Tag Archives: girls

RIP my car

Ellooooo governa! This is going to be short and sweet as I’ve had one of the longest most whirlwind days of my life (talking about Wednesday here, not Thursday).  Not only was work hell and I made the executive decision to try and go through all of my emails and stay until 7pm when I should’ve left at 4 I came home to find one of my old college friends Periwinkle at my apartment.

I should back up a little, yes Lucky is coming to my house this weekend and I am SOOOOO excited, but Anth is also hosting a bachelor party of 20 guys at our house.  Hrmph.  Lucky and I have a list of things to do and places to be so hopefully they don’t get in the way.   Anyway, it’s Periwinkle’s bachelor party and he came in town yesterday to do some business before hand.

So when I got home, instead of doing my normal lay in my bed and nap for 3 hours, eat some dinner, and go back to bed I had to sit downstairs and socialize.  AND miss The Voice 😦 so not fair.  So I was already feeling a little out of my element.

9pm rolled around and I decided I should go tanning since I have 2 days left on my contract.  So I go and on my way home BAM CRASH BOOM.  Car accident.  I knew it was inevitable with traffic being the way it is here and the 8 million people, but I would’ve never guessed I would’ve gotten in an accident at 10 o’clock at night when there is 0 traffic.

So what happened? I’m minding my own business driving home and was about .2 miles from my apartment, like literally had to turn a corner and I’d be home when I go down a little slope and run into the side of this chick’s car.  She was pulling out of a parallel parking space and I don’t know she seemed pretty dingy, so she probably didn’t even look to see if any cars were coming.  I tried to stop but it didn’t happen.  My car is drivable… but it looks pretty rough…

So after I slam into the side of this girl’s car a guy jumps out and is looking at the damage, I fall out of my car like I almost died and he asks if I’m ok, I say yeah and dig through my purse to find my phone to call the cops all the while the driver is just sitting in the car.  I’m all, “Uhh is she ok?” And he’s like “Oh she hit her head.”  Eventually she gets out and says she’s fine, the cops tell us if the cars are driveable they’re not coming and we should just exchange information and come to the police station within 48 hours to file a report.  Some city huh?

So we do, by this time it’s pushing 10 (my bedtime) and I don’t feel like subjecting myself to a big city police station before bed.   The couple tells me they are going to go tonight to get it over with and I tell them I’m going to go tomorrow to kick off my vacation the right way. We leave and 30 minutes later I get a call from them saying they’re at a police station in the suburbs and the cops told them to tell me not to file another police report because having 2 would make it confusing.  Hrmmm… ok, and they also didn’t need a statement from me.  It’s weird.  They gave me a report number so I’m going to go to the police station and see if they’ll give me a copy of the report.  

BUT, I googled it and in anyway shape or form this accident is this girls fault, whether they filed the report or I did…. people pulling out of parking spots have to yield to oncoming traffic no matter what so I guess I should chillax.  

My poor little old car, now every time I go over a bump it makes this horrifying sound like it wants to die.  Stay strong car, stay strong, help is coming in the form of an insurance check. 

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I liked Glee Clubs before it was cool

It’s no secret that my life has been a little… how shall I say it… boring.  Lucky is over here getting Bartled and Jamesed left and right and I’m at home playing with my sims.  It makes me think of the Sex and The City Episode when Carrie and Charlotte go to an affirmation reading and the lecturer tells Charlotte she’s not really putting herself out there, and Carrie is all BITCH, PLEASE! I feel like Charlotte, I’m out and about doing things non-alcohol related so I can try and meet some classy people that aren’t all about getting wasted (the wastedness will have to come later once we all get to know each other, obvi) and I’m still not meeting any quality people.  

I thought mayyybe there would be some good people to hang out with at my workout class, the trainer at least.  But no, the trainers just piss me off.  Like how can you have confidence in someone telling you to do an exercise when you’re already in better shape than them?  That’s the case with both of my trainers, especially the girl.  She’s one of those girls who is probably in decent shape but you can’t tell because she’s so thick in the trunk.  Like KimK thick.  Then, because I skipped ONE session she’s all “OMG, GIZZY! I’m SOOOO PROUD OF YOU!” Anytime I show up to class.  And I’m the only one she says it to.  Condescending bitch.  Then, they decide they’re going to make fun of my skinny legs and how I do every exercise wrong and be all, “Oh ahahahahah Gizzy, you’re like my favorite!” Shut the fuck up and go eat a dick, whore.

