A few weeks ago I wrote about getting pursued across the parking lot of local diner by a toothless cook. I decided to take a break from that place for a while, as I had told him I was not currently obligating, and did not wish to take that conversation any further. But today I was out of gas – I was out of gas before I left home this morning, and since I do not want to run out of gas during rush hour later today, I decided I’d better dine within walking distance. And so it was back to Toothless’ place.
I wasn’t really worried about having another run-in though, because as many people as there are that come through that place every day, I hardly believe that I could be remembered. Besides, I am looking particularly bad today, if I do say so myself. (There’s no rule about wearing make-up or making sure your hair isn’t sticking out in all directions when you come to work. At least, not where I work.)
So, with nary a toothless man in sight, I got settled in at the bar with my vegetable plate (see, boot camp staff! Sometimes, I do eat vegetables! uh, occasionally.), and was soon lost in my book. I was pulled out of my state of comfort with a start – when I felt a cold, cold hand on the skin of the small of my back. I am wearing a relatively long sweater today, and I thought it was long enough to reach the top of my pants when sitting down, but apparently not – I had some exposed skin. I whipped around and found myself looking directly at a very old, stooped man, walking with a cane. “Oh, this poor old man must not have realized he has put his (very cold) hand down around my pants”, thought I. And then he looked me in the eye and said, “Gotcha.”
I was so surprised that I could only stare, and he seemed quite content to stare back, a little too daringly, and I don’t know how long this would have gone on in the slightly less old man behind him hadn’t had the decency to look upset and physically shove old clammy hands ahead to the door.
So, the unpleasant lunch experiences continue at my once beloved diner. But at least they are bringing the variety.
I think I prefer the kind where I don’t get touched.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
BL-speak
Heard just now, as I passed Bathroom Lady in the hallway, speaking to some other ladies, looking like she's on her way out:
"I ain't used to drinking all this water and I (mumble, mumble) pee in my pants, and I ain't got no more panties here."
What?!
"I ain't used to drinking all this water and I (mumble, mumble) pee in my pants, and I ain't got no more panties here."
What?!
Friday, March 21, 2008
My friends are better than your friends
Well, at least if you are in my boot camp they are.
Today marks the end of the 3rd week of my “I’ll pay you to exercise with me” experience. The program is 4 weeks long, so I am almost done. Let’s review a little bit….
I remember very well how I felt arriving at the park on my first day. My only experience with boot camp before had been a shortened, yet more intense, program I did with a friend over a year ago – after she won a free pass for her and a friend. (What kind of door prize is this? A sick one.) Anyway, I would best describe it as a miserable form of torture. Every morning, it made me so sick that I could hardly eat all day (I found an old email where I stated that I had gagged when trying to eat 2 m&m’s 8 hours after bootcamp - see? Torture!), and as afternoon approached, I would begin again to dread the next morning. I was consumed by the dread, and the poor souls around me had to hear me moan about it all the time.
So why did I sign up this time? When it was longer? And not even free? I do not know. Well, I do kind of know… there was a combination of factors… including but not limited to the fact that I soon have to wear a bridesmaid’s dress that I bought last spring and I am too afraid to try on again – because I have an itty bitty fear that it’s not going to fit. (hi Emily! Don’t worry, I’m totally NOT talking about your dress. This is a dress for one of the many other weddings I am in this June!) And also there is the fact that I am lazy and undisciplined and I know it.
But as I was saying… as I drove up that day, with a great amount of trepidation, I remember clearly what I was thinking. You might think I was thinking about how good this would be for me, or that I was curious over the type of work-out we would start with, or hoping that the instructors would really know their stuff, but what I said to myself, and out loud I’m afraid, was, “Where are the obese people?”
Because the people at my last camp were all super fit already! They were some kind of professional boot-campers in that place. What I wanted to see was not simply out of shape, I wanted to see REALLY out of shape. Because what I was most concerned about was being the worst person there. I was afraid that if I was always in the back, I would get more attention (a coach always stays with the last person), and then there would be more yelling at me. Which, heaven forbid, might actually push me to work harder. So I was greatly disappointed that I didn’t see a lot of very large people standing around. I couldn’t risk slightly large people – I wanted to see the kind of people you read about in the news that need assistance lifting themselves out of bed.
Well, maybe I exaggerate a little – but not too much.
Soon, however, some less than obese but non-superwomen looking people joined the group, and I felt a little bit better. Until, that is, they introduced themselves, and each one had this to say, “My name is Becky/Linda/Kate and this is my 4th boot camp I a row!”
Say what? This is your 4th boot camp in a row and you are my people that I thought were not in super great shape? Knowing the kind of ultimate torture I had been through before, I was of the opinion that if you had been through 4 months of this crap, you had better look like one of these 2 people here:
I was not putting myself through this to look just as lumpy as ever. I expected magical transformation – hopefully more like the one without the mullet.
So, 3 weeks into it here, and I look as little like Wonder Woman as ever. But, I am ok with this, because I soon found out that this boot camp was not the fiery furnace of hell that my other one was! Yay! (My laziness beats out my desire to fit into a dress – sorry Brock.) And besides, when we wrote down our goals (and we did have to write down our goals – as long with everything we eat every day), unlike most of the other ladies, weight loss wasn’t my main objective. One girl said she was doing it until she lost her “muffin top”, and another said she couldn’t stop until she looked like Beyonce (I didn’t point out to her that I already have Beyonce’s body – I didn’t want to make the other girls jealous on my first day!), but I said I wanted to have more energy during the day, and to go out on my own and run the way I used to, and not be content with walking. Besides, being a girl who has not bothered to change the battery in her scale for a year and a half, I am apparently not that concerned about the numbers.
