Time To Take The Cyanide Pill
Tuesday, August 30, 2005 Episode 1- Spin Class I've mentioned spin before. But in case you forgot allow me reiterate some of the finer points. You take 25 people- 30 percent of whom are chubby, 30 percent of whom are fit, 30 percent of whom are smugly thin, and that special 10 percent who've taken anorexia to art form**- and stick them in a tiny, dimly lit room perched atop stationary bikes. The obnoxious music gets cranked up and the class, in response to orders cheerfully barked out by an 87 pound nazi-fembot, pedals away with fervor going absolutely fucking nowhere. But I, one of the dutiful 30%, do my part by peddling away while, as the 87 pound nazi-fembot commands, "COMMITTING, COMMITTING, COMMITTING to WIN". I also take a few moments to ask god to give her syphilis. But that's neither here nor there. At this point the spin room heats up to balmy 120 degrees creating a sort of heat, sweat and body odor soup. I am (literally I hope) peddling my ass off and about three shorts breaths away from certain sudden cardiac arrest. I'm also thinking it can't get any worse. Oh how wrong I am. Because it's at this point the girl "riding" next to me farts. Loud. I mean this fart was fucking audible over the speaker and subwoofer system booming out the rocking new Rob Thomas. And sweet jesus, we're already in a hotbox. The smell was so bad I actually had to bury my face in my own armpit to avoid projectile vomiting onto the back of the chubby guy in front of me a la Stand By Me. Now, I'm no prude and I'm certainly not prissy about bodily functions, but for christ's sake- this chick didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed about the assault she committed on the class. It's not bad enough that I have to be violated by a stationary bike under the direction of someone who I am quite sure vomits for sport, but should I also be subjected to the noxious contribution of the laxative guzzling ex sorostitute in the AEPhi T-shit? Me thinks not. I mean really, at a certain point we have to ask ourselves- at what price beauty??? Stay tuned for next's weeks exploits- the deep deep humiliation endured at the Ninth circle of hell also know as Weight Watchers. **Sidebar- there's one girl who takes two spin classes back to back and I'm pretty sure she uses the cool down time in between to go and vomit. Someone should really say something to her, but I think most people are sort of in awe of her discipline and visible rib cage. And yes, I am aware of the fact that it is indeed a sick, sad world that I inhabit.  
Tuesday, August 16, 2005 You sit with your legs crossed at the ankles, you chew with your mouth closed. You realize that you are one of maybe six people in the room who seems to think this is important, so you give up. You try, at least while you are holding your infant nephew, to not use the word fuck. Especially not as a verb. You fail...miserably. Yet you smile, giggle demurely and gently deflect questions about your impending spinster status. You realize that perhaps your mother was right about the Mimosas, because if you hadn't had that last one, you might not be telling your entire Jewish family about how you met a lovely woman named Shaniqua down at the abortion clinic and that as soon as the infection clears up the two of you are going to have a beautiful little Muslim influenced civil service in Massachusetts. At this point, you decide to stop drinking. Also, your mother may or may not have broken blood vessels in your arm while leading you away from her friends. Ah, yes. Yes, you are partaking the time honored tradition of the Bridal Shower. Where women gather to wear flowered dresses, drink in the morning, and give the bride-to-be flatware. Lots and lots of flatware. You sit and watch her open the flatware, the mixing bowls and the high thread count sheets amid the mummered approval of the woman looking on, "Ohhh........Ahh......Isn't that just lovely?" Now, don't get me wrong. My best friend's shower really was lovely. She made a touching speech about her friends and family and her husband-to-be had sent what was also a touching speech about why he loves her and blah blah blah. I laughed, I cried, I dripped Mimosa into my cleavage. I even made a bouquet out of bows. And I must have been getting my period or something because I got pretty fucking into it, as evidenced below.  My overall take on Bridal Showers is that they are pretty innocuous- because hey, anywhere it's acceptable to drink that early in the morning is fine by me. Plus, the whole, "Gimme lots of stuff" aspect is both fun and practical. In fact, I've decided that I am going to register for my 30th birthday. Hey, single people need flatware and mixing bowls and throw pillows too. We may only need one of each, but we still fucking need them. Unless of course it all works out with Shaniqua. In that case we'll need two.
Thursday, August 04, 2005 And right now, just for the record, I am in the midst of making the mother of all mistakes. (Oh, and sorry for all the alliteration. I'm on the wagon right now and for some reason, constantly repeating consonants gives me the same warm squishy feeling usually reserved for my fourth glass of wine).
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Time To Take The Cyanide Pill 
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