2001-03-12
Dear Diary:

Linda Hamilton--tough enough for Arnold, tough enough for me. Just finished my second visit to the gym and I STILL don't look like Linda Hamilton in "Terminator II".

I am shocked and dismayed by this unexpected turn of events, eh.

Yep, this morning I was at Madame Babette's House o' Torture a.k.a. The Gym. I was the woman in the corner feeling her will to live dwindle with each stroke as she did her cardio cool down on the rowing machine.

This other woman was motoring along on the treadmill beside me. To break the boredom, I started up a conversation with her, went with the usual small talk stuff--been doing this gym thing long? Has it been worthwhile?

She looks me over, decides I'm not some sort of deranged serial killer type person, and tells me she's been at it for over four months now, three times a week.

"Well, it hasn't done anything for my body," she said, said she, "but I'm not screaming at my husband and my kids like I used to."

It's such a comfort to know you're exercising beside a ticking human time bomb, eh.

Alrightee then. Achey muscles, no promise of any quick physical transformation, ticking human time bombs AND I'm paying for this in American dollars, $1 U.S. equalling $5,432 Canadian, give or take a few cents.

Now I see why they don't have any sharp objects in a gym.

It thwarts those random, senseless urges you get to impale yourself and end the pain quickly.

You know, it just struck me I may have to set more realistic goals for this gym thing.

Maybe it will take six visits to get buff, eh.

--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.