Archive for the ‘the gym’ Category
At the gym; next few decades
Well here I am at the gym again. After seeing myself on tv this morning I decided to spend the next two to three decades here. It’s a little gift I’m giving to humanity. At this rate, when I get out in two to three decades I’ll be able to hit on hot fifty year olds. I like ‘em young. Seriously though, wow. Wow did I not love how I looked. I feel like I’ve been able to get away with not looking like everyone else on tv for quite awhile but this morning it hit me that I really need to go blonde. That’s what I’ve been talking about this whole time. What did you think I was talking about? Don’t be silly! And I think my favorite moment in our hard hitting political discussion was when I admitted I like bosom buddies.. Um, what else. Well I’m currently exercising in the residue of this morning’s heavy spackling (I tried to wash it off but there’s only so much you can do yourself. I plan to walk myself through a car wash later and then give myself a flea dip. I might get neutered too, cuz what the hell. Scratch me?) Um, yeah, that was awkward! Jeez, now I feel weird. Right so what I was trying to say is that I’m soon to be sweating in a light film of makeup which means I’ll be breaking out soon. Care to date me? I’m getting neutered at eleven, so let me know soon.
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At the gym; teleporting
I’m at the gym still. I’ve been on this bike for thirty six minutes and five, oh, wait eighteen seconds. That just goes to show you how slowly I’m typing. I’m pedaling faster than I’m typing but slower than in a cartoon where a character winds up his feet and then shoots forward. I guess that’s kinda obvious though. Were I pedaling that fast I’d probably go shooting through this mirror here and end up sitting on some man’s shoulder press, or in some other dimension. I’m not sure what kind of mirror I’m dealing with here: reflective or portal to another galaxy. The important thing is that if I went through it I’d leave a super hot and toned outline of my unbelievable body. Some kind of supermodel went crashing through this, they’d say. We’re looking for the lithe body of someone involved in a gym accident. All we know is that she had incredible form and her sweat smelled like ambrosia. Also, birds tended to perch on her shoulders while she was biking. Occasionally they’d help with her sewing. She favored gauzy fabrics. Sometimes she’d set her homemade pies to cool on the handlebars.
God, I know it’s kind of weird but I miss myself already! I just hope wherever I am they have wifi. And coffee. And showers, because I didn’t get a chance to take one before teleporting and my hair seems to have lost some of its usual bounce and sheen. I was planning on pumping up its volume later.
If you’re just now starting to read my blog, you’re probably concerned for my sanity. Fear not. I have a tinfoil hat which protects me. It’s a tinfoil fez actually. Like I’d be caught in some kind of tinfoil sombrero. Puhleeze!
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At the gym; sleepy
Well here I am at the gym. I can’t even say what I’m working on because I’m working on not falling asleep. I’ve never encountered so much difficulty getting out the door. My eyes are rejecting being open and my body is rejwecting being upright. It gives my face the scrunched up pained expression you’d see on a newborn baby with a hangover, except I’m not hungover. I’m so tired that if there was a coffin next to me that was open, empty and had a pillow in it and also didn’t smell, I would consider climbing in and taking a nap. That’s not a cry for help. Um, I don’t really know why I feel this way since I got a decent amount of sleep last night. The only other time I felt like this was when my sister and I went to france before she studied abroad in italy. We have pictures of me sleeping in a variety of locations. Just resting my eyes really. Well actually there are some of me all dressed up to go out, asleep. I remember her constant refrain: ‘don’t sleep on public tranportation.’ Anyway, then I got the flu or laryngitis or something but then I was okay and then she and her friend who we’d scooped up along the way also came down with it and they were more tired than they’d ever been in their lives and boy did I laugh long and hard at that point. Not that they heard me though, they were asleep. I did what was only fair, took photos of them dressed up to go out, napping. Anyway, that’s how tired I feel today and its not a mental sluggishness but a physical one. I wonder if I could sleep on this bike? I’m tempted to try. Not sleep, just rest my eyes. Let’s see. Here I go. Twenty five seconds passed. Ugh! Today is not not sucking so far.
