Archive for March, 2008

Tales From the Gym - Tough Love

One of the gym regulars, clothed and ready for the outside world, crossed paths with Alis on her way out of the locker room. She threw a casual “thank you Alis!” over her shoulder as she passed.

Alis grumbled under her breath. “Goodnight honey” she responded, her volume a little too high, her tone a little too close to the edge.

The woman looked uncertain, but smiled.

Alis continued, drawing out each syllable to the point of the grotesque. “You be good honey!”

The woman picked up her pace, checking to see how far she had to go to get to the door. “I will Alis, thank you.”

Alis’ volume ratcheted up even higher. “Good job tonight honey!” “See you tomorrow honey!” “You take care now honey!”

The woman started speed walking toward the locker room exit, and leapt over a bench rather than slow down to walk around it.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do honey!” “Come back soon honey!” “You’re looking good honey!”

Dropping all pretenses, the woman broke into a run, throwing a defensive “I love you Alis” over her shoulder as she sprinted out the door.

Behind her, Alis chuckled.

Add comment March 10th, 2008

Poesie Quotidienne – All That’s Missing is the Headband

I got ready for work the other day using what I consider foolproof sartorial strategy: black and denim. More specifically, I paired black trousers with a subtle pinstripe with a fitted, cropped, black turtleneck sweater, then finished the ensemble off with a pair of black heels. I tossed one of my favorite garments over the top of everything – a classic time-weathered21-jump-street.jpg denim jacket. So what if it’s so “weathered” it has totally eroded in a few small, discrete places? Holes give denim character, right? Sam gave me the once over and said that I looked like a stylish New Yorker… circa 21 Jump Street. I wore it anyway.

Add comment March 6th, 2008

Tales From the Gym - TARDIS Returns

It all started in the sauna, where it usually does. Through the music in my headphones I slowly became aware of a conversation of some interest going on across the room. By the time I’d achieved full consciousness and pulled the earphones out, I was just in time for the wrap up.

“So that’s why we’re Hispanic Jewish Buddhists. But we only practice sometimes.”

Which one, I wondered?

Still working out those logistics, I stepped out into the foyer to recharge my water bottle. And stepped into what you get when your TARDIS lands, simultaneously, inside a political think-tank and poolside at the Playboy Mansion. Alis was leading a fierce debate among a dozen naked, gesticulating ladies over whether Clinton or Obama would win the presidency (Republican candidates having been written off entirely, it would seem).

Back in the sauna, I had just settled into a reverie when I was yanked back out by an unmistakable sound – the zzzzip of plastic wrap dragging across a tiny-toothed saw. But in the sauna? Yes indeed. The woman one shelf down from me had foregone the prêt a porter plastic sauna suits sported by other women, opting instead for a do-it-yourself approach. I watched with scarcely concealed fascination as she circled the plastic wrap around her feet, lower legs, thighs, hips, midsection, torso, eventually even sealing her non-wrapping arm to her side. It was like watching a transparent boa constrictor devour a willing victim. Or watching a self-initiated, cyber-punk take on mummification. Maybe she’s on to something… if plastic wrap keeps food from degenerating… I opened my eyes again several minutes later to see if her demise was complete. It was. There she sat, propped up at a ninety degree angle, back against the wall, smiling, her one free hand folded peacefully across her plastic-wrapped body.

I opened my eyes with a start. The entire sauna was empty and Alis, who recognized that I had earphones in my head, was performing the loudest pantomime I’ve ever seen. “Get up!” she mouthed silently, both hands cupped around her head as though to amplify the sound. Then, while appearing to shovel invisible dirt with an invisible shovel, she added “I’ve got to clean this place!”

As I ambled next door to the steam sauna, I thought I was leaving the TARDIS behind. But the dry and steam saunas share a wall, and so I wasn’t totally surprised when I walked through a bank of steam – and right into a Granny Panty convention. Eight women, all with the same approximate age, all with the same approximate build, and all wearing nothing but ample-coverage white cotton panties with tiny, decorative elastic lace around the waist band. I settled myself in their midst, wondering if it could be a coincidence. But when the door opened and a ninth identically-garbed delegate wandered in, they all stopped talking amongst themselves and turned, in unison, to stare at me. Enough chit-chat; time for the convention to start! I took my cue and left.

O TARDIS, I missed you!

Add comment March 3rd, 2008

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