Ok, thanks for all your support about the dentist. I’m working on getting tough and strong so I can handle it. Every time I brush, and now diligently floss, I practice not freaking out with deep lamas breathing. Really harnessing my inner “om.” Truthfully I’d much rather just get some drugs to help ease the anxiety, oodles and oodles of legal and perhaps illegal drugs, but mama just don’t have the dough.
In addition to getting rough and tough mentally, I’m also trying to get rough and tough physically (in case I need to make a break for it.) Actually I’m really just trying to counteract the most fattening thing ever, marriage.
Eric and I have tried to make a habit of going to the gym before work. If I don’t go before work, by the time I get home I have a mile long list of reasons why I there is no POSSIBLE way I can work out. I vaguely remember a time in my life when I ran more than 30 miles a week. Who was that girl? Where is she now?
I don’t really love the gym, I’d much rather be outside running, but a working girl does what she has to. The only good thing about the gym are the hard bodies.
Ooh, I love me a gym hard body. Sure the spandex and rippling abs are nice, but mostly I love the hard bodies because of their dedication to getting huge. Spending hours upon hours at the gym. Fitness is their life, and I couldn’t respect that more.
There is this one guy who is there EVERY morning. He’s there when we arrive, and still there when we leave. He wears the tiniest little spandex shorts, and a tank top that exposes his nipples. HOT DAWG! And despite his revealing workout attire, I’m 95% sure he is straight. Why? Because he always gets all up in my business and looks at my butt. Now he could be gay, and just be appalled at my lack of dedication to squats, or he could be straight and appalled at my lack of dedication to squats, but either way, he is always looking at my goodies.
Eric thinks it’s hysterical. Me, not so much. So I go out of my way to run up to Eric, freak dance for him to the music only I can hear on my shuffle, and kiss him between each set of reps. So just in case anyone is wondering, I’M WITH HIM.
But as for the suspiciously shiny hard body, I personally don’t know how any woman could date a man that looks that good in his spandex. It’s so good, that it’s bad. How could you ever compete?
But really, the lady hard bodies interest me the most. These are girls with the best butts I have ever seen in my life. Sculpted backs that would make Phelps double take. I try not to stare but they are so beautiful!
Lately I have been fighting the urge to compliment these babes.
I think about it two ways. If a girl I didn’t know came up to me and said, “Your butt is so perfect it makes me want to cry,” I’d be THRILLED.
But these girls with the Suzanee Sommers thighs might be a different breed. I don’t know, I’m not one of them. Maybe it would weird them out? Maybe they’d be thinking “Duh, obviously I look this good.” Or even, “Yeah, don’t you wish you were me?” Or! Maybe they would think I was hitting on them. Who knows!
I decided a while back, advice from Chase Face McMillan, that I would try not to fight any inclination I have to do something nice, just because I feel embarrassed. Meaning, anytime a compliment, or a nice action comes to mind it’s so easy to brush it off and say, “Oh, so and so probably wouldn’t like that,” because you are embarrassed to put yourself out there. But I have been trying to overcome the fear, and just do whatever nice thing comes to mind. Not that it happens THAT often.
But this whole complimenting hotties (only lady hotties, duh) at the gym has thrown me for a loop. I don’t know why I feel so inclined. I mean I don’t even have to say, “Your butt is OUT OF THIS WORLD.” I could just say, “Hey girl, you look great!” But I don’t know. I still can’t tell if this would creep the girls out.
Anyway. Morning after morning I mentally high five these super babes and applaud their dedication to cardio, free weights, and a carb-free lifestyle. And until I am in their world, I will continue to sweat and do “ONE MORE REP” until some white, squishy, enthusiastic blogger comes up to me and says, “Nice ass.”