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At the gym; FAQ
At the gym again, toning my hexagons, perennials and robots and I really don’t feel like being here. I don’t want to feel the burn, I want to feel a snack and then a nap. So I’m going to do what I do when I am forcing myself to stay here: cry. Okay, now I’ll blog and I was thinking this might be a good time to answer all those questions FAQ style, except the formatting will likely be all messed up. Deal with it.
Do you really write those posts from the gym!
Yes.
Why are you always in the newsroom on Red Eye?
I get this one all the time and I’ve been in the studio, in both chairs at different times, however that was before I suffered a horrible accident and lost my left foot. In what can only be viewed as a horrible miscalculation on the part of the medical community and also the veterinary community, they grafted the foot of a duck onto what was left of my stump. Infection and deformity resulted, but I won the women’s freestyle and butterfly strokes in the olympic trials so it’s not without benefit.
Do you eat foie gras?
What am I, some kind of cannibal?
So then when people say “Is there a duck in here?” around you, is it actually a reference to your webbed foot!
Precisely!
When’s your band playing?
Never. Unless we reunite for a wedding of one of the members or a short west coast tour which I’m trying to beat the drum loudly for but likely won’t happen.
Beat the drum loudly? I thought you played guitar.
You’re awfully literal, you know that? I do or rather did play guitar, Amelia Bedelia, but since you ask, here is a fun fact: I was the drummer before we had one who was actually good.
Um, what else?
I don’t know, you’re the one asking the questions.
Right. Is your hair really black?
Yes. I used to lighten it actually.
Are you goth?
I prefer ‘realistic.’ I’m just kidding. I’m not goth, damnit, although I do remember that when I started working at the OC Weekly years ago someone told me that they thought I was just some ’sullen intern.’ I promptly had them fired.
How long have you lived in New York?
Six years.
Where did you go to college?
Yeah, because I really get this one frequently! You are too much!
Thank you.
Pomona College. It’s a small liberal arts college in Claremont, California. It was also the facade of Eastland in the credits for Facts of Life, but that’s not why I went there, I swear.
Who’s your favorite Facts of Life girl?
Can’t choose, don’t make me.
Have you been listening to “Why Do You Let Me Stay Here” by She & Him on repeat for days?
Pretty much.
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At the gym
Well, here we are again. Me: on the recumbent bike even though my ass is smarting. You, reading my blog. I suppose it should be awkward but it isn’t really. I think enough time has passed and frankly I don’t think about that thing you did anymore, even though it’s still all over the internet. Oh, you KNOW what I’m talking about so let’s dispense with the innocent act. Let’s also dispense with the charade and the parade because while I love a parade, it’s quite winky out and the blooms aren’t sticking to the float in the way I’d hoped and it’s not reflecting well on the dirigibles industry. Not well at all!
So then, it’s come to my attention that I said it’s not winky out in the above heartfelt note and obviously I meant windy. Although winky weather is terrible for a parade too. The ticker tape goes everywhere. And I hardly think I’m alone in saying I’ve never had a good batch of nachos when it’s winky out. Oh hey also I’m going to be appearing on chelsea lately may 23. As it gets closer I’ll update the tv thing on the right, or you know maybe I’ll do it tomorrow, but for now it’s just a little extra special treat for the people who actually read this stuff. Maybe I’ll tuck a treat into the end of each post! Ooh, fun! How shall we do this? Should you guys make a request and I’ll try to work it into the post? Nah, that sounds too hard. Well, I’m open to suggestions.
Oh and P.S. I almost forgot I’m working on my allen wrenches, my flugelhorns and my geodes.
