Category Archives: Gym

This Way to the Pink Flamingos Please.

One night my better half says, “Oh yeah, next week I have a dinner engagement.”

Oh, okay….whatcha doin?

“My company is a sponsor for the Pink Flamingo Awards, so I”m going to go.”

My response….blink blink. Blink blink.

Pink flamingos?

You didn’t think I’d want to go?

A. It’s an award show

B. There’s pink flamingos

I say, “Okay so can you bring a date?”

He says, “Well yeah.

Okay then…I’m coming.

He then advises me its to support the local LGBT Visitors Center and they’ll have Drag Queens.

My jaw hits the floor.

AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO TELL ME ABOUT THIS SOONER? Hello? How long have we been together? This is right up my alley. These woman are fabulous!

To double check, I ask if this is a dress up event. Yes. Wear a dress.

Perfect. Got the perfect black dress.

He then says, because up until now, I’ve had a shit day…..you could wear one of your wigs.

Stop the train! REALLY!

GET

OUT!

I immediately ran to the box where I keep my wigs.

I knew exactly the one I wanted. Got it out. Got my comb. Brushed it out. Tried it on. Was delighted.

So excited.

The Wednesday arrived and the plan was hatched….meet at the Miami Convention Center at 7:00PM and enjoy the night. Silent auction, dinner, cocktails, award show – oh my! Whoop, whoop!

5:30PM I call the Mister and tell him I’m heading over to our company gym to shower and get my wig on. He says, “oh that’s too early, might as well wait.”

Okay, well you know what? Don’t listen to a man, when you know how long it’s going to take you to get ready. What the hell do they know anyway?

They know bubkiss.

They’re a PIMA. (Pain. In. My. Ass.)

I thought he might be right. So I waited until 6:10PM.

Went over to the gym.

Jumped into the shower.

Did my make up.

Put almond oil all over my arms and legs so I have not only a nice scent but subtle glow to my skin. Perfect!

Add the perfume and then take my black dress out of the cotton garment bag.

I pulled my grey and black shoes out and my satin handbag…finally, it was time to get dressed.

Please note: At this point in the evening’s program, we have a problem Houston…

It all went to hell in a hand basket and we were in the express lane. And the express lane was free of charge tonight. Of course.

Knew it. Should have went with my gut. Why? Why, listen to a man when it comes to getting ready?

Unless he is a Drag Queen or a prima donna – they’re clueless. PIMA!

I am so unimpressed at this point.

There I am, half dressed in my cute black dress with not a soul to be found in the ladies locker room and the
fucking zipper on the back of my dress is stuck. I don’t just mean stuck as in I’ve gained a lot of weight and it won’t zip. I mean like it’s frozen and not going to move an inch.

There’s a good five inches to go before it’s zipped up to the top – which would be mid back.

My hands were previously oiled, so I wash them yet again.

Nothing.

I pull the dress down as far as I can.

Nothing.

I try and turn the dress around to the front to shimmy the zipper.

Nothing.

I pull the dress up higher and try to pull the zipper up.

Nothing.

I try squeezing the zipper together.

Nothing.

I contemplate going as is.

Not happening.

I ponder wearing my sheer black and white polka dot shirt that I wore to work over the dress.

(only if I’m desperate) And that’s not really an option.

I contort my arms to try again to pull the zipper up.

First, left arm over. UGH!!!

Then the right arm over the top…..

Maybe if I turn just a little.

Are you fucking kidding me?

I wait and hope a female walks in.

Tick tock.

Nothing.

I think about going out into the gym. It’s a guy at the desk and think…..He could zip it. What if he can’t? Okay that would be embarrassing.

On the way to the awards I could stop somewhere and buy something, which is a good idea.

But then I’d have to get OUT of this dress and I can’t do that either.

Well what the hell?

I stop and look at myself in the mirror. Sweat, is pouring down my face. I’m a total mess. Is the air conditioning on? TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING!!! THE ALASKAN IS DYING IN HERE!

You have got to be kidding me.

Maybe the sewn in slip is bunched up and I start patting down all the layers.

NOW! How about NOW!!! Arms go up and over to work the zipper.

I try and pull the dress up as far up to my arm pits again.

Nothing.

I rest my sweaty forehead against the mirror.

Fuck it.

I pack up my bag.

My plan is to go as is and my better half is going to have to figure it out in the parking lot. Mental note, pack black duct tape in the car next time.

