Saturday, January 3, 2009

A damn fine year

Well, instead of a nice long walk on Tuesday, I got out of bed at 14h30 and decided I couldn't take it any longer. I had been sloth and fat and pizza belly for too long. Flew to the gym down the hill near the Opera. I'd toured it last year in hopes that they'd cut me a student deal (they're ageist in France so students are only up to age 27). No deal, not enough money, and really had no time to breathe last year let alone work-out. But this school year being different, more lazy, more time, I decided fuck it. I gave her my credit card, asked for the 3 months version with towel included, changed, and asked for a tour.

In Paris, the customer is almost never right. So, the guy giving me the tour was definitely not friendly or happy about it. What did I want to do, he asked. Well, cardio-- He cut me off, pointed to the machines in front of us, and said there it is. And, I wanted to do muscles (weights). Ohhh, so he started to take me upstairs to see the weight room. But, I didn't quite remember the layout so I asked for a full tour (damnit).

If you read the CDOA blog since its inception, you'll know how terrified I am by the gym. If you go to a gym, you might understand how humiliated I feel in there. If you're James (who trained me while we dated), then you'll laugh and kick up dirt, wishing you could have been there to see me suffer.

The cardio spinner machine was familiar, although in French, so it wasn't so traumatizing. But the muscles room. UGH. Some of the machines are near the cardio stuff so it wasn't such a hard transition. But I'd already envisioned what I wanted to do to ease myself into it, and all the arms machines were occupied. So, I had to open my voice in funny French and ask if I could work in with this dude. Completely embarrassing because, well you don't start back at the gym after a year+ off by kicking right into the weight you used to lift. So, instead, I'm all lifting just the plain ol' bar with no weight. Yeah, less than a baby weight, like, a no weight weight. Ugh.

Some dudes worked in with me on another machine, both grunting and spastically lifting way too much weight for their own good and doing it too fast, too. (James always coached me to work slowly, get the tiny little muscles deep inside. What was it you said, J? Something about you want to be able to pick up your frail grandma without dropping her, not just bale hay out in the field.) When I stepped up to work in, this one dude (not bad looking, but "cocky-maestro" written all over his face) pulled the pin out and put it into the 5lbs spot, and then winked at me. Ok, sure, it was a nice gesture, but it was also a "Here you go, lil' Missy" gesture. I wanted to sock him in his chiseled jaw. Instead, I subtly squinted my eyes and barely - but noticeably - raised my upper lip in disgust. Some day I'll grow up and be able to punch him in the belly.

After the arm torture, I went upstairs to a bit of chest humiliation. It's not my fault I have tits. Really. They came with the body. So, if you wouldn't mind to stop staring, that'd be just dandy. Did a few chest presses and free weight liftings in the surrounding air of the girl who ruined boys' club.

After, the usual sit-ups and stretches.

Despite the pain of nakedness in the changing room, glaring stares, dirty winks, and general feeling of crapiness, I came out of there flying on a kite. I'm quitting smoking and this is the best way possible. My heart rate on the cardio was too high for something so not challenging, and it took too long to rest. ... I almost kissed everyone I passed on the way home.

Colleague was supposed to come over for martinis and studying. She bailed so I stuck with the martinis. The Italian flew back from Roma and invited me over. While I have a good time with him, it's not entirely fulfilling, and he's got bad breath. I know, it's so petty, but dude, it's bad bad. I've taken to carrying a travel toothbrush with me when I go on over-nights, and have subtly been trying to encourage him to brush-a brush-a brush-a before we pass out and in the morning. He is good for the fact that he play ties me up in a way that is safe but also arousing. And, then he bangs the hell out of me. This time, he also gave me lovely Xmas presents. I'd asked for a rosary from Rome and I got a nice wooden one. He also got me a 2-cup Bialetti Moka Express to match my bigger pot. Very sweet.

The 31st I left my apartment late and realized I was was one of several thousand who were doing last minute NYE shopping. But I found a tie, bought 30E worth of fruit, bought the champagne, and whipped a wonderful fruit salad together with a yummy homemade dressing, got dressed as much as I could in drag for a 1920's-themed party, and got my butt out of the neighborhood.

Party was good. James called to say very nice things to me at midnight. Cheek-kisses all around. Smoked a cigar over the courtyard with 2 very handsome and very taken boys. Ate a ton. Drank whiskey from my flask. Took a lot of photos. Drank champagne. Got drunk. Made a boy 10 years my junior kiss me (so dirty). Realized that I'd not been kissing enough lately, because my mouth went on aggressive (the Italian is a big-mouthed, overpowering kisser) and I realized that the young man was on slow, smooth, sweet, supple kissing mode. I slowed down and sighed. Man, I've missed romantic kisses. He avoided me for the rest of the night, which was about 30 minutes anyway, as I passed out in the spare bedroom.

Jan 1st was swell. The hosts, another cool expat, and I went to a local cafe for coffee. Nibbled a bit on the leftovers. Cleaned. And, I took the metro home. I was definitely still intoxicated on booze, life, beauty, fun, good friends; and the metro ride between Jaures and Barbes, when it goes elevated-style, was so beautiful in its grey Paris haze. And all the people were beautiful. And everyone had a special inner shine coming out just for today. And I wanted everyone to have the best year of their lives.

I've basically done nothing for the past 3 days. I went back to the gym, and it, of course, gets easier. I've also been (over)working on 1 of the 5 papers due this month. And, then, peculiarly enough, I've been writing back and forth with this guy who lives in Lyon and has been reading my blog and Tumblr. Yes, it's a bit strange. I mean, it's only been writing, but you all know how powerful words can be. And, then, it's odd because he reads the blog and I haven't had this kind of intersection very often. Sure, W and Sarah read it and I see them in real life, but they also lead semi-public lives through their own blogs and they're also known freaks, like me. But anyway, it's been a very welcome distraction between this paper-writing bullshit.

Right. So. Joined a gym, made a new friend, talked to old friends, eating better, wore pants and a sock cock, and watched the beautiful winter sun shine rainbows around my room. Now all I need is a really great lay and the year will be off to a damn fine start.

Hope you have all had wonderful NYE and enjoying 2009!


Anonymous said...

You are a very brave young lady.


Anonymous said...

Praying the rosary is a direct violation of how Jesus taught us:
"But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking."

Plus your praying to Mary which is also disobedient to God's word.

"...for your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask him."

Anonymous said...

I think this Anonymous person is a robot. That particular comment doesn't even make sense. Praying the rosary?