Anyway, that’s not what today’s post is about.  Since I’m lacking in the guy area I’ve been facebook creeping on friends from college who live in my city and this past weekend I came across this guy Chris’ page.  His status read, “First time back in the studio in 2 years…feels good!” Then I thought, “Studio? What’s he doing in the studio? Ohhhhhhh, right… he’s awesome.” So I liked his status and it brought me back to my college years when I met Chris and I lived in a sorority and became a Glee Club groupie.  

All of my friends made fun of me, told me the Glee guys were lame because most of them were religious and they were genuine nice guys who opened doors for girls and waited for girls to be seated at the table before they sat down, the kind of guys that are impossible to find anymore.  And I’m telling you now, if I had stuck with those Glee guys I would be married to one of them right now.

 It went down like this, my sorority hosted the male Glee Club for dinner one night – in return they serenaded us.  And Chris, head of the Glee Club, assigned himself to me.  Not only were these guys incredible singers/musicians they were all hot, too.  It was EXACTLY like GLEE, minus the trampy whores.  Like I can honest to god say nothing has turned me on more than being serenaded by these guys, it’s the kind of hot that you don’t get every day just walking down the street making out with drunk strangers.

Anyway, they sang and danced and I swooned over them all, we ate dinner, then me and a few of my sorority sisters went to a party with some of them.  I fell in love with Chris’ Glee friend, Levi.  I don’t think anything ever really happened because he was a gentleman and at the time I was all about being drunk (not much has changed), we hung out a few times and remained friends but I was into being a bar rat and he had morals. However, he did put me in the video where he documented the making of his first album. Sigh. 

Now he has a record deal, and he’s out touring the world with his….wife.   I know, I know, if it was meant to be we would’ve ended up together yada yada yada…. we’re not each others soul mates.  BUT, it could’ve happened! If he was still single today I think it would’ve worked out and I wouldn’t have blown him off for some frat boy jock.  Did I forget to mention that Levi asked me to the Glee Club’s Soiree and I turned him down to go to a frat formal? That’s when we stopped hanging out, and the world ended.  UGH!! I’m so pissed off at my 21 year old self for being such a stupid whore.  What can ya do?!

 

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He’s a little…out of your league.

Well I just finished day 2 of boot camp, literally 10 minutes ago.  I could puke.  Day 1 wasn’t so bad, everyone takes their “Before”pictures and gets measurements taken and all that jazz.  So after day 1 I treated myself to a bacon egg and cheese biscuit  from McDonalds, it will be the last time we touch lips for some time.  Anyway, Anth didn’t go to the first day because he was out of town and by the looks of the instructors and the rest of the people in the class I knew it wouldn’t be his cup of tea.  He’s really in shape and thinks the amount he can bench press should impress girls and told me first hand he wants nothing to do with “downward facing dog.”

When day 2 rolled around this morning we pulled up about 4 minutes till 5 and the instructor (we’ll call her Nazi-Whore) walks outside and starts clapping her hands at us, “Come on! You’re late, last one in the building runs an extra mile.” Excusie? We are not late.  YOU were 10 minutes late the first day so shut your Nazi-Whore hole.  Neither Anth nor myself enjoys people who think they can boss us around so we both may have trouble with the Nazi-Whore because she was like that the entire fricking time.  The first exercise? Downward facing dog.  Bahaha!  Which by the way was perfect for someone like me who hates to work out and rarely does so.  I think in the end it will give me the results I’m looking for (a toned non-muscular beach bod.)  Anth thought it was “gay” but agreed to keep going because “it will get him in even better shape,” tool.  He totes loved it.  The only thing he complained about was stretching his ass infront of all the people that were walking in for the 6am class.  Mwhahaha.