I am pissed…..I don’t have time to brush my teeth and what is even worse…..

I
don’t
have
time
to
put
on
my
wig.

I have to go. I wash my hands and do a final makeup touch up. By makeup – touch up I really mean mop my face with paper towels. I return to get my bag and try one last fricking time with this damn zipper.

Just kidding! Zip! Tah-dah! No problem.

Are you kidding me?

For the love of Pete.

I get to the car and it’s 6:50PM. Zip over the Causeway to Miami Beach. The air conditioning is on FULL ARCTIC BLAST and I arrive at the Convention Center just in time for cocktails. I throw on the fascinator I made for a Titanic dinner in Juneau….and while it wasn’t my wig I got enough compliments, so I was happy enough.

We arrive and head immediately to the bar. I’m busy texting a friend about an item I bidder on him from the Floppy Rooster….I stop suddenly and when I look up we’re behind not one but TWO Drag Queens. Lady one, later advised the crowd she was NOT a Drag Queen but a transgender, which was fine. She was lovely. Reminded me of someone I know. The other one. Well, I admit…………startled the hell out of me. One of those, I couldn’t help but stare, but not stare for fear she’d call me out on it. Nope, no picture needed. Thanks!

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She’ll Be Coming Around the Golf Course….

Sunday I got up, threw on my exercise clothes and headed out the door to walk 3 miles.

My complex sits along side a golf course and you can walk all the way around the course on a paved trail.  The trail itself is 3 miles however, I was just going to go down to the light I turn at to go to work and back.  I marked it out in the car and round trip is 3 miles.

Perfect.

It was about 10:00AM and by 10:10AM – out on the trail- I was sweating.  Not because I was over exerting myself but the humidity was fierce.  I had a sweat mustache that was turning into a sweat beard.  This was the least of my worries as I thought, “dear lord don’t let my ass sweat so much I get visible crack sweat.”

Passing other exercisers I pondered….

A.)  I’m the only one carrying a water bottle.

B.)  Nobody else looks hot.  (Except for the woman who was carrying a towel in her cleavage.  Yep.  Swear.)

The trail is also popular for people and their dogs.  It wasn’t long until I encountered my first couple walking their furry kid.  The parents were both sporting shorts and tank tops while busily chatting about the upcoming day.  However, it was their dog that caught my attention.

The pet.

Was wearing a sweater.

Apparently, when they bought the dog it was a full sized Doberman Pinscher but for some reason, over time, it began to shrink and now was a pocket sized pet.  That’s embarrassing.  When you heat things up that shouldn’t really be heated …..they tend to shrink.

Think:  washing a wool sweater.

Continuing on my way, I encountered some of the local wildlife.  The crazy ass ducks.  There were precisely TWO cute white feathered ducks with the yellow beaks.  The rest of the herd were these oddly  poka-a-dotted, red headed, as large as four footballs kind of ducks.  They come up to about my knee.  I’ve see them all the time as I drive along this stretch of the road –  they enjoy the greens of the course.

Today, there’s about 14 of them in the middle of the trail.

About 25 paces ahead of me is a man.  Not an enormous man.  Not a small man.  Not a skinny man.  Not a fat man.  Just a man.  He approaches the herd.  I’m thinking, “this will be interesting.”  Next thing I know he’s flapping his arms wildly over his head, while yelling at them:

“Go Away!”

“Go!”

“Get out of here!”

Some people are afraid of cockroaches.  Some people don’t like cats.  This man obviously thought the ducks were going to knock him down and attack him him like a band of rubber soled mall cops believing he shop lifted something from the As Seen On TV store.

Next up?  The Alaska Minxy.  I approach the herd.  My take on the scene was completely different.    Just like a Wood Nymph from the forest, I greet the ducks and wish them a pleasant day.

“Morning everyone.”

“Excuse me. Pardon me.”

“Have a good day.  Stay out of trouble.  Good to see you.”

I weaved my way through the knee high nippers (while trying to avoid the ones with the creepy red heads and turkey like neck things) all the while conversing with them.  They had plenty to say and it was all very important to express whatever it was.

Honk.  Honk.  Squawk.  Honk.  Beep.  Squawk.

Finally, I was on my final approach to the gate of my community, I spotted a giant tree, which would be perfect to sit under to do my cool down stretches.  I really enjoy this time of my workout.  It’s calming and relaxing for me.  My music plays in my ears and I’m very content.  Having drank my entire Nalgene bottle of water…and sweating like a UFC fighter….I carefully check to make sure there’s no dog poop or snakes in the grass and begin my stretches.

