People of the Gym: Part 2

Remember our dear Jim? I saw him last week at the gym and remembered my mission in life. And then ran out the door giggling and making the there he is face at Justin who is reeeeeealllllly bad at secret talk like that. He was all, WHO? WHO ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? So discreet, that guy.

My new favorite gym treasure turned out to be a unicorn. I only saw him once and I'm not sure I will ever get over it. Guys, he was my imaginary best friend. I wanted so badly to do Zumba with him and compare hip measurements and weight loss secrets even though I only saw him for a brief but meaningful 32 seconds of my life.

We shall call him Meev — a combination of Max & Nev. Meev was the ultimate gym hipster — gypster (I'm not sure that isn't racist but I was on a kick of combining things...). What was he wearing you ask? Perfection. Short, SHORT gym shorts, probably from American Apparel nonetheless, to show off his slender legs, a thin v-neck t-shirt for optimal ventilation, and a cardigan. What? YES. A freaking sweater. To the gym. Because Meev doesn't follow standard conventions, you guys. Meev does what Meev wants.

As I was running on the treadmill and spotted this hipster angel sent from above, I immediately looked around to see if anyone else noticed him. Justin was in front of me so I couldn't get his attention but that was fine because he would've been all WHAT SWEATER WHO ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. No one, not even the elderly asian woman in newspaper-ish print leggings and also gloves noticed this rare treasure. No one even blinked. And then I wondered if I was the one that was in the wrong because why am I not dressed in something special for my workout?

Like this. This is my new gym outfit. WITH FLAIR.

Meev was going to a class, but because the goddamned schedule on the wall was out of date I didn't know which class it was or how I could stalk him down in the future. In my mind it was Zumba or bellydancing. And that he was the instructor. Because life doesn't get more perfect than that.

People of the Gym: Part 1

I promised myself I would not make fun of people at the gym. Do not make fun of people at the gym, Tiffany! They are bettering their lives, no matter how ridiculous they look!

I...can't....help...myself! And I would be denying you golden entertainment so really I am being a bad person for your benefit so you're welcome.

That said, our first star of PEOPLE OF THE GYM is a man whom I would like to refer to as Jim. And if that right there doesn't get me a book deal, I don't know what else you people expect from me.

Before I tell you about Jim at the gym, let me set the stage a little. We belong to a small gym in an ethnically diverse neighborhood. I'm not being racist when I say that most of the gym members are of Asian or Indian descent. IT IS A FACT, NOT RACIST. Imagine middle-aged women of these descents arriving for Zumba, belly-dancing, and various other classes that I am not coordinated enough to attend. Incredibly muscular younger Asian dudes that are really testing their genetically predispositioned frames. And a sprinkle of old white dudes that can't afford LA Fitness so they ended up here and really just walk in circles and put their legs up on things to have a nice chat.

Which brings us to Jim, a tall-ish and moderately dumpy older white man. Whom I'm sure is really nice in real life. I was minding my own business doing some seated rows when Jim appeared at the weight machine to my left. I believe it was a pull-down lat machine? I don't really know the names, I just know what they do.

What follows are the rules Jim follows when performing his lat pulls:

• Walk around in a circle as you approach the lat machine. Breathe loudly.
• As aggressively as possible and without fully sitting down, complete your set at lightning fast speed, making sure that the bar slams up into place when you are through.
• Jump up and do some more intense circle walking as you continue to breathe like a gorilla.
• Give the machine an intense and slightly rapey stare-down as you approach for your next set.
• Do more than the standard number of sets because YOU ARE SO SWOLL.
• When you are finished, don't even thinking about wiping the machine down because your sweat is the nectar of the gods.

And holy shit you guys I just realized who Jim really is...

Kenny. Fucking. Powers.

They are definitely at least brothers....cousins...

