The time to create your new entry to your blog is not when you have just polished off three egg nogs. Well, two and a half but I’ll keep you posted.
Now, I could start off by telling you some funny stories about life in LA, like how I ran into Angelyn (the crazy blond 147-year-old who drives the pink corvette and used to have billboards all over town) at Whole Foods. And yes, I shop there sometimes even though I can’t afford $160 dollars for artichoke chicken garlic sausage but still…I was there, okay?
Or I could tell you a funny thing about this run in I had with a woman at the gym awhile ago because she was making really loud more than vaguely sexual noises everytime she so much as lifted a five pound weight with her weirdly Zorroesque trainer. A few different women and I were exchanging glances to show that we were all as one in the crazy factor we were audibly witnessing. If I were to tell the story I’d have to tell you that I asked her trainer, as he waltzed by me and said in a very salacious manner “how are you dooooing?” if he could please get his client to tone down the Meg Ryan 80’s styled fake orgasms so I could get in one more set of sit-ups in fucking peace. And then I’d have to tell you that the woman came and CONFRONTED me saying that she could make as much noise as she wanted since she paid the trainer 80 bucks an hour. To which I replied “there’s a sign on the wall that says NO LOUD OR STRANGE NOISES (and I swear it does. Anyone who lives in Los Angeles and who would admit to going to a Bally’s gym can attest that they do indeed have this sign and it is quite necessary).
So this woman says to me in some kind of accent that I honestly in a non racist way can’t figure out if it’s Italian, Spanish or Persian starts going off on me like she wants to fight. I think in my mind, “wow, if I did get in a fist fight in Bally’s when I’m almost 40 that would make a great story” but I also thought, I am very opinionated and often times when I’ve forgotten to take a clonopin, can’t keep my thoughts completely to myself and this behavior has once again gotten me into trouble. So I tried to completely ignore her. But she persisted, people. She followed me around explaining her right to make unpleasant grunting noises like a goat in heat. Finally, like a second grader I said “maybe we should take this to managment” which you know at any gym is like a fifteen-year-old with a ponytail and a forty year old guy who is preaching ABC (always be closing) to his phone crew and only interested in closing the deal on new members. Customer service has no place in the gym business. None-the-less I stormed down the stairs into the glass enclosed office of “management” heart pounding like a hamster and not from the reps on the shoulder press. I actually told on her. You betcha. I complained that she was irritating the whole gym with crazy noises and that it was interrupting my workout. Then I promptly moved to a house about 20 miles away where I deal with a different branch of Bally’s gym. And now I live in the suburbs of Encino where I have a baby and whole different set of problems.