I’m sitting on the ground, legs stretched to either side and I’m leaning over each leg, stretching.  Ahhhh.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure to my left.  Okay, well just ignore it.  It will go away.  La. La. La. Laaaa.  La. La. La.

I bend to the other knee and WHOA, what the hell?  The figure is now pretty much within arms reach.  I look up at this man who could have easily been my grandfather, standing there with his hands on his hips, his mouth is moving…..Really?  You have to be kidding me.

He’s obviously trying to tell me something so,  I take out my earplugs and think he must be trying to tell me that he wouldn’t advise sitting in the grass because of snakes or lizards….right?

Wrong.  He says, “are you stretching?”

No, I’m actually looking to see if ants have dandruff and am checking this crab grass for evidence.  WTF?

He proceeds to tell me that I’m doing it all wrong and I should be doing it this way.  And it’s all about breathing.  Yatta.  Yatta.  Okay, got it.  Thanks.  You can stretch how you want to stretch and I’ll stretch the way I want to stretch….now please move on so I can continue to check on the ant dandruff.

Then, it becomes obvious he’s determined to change my ways and proceeds to show me a better stretch using the tree.  Fine.  By this time I am sweating so much I learn that:  no really, when sweat runs into your eyes it burns.

It actually burns A LOT!  First one eye.  Then the second eye.  Luckily my third eye was still at home soaking in the anti-ache third eye solution.  I think my sweat is actually melting my contacts to my eyeballs.  All the while grandpa here is showing me the proper hamstring stretch.

Then he stands up and says, “can you bend over?”

I said, “Excuse me?”

He replied, “You know, touch your toes.  A lot of people can’t touch their toes because they don’t stretch properly.  Like this.”  And he proceeds to aim for his toes.

I turn to the side and throw my hands on the ground.  Yep, I’d say I can touch my toes….no problem.  Got it.  Check.

My eyes now feel like I’ve put Frank’s Red Hot in them and I really just need to go through the gate on my left.  HOWEVER.

As I begin to make my exit, Grandpa is telling me how I should really take up yoga cause it keeps woman looking young.  I tell him the company I work for actually offers a yoga class every week at the company gym.  He was shocked and asked where I worked.

I’m thinking come on…buddy, if I give off any more vibe of “I’ve got to go” I’m going to disappear in a giant puff of smoke.  Not to mention I need to get the sweat out of my eyeballs – now I can barely see due to the triple vision in each eyes and my nose is now running.

I tell him I work for Royal Caribbean cruises and his response is, “It’s terrible what happened to all those captives.  Just a shame.”  I couldn’t figure out if he was referring to employees or passengers.  Then he says something about being stranded out there and being held captive.

As I make my way to the gate I yell over my shoulder that wasn’t Royal Caribbean, that was Carnival cruises.   Thanks for the stretching advise and have a good day.

I slam through the gate and exhale on the other side, “freak.”

What I learned on my walk:

Some men are afraid of duck herds.

Doberman Pinschers shrink when they get hot.

Stretch inside the gate.

Carry a hand towel in my cleavage.

Learn how to say, “I don’t speak English” in Pig Latin.

 

 

 

 

 

There’s a What in My Belly Button?

I wouldn’t say I am a giant germophobe.

I go to the movie theater without concern.  I drink out of restaurant glassware, although I will admit I am about two steps away from bringing my own silverware.  Thank God payphones are going away, I couldn’t use those anymore.  You know, close talkers and all.  WAH!  And I certainly won’t use a public water fountain or get into a public hot tub or pool.  (Don’t even get me started on those.)

However my biggest weakness is the 3 x 3 space called airplane seats.  Before storing my bag under the seat I break out my alcohol wipes.

I wipe down the seat belt clasp, both arm rests,  the incher recliner button, head rest, all of the tray table, the clip that holds the tray in place and the lip of the seat pocket. This is true, even when in first class.  I don’t discriminate against the germs.

Technically, whatever you do, you shouldn’t even use that pocket in the first place.

Ignore it.

Resist all temptation to put anything in there!

Do you know what’s been in there? Used vomit bags, used tissues, dirty napkins, napkins with spit, used cups, gum, candy wrappers that have been chewed on, diapers, used diapers, water bottles that are probably covered in germs, ear wax from headphones, lice from hats, half eaten items of questionable origins, finger nail clippings….not to mention toe jam from the people in flip flops that use the seat as a foot rest and finally boogers too boot!