Anyways, I doubt that Jim intends to be so intense. It's just that he works really hard for his pasty, doughy body and he wants to get the most self-esteem out of any workout that he completes. And can we really fault him for that? I mean, yea, I guess I kind of am.

I haven't seen Jim this week, so I'm guessing either he dislocated his shoulder with his vigorous routine or he achieved his goals. So get well soon, Jim! Or congratulations!

Weho, Wine, and Jean Shorts

My weekend technically started on Thursday night. If you still haven't heard, there's this small indie film called Magic Mike that changed my life in so many significant ways. Friday I trekked up to West Hollywood for some adventures with my life partner, Leeann. We relived the 90s at the Summerland Tour and drove out to the middle of nowhere for a fantastic wine tasting experience. She also told me I smell like a man that wears cheap cologne. She'll tell you all about it!

When I arrived home Saturday evening, I finally accepted the fact that the few fleas I found on jmeoww had repopulated and tried to take over my home. With the help of my very patient boyfriend, we took J to a friend's house and bombed the shit out of my apartment. We also learned from my apartment manager that they pay for flea control because it's a SERIOUS PROBLEM in my complex. I must've missed that memo.

After an overdramatic Saturday night, I was really looking forward to Sunday. Because. Because it was the day that I got to take Justin shopping. You see, one time I told him that I hated his shoes. Okay let's rewind. One time when I called him sobbing for one final come-to-jesus talk, this conversation happened:

Me: Justin, can I tell you something?
Him: Yea...
Me: I HATE your shoes! (in the most pathetic sobbing (maybe a little drunk) voice you can imagine)
Him: What does that have to do with anything??
Me: EVERYTHING. It means everything! Your shoes are awful, but I still love you!

And that my friends is how you score the man of your dreams. Apparently. Anyways, since my sobbing confession he has allowed me to be his personal stylist. We immediately replaced the shoes and last weekend we cleaned his closet. I know, right? Are you jealous yet? Because the closet cleaning left him with pretty much nothing, shopping was very necessary. He did try to get out of it by seducing me with the final few episodes of Game of Thrones. It almost worked but, SHOPPING!

I decided to take it easy on him and just visit Old Navy. Which seriously failed us. The shorts were too short. Too cargo-y. Too jean. It was very disappointing, however we picked a couple of shirts out without killing each other. I call that a success. Our failure at Old Navy only means that there is more shopping in our future. The romance is too much to handle!

A Magical Night

Last night, at 12:01 to be exact, I had the privilege to view one of the greatest cinematic masterpieces since Titanic with a group of seven classy, sober ladies.* I apologize if you're unfamiliar with this film, and I hope this review doesn't bore you.

Magic Mike is about young men trying to find their way in life. Oh who the hell are we kidding? Magic Mike is about MALE STRIPPERS. And the point of the entire movie is the stripping. And gyrating. And asses. So many asses. Does anything else matter? Full disclosure, I've been to a male stripper performance once (okay fine, twice) in my life and it makes me seriously uncomfortable. Am I the only one who doesn't like sweaty man parts thrusted in my face? Shut up, all of you.

My true love ladyboner was for Joe Manganiello (for the love of god, google him). Also known as Alcide on True Blood. Also known as a national treasure. Unfortunately he was only a supporting character. But still supported my ladyboner. There were some other men in the movie too.

I went into this movie lukewarm about Channing Tatum and Matthew Mcconaughey. Not impressed, ever. I left the movie with a little spark in my pants heart for both of them. Channing Tatum can real life dance. While his character doesn't have much depth (see above, depth not required), he plays him well and is very charming. And dear god, he makes sweatpants look gooood. Matthew Mcconaughey. I never felt the love. However. Because the character he plays in this movie is the closest thing to what he is probably like in real life, he won me over. Narcissistic, sweaty, bongo-drum-playing, assless-pants-wearing, sweaty, and flame throwing. I suspect they didn't even give him a script. "Hey, Matthew! Want to be in this movie? No, no acting. Just do you. Bring your own clothes." PERFECT. Nailed it.

