Thursday, October 27, 2005

for spending this much time at a gym, i should be hotter...

I might as well write about nothing else. GhettoGym is just one adventure after another. After spending some time on the treadmill next to Vin Diesel’s foxier twin, I took that Vanity Fair I’m still working on over to the stationery bikes. Suddenly, a vision of appalling natural highlights appeared on the bike to my left, and I looked over, delighted to discover Jason.
After a chat and Jason announcing he had to go work on his abs, I congratulated myself on doing extra cardio in preparation of Halloween, gathered my belongings and headed to my car. Parking at GhettoGym can often prove a challenge, and I had a little trek to Rhonda the Honda.
As I exited the gym and made my way through the indoor parking lot, a sleazy white Corvette pulled up next to me. The tinted window slowly lowered and literally, the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in my life (other than my stationery bike neighbor, of course) attempted to ask me something over his classless rap music.
“What?”
“Where are you parked?”
Anywhere you want me to be. “Um, kind of over there, against the wall.”
“Cool. Can I snag that space?”
His shockingly light blue eyes nearly blinded me. “Of course!” I screamed, far too enthusiastically.
I then had to walk, carrying the Vanity Fair, a water bottle, my bag and a good quart of sweat and ugliness through the parking lot, with a white Corvette following me at 2 miles an hour.
I kept turning around and smiling, forgetting that my t-shirt proclaimed the embarrassing “Billabong” and the bobby pins that once contained my fly-aways were collected around my ears. I just kept thinking the entire, endless time, ‘This is officially the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life, beating out his predecessor - a ferry operator in Venice, circa 1995.’
Hey folks, that’s a big title, and a tough one to take while sitting in a car. But I mean it. This guy was THAT hot.
I finally came close enough to point to my car. “That’s me. Right there.”
He smiled. “I’m such an asshole.”
“What?”
“I’m such an asshole. I should’ve given you a ride.”
Obviously, he’d already fallen madly in love with me and my sports-bra created uni-boob.
“Oh, that’s okay!” I giggled, like a complete idiot. There are few strangers I’d get in a car with, much less a white Corvette. This was one of the few.
“Anyway, uh, thanks for the space and, uh…”
Oh, fabulous. Awkward silence. This is where he’s supposed to proclaim me stunning ask me for some type of personal contact information, preferably e-mail as I’m better with the edit-able written word than I am with my unstoppable mouth.
But as much as I wish it would be, my life is not a Nora Ephron film. He just smiled and waved as I got in my car, exhaled through my never-ending lack of confidence and drove away. He honked a thank you, and I peered through that rear-view mirror, wanting one last look at, and it can’t be said enough, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life.
Tune in tomorrow, gang. Zoe’ll be dragging me to the gym before the designated day of party/costume planning and I’ve come to expect mayhem, bizarrities and madcap, blog-worthy adventures at this bastion of spandex and judgment…