There’s a plethora of bacteria growing on that material!  I didn’t even have to mention unwashed hands touching the magazines or flight safety card.   When was the last time any of this was actually disinfected?

Remember how there was always a mad dash to get the pillows and blankets on the plane?  Thank goodness they’ve gone the way of the 8-track tape….they were oceans of germs!

It makes me a little woozy just thinking about it.  So is there any wonder I disinfect like a crazy person when I get on?  Next time you have to fly, I bet you think twice about what you’re touching.

Betcha.

The other day, I was at the gym and came out of the toilet, washed my hands and noticed the woman in the stall next to me didn’t bother to even approach the sink when she came out of the stall.  She immediately went right out of the locker room.

If I could come up with a tactful way of saying, “OMG!  You didn’t wash your hands!  That’s so disgusting.” I would say it.  Unfortunately, I know myself well enough that it wouldn’t come out anything close to something Miss Manners would approve of in society.  It would be more like a rant from Ozzy Osbourne, or having just watched The Dictator, it would come out more like, “What The Fuck!”  See, that’s not so Emily Post either.

Now every time I see this lady I know she’s not a washer.  If I was ever introduced to her I’d end up declining the hand shake.  “I’m sorry.  Normally, I’d shake your hand but I know you don’t wash after peeing.”  That would be the end of the friendship.  Which would be a blessing.

We’ve all heard the stories about hotel rooms.  Put the remote in a baggie, it’s covered in germs from every orifice of the human body.  Immediately remove the bed spread.  They’re covered in dried puddles of once oozy fluid – we’ve seen that proven time and time again on investigative reporting shows.

The cleanest thing in a hotel room is probably you!

Of course, I am a firm believer, without a little dirt in your life, you’d be sick quite often.  You need to build up your immunity to the tiniest wonders of the living world.  Dirt is good.  There are things I don’t need to know and I’m okay knowing that over time, yes, I have probably eaten a bug or three.  It’s highly likely I have accidentally eaten hair – not of my own.  Random flecks of whatever have made their way into my body and the hearty little army of germ fighters have kept the battle strong and keep fighting the good fight.  Thank you.

However, the other day, I had a “like” on my blog,”Best Night’s Sleep in Ages” from Twinkling Pebbles and decided to check out her blog.  She had written about an article that was recently published online via National Geographic about what scientists are researching regarding…yes, that’s correct…our belly buttons.

They have described it as being similar to a rainforest……full of bacteria!  Seriously, how many of us have actually thought about scrubbing out that little innie or outie?  Well, now you should or sign up for the research.  According to the NatGeo article, “From 60 belly buttons, the team found 2,368 bacterial species, 1,458 of which may be new to science.”

That’s it, I now have a child’s toothbrush in the shower, to clean out my belly button rain forest!  Now of course I’m curious, is it easier to clean an innie or an outie?  I don’t know.  This could be worse than toe jam on your tray table!

Time to invent some alcohol q-tips swabs….

The Gym – Always a Story

My goal is to get to the gym four times a week.

When I successfully wrangle my butt out from under the soft and cozy blankets….stumble over the pets to make a cup of coffee….blindly throw on my gym gear…..put my hair up in two pig tails and manage to make it INTO the gym….I give myself a pat on the back, a kiss on the hand and a red star on the calendar.

No, really I do.

Kiss my hand, that is.

If I’m going to spend the wee hours of the morning sweating it out with some of  Juneau’s most interesting residents… then by god someone should be kissing me for the effort.   I’m not referring to the overly furry man with the pony tail and tat-sleeves I see every morning.  Either shave that thing, knit it into a sweater or cover it up – good god man!

Of course getting stars on the calendar is quite the bonus too.   It’s a mental thing.

Yeah me!

Without a doubt, it goes back to my second grade days when Mrs. Boyer would give out stars to the best kids in class at the end of the day.  Yes, please.  Don’t I deserve TWO?  Me, suck up?  Never.  Don’t know what that even means.  Now give me the stars!

Each student received a little handmade book at the start of the school year to collect stars.  My booklet had a gray wallpaper cover.

The two most sought after treats were either getting your face painted during recess or saving up 100 stars.  What did you get for 100 stars?  The best thing ever!

Mrs. Boyer would bring her Collie into school for the whole day.