Anyway, summer is vastly approaching and that means… summer looooove!!  Since I am officially revirginized I have to pick someone to give up my 3rd virginity to.  Yes, this over 1 year since any woopie has happened once before, in college.  My sorority sisters had a ceremony for my “pure soul” and I had to give a speech (it was good, it included bible versus by candlelight and will be posted in due time), then we all went out and got pants shitting drunk to try and get me some sex.  Which didn’t happen for another 4 or 5 months, so I still have a few months before I break my record.

But, yesterday I thought I had potentially locked down a doctor at lunch.  I sat at the “singles” bar where all of the people who don’t have any friends to eat with sit and stare at the wall.  I sat down next to a woman doctor and a few minutes later a hot young surgeon sat down next to me.  Well, hello hellooooo.  I was reading Lucky’s post for yesterday while I ate my burger when the Doctor says, “Whatcha reading there? A blog? What’s it about? It’s so hard to find interesting blogs.”  I quickly closed out the browser and said, “Yeah… the site I’m reading is pretty meh, I think I’ll look for something more compelling.” Totes not trying to knock our blog but I cannot have people at my workplace reading this.  #1 I would abso get fired for talking so much shit #2 What if this doctor would’ve asked me out right after I told him I have this blog where me and my best friend rant about all of our sexual escapades and relationship failures? The stuff on the blog is like 1 year anniversary material.  So anyway, I don’t know if he saw the name or the web address, we could potentially have a new reader… Ellooo doctor! Or maybe he was just trying to make small talk so he could ask me out and then changed his mind because I’m such a spaz.   Who knows.

After it seemed as though my ultimate plan of finding a doctor to love me was taking a turn for the better I came home and started telling Anth about it, he could’ve cared less.  Then Lucky starts telling me about how she is going to see the Hangover 2 this weekend and I’m all, “Anth! The Hangover 2 comes out this weekend, we gotta go see it next week!” And he’s all, “No, we have to go see Thor, my friend who is in it is coming to visit in a few weeks and how big of assholes will we be if none of us have seen it?” Hold the bus, “Your friend was in THOR, THE MAJOR MOTION PICTURE!!!??? How many lines does he have?” “Ummm he was like one of the main characters?” This sparked an idear in my head, “Do you think he’ll want to be my boyfriend?” Anth cracked up and was all, “Maaaaaybbeeee… but he’s a little…out of your league.  I mean, he’s a movie star.”  Well asshole, obviously I was kidding but now I am going to make it my life goal to lose my 3rd virginity to Anth’s friend in Thor.  I started boot camp for Pete’s sake, in 2 weeks I am going to look DAMN GOOD! I mean for real, I have to set some goals for myself or I won’t keep going to boot camp.  So, thanks Anth… you just motivated me to lose 5 pounds.  Dick.

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Revirginization

So I had a hot date this weekend.  Don’t get too excited, it was with myself.  You know how people always say, “How can you expect someone to love you when you don’t love yourself?” I’ve become a master at loving myself and still no love from the fellas.  But, I’m fine with that.  Honestly, if I had my pick of going out to dinner and making meaningless conversation with a stranger with false hopes of him being “the one” or sitting on my ass watching chick flicks and ordering in wings, cheese fries, and beer – I’d pick the later.  

Is this what biter sounds like?  I think so.  I do believe I have good reason to be biter though.  I realized this past week that it has been almost 14 months since I’ve gotten laid.  That’s right, one-four.  There are people out there who have gotten pregnant twice since the last time I had sex.  To tell you the truth, I didn’t even notice and I certainly didn’t miss it, especially not the awkwardness afterward and the whole “do you have a condom” convo, and I DEFINITELY didn’t miss the guy not knowing what to do with my lady parts.  This might be more of me becoming a-sexual talk than biter.  I think I heard once a-sexual people are serial killers? That might be a lie, either way still scary.

I guess I could blame my “revirginization” (as we’ll call it) on being busy, starting a new job, and all that jazz.  But I think it’s mostly that I haven’t met a guy since Hottie that I’ve had a romantic connection with and that’s a little scary too, almost more scary than a-sexual serial killers.  Because if I’m 26 and can’t find a guy that I find interesting enough to hop in the sack with, how much worse is it going to get the older I get and the further their hairlines recede?  I’m dong my part here boys, I’ll keep my goodies looking perky if you buy Rogaine in bulk.  