The energy part has come true at least! And I’ve actually really enjoyed it. And when I found out that whoever brought the most friends to “bring a friend night” won another free month of camp, I started to wonder if maybe after eight weeks I would see my magical age reversal. Which brings me, in an overly long fashion (sorry), back to the title of this post – I gathered up some friends and we won that thing!! Thanks to a last minute showing by one very reluctant lady who said I pressured her into coming even though she had made it clear she really didn’t want to (me? never!) We beat out another girl by exactly 1 friend! And she is one of the best in my group so I didn’t feel even a little bit bad about taking her down – I need this more than she does. So I’d like to give a big thanks to all those who sacrificed one evening (plus a few days of being sore-free) to save me a wad of cash: Tay-Tay, AP, Jane, Janice, Groundskeeper Willie, and poor poor Elizabeth – you guys are the bestest.
We celebrated afterwards with queso and margaritas (both of which are absent from my food log – woops!), and Elizabeth told me, “I knew when you told me you’d buy me dinner that I could get through the rest…. And I deserved it! Because I had just been through torture!”
Yes, my friend, I know exactly how you feel.
Today marks the end of the 3rd week of my “I’ll pay you to exercise with me” experience. The program is 4 weeks long, so I am almost done. Let’s review a little bit….
I remember very well how I felt arriving at the park on my first day. My only experience with boot camp before had been a shortened, yet more intense, program I did with a friend over a year ago – after she won a free pass for her and a friend. (What kind of door prize is this? A sick one.) Anyway, I would best describe it as a miserable form of torture. Every morning, it made me so sick that I could hardly eat all day (I found an old email where I stated that I had gagged when trying to eat 2 m&m’s 8 hours after bootcamp - see? Torture!), and as afternoon approached, I would begin again to dread the next morning. I was consumed by the dread, and the poor souls around me had to hear me moan about it all the time.
So why did I sign up this time? When it was longer? And not even free? I do not know. Well, I do kind of know… there was a combination of factors… including but not limited to the fact that I soon have to wear a bridesmaid’s dress that I bought last spring and I am too afraid to try on again – because I have an itty bitty fear that it’s not going to fit. (hi Emily! Don’t worry, I’m totally NOT talking about your dress. This is a dress for one of the many other weddings I am in this June!) And also there is the fact that I am lazy and undisciplined and I know it.
But as I was saying… as I drove up that day, with a great amount of trepidation, I remember clearly what I was thinking. You might think I was thinking about how good this would be for me, or that I was curious over the type of work-out we would start with, or hoping that the instructors would really know their stuff, but what I said to myself, and out loud I’m afraid, was, “Where are the obese people?”
Because the people at my last camp were all super fit already! They were some kind of professional boot-campers in that place. What I wanted to see was not simply out of shape, I wanted to see REALLY out of shape. Because what I was most concerned about was being the worst person there. I was afraid that if I was always in the back, I would get more attention (a coach always stays with the last person), and then there would be more yelling at me. Which, heaven forbid, might actually push me to work harder. So I was greatly disappointed that I didn’t see a lot of very large people standing around. I couldn’t risk slightly large people – I wanted to see the kind of people you read about in the news that need assistance lifting themselves out of bed.
Well, maybe I exaggerate a little – but not too much.
Soon, however, some less than obese but non-superwomen looking people joined the group, and I felt a little bit better. Until, that is, they introduced themselves, and each one had this to say, “My name is Becky/Linda/Kate and this is my 4th boot camp I a row!”
Say what? This is your 4th boot camp in a row and you are my people that I thought were not in super great shape? Knowing the kind of ultimate torture I had been through before, I was of the opinion that if you had been through 4 months of this crap, you had better look like one of these 2 people here:
I was not putting myself through this to look just as lumpy as ever. I expected magical transformation – hopefully more like the one without the mullet.
So, 3 weeks into it here, and I look as little like Wonder Woman as ever. But, I am ok with this, because I soon found out that this boot camp was not the fiery furnace of hell that my other one was! Yay! (My laziness beats out my desire to fit into a dress – sorry Brock.) And besides, when we wrote down our goals (and we did have to write down our goals – as long with everything we eat every day), unlike most of the other ladies, weight loss wasn’t my main objective. One girl said she was doing it until she lost her “muffin top”, and another said she couldn’t stop until she looked like Beyonce (I didn’t point out to her that I already have Beyonce’s body – I didn’t want to make the other girls jealous on my first day!), but I said I wanted to have more energy during the day, and to go out on my own and run the way I used to, and not be content with walking. Besides, being a girl who has not bothered to change the battery in her scale for a year and a half, I am apparently not that concerned about the numbers.
The energy part has come true at least! And I’ve actually really enjoyed it. And when I found out that whoever brought the most friends to “bring a friend night” won another free month of camp, I started to wonder if maybe after eight weeks I would see my magical age reversal. Which brings me, in an overly long fashion (sorry), back to the title of this post – I gathered up some friends and we won that thing!! Thanks to a last minute showing by one very reluctant lady who said I pressured her into coming even though she had made it clear she really didn’t want to (me? never!) We beat out another girl by exactly 1 friend! And she is one of the best in my group so I didn’t feel even a little bit bad about taking her down – I need this more than she does. So I’d like to give a big thanks to all those who sacrificed one evening (plus a few days of being sore-free) to save me a wad of cash: Tay-Tay, AP, Jane, Janice, Groundskeeper Willie, and poor poor Elizabeth – you guys are the bestest.