Okay, I know you were thinking the best thing ever is really an endless vodka iv drip.  Followed by daily  massages by some hunky, half-clothed, man of your choice on a white sand beach.  Better yet, can I have the vodka iv drip while getting the massage from Mr. Bare Chested Sexy Guy?

Funny the things you remember.

That’s why I love my red stars.

When I go to the gym, I’m focused.  I’m not there to be seen.  I’m not there to walk on the treadmill and gossip with friends.  I’m not there to check into a social club.  I really don’t give a flying flip if my exercise pants don’t match my tank top or socks.   I’m there to sweat, lift weights, climb stairs, push weights, sweat, circulate on the elliptical, pull weights, work, sing along to the songs on my iPod and ponder how to solve the world’s problems.

Duh.

Yes, it’s true.  I’ve ignore people I know at the gym.  Thank you tunnel vision.  Honest, it’s not on purpose.  (Okay, I admit, sometimes it is.)   If you cross through my line of sight of course  I will acknowledge you – I’m not rude!  However, if you’re on a treadmill six down and across the room from me, don’t expect me to wave my hands in the air.  I am certainly not going to rush over to inquire how your previous night was.

News flash:  I don’t care.  I am there to work.  Get in.  Get out.

Some of the members of my gym are aliens.  There’s the crazy guy who I swear is going to seriously injure himself on the weight machines.  He’s creepy and he’s dangerous.  Not a good combination.   Above all he drives me absolutely nuts with how he does things. There was the woman who was insistent on providing me full frontal disclosure – awkward.  Just put that away, I’m not interested in your ya-ya.

However, this week, I’ve encountered something completely different and I can’t figure out what the advantage would be for this guy.

The only logical conclusion in my mind:  this guy thought he was in a low-budget porno.

Imagine this scenario:  I’m using a flat bench to do flyes and presses.  A guy comes over – not in the best shape.  Older.  The dumb bell racks are lining the wall in front of me – by my feet.  He walks up and selects one weight – at about 30 pounds.

This puts him about 6 feet away from me.  Immediately to my right.

Holding just one weight.

In his right hand.

Curls commence.

Fine.

Then the weirdness starts.  Sound the appropriate alarm here…

He raises his left leg and puts his left foot up on the rack at a 90 degree bend – sort of.

His foot is on the rack.  Kinda like he’s stretching?  Really?

Did I mention he’s wearing shorts?

Now what is this about?

I’m still perplexed.  Weirdo.  I finish my bench exercises and realize he’s conveniently parked himself where my weights need to be returned.

Stretch….one….bend….two….bend….three….bend.

Really?

I put my weights down next to my bench and decide to walk through the gym for a minute – you know to cool off.  I return a couple of minutes later.  Now he’s attracted a friend.  Both of them are now blocking the rack.  You’ll be glad to know, he’s switched legs.

Bend….one….bend….two…bend…three.

It’s just too early for this kind of stuff.  I’ve only had one cup of coffee.  I’ve just sweated myself silly for an hour.  My chest feels like silly putty and now you want to block my way?

Grabbing my weights, I throw my shoulders back and walk straight up to the guy – nearly hip checking him on the approach.  EXCUSE ME – and slam the weights into their holder.  He obviously thought I was impressed with his pale, fleshy thigh as he gave me a big grin…bend…one…bend…two.

Really?

Freak.

Don’t make me say sorry.

The Creepy Gym Guy Returns

I had to share this with you. For those of you who have read earlier notes about the Creepy Fucker that regularly goes to my gym, behold another installation.

He was back yesterday.

As I was safely perched on the Crosstrainer, spinning/climbing my morning away, I spied the guy in the weight area. His workout today wasn’t the usual leg extension machine but alas, tricep pushdowns.

The concept, basically, is to push the bar down and slowly allow it back up….working the muscles in the back of your arm. (The jiggly ones.) You keep your elbows tucked in to your torso and face towards the weights – palms down and P-R-E-S-S!

I wish I could have gotten a video. He put so much weight on the machine for this exercise that:

When he went to press down, he had to bend over in half – at the waist – to get the bar to move. Hint: too much weight.

Then when it was time to let the bar “slowly return” he nearly gave himself a bloody nose. That bar whipped up so fast it literally took him right off his feet! Seriously, the guy dangled for just a moment in the air due to the work of gravity and the weights returning to the rack. He’s damn lucky it didn’t caterpalt him into the next room! I, of course, would have run to help him….as soon as I picked myself up off the floor from laughter.