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Duuuuude
I’m at the gym working on my rutabagas, bugles and fire irons and I’m feeling less jaunty than usual because when I got here all the recumbent bikes, which are my bikes of choice because they’re the closest to lying prone in a bed other than I guess the bench press and let’s get serious, I’m a girl and a weak smushy nearly translucent skinned one at that so I’m likely not going to be pumping iron (considered and promptly vetoed a curling iron joke. Too schticky). Anyway, I had to pedal on the upright stationary bike which apparently uses a whole set of muscles I don’t regularly use and so I had to hang on for dear life while time slowed to a torturous trickle and the commercial breaks in jeopardy which I was watching were an eternity. It reminded me of the feeling one gets about three minutes which feel like hours after smoking pot when the novelty has gone away and you are just bored. But, like, so bored you don’t know how you will ever get through it. So bored you consider doing something risky like returning some phone calls because the element of danger might make you feel alive and you feel so bored you feel like a little kid who’s awake long after everyone has gone to sleep. So bored you think, fuckit, I’ll stare at myself in the mirror so you do that for awhile which is alternately disorienting and horrifying and then you look at the clock and realize it’s only four minutes later. So bored that you begin to wonder if maybe life is this boring and the pot is just opening you up to the myriad ways reality drags on in a crushing pageant of banality, so bored it’s as if you are in the fourth hour of a flight from nyc to ca which is usually when I’m pretty sure I’m going to freak the fuck out if I have to stay on this plane anymore. Not that I’ve ever smoked pot. So bored that, and I can’t really explain this one other than the onset of light level psychosis, but you begin to wonder if you’re even stoned. How would you know? Then you laugh for two hours or thirty seconds. But that’s how that bike felt, so after twenty seven minutes that felt like years, I switched to the recumbent bike and now I’m recumbing quite beautifully. Wait I had something else to say. Hmm. Oh yeah, has anyone read the book Singularity by william sleater? It’s a kids science fiction book that I loved though it chilled me when I was young. When I woke up this morning wanting a bird I was also thinking about kids books, first The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles and then Singularity. Time is all out of whack in Singularity, which is why I bring it up. And I should say that if I’d ever smoked pot it hasn’t been in years, years I say, so if you’re my parents, please don’t worry. I realized I prefer heroin.
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Behind on sleep
I kind of lost track of time on the bike. If my behind were any more asleep I'd have to rename it Rip Van Winklebutt and read it a newspaper.
Butt Van Winkle? Ass Van Winkle? There is humor in there somewhere, I'm sure of it!
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At the gym, Buddhism
So I’m at the gym working on my gamma deltas and my dingbats and I have a confession to make: I read embarrassing self-help books. It’s why I’m so wildly successful at all my endeavors, especially my endeavoring to procrastinate and be reclusive. I bring this up because last time I was at the gym with my embarrassing book, ipod, blackberry, pack of smokes, cooler of bacardi breezers, small bbq and outboard motor in case I came across a boat and body of water, I had to tear out of there to do red eye at the last minute (may I applaud myself for getting home, dressed, reading the stories and getting out the door in about forty two minutes? Okay then) So today I was getting ready to go back to the gym and suddenly a panic shot through me when I thought I may have left When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times by Pema Chodron at the gym. Thank god I didn’t really. Or thank Buddha, because this book is buddhist although I am not. Now pema looks like a man with a very round skull, but she’s really a woman with a bad haircut. I didn’t realize this until she talked about how she felt when she discovered her husband was cheating on her with a box of hair extensions named jenny. I know what I’ll do, she thought. I’ll get a bad haircut! And so she did, and now she’s a famous author. What was I saying? I forget, but I’m not going to try to hang on to that thought, or even my mind, I’m just going to touch and release it, as I would a small child’s hand in traffic, because that is the buddhist way.
Now you may have found that joke in poor taste but I can’t control that and I have the wisdom to know the difference as well as the serenity to take a nap. Naps, actually. Not now though, right now I’m pedaling as fast as I can divided by about thirteen. I’m pedaling at a thirteenth of my ability because it’s not a race it’s a journey. It’s not a sprint it’s a marathon? Keep it simple stupid? Day at a time? Uh oh, I’m trapped in a downward slogan spiral! Shall I talk about kids again?
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