We celebrated afterwards with queso and margaritas (both of which are absent from my food log – woops!), and Elizabeth told me, “I knew when you told me you’d buy me dinner that I could get through the rest…. And I deserved it! Because I had just been through torture!”
Yes, my friend, I know exactly how you feel.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Wherein I go through a lot of fuss for a cup of (not very good) soup
Hey out there. So, it seems that it has been over a week since I posted, so what if I just tell you a little bit about my evening? Great!
Last night I had a date with a guy who I had only met very briefly before, and who came with no references (I couldn’t ask any friends about him), and I didn’t actually have a very good feeling about this date. But I followed through and told myself I had to go anyway – because I am open-minded! Or I can pretend to be anyway. At least I am open to being convinced that I was horribly wrong.
Since he was pretty much a stranger, I suggested we meet at the restaurant – a very casual place that just happens to be in my neighborhood (I am lazy) – and I knew I would make it there in plenty of time! But tragically, I seem to have inherited this gene from my mom’s side of the family that tells me I must do everything last minute – like shower and dry the hair and locate the clothes in a small amount of time. This was particularly problematic last night because we are in the midst of a change in seasons, and as I live in a house with tiny closets, I keep my off season clothes in the basement – beneath many boxes.
1st problem: I have a skirt in mind to wear – but where is the skirt? It’s a spring skirt, so I haven’t seen it in a long time. I look through my closet, I run downstairs to the basement, I scatter boxes everywhere. I run back upstairs, I pull everything off the shelf of my closet. Back downstairs for more rummaging. One more time through the closet – and alas! The skirt is located!
2nd problem: I am now running late. But I don’t really need to dry all of my hair, right? (Did I mention I have a bad feeling about this?)
3rd problem: My plan to battle lateness is to wait until I’m ready to walk out the door before putting on boots. Because although it is springy, it is still chilly. And boots mean I can’t walk as fast – so see, I’m saving time with my nimble bare feet! As soon as I pull the boots on, I realize that they definitely don’t work with the skirt I spent so much time locating. My roommate, AP, confirms this. She suggests other types of shoes – but they are all spring shoes! And I haven’t gotten those out yet this year! Because did I mention I do things last minute? Jeans! Can I wear jeans? “Where are you going?”, she asks. I tell her, and she assures me that of course I can wear jeans. What else would one wear to our neighborhood deck hangout?
4th problem: As I am running out the door now fully clothed, I suddenly remember that although the skirt I thought I was going to wear was high-waisted, these jeans are actually low-waisted. Very low wasted. And as all girls and boys who have a pair of low-rise jeans know, you have to select your undergarments carefully for these. But you know how sometimes you’re at Victoria’s Secret and they are having a sale? And they have all that underwear in the bins for $1? And it’s all ugly colors in ugly patterns – which is why no one ever bought it? But then you think, hey, it’s $1! No one ever has to see this! Maybe you think, “I’ll just wear these with that high-waisted skirt.” Mmhmm. So I reach back, confirm that my ugly underwear is rising high above my jeans, and shout my concern to AP. By this point, she is more mortified by lateness, and like a good coach, yells, “Just go! Go! Go! Sit with your back the chair! GO!” (What would I do without a roommate?)
5th problem: He is wearing a suit. I am wearing jeans. With ugly underwear that is showing.
6th problem: The waitress comes and asks for our drink orders – I order a beer, he orders a chardonnay. Ok, maybe this shouldn’t necessarily be a problem, but as it happens moments after the suit/jeans contrast, I am feeling pretty class-less at this point.
7th problem: We order an appetizer, and the he says the words that no sane (food-loving) girl ever wants to hear – ever! “Since we are having this appetizer, I think I will just order a side salad. I don’t usually eat supper, so that will be a lot of food for me.” Uh… What?? This does not compute. So, after gazing longingly at the 7-layer Mexican torte, I content myself with a cup of soup. Because at least this doesn’t have to last long.
But really. Who the hell denies a girl her opportunity to feast?? A monster, that’s who! Ok, fine. He was pretty nice. But I was hungry, damnit. I swam yesterday! Like, laps! And I had no food at home. I guess I could have ordered a big meal anyway, but I was glad I didn’t. Because he was nice enough, but the evening was pretty dull. He told me a lot about what he does for work, which sounded a lot like this, “blah, blah, finance, blah, blah, blah, finance, blah, blah.” Does anyone else ever have a problem concentrating on what a person is saying – maybe you are even thinking about something else they said. Like that joke they made that went like this, “I might not fit through my doorway tonight after eating all this (side salad)!” And then he laughed pretty hard as his joke, so you thought maybe you misunderstood, so you ask him to repeat it, but no, you heard right. Anyway, you are thinking about something like that, and suddenly there is a pause and you realize you have just been asked a question, and smiling and nodding won’t work anymore? But you have no idea what they were just talking about? Well, there was a lot of that going on. (Blay, I know you are with me here.)
So, that was my night. Instinct, you have not failed me yet. Why do I keep testing you? With your help, not only could I have had a satisfying meal, but I also wouldn't have had to come home to find the contents of my closet all over my bedroom floor.
And yet, I have a feeling this will not be my last act of disobedience.
Last night I had a date with a guy who I had only met very briefly before, and who came with no references (I couldn’t ask any friends about him), and I didn’t actually have a very good feeling about this date. But I followed through and told myself I had to go anyway – because I am open-minded! Or I can pretend to be anyway. At least I am open to being convinced that I was horribly wrong.
