Looks like my expressive up-chuck has screeched to a halt. Today is just one of those days where I shouldn’t let myself think too hard about…anything. Soup? Salad? Fsck if I know, really. I had extra angst to burn off, so I spent an extra 20 minutes on the “nice ass” machine at the gym, and that machine is a beast. Yeah, my ass is considerably nicer than it used to be, but I don’t like to spend more time on than I have to, and I’ll tell you why.
The “nice ass” machines are (in)conveniently placed at the edge of the track bend and facing away, so while you are awkwardly ass-out bent over trying to melt the fat from your quads, every runner will crane their necks to see if you wore spanky shorts, or just bikini-cut undies, and there are large mirrors in front of the machines for you to catch them. These two old guys, especially. I’d call them ‘regulars’ since I see them there all the time, but they certainly don’t look like they go there all the time. They look more like they sell cars. I have actually looked at them and thought “God, I bet those guys sell cars.” They just walk around the track, which means they occupy the inner two lanes (and they occupy the HELL out of the inner two lanes, if you know what I mean and I think you do), and are therefore closer to the nice asses on the nice ass machines for the twenty seconds it takes them to waddle around the bend.
The two outer lanes are primarily for joggers, right? It’s kind of an unspoken rule, at least at every gym I have been to. But there’s always someone walking in the outer lanes or running in the wrong direction or something. Even if there are arrows and charts and words in bold print establishing “WALKERS, HERE. RUNNERS, THERE. TRACK GOES [THIS WAY] TODAY. DON’T BE AN ASS.”
Also, I seriously wish people would stop making rap artist hand motions while walking on the track. This one woman already nicked me in the ear because she was doing the slim shady chop (terminology courtesy of Google because I seriously didn’t know how else to describe it).
Sean brought it to my attention that “Coraline” is indeed going to be made into a movie, which is something I had stopped following when I started living under a rock. I’m not sure I’ll go see it, because whenever a book I have read is made into a movie, I can never seem to erase the movie visuals from my mind if I ever reread the book. Coraline is one of my favorites, and I guess I’d just like for that not to happen, even if it is in the hands of Tim Burton.
Speaking of not being sure, I’m not sure if I will attend Danny’s party, which as been themed “Anything But Clothes.” I mean, I think it would be wise NOT to, since I’m on the rag. But I guess Joey is taping a bunch of paper to himself and going as the stock market, with intent to crash.
