you were talking to him," pointing to the guy thumbing through comics on the counter in front of me.

"You thought I called him sweetie?" GCB asked incredulously. I smiled and retorted "Hey, I ain't judging."

All three guys laughed as I fished out my money. Since I was now funny girl, I inquired as to when the second comic was coming out. He informed me of the holding program that they offered, so I signed up for it. He asked me for a phone number, and I let him know that I would give him Lover Boy's number, as he had more free time to pick it up than I did. He inquired as to his name, so I gave it to him, saying "He got all the cool alliteration...I did not."

GBC applauded my knowledge of the word alliteration, which furthered his geekdom in my book.

I thanked him and walked out, wondering if they had all been picturing me naked the whole time I was in there. Or maybe just me in a sexy X-Men outfit.

Friday, March 30, 2007

Mime Language

"So this is low key Tuesday at the club." I thought to myself as Mischa and I strolled through the restaurant and upstairs to the smaller room they had opened for dancing that night.

We were there for the promoter of the club's birthday, so we had access to the "exclusive table" of the night. Because it was his birthday, there were a lot of people in that tiny area; it was literally shoulder to shoulder.

Wading through the crowd, we found a mutual friend and watched her drunken antics for a few minutes. Then she looked over Mischa to someone behind her, and yelled "Look behind you, say hi!"

Behind us was a guy that Mischa met for coffee once and he never called again. It was unmemorable, but occasionally they saw each other at these gatherings. Mischa turned around, tapped on his shoulder, and gave him a casual wave.

I watched this encounter, and fully expected him to wave back at her, then go back to his conversation. What actually happened blew my mind. He looked at her, and gave her the most disgusted look I've ever see anyone give someone else (that wasn't in the movies). You would've thought that Mischa had offered to give him a venereal disease, it was that bad. He even waved her off with his hand like she was a dog.

Shocked, I looked from him to Mischa, and she had the same look that I must've had on my face, which was utter shock. We both looked over at "Drunken Mutual Friend" only to see that she was completely trashed and not paying attention. "Did you see that?" Mischa asked her, and see said "What? I didn't see anything."

I looked back at Mischa, who was back looking at me, and then we looked back at him. He was back to his conversation and ignoring the face that any one even existed. I looked back at Mischa, still shocked, and she was looking back at me. Then we both started to laugh at the situation, and the fact that we just got ourselves out of a Three Stooges routine.

A few minutes later, when a drunk girl decided that I should be dancing and threw both her and her dates drinks at my feet, we decided that it was time to head home.

We had only stayed about 20 minutes. Later, in the car, Mischa was trying to describe the look she got from that guy, and suddenly hit on it; "He totally just said 'fuck you' in Mime!"

Monday, March 05, 2007

Adios, Motherf(*&^

Zeet plopped down on the couch next to me with a giddy look on his face. "Wanna see what my new apartment looks like?"

I matched his enthusiasm and said "Sure! Show me!" He told me what the name of the apartment complex was and we typed it into Google. We took a look at the Virtual Tour, where he pointed out the waterfall in the pool with glee. I had to admit it looked quite pleasant, and I joked that I would be over at his pool more than I would actually see him.

I was excited for him, and we talked about what room he would have, and how much rent was going to be, and about his new roommates. I didn't really worry about him leaving yet, I assumed he was going to move into the new apartment in April like we had discussed when he moved in.

A few nights ago Lover Boy informed me that he planned on moving as early as next week. This was something that I hadn't emotionally prepared myself for. I was infinitely more sad than I thought I would be.

I know that it's for the best. We didn't have enough room for him to move anything in but his computer and his clothes, so I'm sure he was never comfortable with us. He always felt like a guest and not like he was at home. I'm sure LB and Zeet's friendship has been strained by his paying us to stay here. It will be best for him to move into his new apartment.

But I'm really going to miss having an instant friend that I could stay up all night and talk with. LB just isn't a big talker, and I love long, drawn out conversations. I enjoy discussing every aspect of something until I feel I've talked all sides to death. I really don't have anyone else to do that with but Zeet. I'll him profoundly for that. He's mostly LB's friend, and we'll never really have time to hang out alone after he moves out. LB will get to see him at work, but Zeet and I will never go out and see a movie or go out for coffee. I'll likely never see him again unless there is a group party.

Zeet filled a hole that had been empty for a long time. Now I have to prepare myself for that hole to return. He hasn't even left yet, but I can feel the crater already forming.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Breakast of Champions

If she didn't have enough water, her diet pill made her queasy. Thinking she could make it from her apartment to her brunch date, she got in her car and set off.

Not even a block later she started to feel her stomach churn, and she pulled her car over at the convenience store. She parked and headed towards the entrance. As she walked towards the entrance she spotted a guy coming from the other direction.

