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a required taste for the pretentious as all get out


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i'm on to the gym bunnies; they're so dead
December 16, 2002, 7:38 pm

I joined the gym last week.

Just saying "No, sorry, I have to go to the gym" has lightened my spirits exponentially. No longer am I a fat chick who does nothing but complain about losing weight; I am a fat chick who kicks ass on a treadmill whilst the size 6 gym bunnies hop around from machine to machine, wishing they were as damn cool as me.

Yes, I have met the gym bunnies, and they can't touch me. They are in awe of my ample bosom and the way my thighs jiggle while I'm working on that one machine where you pick your leg up over and over. They can't handle the fact that I'm there, working hard, and losing weight. They also can't handle that I'm much prettier than any of them in the face (I have a damn cute face) and pretty soon I'll have a smokin' bod to boot.

Forgive me; I'm high on endorphins.

______________________________________________________________________

Forgive me, Secret Pal, for I have sinned.

I have forgotten about you for lo these three months and haven't spent too much money on you. You have suffered: watching hordes of happy faculty members throw eager ribbons off special trinkets while you have diligently and patiently galloped to your mailbox each day with a shred of hope that your big payoff was coming. Well, wait no more.

Tomorrow you're getting a big gift, oh yes you are.

That and well, maybe a nice ribbon, too.

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