Liz Swain 4:24 p.m., May 24
Last night I managed to experience both a fitness and flirting faux pas all in one gloriously embarrassing moment. Explanation? I fell. I fell in my group exercise class, but no, oh no, this was no simple bumble or stumble that you can cunningly play off like your own purposeful yet improvised secret maneuver. This was your straight up ‘eat sht’, body parts flailing, debacle of a fall. I knew it was bad when I caught the front desk, smoothie guy, MY smoothie guy, chuckling no chortling (chuckles remind me of Santa and I could tell, this laugh was neither jolly nor joyful!) at me. Way to be a friend, smoothie guy, kick a girl while she’s down…literally. So the fitness aspect of my punishment (I’m convinced this is some karmic strike against me for cutting the pregnant woman in line to be the happy recipient of the last piece of pie at our workplace Goodie Gobble fest) is pretty evident. Music stopped, beady eyes stared like I heaved and contorted my body in this most unflattering way possible on purpose just to annoy them. Just as an aside, I’m chalking up this experience to my latest conspiracy theory that despite Les Mills (above referenced fitness program) greatest efforts to design a challenging, yet fun way to transform your body and achieve ultimate health and wellness, the real, undercover goal, is to kill you. Yes, that’s right, it is a workout of deadly proportions, but that is all for another day and another blog. I still have to explain how my flirting technique turned to tragedy. So I’m starting to question my flirting skills but I’m pretty sure I’m not totally devoid of ‘game. Yeah I’m a single lady (there goes the Beyonce song and if it's going to be stuck in my head all day, its gonna be stuck in yours as well!) but I’m not yet hanging in hagsville with my seven cats, 5 of which are still alive, and a bottle of scotch. But, I do think I have a very covert flirting method. For instance, I am a big proponent of eye sex, which back in the day might translate to batting the eyelashes, seductively…Anyway, back to how my fall and my attempt at flirting connect. I have a HUGE crush on one of the instructors. One thing you should know about me: I crush on ever-y-one (accent on those syllables, please) from the hot dog stand man to the CEO of the company I work for who drives the most impossibly shiny car. Age, class, even gender, hardly matters…you can have girl crushes and NOT be a lesbian. Hello, have you SEEN the Victoria Secret models. They are the sirens of modernity using lace and push up bras to ensnare…but yet again, I digress. So I have a crush on my gym teacher, how high school scandal does that sound? But really, I have been trying to take all the classes he teaches, thinking that the mere constant sight of me will induce a date proposal. Last night he told me I was “hardcore”. Not exactly the image I was going for. Needless to say, he was teaching the class I was taking when I so gracefully ate sht. Hey, it’s not for nothing. He definitely noticed me and I have round two tonight, spin class baby. I mean, you are essentially strapped onto the bike so really, what kind of shenanigans can I really get myself into? Plus, I have been doing a lot of good deeds lately, like when the old, nasty and most likely drunk men drove by me in the Target parking lot and yelled “hottie”, I said thanks before flippin’ the bird. I believe my karmic tide is a’changin, friends.