Since he was pretty much a stranger, I suggested we meet at the restaurant – a very casual place that just happens to be in my neighborhood (I am lazy) – and I knew I would make it there in plenty of time! But tragically, I seem to have inherited this gene from my mom’s side of the family that tells me I must do everything last minute – like shower and dry the hair and locate the clothes in a small amount of time. This was particularly problematic last night because we are in the midst of a change in seasons, and as I live in a house with tiny closets, I keep my off season clothes in the basement – beneath many boxes.
1st problem: I have a skirt in mind to wear – but where is the skirt? It’s a spring skirt, so I haven’t seen it in a long time. I look through my closet, I run downstairs to the basement, I scatter boxes everywhere. I run back upstairs, I pull everything off the shelf of my closet. Back downstairs for more rummaging. One more time through the closet – and alas! The skirt is located!
2nd problem: I am now running late. But I don’t really need to dry all of my hair, right? (Did I mention I have a bad feeling about this?)
3rd problem: My plan to battle lateness is to wait until I’m ready to walk out the door before putting on boots. Because although it is springy, it is still chilly. And boots mean I can’t walk as fast – so see, I’m saving time with my nimble bare feet! As soon as I pull the boots on, I realize that they definitely don’t work with the skirt I spent so much time locating. My roommate, AP, confirms this. She suggests other types of shoes – but they are all spring shoes! And I haven’t gotten those out yet this year! Because did I mention I do things last minute? Jeans! Can I wear jeans? “Where are you going?”, she asks. I tell her, and she assures me that of course I can wear jeans. What else would one wear to our neighborhood deck hangout?
4th problem: As I am running out the door now fully clothed, I suddenly remember that although the skirt I thought I was going to wear was high-waisted, these jeans are actually low-waisted. Very low wasted. And as all girls and boys who have a pair of low-rise jeans know, you have to select your undergarments carefully for these. But you know how sometimes you’re at Victoria’s Secret and they are having a sale? And they have all that underwear in the bins for $1? And it’s all ugly colors in ugly patterns – which is why no one ever bought it? But then you think, hey, it’s $1! No one ever has to see this! Maybe you think, “I’ll just wear these with that high-waisted skirt.” Mmhmm. So I reach back, confirm that my ugly underwear is rising high above my jeans, and shout my concern to AP. By this point, she is more mortified by lateness, and like a good coach, yells, “Just go! Go! Go! Sit with your back the chair! GO!” (What would I do without a roommate?)
5th problem: He is wearing a suit. I am wearing jeans. With ugly underwear that is showing.
6th problem: The waitress comes and asks for our drink orders – I order a beer, he orders a chardonnay. Ok, maybe this shouldn’t necessarily be a problem, but as it happens moments after the suit/jeans contrast, I am feeling pretty class-less at this point.
7th problem: We order an appetizer, and the he says the words that no sane (food-loving) girl ever wants to hear – ever! “Since we are having this appetizer, I think I will just order a side salad. I don’t usually eat supper, so that will be a lot of food for me.” Uh… What?? This does not compute. So, after gazing longingly at the 7-layer Mexican torte, I content myself with a cup of soup. Because at least this doesn’t have to last long.
But really. Who the hell denies a girl her opportunity to feast?? A monster, that’s who! Ok, fine. He was pretty nice. But I was hungry, damnit. I swam yesterday! Like, laps! And I had no food at home. I guess I could have ordered a big meal anyway, but I was glad I didn’t. Because he was nice enough, but the evening was pretty dull. He told me a lot about what he does for work, which sounded a lot like this, “blah, blah, finance, blah, blah, blah, finance, blah, blah.” Does anyone else ever have a problem concentrating on what a person is saying – maybe you are even thinking about something else they said. Like that joke they made that went like this, “I might not fit through my doorway tonight after eating all this (side salad)!” And then he laughed pretty hard as his joke, so you thought maybe you misunderstood, so you ask him to repeat it, but no, you heard right. Anyway, you are thinking about something like that, and suddenly there is a pause and you realize you have just been asked a question, and smiling and nodding won’t work anymore? But you have no idea what they were just talking about? Well, there was a lot of that going on. (Blay, I know you are with me here.)
So, that was my night. Instinct, you have not failed me yet. Why do I keep testing you? With your help, not only could I have had a satisfying meal, but I also wouldn't have had to come home to find the contents of my closet all over my bedroom floor.
And yet, I have a feeling this will not be my last act of disobedience.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
How I know that Lob has fabulous breasts
I thought I'd try an eye-catching title. Did it work?
I'm going to tell the story of how Lob got (in her opinion) the best compliment of her life. Indeed, I believe it has been a lifetime highlight for her, other than her wedding day and the birth of each of her children, and all that kind of stuff that she has to say comes first. (If we were asking me, my favorite highlight from Lob's life was the time that representatives from McDonald's came to our high school and presented her with a shiny, puffy, McDonald's jacket on stage in front of our entire school. But this is the story of her favorite moment, not mine.)
Back in the days before Lob's body had experienced the joy of child-bearing, she and her husband, Mr. Lob, heard about a very enticing proposition. A well-known local adult entertainment establishment was offering classes to women - classes on how to dance. And also on how to take off your clothes. That's right, stripper classes.
"I want to do that!", Lob said, "Great!" said Mr. Lob, "I'll sign you up! It'll be your birthday present! It's the gift that keeps on giving!" At least this is how I imagine the conversation went. That last part I definitely heard Mr. Lob say myself.