Anyway, enough of me feeling sorry for myself because my vagina is literally contemplating retirement and on to some real news.  I start boot camp this morning.  That’s in oh… 6 hours.  It’s going to be rough I won’t lie.  I was just telling Lucky about my instructor, he’s an ex-marine with a soul patch.  Ex-marine – ok… soul patch – not ok.  I think the work out should be decent, but it will be hard to look at his face.  

This boot camp is 4 weeks long and 4 times a week.  My plan is to do some cardio on the days I’m not in class and then kill myself at the end of the 4 weeks.  Seriously though, I’m getting older, if I let my body go I have no chance at getting a hot husband who will inevitably cheat on me with his sexretary when my eye lids (and boobs) start to sag.  So when that happens I need to at least be able to look back at pictures of myself when I was looking my best, fingers crossed that will be after this class and not 10 years ago when I was in high school.

In other news, if anyone was following my great roommate debacle of last week I have decided to surrender my room to crack-head Tim so that I can buy a new car when mine decides to kick the bucket (which should be any day now), and then live out of it.  Really though, I don’t plan to be in this apartment much longer whether it’s in a room with doors or my dungeon.  I don’t fancy living with boys.  So that’s that.  I came to the conclusion this weekend while I was sitting in serenity with all the boys being gone for the weekend that no matter where I sleep in this apartment I will NEVER bring a guy I am half-way interested in here so I may as well get cheap rent out of the situation.  

I feel like after going on a really awesome date with a guy and him dropping me off and me being like, “Oh do you want to come in” just can not and will not ever happen as long as I am under this roof for the following reasons:

1. Introducing him to the roommates.  – Imagine having 3 older brothers and bringing your new boyfriend home to meet them, this is exactly how it would be for me, only my older brothers would be drunk and make jokes about my boobs.  Not attractive.

2. Disintegrating furniture – These guys have no class, our furniture is literally falling apart but I’m not shelling out the bucks to buy new so they can tear that up too, no way no how, and no way no how would I let a guy I like see that I live in such a hole.

3. The bathroom – No matter how much I clean, these guys get their hair everywhere, and there’s always toothpaste in the sink, ALWAYS.  Just gross, no respectable man that I date will be like this and he also shouldn’t have to be subjected to seeing disgusting men in their habitat.

4. The farts – With all 3 boys present in 1 room it smells like farts, whether they are farting or not they just as a whole stink like farts.  I can’t stand it, so no guy I date will be able to stand it either.

So there you have it, a few of the reasons why I can’t date until I move out of this crap hole.  As if I needed to convince any of you, I’m sure you’re all sitting there thinking Umm helloooo Miss Obvious, how about the fact that you live in a dungeon with no door for a reason???!!!  Touche friends, touche. 

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Homeless Harriet

I hate everyone.  Like seriously.  I thought my life was starting to semi-get in order. I’ve been reading literary masterpieces so that I have intellectual things to talk about with Dr. Love, my car situation is finally under control, Lucky booked a flight to come here over her birthday/the fourth of July, I’m about to move into a room with not only 4 walls and a door, but a walk in closet with places to hang my clothes, AND a bathroom; life was good.  Then I get thrown under the bus like I’m invisible, yet again.  Right before the end of my work day yesterday I get this email from Anth:

To: Gizzy, Doogie

Subject: roommate

How do you guys feel about Tim moving in? He’s either moving in, getting a single, or getting a double with me he says.  I don’t see myself moving out so the last one probably can get tossed from the list.  He would pay the $900 for the bigger room and parking for sure.  Plus, he doesn’t do blow anymore.  So, score.  He’s probably going to come over Monday or Tuesday, whenever the next game is on to talk about it.

I was instantly fuming, texted Lucky that I would be calling her in 5 to vent, and got the hell out of work.  If you all remember when I moved up here I explained that I live in the den in the basement aka the dungeon, where it is cold, dark, and loud.  My bed is literally 2 feet from the furnace, air conditioning, the front door, and the garage door.  Not to mention anytime anyone makes any kind of noise in the living room or kitchen the noise in amplified in my room times 100.  So, when JM informed us he would be moving out memorial day weekend I was more than ecstatic to take over his room. Even if it did mean almost tripling what I pay now in rent.

