2001-04-18
Dear Diary:

    I ended this morning in My Own Personal Hell a.k.a. the exercise ball room at my gym. You'll be thrilled to hear that my balance is improving slightly, so now I'm actually able to stay on the ball for a few ab crunches.

    *Insert Gomez Addams voice here.* Oooooh, Marn, you spoke Gym.

    Try to control yourselves, 'kay?

    Those who know me well would have recognized from my expression that I had retreated to My Inner Happy Place while torturing my body on these infernal balls. The Evil Not Fun Exercise Balls cannot get me at My Inner Happy Place, eh.

    It could have ended there. I could have finished with the balls, put them away, left that room and the universe would have continued unfolding as it should. But oh no, I couldn't do that. Oh no, instead I made The Biggest Mistake of My Life.

    I LOOKED AT MY BUTT IN THE MIRRORS.

    I may not be able to find my Inner Happy Place ever again.

    Fine.

    Laugh all you want, but here's the truth of the matter:

    You really cannot see your own butt. You can look at it kind of sideways, and you can use the old two mirror trick, but in the end you really can't see your butt.

    This is Gawd's way of stopping us of the XX chromosome persuasion from mass, lemming-like runs over cliffs, I'm thinking.

    But the Evil Not Fun Exercise Balls Room is completely covered floor to ceiling in mirrors. So, like the reckless fool I am, I stood up on one of the step exercise thingies, lifted the back of my cotton sweater to reveal my leotard clad derri�re and I LOOKED AT MY BUTT IN THE MIRRORS. I had a complete and perfect view.

    And to my horror I found I have a square butt. A SQUARE BUTT.

    When did this happen? When did I go from butt o' bubble to butt o' block? Huh? HUH? I want a date and I want it now, dagnabbit!

    In the meantime, I got Will the trainer to add butt-related exercises to my workout. Or as we Gym People say, "I'm working on my glutes, dude."

    Somewhere within that butt o' block lives my Inner Bubble Butt and I fully intend to set it free.

    This may involve chisels and a blowtorch, but hey, whatever it takes, eh.

    There will be further bulletins as events progress.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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�2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.