Boy, do I have some Tales to Tell...
Friday, August 26, 2005
Okay, I am obsessed. I am addicted. I am dancing by myself (not right now since I am typing this). I am loving AOL Radio's '80s Dance station. I mean Judy Torres, Trinere, TKA, Seduction, Pretty Poison... it's like high school all over again. I think I was the only person in high school who listened to this kind of music. At least in my high school. When they were all dancing to Van Halen's Jump, I was free-styling to the Cover Girls' Show Me. Bon Jovi, not for me. Jaya, oh yah!

When I was a "confused" teen, this music would put me in the groove and make me forget any worries. Of course, there was always my patron saint, Madonna. She still puts me in a good mood. But '80s Dance was more about me feeling free and strong on a dance floor. Where I could be whatever. Feel whatever. I can remember going to the Iguana somewhere in Southern Jersey with my cousin Carol. It may have been the first time I got on a podium to dance. It definitely was an awakening. For me and her. Later.
So... hypothetically speaking... and I really do mean that (lest anyone out there starts to berate me)... let's say there's this guy who used to take your step class religiously. He used to take it every Monday night and often, but not regularly, on Wednesday nights. This said man is extremely attractive physically - 6' 3", nice haircut, cheeful personality, smart, phenomenal step aerobics participant, amazingly flawless skin, warm smile, beautiful tan, sparkling eyes, strong abs... you get the point. And let's say that you find this man extremely attractive.

So, one day, you give up all your step classes without telling anyone in class; not even this man that you find very attractive. You give up all but one obscure body conditioning class. A class where barely anyone shows up. A couple of weeks later, very-attractive man sees you teaching class and proceeds to come to class constantly. He stills looks amazing. You can't help but look. You begin to wonder why he comes to your silly body conditioning class when he obviously knows how to workout on his own. You begin to wonder, "Hmmm, is he gay?"

I mean he spends a lot of time at the gym. He lives in Chelsea. He is very fashionable (this you know because he shows up at the grocery store that you work at and chats with you in his very fashionable but conservative outfits). He's got some very interesting body jewelry. He's never seen with a female (except once when you spotted him on the street with some female who you think is his sister because she too was quite stunning and had similar features and their body language did not say "lovers").

So, let's say that you see him at the store today looking quite scumptuous in his tank-top and cargo shorts. He stops to say hello. Chats about becoming addicted to triathalons and his training for a half-ironman. You also find out that he is a research scientist (but you heard about this before via a rumor about him doing research for cancer cures- damn smart and gorgeous). You become so giggly that you say a quick goodbye so as not to look "school-girly". Before you scurry away, he places his hand on your shoulder, caresses it, and says, "I'll see you soon".

Okay, here is my question... Who's team is he on? And more importantly, how can I find out?

I'm not sure why I am obsessed with the answers to these two questions. Especially since I am happily partnered. Later.
Monday, August 22, 2005
It's been a while since I actually paid for a gym membership. I still don't because I still am employed by one of the local gyms here in NYC. I basically teach a couple of classes and get a free membership to the gym. AND since I have been there for a while, I have been able to get my partner a good discount on his membership.

Keeping that in mind: do I have the right to complain when the gym is a mess? For example, the other day, I went to the weight room to do some weight training. It was very obvious that the floor had not been cleaned in a while. There was dirt, dust, pieces of torn paper, abandoned water bottles and coffee cups, and used towels all over the gym floor. Any space that was not covered by litter was taken up by weight plates, dumbbells, and various machine attachments. In short, the weight room was disgusting. I'll just barely mention that what plates were not on the floor were still on the bars.

To get some sort of workout in, I had to clear any station I wanted to use. There were a couple of other people working out who were doing the same thing. Quite a few trainers walked in and out of the room without lifting a finger to clean up the place. I began to get irritated, so as I moved equipment back to where it belonged, I would loudly throw or smack the equipment so that it was obvious to anyone in the vicinity that I was trying to clean up the place.

After getting a workout in, I considered going to the manager to lodge a complaint of some sort. On my way upstairs, I decided not to and just left for home.

To be honest, I don't know if complaining about the state of the gym floor would help at all. On top of that all, I am not sure if a staff member complaining about the gym would even be taken seriously. I know that my complaints are not frivolous. Is it to much to ask that trainers who come into the gym take some time to put away equipment? I am also not surprised that the trainers at this location don't because I have seen the Fitness Manager walk by and not lift a finger to make his gym look clean. I've actually seen him step over dirty towels to get to a machine to get his workout in while dressed in gym uniform. Why would any staff trainer care if the gym is in good condition if the Fitness Manager doesn't?

I may just decided to email the corporation as my form of complaint. Maybe. If I were a paying member, I certainly would have complained and, quite frankly, cancelled my membership. But therein lies the issue. I am not. And should I be an ungrateful bitch who doesn't appreciate my free membership? For once, I am not sure what to do. Later.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
My new favorite reality show on TV is So You Think You Can Dance on Fox.