Anth never really took my vow to move upstairs seriously, and asked me every other day if I was going to take over JM’s room when he moved out.  The answer was always a yes, without hesitation.  So it was quite a surprise to get this email 2 weeks before JM moves out, especially when we just talked the other day about how JM would forfeit his security deposit over to me so that he didn’t have to notify the landlord that he was moving out and have him come in and do an inspection and all that goodness.  Everything was all set, until this.  

Lucky and I kind of came to the conclusion that maybe he was trying to lock in a more permanent roommate since I had clearly stated from the beginning to them that if Lucky moves here, I am outro and living with her.  But, since that wouldn’t be for at least another 4 or 5 months I didn’t think looking for a replacement roommate was that big of an issue yet.  We had also decided that I shouldn’t reply to the email and I should confront him face to face when I got home, clearly this talk with Tim has been going on for a while and this was just the first I was hearing about it, Anth was obviously trying to be passive aggressive so he didn’t have to tell me I am getting the boot to my face.  While we’re on the phone Doogie replies to the email:

Yes. That’s awesome.  I see myself rocking out waaaaaaaay more hahahahaha

Really? I thought if anyone was going to have my back it would be Doogie since he is the most level headed one out of the bunch.  Clearly not.  So I get home from work, all fired up, stomp up the stairs in my stilettos and pencil skirt ready to go hammer on Anth, and of course this is THE ONE DAY he isn’t home when I get home.  And he doesn’t show up until 8pm at night, clearly to ensure everyone else is already home knowing I don’t want to be a drama queen and go off on him in front of everyone, I’m sure.

Anyway, when I saw he wasn’t home I decided I had no choice but to reply to the email because I couldn’t hold in my anger any longer:

So I don’t deserve 4 walls and a door anymore, asshole? I don’t even know who the fuck Tim is.

No reply.  Pretty typical, now he was scared.  Hence the not coming home until 8pm.  He walked in, we had a living room full of people and I immediately gave him the death glare.  He was able to put the subject off for a good 10-15 minutes until Doogie brought it up.  Anth looked at me and says, “Yeah, you don’t have to get so defensive, obviously the room is yours if you want it, I was just explaining all our options.”  Everyone stared at me for a response so I just repeated what the email said when Doogie’s girlfriend Patty chimed in, “Clearly Gizzy has paid her dues and deserves the room, YOU DICK!”  Thank you, Patty! Anth defends himself, “Well I just wanted to give you the choice since it’s a lot more expensive.” I just turned my head away to watch tv.  Bastard.

After I retreated to the dungeon for the night to go to bed I hear Doogie ask Anth, “So what’s the deal with Tim moving in?” to which Anth replied, “Well obviously if Gizzy wants the room it’s hers.  Tim could live downstairs but I really don’t think he’d be up for that.  So if he moved into JM’s room it would be cheaper for everyone.”

Well heres some news assholes, if Tim moves into JM’s room – Gizzy moves out! Ooohhh, now it’s more expensive for everyone and there will be no one around to buy things like dishsoap, papertowels, toilet paper, and trashbags, or to clean up after you filthy animals.  How ’bout them apples?  Assholes.

PLUS! And I quote, “He doesn’t do blow anymore.  So, score.”  Ummmmm… have fun tracking down your new 60 inch flat screen when that crack head sells it for drug money.  Idiots.  They’ll be sorry.

Reason # 17,834 why I HATE men.

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Aunt Cray Cray and the language of love

Did all you baby momma’s have a good Mother’s Day? My mom did, we bought her a new digital camera and god damnit she better love it! She does.  

Anyway, I’m just going to jump right into this because I can’t contain the crazy in my head any longer.  We got together with the fam yesterday for Mother’s Day.  I know every family has that 1 crazy aunt or uncle that’s a little wacky, but my aunt takes the cake.  She’s been married and divorced twice and just broke up with her boyfriend of a year.  I can’t even tell you how we got on the topic of love and relationships but all fucking hell broke loose when we did.  

