if not to provide you with fodder for first-rate anxiety.
Here I am thinking my gym was a local Bay Area chain run by military sort of guys. But I just discovered my gym belongs to a massively popular industry, like Jane Fonda and Zumba! (except with more guys.) There are places like mine all over the world!
I found this out when one of my (non-gym) friends thoughtfully sent me an article which describes the group as a cult!
I've always been very careful to avoid whack organizations, especially those involving rackets, Fidel Castro and/or volcanoes. So, how is it possible for me to become involved in a cult without my undergoing some interesting initiation?
OMG, sudden thought: maybe I am too weeny even for a CULT!
After all, one party experience of drunken bunny-chucking with resultant hangover is usually enough for anyone. Nowadays, my body reserves tossing the chum for the emergency evacuation weapon that it is.
Mental note:
If the gym is a cult, it is a pretty clean one outside of ass-smacking Harry's salty vocabulary; and it's often entertaining, like Paul blurts out that he likes Shakespeare In Love and begs me not to tell anyone (but forgets to add not to blog it.)
Besides, when I work with Paul, I'll just keep an eye out for open cups of fruit juice.
Here I am thinking my gym was a local Bay Area chain run by military sort of guys. But I just discovered my gym belongs to a massively popular industry, like Jane Fonda and Zumba! (except with more guys.) There are places like mine all over the world!
I found this out when one of my (non-gym) friends thoughtfully sent me an article which describes the group as a cult!
OMG, sudden thought: maybe I am too weeny even for a CULT!
Did I fall under the spell of a charismatic leader? Possibly. Hmmm, intriguing thoughts about seedy bordellos, polygamy, and unusual rituals, followed by gruesome thoughts of bad Kool-aid, skank hair and a complete lack of oral hygiene.
Although the article makes it sound extreme (a puking clown mascot? Must be a guy thing,) I can honestly say I haven't seen any such signs (or clowns) at my gym that indicate the secret formation of a self-flagellating commune. Well, actually, the prowlers are pretty suspect. So I'm not going to read any more articles like that (unless they really do involve polygamy) (or pancakes.)
Although the article makes it sound extreme (a puking clown mascot? Must be a guy thing,) I can honestly say I haven't seen any such signs (or clowns) at my gym that indicate the secret formation of a self-flagellating commune. Well, actually, the prowlers are pretty suspect. So I'm not going to read any more articles like that (unless they really do involve polygamy) (or pancakes.)
 |
| the night started out hecka fun! |
After all, one party experience of drunken bunny-chucking with resultant hangover is usually enough for anyone. Nowadays, my body reserves tossing the chum for the emergency evacuation weapon that it is.
Mental note:
- write about me and Gretchen at Folly Beach w/pink champagne
- possibly relate Bathtub story as well....
- Absolutely, Do NOT under any circumstances tell the Whale joke!
 |
| Mata Hari |
If the gym is a cult, it is a pretty clean one outside of ass-smacking Harry's salty vocabulary; and it's often entertaining, like Paul blurts out that he likes Shakespeare In Love and begs me not to tell anyone (but forgets to add not to blog it.)
Besides, when I work with Paul, I'll just keep an eye out for open cups of fruit juice.
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