Now this would all be well and good, except for one thing. Did Lob plan on going to the stripper class by herself? No, she didn't. Did Mr. Lob mind buying his wife two tickets to help ensure her attendance by enabling her to bring a friend? No, he didn't. And which friend did she have in mind? One that is already confident in her sexy dance moves? Perhaps a friend that had a life-time aspiration of one day becoming a stripper, and she was just waiting for someone to come along and offer her a class? Nooo. No, no, she targeted me. As someone who 1) knows she can't dance, and 2) is not comfortable walking around all nekkid in a locker room, let alone in a large open room full of strangers, I was less than excited about the proposition of combining these two tasks together. In fact, I gave her an emphatic "no", and stated that there was no possible way that she would ever find me agreeing to the stripper class. Sorry.
But, Lob and Mr. Lob are wily, cunning creatures. The bought the tickets far in advance, so that they had plenty of time to wheedle away at me. Lob turned on her charm, used her sweet voice, and begged me to attend the class with her. And she used her birthday against me! "Please, please! It's all I want for my birthday! Can't you just do this for me - for my birthday? I don't want anything else! I can't go if you don't go!" blah, blah, blah. Eventually, she wore me down. After being assured that stripping wasn't actually required, I agreed to go, and vowed to myself that I would keep this secret forever.
Fast forward to maybe a week before the class. I have told no one. Also, I have invited Lob to join my co-ed soccer team. We are all sitting around having a drink after a game one sunny afternoon when Lob introduces herself to the team this way, "So did Jenn tell ya'll that we are taking a stripper class together next week?" So the number of people who know my secret has instantly gone from 0 (other than the Lobs) to all the guys on my soccer team. I have to say, that though I was a little mortified, it was one of the more interesting studies of the old "telephone" game I have ever witnessed. Remember the game when you see how the message gets twisted as it goes around the circle? Well, it was like an instantaneous version of that. Because while the guys at one end of the table heard her correctly, and put down their beers to gape, the guys at the middle of the table, were saying "What? Naked women? What?!" and the fellows at the opposite end suddenly picked up with, "Naked Brazilian women?! Where? What? What's going on?!"
Lob knows how to get a man's attention.
So, I sucked up my misgivings and I went to the class with my friend. I even got a t-shirt. And it wasn't as bad as it seemed. The parking lot was full of minivans - women there to learn something to bring home to their husbands. Or whomever they happen to bring home at night, or maybe some of them just wanted to dance in front a mirror at home by themselves - I don't know. But no men were allowed inside. We were divided into groups, and went around to four different stations where we were instructed by different strippers. Oh, and the bar was open, and we were given two drink tickets, so I immediately cashed that in - I needed it. We did have one woman who got drunk and got in trouble for grabbing one of the strippers - but most of the people were nice. At least I think they were - I don't really remember... I was probably trying not to make eye contact with anyone.
The only one of the stations that I could at all was the one where we learned to crawl. Because, anyone can crawl! It's not really dancey. I think this was Lob's favorite part (other than her compliment), because this is how the crawling instructions began: (if you are related to me, stop reading now. I mean it. Why are you still reading? Skip down a paragraph.) "Everyone get down like you are getting it from behind." Immediately, every woman in our group hit the ground, all in identical poses, with eyes still on the instructor, waiting for the next command. I was the only one left standing. Lob says I was looking around at the group as if to say, "Can someone just pretend for a second that they don't know exactly what is going on here?"
Oh, her other next favorite part? I think it was with the same instructor. We were learning some kind of belly wave thing. I don't know what it was. I couldn't do it. You could wave up, or wave down, and she was telling us that some people could do one and not the other, and that if you were having trouble, try the other way and you'd probably be able do that one. But she pointed me out and said, "You just can't do it at all, can you?" I was really not stripper material. Big surprise.
There was a grand finale but I missed it. Actually, one thing I had been assured when I agreed to go was that I could leave early. Lob and I were coaching a girls soccer team, and they had a game that day. I left early from my strip class to go mold young girls, while Lob stayed behind to further her stripping skills. At the end, they put each group on the stage, one at a time, and let them show off their newly learned skills for the entire rest of the group. I didn't know this was coming, but I cannot express to you how thankful I was to hear that I had missed it. I would probably have tried to spend the entire time crawling across the stage, which Lob told me, due to the surface of the stage, injured one of the women in our group (because you don't just crawl - you crawl and slide - it just wasn't so slick), or maybe I would have tried to stand behind the biggest person I could find and hoped that no one noticed me. Anyway, I missed it, but I also missed Lob's magic moment. Because up to this point in time, there had been no baring of body parts. Sure, a bra or two had been exposed during the "how to be sexy while taking off your shirt" class, but nothing more. One of the strippers noticed this, and challenged the students. Drunk Grabby Woman and Lob obliged her, and like the pros they were trying to be, tossed off their tops. And that's when one of the professional strippers looked at Lob and said, "You have fabulous breasts." And as Lob explained to me, "and she's a stripper, so she knows!"
And she was about as happy as I have ever seen her.
Meanwhile, I brought home my certificate of participation, and hid it somewhere in the aparment I was sharing with my friend, Dolly. Dolly is someone that would refuse to attend a bachelorette party that had anything to do with strippers, out of principle, but I had broken the news of my class to her somewhere along the way. Sometime later, while I was out of town, Dolly had her family over for dinner at our place. She always cleaned up and re-decorated a bit before having company, and do you know what she thought would make a good decoration for her parents and brother? My stripping certificate. Which she paired brilliantly with me Bible trivia trophy. (That's right, I won a Bible trivia trophy. Thanks not to any studying or voluntary youth group participation of my own, but the fact that I attended a school that required Bible classes. I knew my stories!) And when her family did not notice these tokens right away, she enthusiastically pointed them out. Yes, it's the gift that keeps on giving.