If you take Magic Mike for what it's worth, you will have a hell of a time. We giggled a lot. We blushed a lot. Also, male strippers.

*False. Far from classy. Farther from sober. I'm also not sure if Titanic is considered a cinematic masterpiece. Doubt it.

Braving online dating and the hilarity that ensues.

I was single for nearly two years before I decided to dive back into the  dating world. One night after getting my heart broken by the same person for the 84^th time, I drank an entire bottle of wine and told my best friend, “It’s time…. Let’s make me a profile!” Because she is my best friend, she smiled and played along. I imagine she was silently commending my bravery; she was probably silently preparing herself for the avalanche of shit that was coming my way that she would incessantly have to hear about. So we made a profile: A perfectly well-rounded, charming, and hilarious version of me complete with flawlessly primped pictures representing what I look like about 27% of the time. 

The initial browsing of potential date candidates was so absorbing and amusing that we sat there for hours. Then the messages started flowing in, and if this is what it’s like being an international superstar of fame for no reason and having your pick of lovers, then I wanted a piece of it. And then I read the messages. Most messages go something like this:

“hey”

“hi sexy ;-)”

“nice smile :-)”

 “I know we only have a 33% match, but I think we would get along really well.”

You get my point, I’m sure. The emoticons really send those messages straight to the heart. Well articulated messages are incredibly rare, but they do happen. When you have a conversation with someone you seem to possibly have a connection with, there comes the awkward moment when one of you has to make the next real life step. If you do this right you end up on a date, and it either clicks or it doesn’t (Because this is when you find out they were lying about their height. SIGNIFICANTLY.). If you do this wrong you end up giving your phone number to an assortment of creeps and narcissists who want nothing more than to text you about their daily behaviors and send you random pictures. OF THEIR DOG. I might be the only one that thinks this, but unsolicited pictures (of a pet or the sender) really freak me out. 

I understand texting for the sake of texting when you are bored. And I love animals. I will never, EVER understand unsolicited animal photos. Do I send people random pictures of my cat? (Okay, sometimes but only my family and select friends. Because they know her…obviously). And oddly enough, I’m not the only one who has been subjected to unsolicited pet photos. Is this the new trend in getting to know people? What about those of us that don’t have dogs? Not a level playing field at all, dog-texters.

Anyways, back to the point here. What was the point? I’m not sure either. Something about how online dating is weird.  Maybe we should summarize some key moments. Let’s begin:

• The time a creepy photo-of-dog-texter got mad at me for going on vacation with my family and not informing him. Note: Had never met the guy. He never asked me to. Just texts. He would later break-up with me. Also via text. Via our pretend relationship that was apparently major in his head.
• That one time a guy showed up to meet me at a bar completely wasted. Not a little buzzed and friendly. Falling over on the sidewalk and peeing on a car wasted. I probably should’ve avoided meeting up at all after the initial drunk dial I received prior to this night. Here’s hoping he joined some sort of 12-step program…
• The time a potential date (also a good message writer turned dog-picture-texter) suggested we go to a restaurant because he had a Groupon for it. Oh, you want to argue with me about how times are tough and I should be more understanding? NOPE. Groupons are for long-term couples and our grandparents. And my friend Leeann.
• The time a guy told me that his phone must not have been working. And I fell for it because I wanted to. Oh, you’re judging me? You just wait…just wait. You too will hit your online dating rock-bottom.

This all happened in a span of about 5 months. Is it all bad? Well, kind of. But it is entertaining, and was a great distraction from what was going on in real life. I did meet some cool people, but I did not meet “the one.” Some of my friends did meet their significant others this way, so I would never tell anyone not to do it. In fact, I encourage you to. Because it’s an experience that every single should have in their lives. An experience we can all look back on and laugh at when we have lunch using Groupons at the age of 62 while we take photos of our dogs.