Confessions of A Naughty Girl

I Need To Get On The Express Train to Buffville

A congratulations is in order (or "mazal tov", for all you Passover-celebrating readers), as I finally joined LA Fitness this afternoon. It's about damn time, considering that I haven't worked out since John Edwards was still in the running for President.

Donald, my fabulous big black membership man, met me as I walked in and asked to sign up, and we went through a "preliminary fitness test", which consisted of him asking me a bunch of hard questions, and me pulling stuff out of my ass, trying to sound good. When he asked me how long it has been since I worked out, I replied, "Umm...six months?" (LIE. Big fat lie. Big and fat, like my ass.) When he asked me what my fitness goals were, I replied, "to increase muscle tone and decrease the fat on my abs". And when he asked me what my fitness plan was, I told him that I wanted to do whatever he did, because he was buff. I am sure he thought I was making a big joke out of it, but I was serious. As serious as the impending heart attack from my McDonald's sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit.

But seriously, I am going to be so buff. I am going to bring my guns to the gun show. Not so much like Demi Moore in "GI Jane", but more along the lines of Jennifer Garner from "Alias". Except for with bigger boobs. And a less-cute face. And just as good of a personality, dammit. I wonder if I should have told the trainer that? Perhaps Donny needed a clearer idea of what kind of unrealistic celebrity ideal I was going for.

So tomorrow I have a personal training session with Cameron, my hot Swiss personal trainer who has the face of Michael Vartan on the body of Matthew McConaughey. I don't know what Cameron looks like, but it helps to conjure a mental image in the hopes that he ends up living up to that. Because if he looks like that, I can guarantee you I will be at the gym every day.

posted by KA @ 7:50 PM