I remember almost nothing of what they taught us, but Lob, ever the dedicated (curve-ruining) student, wrote it all down as soon as she got home. I hope that you and your fabulous breasts have enjoyed that, Lob. And again, I'm sorry they had no pole - I know it was disappointing.
I'm going to tell the story of how Lob got (in her opinion) the best compliment of her life. Indeed, I believe it has been a lifetime highlight for her, other than her wedding day and the birth of each of her children, and all that kind of stuff that she has to say comes first. (If we were asking me, my favorite highlight from Lob's life was the time that representatives from McDonald's came to our high school and presented her with a shiny, puffy, McDonald's jacket on stage in front of our entire school. But this is the story of her favorite moment, not mine.)
Back in the days before Lob's body had experienced the joy of child-bearing, she and her husband, Mr. Lob, heard about a very enticing proposition. A well-known local adult entertainment establishment was offering classes to women - classes on how to dance. And also on how to take off your clothes. That's right, stripper classes.
"I want to do that!", Lob said, "Great!" said Mr. Lob, "I'll sign you up! It'll be your birthday present! It's the gift that keeps on giving!" At least this is how I imagine the conversation went. That last part I definitely heard Mr. Lob say myself.
Now this would all be well and good, except for one thing. Did Lob plan on going to the stripper class by herself? No, she didn't. Did Mr. Lob mind buying his wife two tickets to help ensure her attendance by enabling her to bring a friend? No, he didn't. And which friend did she have in mind? One that is already confident in her sexy dance moves? Perhaps a friend that had a life-time aspiration of one day becoming a stripper, and she was just waiting for someone to come along and offer her a class? Nooo. No, no, she targeted me. As someone who 1) knows she can't dance, and 2) is not comfortable walking around all nekkid in a locker room, let alone in a large open room full of strangers, I was less than excited about the proposition of combining these two tasks together. In fact, I gave her an emphatic "no", and stated that there was no possible way that she would ever find me agreeing to the stripper class. Sorry.
But, Lob and Mr. Lob are wily, cunning creatures. The bought the tickets far in advance, so that they had plenty of time to wheedle away at me. Lob turned on her charm, used her sweet voice, and begged me to attend the class with her. And she used her birthday against me! "Please, please! It's all I want for my birthday! Can't you just do this for me - for my birthday? I don't want anything else! I can't go if you don't go!" blah, blah, blah. Eventually, she wore me down. After being assured that stripping wasn't actually required, I agreed to go, and vowed to myself that I would keep this secret forever.
Fast forward to maybe a week before the class. I have told no one. Also, I have invited Lob to join my co-ed soccer team. We are all sitting around having a drink after a game one sunny afternoon when Lob introduces herself to the team this way, "So did Jenn tell ya'll that we are taking a stripper class together next week?" So the number of people who know my secret has instantly gone from 0 (other than the Lobs) to all the guys on my soccer team. I have to say, that though I was a little mortified, it was one of the more interesting studies of the old "telephone" game I have ever witnessed. Remember the game when you see how the message gets twisted as it goes around the circle? Well, it was like an instantaneous version of that. Because while the guys at one end of the table heard her correctly, and put down their beers to gape, the guys at the middle of the table, were saying "What? Naked women? What?!" and the fellows at the opposite end suddenly picked up with, "Naked Brazilian women?! Where? What? What's going on?!"
Lob knows how to get a man's attention.
So, I sucked up my misgivings and I went to the class with my friend. I even got a t-shirt. And it wasn't as bad as it seemed. The parking lot was full of minivans - women there to learn something to bring home to their husbands. Or whomever they happen to bring home at night, or maybe some of them just wanted to dance in front a mirror at home by themselves - I don't know. But no men were allowed inside. We were divided into groups, and went around to four different stations where we were instructed by different strippers. Oh, and the bar was open, and we were given two drink tickets, so I immediately cashed that in - I needed it. We did have one woman who got drunk and got in trouble for grabbing one of the strippers - but most of the people were nice. At least I think they were - I don't really remember... I was probably trying not to make eye contact with anyone.
The only one of the stations that I could at all was the one where we learned to crawl. Because, anyone can crawl! It's not really dancey. I think this was Lob's favorite part (other than her compliment), because this is how the crawling instructions began: (if you are related to me, stop reading now. I mean it. Why are you still reading? Skip down a paragraph.) "Everyone get down like you are getting it from behind." Immediately, every woman in our group hit the ground, all in identical poses, with eyes still on the instructor, waiting for the next command. I was the only one left standing. Lob says I was looking around at the group as if to say, "Can someone just pretend for a second that they don't know exactly what is going on here?"
Oh, her other next favorite part? I think it was with the same instructor. We were learning some kind of belly wave thing. I don't know what it was. I couldn't do it. You could wave up, or wave down, and she was telling us that some people could do one and not the other, and that if you were having trouble, try the other way and you'd probably be able do that one. But she pointed me out and said, "You just can't do it at all, can you?" I was really not stripper material. Big surprise.
There was a grand finale but I missed it. Actually, one thing I had been assured when I agreed to go was that I could leave early. Lob and I were coaching a girls soccer team, and they had a game that day. I left early from my strip class to go mold young girls, while Lob stayed behind to further her stripping skills. At the end, they put each group on the stage, one at a time, and let them show off their newly learned skills for the entire rest of the group. I didn't know this was coming, but I cannot express to you how thankful I was to hear that I had missed it. I would probably have tried to spend the entire time crawling across the stage, which Lob told me, due to the surface of the stage, injured one of the women in our group (because you don't just crawl - you crawl and slide - it just wasn't so slick), or maybe I would have tried to stand behind the biggest person I could find and hoped that no one noticed me. Anyway, I missed it, but I also missed Lob's magic moment. Because up to this point in time, there had been no baring of body parts. Sure, a bra or two had been exposed during the "how to be sexy while taking off your shirt" class, but nothing more. One of the strippers noticed this, and challenged the students. Drunk Grabby Woman and Lob obliged her, and like the pros they were trying to be, tossed off their tops. And that's when one of the professional strippers looked at Lob and said, "You have fabulous breasts." And as Lob explained to me, "and she's a stripper, so she knows!"
