and i still can’t afford them.
This entry brought to you by Valentine’s Day and my subsequent sugar high:
Time to face facts, ladies and gentlemen. Spending evening after evening alone, running to the gym and then running back to write, is just pathetic. Having a blog doesn’t make it much better. And most importantly, constantly writing about writing is for chumps.1 So tonight, a quick aside.
Valentine’s day or not, i knew i was going to come home after work, eat some dinner, go to the gym, and write; probably watch some stewart and colbert and nba on tnt. Whatever. This blog is not about why i was spending another valentine’s alone, mind you. The fact that it was a “special” day was by no means at the forefront of my mind, but it would get shoved there by various acts of randomness. Anyway, i’m heading to the gym when a smiling couple2 walks by and, again, it hits me what day it is. “Wow,” i think to myself, “this is gonna be a depressing place tonight.” Right? I mean, most people spend their time working out to avoid being alone at times like this. “But,” i reasoned, “tonight is the night to find out which of those countless beautiful girls you see every night are single!” It was time for a GRAND EXPERIMENT!! I was empowered, handed a fool-proof boyfriend/fiance/husband filter. I just had to show up at the “lab,” and the eligible women would divulge themselves, their true state revealed by the gym’s valentine’s day eve florescent lighting.
The free weights were hardly used. The boxing area empty as usual. Not much information gleamed at first. But as i descended the stairs to the cardio floor, the floor that perpetually teemed with spandex and ponytails, i knew that some mysterious were about to be solved.
2 old woman on stairmasters. 6 fat men on treadmills. 1, i swear, little kid walking around. And that was it.
So, two conclusions we can draw from this. One, that there are no single girls in new york. Or at least, at this particular gym with thousands of members. Two, that the single girls were simply at home, too prideful to show theirfaces at the gym on valentine’s day eve. I can easily believe either of these. All i know is that, one way or another, my GRAND EXPERIMENT was a bust.
1 Ironically, reading about my writing about my writing is the cat’s pajamas. Am i right, blog fans!?
2 The worst kind.