Yes, I confess. I was snorting out loud. Luckily, all the cardio machines have TVs so you never know what people are snorting about. Smart move on behalf of gyms everywhere — keeping us all sane and cleverly disguised.

He did this move another 4 times and then went back to his leg extensions. Of course I’ve ranted about how he does those too. So much weight on, yep….you guessed it…it lifts him right out of the seat! He ends up only moving the weight maybe 1 inch! Good lord, send someone to help this man before he injures himself!

Imagines still flash through my mind with him dangling from that bar for just an instant. Too much weight, too much weight! I’ve got to get a video.

Onwards and upwards.

Just Another Gym Observation

Three things to know about me:

1. I’m not a prude.
2. I’ve sunbathed on a nudest beach.
3. I have nudest friends.

Now that we have that out of the way, let me tell you what happened yesterday morning at the gym. After checking in at the front desk, I merrily head into the ladies locker room – excited only enough as one can be when you realize you have an 45 minutes of cardio coming up.

Now, when you open the door to the locker room you immediately have to turn left and the lockers are straight ahead of you – about 6 full strides. When I took that left yesterday morning, luckily there are non-skid mats on the floor, otherwise, I would have most definitely found myself taking out the garbage can and knocking over the floral arrangement as I tried to keep upright and act normal.

Behold full frontal nudity.

Arms above the head – fluffing their wet hair with the towel.

Stretching….

It was like going to an all inclusive resort, where you flip through the TV channels and suddenly realize the porn channels are free. One minute you’re watching Bobby Flay challenge a chef from Detroit and the next minute you’re seeing what I can only call wet meat and a lot of legs.

There I stood, like a deer in headlights. Still in my purple puffy coat, hat, scarf and socks (you have to take your shoes off at the front door.) What the hell was that? I think I just went blind. I don’t need this at this hour of the day. Quickly I think to myself, I could suddenly stop and wash my hands. Or better yet, use the toilet, then wash my hands. While still in my coat? Really. Just go get a locker. Get a grip on yourself.

It’s not like I haven’t seen women naked in the locker room before. It happens all the time. However, this girl thought she was attending a show and tell. I’m busy trying to find out where modesty went and it’s nowhere to be found. I like being modest. I don’t need everyone to see what I’ve got. Myself, God, my doctor and my better half know what I’ve got and that is good enough for me thank you.

As I approach the locker area, still partially blinded, I realize….shit, I think I know her. Are you kidding me? Well this is awkward. The upside is my usual locker is free so I head straight for it. The downside is it’s located about four down from her’s. And she’s taking up the entire bench. When I say entire bench, I’m saying I couldn’t even put my water bottle down.

Now I’m stuck with the idiotic panic of probably knowing this girl. If it’s her…then we actually worked together this summer. I’ve seen her in here over the last few months and we don’t say anything other than a “Hi, how’s it going.” Well I can’t start a conversation now, because I’m trying to ignore her. And she had that towel on her head, which changed her appearance. It’s not like I would recognize her in a lineup of naked woman from the neck down – so I’ll just pretend I’m in my own world. Which, for now, due to safety reasons, I am.

La la la la
Small fuzzy pets.
Baby animals.
Snorkeling.

Then it happens. Using my stealthy peripheral vision I see, in shear horror, she has put her leg up on the bench to apply body lotion. WAH! Kooka! Kooka! I don’t want to see your Kooka! Put it away! OMG where is your modesty? For the love of God, woman! Did you want me to run over and slap a blue medal ribbon on you or something? Cheese-Its!

La la la la la
Going to Barnes & Noble.
Snuggling with FeeBee cat.
La La La.
Loved that movie “Red” and the pink pig
La la la

As I’m pondering whether to acknowledge her or not…because I don’t want to be rude and we obviously saw each other. Although I’d say I saw more of her than I wanted….another lady comes into the locker area and starts chatting with her.

I swear she says to naked woman: “I like your outfit.”
Naked woman: “thanks.”

I pause for a nano-second. Was that a pick up line?
That’s it! I’m outta here. I slam my locker door and punch in the security code. I probably left sneaker tracks high tailing it out of there so fast.

Of course, as I dash out the door to head up to the cardio machines I nearly trip over the Creepy Fucker – figures.

Today, I’ll admit, I’m a little afraid to go back to the gym. At least I got my sight back.