Can I just say that the show is basically the dance version of American Idol (which I don't really follow), the judges are obviously toned down from what they really say to dancers who audition for them (I know this because a couple of my cousins and a ton of my friends are dancers), and the dancers are all needy and immature BUT I am glued because they actually can dance (unlike the supposed singing talent of American Idol).

During the show, they would talk with the dancers individually. I found it interesting that there was one underlying theme. Each dancer wanted to prove to someone outside of the dance competition that their dancing was "legit". For some, it was to prove to their family that they made the right choice. For some it was to prove to the world that they were worthwhile. And you want to do this on television? It was all so damn... well, weak. If all you want to do when you are awake is dance, if all you can do is think about how to express yourself via dance movement, if you are out there busting your chops to make a living as a dancer, then you are a DANCER. Who cares if anybody else (outside of your choreographer/producer/instructor) does not think so. And for pete's sake, stop shedding tears over it all. Such a waste of emotion. Use that for something else productive. Plus, do we really care that your father does not approve of your dancing? Shut the fuck up and dance. It's why you came.

As good as the Dance show is, it still does not hold a candle to the goddess of reality television, Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List. So friggin' funny. I think I feel a new gay icon coming along.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005
I am not sure what is going on with me. I have not been able to stop eating since I woke up this morning. So far:

Two cups of coffee, sugar and soymilk
Cheddar and Chive scone with butter
Three roasted chicken thighs
About two cups of tortilla chips
One chocolate chip granola bar
Four slices of deli turkey breast
1/3 lb. of whole wheat spaghetti with a cup of Bolognese Sauce
Another chocolate chip granola bar
Two big bowls of turkey chili
Two Pluots (Dinosaur Egg Plums)
A small bowl of Organic "kinda fruit loops" cereal with rice milk
A handful of pasta
4 crackers with honey roasted peanut butter
A slice of deli ham
Lots and lots and lots of water

My only saving grace is that I did 45 minutes of cardio today. I may need to do another 45 minutes tomorrow to work of all that food. And, believe it or not, I am still hungry and craving a burger and fries. I may just go to sleep instead. Pray that I do. Later.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
I woke up this morning all squirmy and bothered. My dream woke me up. I've been having this dream since my last year of college, which was 1992. It takes me a while to recover from dream. I always end up laying in bed for a few minutes just trying to recover.

The dream is not specific except for the theme. Actually, it's more about the theme of the dreams rather than the specifics. In all the dreams, I am about to graduate, have graduated, am about to start my first job, or have already established myself in a job. The dream always starts off quite happy with a feeling of accomplishment. Then, at some point, I get approached by some authority figure (boss, teacher, professor, etc.), who proceeds to tell me that my degree is invalid because of a class that I failed. You see, it turns out that I registered for this class but either did not know, barely showed up, or missed the exams resulting in a failing grade. The class also happens to be a major requirement for my degree.

In the dream, I start off being dumb-founded. Then, I start to tell the authority figure that I had no idea of this class. Then, the begging and pleading begins. I beg them to wave that class requirement. I am on the verge of tears, short of breath, and about to scream when... I wake up. I always wake up still thinking that I am in the dream - feeling helpless.

Wonder what it all means? Later.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Before heading to California for vacation, my co-worker Alice and I were chatting about which parts of Cali I was going to visit. I told her that I was going to San Diego because it had been 30 years since I last went. She stopped, stared at me, and said, "You mean 20?" I said, "No, no, 30 years." She said, "Wait, how old are you?" After recovering from me telling her that I was 35, she said, "Good god, you look amazing."

On our last day in San Diego, we were talking to a lady who had just arrived in San Diego and was asking about restaurants. We got to talking and she asked us why we had decided to come to San Diego. I said, "Well, we came because I wanted to take my father to the zoo. It's been 30 years since we last came." She said, "Wait, how old were you then, like two?" I told her I was five. She said, "Wow. You don't look like your in your 30's."

Those who know me will tell you that I don't take compliments well. Those who really know me will tell you that I don't like them. But, I'll tell you. I'm still smiling from those two. Later.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Ahhhhh... who knew that spending 4 out of 7 days of your vacation with your partner, Mother, Father, and sister would actually be fun. I certainly didn't. And it was quite the pleasant surprise. Some highlights included dinner in Santa Monica for my Mom's 69th Birthday, a picnic at a park in Santa Barbara (put together by me), and a visit to San Diego's oh-so-fabulous Zoo. The zoo was more for my father since it was exactly 30 years ago when we last visited. I recommend it to all. We sure spent some time driving around Southern California.

As much as I love being on vacation, I still love the feeling of being home and sleeping in my own bed. Ahhhhhhhhhhh... Later.
I'm just writing down some of the things that run through my head.

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Location: New York, New York, United States

Eating up the City before it eats me up. I'm a freelance cook who spends his free time working out, cooking for "my man", and wondering why the Right is so concerned about my bedroom.

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