Tag Archives: wine

I use the term “run” loosely.

21 Nov

Benefit of talking to hot muscle man: he’s hot. And muscles. And calls me “babe.” And sends pictures of him in Army clothes.

Downside of talking to hot muscle man: I’m not hot muscle woman. I like cheese and wine and gin. I’ve tried to teach my cat how to fetch things by tying strings to lightweight necessities and pointing a laser pointer at it so he’ll attack the string and pull the item to me. It fails every time because the loud noises of wine boxes falling off counters startles him and he takes off without my Franzia.

The majority of my “exercise” comes in the form of lunges from the living room to the kitchen and back to retrieve my failed endeavor of a feline delivery system.

So when he said he’s just getting back from the gym and asked what my plans for the day are, I lied and said “Oh, you know, finishing grading this stack of papers and then going for a run. There’s a park nearby and I like to run there. With my legs and tennis shoes, running.” Amused, he said if he lived closer, he’d go running with me. Fuck. I hate it when I get myself into these situations.

When I run, I’m like a mentally challenged labradoodle. I look like I’m having a seizure and I stop every seventeen seconds to “chase squirrels” but really I’m counting how many calories I just consumed in liquor, wondering if I just threw up every time I drank, I’d absorb less. Bulemaholic.

Over the summer, I would run every day with my neighbor, T&A. She has gigantic gazongas and an ass that just won’t quit — in a very different way than mine. She’s ridiculously attractive, and her boyfriend is equally dreamy, and I keep waiting for her to get in that comfortable zone in the relationship where she quits taking care of herself so she’ll get fat and I’ll feel better about myself.

When we’d go running, I’d push myself to keep up so that people watching would see us going the same pace and not realize that she’s the hot one. They’d get us confused, and be like “Hey Ava, nice gazongas. Whoa wait, who is who again?! You look like the same person because you’re running so close together at the same speed! Physics!”

I wish I was cute when I ran. I tend to go early in the morning so my only companions are the shriveled worms on the pavement, old people going for their walks, or drug addicted homeless people dragging themselves to a better corner of the park. The worms will soon be eaten, so their opinion doesn’t matter. The old people can barely see me, so if I run between trees, they’ll confuse me for a gazelle. And the drug addicted homeless people have no room to judge. Except for the fact that I’d kill for some of their figures, so homeless addicts: 1. Ava: 0.

There may be potential for Muscle Man, though. Because on my profile, I described myself as an avid cooker and eater, emphasizing the eating. There’s really no point in lying about looks online because eventually, my charming personality and perfectly angled pictures won’t matter and he’ll see the junk I’ve packed in my trunk as if I’m going away for war in the middle of Siberian winter. He seems to dig it and laughs and calls me cute whenever I say things like “You know Phoebe from ‘Friends’? I make that bitch look good.”

–AM.

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