Friday, March 25, 2005

TR_ L_V

Just got back from a lunchtime jaunt over to the Apple store and--just in case there was anyone else out there besides me who developed this theorem and was looking for definitive evidence of its validity--it's true. Mac people are hotter and cooler than PC people.

Don't get me wrong, I own a PC. But I'll totally sign over my next eight paychecks for a PowerBook if it truly holds the key to unbelievable hipness and excellent hair. Every guy in that store was a dream and every girl was at least a thousand...fathoms? inches? liters? cubits? cooler than me. That's fine, because I couldn't even be bitter about it. Mac people are nicer than PC people. I've never been in such a jovial line. And I've been to Disney World.

Steve Jobs, impregnate me with your utopian seed!

Also, ladies and gents, throw out your TrimSpa, because I've also discovered that the number of Mac products you own is inversely proportionate to your pants size. That store was filled with the sveltest of the svelte. Which, again, is fine, because I understand the secret now. Buy more Mac, and I'll be totally hot. (er). (As if that's even possible.)

Although, maybe eating something besides a bag of Andy Capp's Hot Fries and a box of Good-n-Plentys for lunch would have the same effect.

Whatever, I'm totally justified in eating as many Good-n-Plentys as I want because I joined a gym. It's such an out of character move I nearly crack myself up every time I walk through the New York Sports Club doors. I hand over my card, they beep me in, and I laugh over to the elliptical at the absurdity of the whole situation. I am the girl who worked at a gym for two years and never once touched a machine, not one single time. I didn't even know where the pool was when people asked me for directions. There was an Olympic-sized hole in the building and I was so uninterested I never bothered to find it, much less take a dip.

I joined after Kai brought me with her one night. It was the TVs that won me over. Every single machine has its own TV. With cable.

For $69 a month, I get to watch American Idol without hearing my mom screaming at her TV from a floor away. For $69 a month, I get to indulge a shamefully growing interest in The O.C. without judgment. For $69 a month, I can entertain the idea that I'm actually running towards Anderson Cooper as he oh-so-tantalizingly reads me the news at the end of my treadmill.

Not to mention the absolute freakshow that is the gym crowd. For a long time, I think I was really intimidated by the idea of going to a gym because I pictured everyone there as really fit, really young, really hot, and really like-everyone-who-ever-got-me-out-in-dodgeball-during-P.E.-class. Of course there's a certain crowd like that, but they mostly stand around in a group "spotting" one of their grunting number, a practice which involves more butt-touching than I deem appropriate or necessary. I'm just saying.

In actuality, there are a whole lot of normal people like me and just the perfect amount of my very favorite--the 21 Jump Street style body-builders whose tattoos are so terrible I nearly fly right off my treadmill trying to contain my laughter. There's nothing that can tear me away from Wheel of Fortune like watching a giant pulsing dragon ripple on a dude's bicep, and realizing (when he switches sides on his machine) that his opposite bicep bears the following explanatory tattoo: DRAGON.

Just in case that first tattoo proved obtuse.

You know, I just spent almost fifteen minutes trying to come up with a comparatively bad tattoo I could say I was interested in getting but I think I'm just too nerdy to invent anything as great as Senor Fire-Breather's bodyart. Everything I came up with just ended up being a bad, punny pickup line. Like, I could get this tattooed on me somewhere:

TR_ L_V

Just like that. And then whenever I saw a really hot gym guy, I could go up and show it to him, and then I could say:

"All that's missing is the you."

2 Comments:

Anonymous brad said...

I NEED THAT TATTOO.

8:06 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

How is it possible that you get funnier every week? Land o' lakes, woman.

-Clare

1:32 PM  

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