He had a great looking body. He had the kind of body that looked like it took no effort, when really you know that he worked at it. The graphic tee and jeans hugged his body. She reached the door first and held it open for him, and he thanked her.

She hi-tailed it to the back of the store and contemplated the options; Arrowhead, Voss, Fuji, Evian.

She decided on Evian...she knew it was naive backwards, but she felt it was the cleanest tasting water. She started to speed walk towards the front, her stomach threating her more with each passing moment.

She accidentally cut off Graphic Tee guy who was coming up one of the middle aisles. She reached the checkout first and paid for her water. She slid her purse and water over so GTG could check out and she could put her change in her wallet.

Three things slammed down on the counter, one by one. She couldn't help but be curious as to what he was buying at 10 am.

2 Rock Stars and a Snickers. Maybe he did just accidentally get that body. She looked from the purchase to the guy.

He looked over at her purchase, then his, and she saw him slightly lower his head in shame.

She couldn't help but smile at him as she slid her water off the counter and strolled out the door.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

I Hate Oprah

I know that I promised not to watch Oprah again. I hate her so much, with her judgmental self-righteousness. But a few weeks ago I saw the beginning and couldn’t help but watch the whole thing in order to make fun of it.

It started by her asking the audience to get out a piece of paper and write down five words that describe your marriage or relationship. For the record, I decided to play along, and choose silly, communicative, loving, fulfilling, and happy.

Then she brought Gary the WonderShrink. GtWS said that what every relationship needs to strive for is what he calls “spiritual partnership.” His description for this was “Equal, together for the purpose of spiritual growth. To that I had to say, “que?” I mean, are they talking about people trying to better themselves, or are they talk about religion?

He started in on Jerry Maguire and how Renee’s line, “You complete me” ruined the relationships of people everywhere. He said “Only you can complete yourself.” So far I was with him. But then he said “There are no such things as soul mates.”

He didn’t even elaborate; he just stated it as if he said “We are out of cheese.” As if that statement was just supposed to be taken and accepted. Oprah actually said “We are screwed by romance in this country.”

Then GtWS started to elaborate on the whole “Spiritual Partnership” thing. He started out by asking what a couple’s real intentions were when they entered into the relationship, because intention is motivation. I had to ask “Shit, I had to have a reason why? I couldn’t just do it because we were compatible and loved each other??? No one sent me that memo!” Which is when he said that companionship and love do not enter into those intentions.

He talked about how people needed to live lives of meaning, purpose, and to get motivation from their “spiritual partnership.” Oh, and the “Spiritual Partnership” ends when the spiritual growth stops. Who has this much energy???

Then both Oprah and GtWS start harping on romance again. They pretty much say it’s all a lie, and it doesn’t exist. Romance is Dead. Next on Oprah.

And, um, remind me again…how many times has she been married? None you say? Huh. Well, she’s the expert then. Wonder how many times Good Old Gary has been married.

GtWS said he doesn’t say you should do any of this, or make any changes to your relationship…only do something if you are feeling unfulfilled. Hell, right now I’m just glad I’m not stuck in an unloving relationship with Gary or Oprah.

By the way, Gary the WonderShrink is the author of “See to the Soul.” Funny how you can talk about soul, yet not believe in love or romance.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Actually They Might Have

Lover Boy and I are looking over the breaking news on MSNBC and saying "wow, really?" When Zeet walks out of his room.

"What? What happened?" Zeet asked.

"Anna Nicole Smith died a couple of hours ago." I said, amazed.

Zeet, not missing a beat, says, "Did someone ask her a word problem?"

Thursday, February 01, 2007

Fart Jokes

"So, we are living together now, so things like this are gonna come up."

Lover Boy and I brace ourselves for something creepy. Instead, Zeet surprises us with "Ya know how you have to poop in stages sometimes? Then you look back (because you have to look back) and you think, 'Holy Shit, that came out of me?"

LB and I laugh and agree. It's nice to be this comfortable with someone, and I start to get a good feeling, like we are a family.

The next day I'm teaching Zeet how to use our scanner on the computer, and he looks down at the bed and sees that I left him his laundry.

"You didn't have to do that. You didn't have to fold my laundry." Zeet says, in an almost embarrassed voice.

"It was in with the rest of the laundry. That's what I do...that's what I contribute to the house!"
I say, not seeing a problem with it.

" you've touched my underwear, and that's just weird." Zeet said. I stared at him to make sure he was serious, and then I laughed.

"Sweetie, It's time for you to build yourself a bridge and get over it. If I have to hear about your pooping habits, I can touch your damn clean underwear!"