She talked about her failed marriages, her failed relationships, how she doesn’t know why men and women would ever be paired together because we’re so different.  Regardless of the fact that she’s about to turn 50, probably going through menopause, AND a mid-life crisis and the fact that she is single, she was dead serious about this shit. 

As if the rambling wasn’t enough, she got out her purse and started showing us religious relationship books that men at church had given her.  She went on about how it was so inappropriate that they gave her these books because she thinks they were hitting on her, but she read the books anyway and they had some solid advice, in her opinion. Book #1:

The 5 Love Languages: The Secret to Love that Lasts

She explained that the 5 love languages is finding out what 5 things your partner needs to fill up their “love tank” and how to make each other feel loved.  Because friends, if you’re love tank is full, you are a happy camper.  She went on to tell us in order the 5 things she needs to fill up her love tank: 

#1 Touch (which she described as “making love” and “foreplay” and “lying around naked and feeling each other” ok Aunt Cray Cray, you liked to get boned… we get it.)

#2 Quality time (I would say this goes along with the boning, no humping and dumping allowed)

#3 Service (also boning related?)

#4 Gifts

#5 Affirmations

Then she proceeded to tell us about how she had analyzed her failed relationships and what she thought their 5 love languages were and how she wasn’t fulfilling them, but she’s going to overflow her new boyfriend’s love tank with what he needs.  Mind you, this was all over a Mother’s Day brunch and none of the rest of us could get a word in edge wise, I just continued to eat to subside how uncomfortable I felt.

She had a short question and answer period at the end of reading us this book and since I’m the only fucking single one other than Aunt Cray Cray the spotlight was on me. She asked if I was to the point in my life where I’m beginning to analyze my failed relationships.  “Um yeah Aunt Cray Cray, I’ve been doing that since I was 18” now why is it that you think you do that? “Um because I’m awesome.” nom nom nom nom.  She went on to say that she’s going to get me a copy of the book because I need to find out what will fill up my love tank before I can ever be in another relationship again or I’m going to be a miserable unhappy cat lady for the rest of my life.  Aunt Cray Cray, I’ll tell you what will fill up my love tank: Finding a nice guy who won’t cheat on me.  Boom! Love tank full.

She didn’t go in as deep with the other 2 books that she pulled out and honestly I can’t even remember the names of them because I was too busy picking my confidence out of the dumpster to pay attention to her rants any longer, but they were equally ridiculous.  

I’m pretty much used to getting the short end of the stick when it comes to my family, I’m the most successful so I get the most shit.  I’ve pretty much boiled it down to everyone needs to make me feel like shit about being single because that’s all they can make me feel bad about in order to make themselves feel better, and I’m fine with it because I know I’ve got my education even if I am single the rest of my god forsaken life.  AND YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME, SO HAH!

When I first started college my 90 year old great grandmother asked if I was done being Lucifer’s whore.  I didn’t have any idea what she was talking about so I was all, “Granny, what in the eff are you talking about you crazy old bat?” Then she attempted to “shake the devil out of me” because I “was for sure going to hell for going to college away from my family, the lord, and what I knew.” Alright, whatevs, pass the peas.  So as you can see, being an unhappy old hag is nothing compared to being a whore to the devil himself.

It’s no surprise to any of you that Lucky and I are depressed that we are practically the only single women left in our circles of friends.  Having my family call me out on being single with really no shot at ever finding love because I don’t know what I want didn’t so much upset me as it made me want to take action.  So when my non-crazy aunt started talking about how they are going to do this 17 mile bike ride through the city streets 2 states away on memorial day weekend I jumped the gun and said, “I WANT TO GO!”  Do I know how to ride a bike? Yes. Do I own a bike? No.  Do I have any business riding 17 miles on a bike in 2 weeks when I get winded walking up a flight of stairs? Fuck no.  

So now I’m stuck with this dilemma.  I wrote her a check to sign me up for the bike marathon, if that’s what you want to call it, because my short idiotic thoughts were that I need to get some hobbies and do things away from the bottle in order to meet the kind of guys I consider husband worthy.  Which isn’t a bad thought, but I don’t think going into cardiac arrest and being unconscious in the middle of the street 2 states away is really going to find me that dream man I’m looking for either.  