And she was about as happy as I have ever seen her.
Meanwhile, I brought home my certificate of participation, and hid it somewhere in the aparment I was sharing with my friend, Dolly. Dolly is someone that would refuse to attend a bachelorette party that had anything to do with strippers, out of principle, but I had broken the news of my class to her somewhere along the way. Sometime later, while I was out of town, Dolly had her family over for dinner at our place. She always cleaned up and re-decorated a bit before having company, and do you know what she thought would make a good decoration for her parents and brother? My stripping certificate. Which she paired brilliantly with me Bible trivia trophy. (That's right, I won a Bible trivia trophy. Thanks not to any studying or voluntary youth group participation of my own, but the fact that I attended a school that required Bible classes. I knew my stories!) And when her family did not notice these tokens right away, she enthusiastically pointed them out. Yes, it's the gift that keeps on giving.
I remember almost nothing of what they taught us, but Lob, ever the dedicated (curve-ruining) student, wrote it all down as soon as she got home. I hope that you and your fabulous breasts have enjoyed that, Lob. And again, I'm sorry they had no pole - I know it was disappointing.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Gorilla-isms, lest I forget
Once upon a time back in college, I lived with a lovely Jersey girl named Gorilla. Gorilla had many... special qualities. There are so many little Gorilla stories that are so pleasant to remember, that I was thinking what a shame it is that they've never been written down. I know I've forgotten 98% of them, so before the other 2% slip my aging mind, I'm going to put them here on the internet where I can always find them. And they will probably mean nothing to you unless you were one of my college roommates, and I apologize for that, but what is most important here is me, of course.
1. Gorilla is the first person I'd ever met to have a worse sense of direction than I do. 13 years later, she is still the only person I've ever met who can get lost more easily than I. It wasn't always so clear which of us was the worst, though. Take for instance the time first year we set off together for the dining hall that was located directly across the street from our dorm. Fast forward to twenty minutes later when we looked around and realized we were nowhere near the dining hall. And then, for the next hour, we searched for the dining hall. Seriously, we couldn't figure out how to find and then enter the very simply constructed building. I think there was a parking lot involved that threw us off or something. Like that maybe we couldn't figure out how to walk around the cars? I don't know. At that point, we were both equally to blame. But one day, years later, she picked me up from the airport, and informed me that we may never make it out of the parking garage. Seems a little silly, doesn''t it? It wasn't so funny once we had circled that garage repeatedly, and still had not made any progress. Eventually, I tried to help out: "There's an exit sign! That.... way..." My voice trails off here because she interrupted me to declare, "I know, I'll just drive to the center!" She then stepped on the gas and sped us away past the exit sign towards the center of the garage. That didn't work. The cycle repeated. Again. And again. Her worrying out loud about our inability to escape, while all the while we were flying past exit signs. In a circle. I seriously began to wonder if I would ever get to leave the airport. I decided that day that I may be bad, but she is worse. Which is great - I'm always happy to find someone that can make me look good in some way!
2. The time that she brought home a new sweater and showed it off to us with this warning, "Just don't look at the price tag! Don't look, ok? It was kind of expensive... but it's really nice! It's 100% cotton - it's really nice!" When the rest of us exchanged a look she noticed. "It is 100% cotton! The saleslady told me so!" She looked so confidant, I almost hated to tell her to check the tag in the t-shirt she was wearing. Almost.
3. The fact that she told me that she was really glad we weren't assigned as roommates our first year (in fact, we lived next door to each other), because if she had seen that her new roommate was from Georgia, she might have been too afraid to come to college. The thing is, her actual roommate was from Ghana. Which is not just another state - it's another country. On a whole other continent. "So, Georgia is more scary than Ghana?", I asked. Yes, it was. Later I found out that she called her friends in Jersey just to tell them that she had met a girl from Georgia, "and she's normal!!" They were equally incredulous.
4. The time that we were exchanging little quips for some reason or another, and she came back at me with, "Well, if that isn't the white sheep calling the black sheep black!" Because she thought I was being hypocritical, and boy, did she think she had gotten me good with that remark. She laughed and looked quite triumphant. I told her that yes, in fact, it was the white sheep calling the black sheep black. She agreed. I gave up.
5. That whole phase she went through when she decided to model herself after her hero, Marisa Tomei's character in "My Cousin Vinny." This mostly meant speaking with an exaggerated New Jersey accent - because she thought this made her sound cool. You know when it stopped being amusing? Ok, it was always more puzzling than amusing, but the day when I called for a stop was the day that I heard the words "oh my gawd" come out of my mouth. I then actively worked on ridding myself of any influence I may have absorbed, but for years afterwards, I would regularly be asked if I was from New Jersey. A year after I had moved back to the south, I got taken for a Marylander, and I knew I was on the road to recovery.
This reminds me - the Jersey-girl thing was part of her lifetime goal of being a badass. That was her dream. So much so, that she once let me right "BADASS" in large letters across her forehead. But instead I wrote "DUMBASS". I'm sorry Gorilla - I guess I couldn't resist.