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Sleeping in the Bra

She came home from a long day at work. She'd missed him terribly, and he greeted her with his usual nod and hello. "We've been together to long" She thought. He doesn't even care.

She sat down on the other couch (there wasn't enough room for her on the same couch) and waited for him to finish his TV program...and the next one.

Finally she took the remote and said "You wanna watch "____" with me?"

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna read some in bed."

She got snippy, and called him on the fact that they did whatever he wanted, and when it was time for him to do something for her, he bailed.

So that's just what he did. He went into the bedroom and slammed the door.

15 minutes later, the door hadn't opened.

On one side was a guy who was over it. He was feeling a little tired, and so he got into bed and fell asleep.

On the other side was a girl enraged. She sat on the couch, arms crossed. She fell asleep staring at the door, waiting for it to open and for him to apologize. She awoke at 6AM, and saw the door was open. He hadn't woken her up. She went to the door and slammed it shut.

She took off her bra, found some pj pants in the laundry basket, and got back on the couch. She'd be damned if she would be the one to break this time. She was sick of being the one to initiate and talk things out. Well Fuck That.

Sadly, He woke up in the morning and thought the exact same thing. So they went around the whole morning being total girls and not speaking to each other.

Finally she asked him if he planned on talking to her today, because if he wasn't she was leaving. She couldn't handle this anymore.

They sat down, and talked it out.

They both acted like complete tools, for something that could've been talked out in five minutes. They really need to grow up. :-)

Sunday, January 14, 2007

Lies My Father Told Me

The biggest lie my Dad ever told me was that it was impossible to hit a bird with the car. I was naive and fifteen, and learning how to drive. He was serious about teaching me how to drive, and I drove to school every day, with him teaching me all the way.

We had a long stretch of road going 35mph for about 5 minutes to get out of our neighborhood, and the road was constantly strewn with roadkill. Mostly rabbits, but a few skunks and squirrels came about from time to time. Sadly, once or twice I did see a cat. I always hoped it was a stray and never belonged to anyone.

I was always afraid of hitting something. My dad told me "There are enough rabbits in the world, don't worry about running them over. In fact, it's worse to slow down. Birds are smarter than you think; they actually know how much time it takes to fly across the road."

"But Dad," I countered, "What about all those birds I see on the road to school everyday? Obviously they weren't smart enough to know...those are a lot of birds! I don't want to hit a bird!"

Dad replied "Those are birds that just happened to die on the road. Then people just ran over them. The chances of you hitting a bird are slim to none, you have nothing to worry about."

So, I stopped worrying about it. I kept on driving, and I never hit a thing. Until my junior year of high school.

One memorable day I was driving the road with my dad, and out of the corner of my eye I see a bird swoop down. I don't worry, because birds are smarter than you'd think. It'll clear my car before I even come close.

Needless to say, this particular bird was...not having a good day. I didn't hit it with my tires, but It only cleared one tire before I got there. I panicked and looked in my rear-view mirror to see the bird spinning out of control before giving up and hitting the pavement. For a moment I was overcome with guilt.

Then I got angry. I yelled "YOU TOLD ME I'D NEVER HIT A BIRD! YOU LIED TO ME!"

I never trusted him with flaky facts like that again. :-)

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

The World's Crappiest Violin

A long time ago, Lover Boy and I happened upon two violins. They were broken down and battered, and I wanted to leave them where they were. LB insisted we save them and clean them up. Nevermind that he never even studied the violin, whereas my lessons consisted of 2 months back in the 6th Grade.

Needless to say, they've spent the past few years gathering dust in the back of the guest bedroom closet. They are crappy, and I have no idea how much it would cost to put them back in working order. Out of sight, out of my mind. Until a few weeks before Christmas anyway.

One of my co-workers was talking about one of her little girls, and how all she wanted for Christmas was her own violin, but they were just to expensive (I don't think they are pricey per se, it's just that she has a bazillion children and they each get a tic tac for supper because money is tight)

Anyway, her mention of violins reminded me of my dusty couple in my closet. I tell her about they are dull, broken, and aren't at all that pretty. I also don't know how much it would be to fix them, perhaps more than just getting a new violin might be. But they are her's if she wants them.

She, at least, acts like she's over the moon about this new development. I try and calm her down and said that they are, in fact, awful. Hardly worth getting excited about. In fact, they might just make nice wall decoration and that's all.

I bring them by work and give them to her the week before Christmas. I help her carry them out to the car and give them to her husband.

Her husband says to me "This is such a blessing, thank you."

A blessing. My crappy violins. The ones that in a few weeks I was just going to chuck out in the garbage.

Great. Now they made me feel all guilty for giving them crappy instruments. And also for being Jewish. I hate it when Catholics do that!