Really my only option is to buy one of these bike buggys and beg someone to pull me along so I can get my $35 worth and my free t-shirt.


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I wanted to like, work you out…

I had chocolate truffles for the first time ever last night, and it’s a good thing I just joined a gym because I have the potential to get very fat.  So that’s my big news, I joined a gym… and a tanning salon.  I’m trying to get my pretty back since working with old people and being up before it’s light outside has taken it’s toll on my looksies.

Anth and Doogie conned me into using a guest pass to try out the gym with them aka their subtle way of telling me to get off the couch and stop eating Wendy’s.  I went once and decided that the gym was something I could work into my schedule a few times a week.  Day 2 at the gym was a whole different story.

Here I was pumping away on one of those elliptical thingys and my work out ends.  I hopped off, wiped the bead of sweat off my forehead and saw a man standing there looking at me, “Are you coming in or going out?” he asked.  “Oh I’m leaving, it’s all yours.” How embarrassing.  I don’t wear cute clothes to the gym, I wear my old ratty t-shirts and my 1 pair of yoga pants so that I don’t have to use up my good pajamas in case there’s a fire and I get stuck standing on the street and there’s a hot fireman or something, you know the old Always wear underwear in case something happens! thing that mom’s say.  Anyway, I was looking less than stellar when the guy tells me he is in fact a trainer at the gym and… “I wanted to, like, work you out.” At this point 2 scenarios popped into my head:

#1 He’s hitting on me, maybe he’s one of those guys that’s into the au natural look.

#2 He noticed I only traveled 1.2 miles on that machine yet I was on it for 35 minutes and feels like I need some tips.

Soooo… then Anth walked up and it got even more awkward, as if it’s so ridiculous that a guy would talk to me he flies past the trainer not even noticing him and says we’re leaving in 15 minutes.   So I tell the guy, “Ok you have 15 minutes.”

He took me to these yoga mats and did some even more awkward kama sutra type “stretches”

Needless to say that lasted about 2 seconds and I was like, UM BYEEE!! But not before he could ask me out.  Of course! So I gave him my number and told him I couldn’t go to dinner this weekend because it was my birthday when he insisted on coming out for my birthday as my “date.”  I mean, is LOSER plastered across my face so large that you can meet me for 2 seconds and know 3 days before my birthday I don’t have a date for it? Whatever, I needed to meet new people.  So I said ok, but that ruining my birthday would be hard to live up to so he had his work cut out for him – in the past I’ve had boyfriends not remember my birthday, boyfriends cheat on me on my birthday, and boyfriends throw me surprise parties with none of my friends in attendance, twice.

So that was how I got a date for my birthday, until the next time I went to the gym and Trainer Timbo didn’t recognize me and I heard him pull the same line on another girl.  NEXT!

Everyone keeps asking if it will be awkward when I see Timbo at the gym again.  How could it be awkward? He doesn’t recognize me and I don’t exist.

Tonight I’ll be socializing with some other gyminites, I have an appointment with a trainer.  I made the appointment before I met Timbo and told them I wanted a girl specifically for the reason of feeling awkward with a guy being all up in my junk.  That is until I saw the girl who is going to be my trainer Sunday night.  Her name is Annie.  Annie get your roll on.

Yep, they assigned me to a fat trainer.  WTF Bally’s.  I mean I’m not going to take anything she says seriously, #1 she’s got a good 60 lb’s on me #2 She’s going to slap me across the face when I tell her I want to lose 4 pounds and do some preventative bingo wings exercises.

COCKTAILS AT TIFFANY’S WORD OF THE DAY: Bingo Wings

Definition: Excess fat/skin on the lower triceps that jiggles like jelly when you get a bingo.

Synonym: Chicken wings

Use it in a sentence:  Her bingo wings were flapping in my face.

Bingo Wings

So, this should be interesting.  I’ve been practicing having a mild heart attack and mapping out escape routes all night so that I don’t have to offend anyone/can still show my face at that Bally’s again.

WWBD to not have to work out?

Drugs.

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