(hey! Know what I just realized?? Marisa's character in "Vinny" was named "Mona Lisa", and Gorilla's parents considered naming her "Lisa Mona" - no joke.)
6. Every time she laughs really hard at a joke she doesn't get. She was pretty good at faking it, but I got to know her as well as I knew anyone in school, and I could always tell when little Gorilla had no idea what she was laughing at. My favorite was the time another friend and I showed her a toy dog, that looked just like the ugly dog in the the Budweizer dog-show commercial that was on at the time. Larry was his name. We revealed the likeness by showing her the dog and reciting the line from the judges, "Larry? Larry..." She nodded and laughed and we thought we were all understood until she came up with a joke of her own: "Harold? Harold..."
7. Gorilla now has an adorable baby Gorilla, and I sent her an ornament for Christmas this year. It was a large ceramic disc that I had painted something Christmasy on and then tied a bow and a ribbon for hanging. (Please, try to contain the jealousy.) She wrote me a thank-you note for the necklace for the baby. When I later asked her if that wouldn't be a choking hazard, she said, "I know - I just thought you didn't know..."
oh, Gorilla. I love you.
1. Gorilla is the first person I'd ever met to have a worse sense of direction than I do. 13 years later, she is still the only person I've ever met who can get lost more easily than I. It wasn't always so clear which of us was the worst, though. Take for instance the time first year we set off together for the dining hall that was located directly across the street from our dorm. Fast forward to twenty minutes later when we looked around and realized we were nowhere near the dining hall. And then, for the next hour, we searched for the dining hall. Seriously, we couldn't figure out how to find and then enter the very simply constructed building. I think there was a parking lot involved that threw us off or something. Like that maybe we couldn't figure out how to walk around the cars? I don't know. At that point, we were both equally to blame. But one day, years later, she picked me up from the airport, and informed me that we may never make it out of the parking garage. Seems a little silly, doesn''t it? It wasn't so funny once we had circled that garage repeatedly, and still had not made any progress. Eventually, I tried to help out: "There's an exit sign! That.... way..." My voice trails off here because she interrupted me to declare, "I know, I'll just drive to the center!" She then stepped on the gas and sped us away past the exit sign towards the center of the garage. That didn't work. The cycle repeated. Again. And again. Her worrying out loud about our inability to escape, while all the while we were flying past exit signs. In a circle. I seriously began to wonder if I would ever get to leave the airport. I decided that day that I may be bad, but she is worse. Which is great - I'm always happy to find someone that can make me look good in some way!
2. The time that she brought home a new sweater and showed it off to us with this warning, "Just don't look at the price tag! Don't look, ok? It was kind of expensive... but it's really nice! It's 100% cotton - it's really nice!" When the rest of us exchanged a look she noticed. "It is 100% cotton! The saleslady told me so!" She looked so confidant, I almost hated to tell her to check the tag in the t-shirt she was wearing. Almost.
3. The fact that she told me that she was really glad we weren't assigned as roommates our first year (in fact, we lived next door to each other), because if she had seen that her new roommate was from Georgia, she might have been too afraid to come to college. The thing is, her actual roommate was from Ghana. Which is not just another state - it's another country. On a whole other continent. "So, Georgia is more scary than Ghana?", I asked. Yes, it was. Later I found out that she called her friends in Jersey just to tell them that she had met a girl from Georgia, "and she's normal!!" They were equally incredulous.
4. The time that we were exchanging little quips for some reason or another, and she came back at me with, "Well, if that isn't the white sheep calling the black sheep black!" Because she thought I was being hypocritical, and boy, did she think she had gotten me good with that remark. She laughed and looked quite triumphant. I told her that yes, in fact, it was the white sheep calling the black sheep black. She agreed. I gave up.
5. That whole phase she went through when she decided to model herself after her hero, Marisa Tomei's character in "My Cousin Vinny." This mostly meant speaking with an exaggerated New Jersey accent - because she thought this made her sound cool. You know when it stopped being amusing? Ok, it was always more puzzling than amusing, but the day when I called for a stop was the day that I heard the words "oh my gawd" come out of my mouth. I then actively worked on ridding myself of any influence I may have absorbed, but for years afterwards, I would regularly be asked if I was from New Jersey. A year after I had moved back to the south, I got taken for a Marylander, and I knew I was on the road to recovery.
This reminds me - the Jersey-girl thing was part of her lifetime goal of being a badass. That was her dream. So much so, that she once let me right "BADASS" in large letters across her forehead. But instead I wrote "DUMBASS". I'm sorry Gorilla - I guess I couldn't resist.
(hey! Know what I just realized?? Marisa's character in "Vinny" was named "Mona Lisa", and Gorilla's parents considered naming her "Lisa Mona" - no joke.)
6. Every time she laughs really hard at a joke she doesn't get. She was pretty good at faking it, but I got to know her as well as I knew anyone in school, and I could always tell when little Gorilla had no idea what she was laughing at. My favorite was the time another friend and I showed her a toy dog, that looked just like the ugly dog in the the Budweizer dog-show commercial that was on at the time. Larry was his name. We revealed the likeness by showing her the dog and reciting the line from the judges, "Larry? Larry..." She nodded and laughed and we thought we were all understood until she came up with a joke of her own: "Harold? Harold..."
7. Gorilla now has an adorable baby Gorilla, and I sent her an ornament for Christmas this year. It was a large ceramic disc that I had painted something Christmasy on and then tied a bow and a ribbon for hanging. (Please, try to contain the jealousy.) She wrote me a thank-you note for the necklace for the baby. When I later asked her if that wouldn't be a choking hazard, she said, "I know - I just thought you didn't know..."
oh, Gorilla. I love you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)