(arse)hole in one

The gym I’ve been going to, well I probably should say have GONE to…as in, today’s only the second time I’ve been since I got home
What?
I think all that matters is that GYM and I WENT were used in the same sentence. Agreed?
Anyhoo – there are about 5 gyms pretty close to my house
I choose to go to the one 10 minutes further away than the rest
It’s full of old people, and frankly, that suits me
They’re friendly, they leave me alone, and it’s not a fashion parade
I wouldn’t be comfortable in a gym full of hot skinny chicks in designer workout gear
Unless of course I was hot and skinny
Then you would find me there daily. Getting physical with my fluro leg warmers and Olivia Newton John g-string leotard.
But for now, I am a sporadic (at best) visitor to the wrinkly people hangout
Wearing my faded workout pants that I’ve had for years, matched with whatever old tshirt I grab
I love that whatever machine I go to use, I get to at least double the weights on it. Who cares if that’s because an 85 year old with brittle bones was using it before me.
I will put that shit in the WIN column any day

There’s an old guy there, I’ll call him Harry
He’s so hunched over, he is only inches away from being able to lick his own wedding tackle. Sounds good, but I feel bad for him. Everywhere he walks, all he sees is the floor, or his own belly button
Today he asked me what the time was. He said, “I can’t see the clock up there, and my eyesight is terrible”
“No worries”, I said. “It’s 8:15”
“Thank you.” And off he went
Over the next 20 minutes, I watched him walk into a treadmill, trip on a power cord, and head-but a Christmas tree
I was thinking about going and buying him a helmet and bringing back for him tomorrow

Then I saw him ask someone else for the time, explaining, as he did to me, that the clock is too high for him to see and his eyesight is not very good

As I was getting ready to leave, he shuffled up to me
I was just about to tell him what the time was again
When he said, “you know, you have a big hole in your pants….right there”, and he pointed right to my lady business
I looked down and saw the teeniest, tiny hole in the seam of my pants
I’m like, “Wait, so THAT, you can see??”

“Well played, you dirty old bastard”

kickin’ back in kings lynn

We had a day off in Kings Lynn Tuesday. It was much needed and much appreciated I can tell you. We found a laundromat, a great restaurant, and our hotel had big fluffy pillows. All the ingredients for the bestest of days off.
With our batteries recharged and Kings Lynn being one of the first shows to sell out when they went on sale last year, we knew we were in for a big’n.
All the chatter on Twitter and Facebook leading up to the show just added to the excitement
How did it go…??
I reckon this picture just about sums it up!

A full house, packed to the rafters with fab peeps out for a good time
And I reckon they had one. I know we did!

We also got to meet some local R.A.F. boys (who found me on Twitter to tell me they were gutted to not be able to get tickets to the show – thanks to the boss, all was sorted)
They were kind enough to give me one of their hats, which didn’t really fit all that well.
No shock really – When Macaroni was having one of her checkups as a baby, the doctor measured her head and with a furrowed brow asked, do people in your family have trouble finding hats to fit them? I was all, why yes Dr Dickhead, we do. He went on to tell me that Macaroni’s noggin’ was fine considering that her ‘big cranium’ was just a hereditary thing. Thanks?

Dad was all, well if it doesn’t fit you, then I’ll have it for my DILLIGAF bar.

Gee, wonder where I got my boof head gene from?

‘Til next time Kings Lynn!! x

octogenarian queefing is as hideous as you think it is

So I started going to aerobics last week.

Because I’m finally ready to stop wearing maternity clothes.

Magoo just turned 7.

That’s years, not months.

Fuck off.
I dusted off my leotard and leg warmers and headed off
For those of you keeping track…yes, this counts as my annual’ THIS IS IS’ exercising fad.
I’m sure I’ll be back to my trackies and wine coolers in no time. Bear with me.

First day I walk into class, and I am surrounded by old women.

Like 60 to 70 years, old. Apparently the theme was ‘On Golden Pond’ and not Zanadu but fuck it, thong leotards are totally the shit if you wear ’em right, and I WAS.  Rocking my Cyndi Lauper does Biggest Loser look, I marched in determined to kick their nappy wearing, droopy butts.

Of course the total opposite happened

I go OWNED by 20+ pensioners.  I was purple faced and sweating like Gina Rinehart at a buffet table, while the denture wearing brigade were not even puffing.
So I went back again Tuesday

I went back again Wednesday, Thursday, Friday…

I went yesterday and accidentally walked into a class with cute, skinny young chicks doing Zumba…about face. As if.

And I went today.
Am I enjoying it?
No, I am fucking not.
But I guess that’s not the point.
If I wanted to be somewhere enjoyable, there would at least be a bar there.
With half naked, hairy chested waiters.

The plus side of all this public sweating and humiliation is, I’ve made a new best friend.
Her name is Glenda. She’s 70 and thinks my Austrian accent is adorable. She’s also probably deaf.
I have learnt that old ladies like to do lots of pelvic floor exercises. They tell me it’s important to work out their ‘sexual stations’.
Don’t think about that too much.

I’ve learnt that when the lady in the short shorts in front of you starts doing leg raises, DO NOT look.  Some old ladies go commando. And vaginas don’t age well.

I happily learnt that on Fridays after class, they go straight to the pub.

I learnt that no one likes the instructor, Wendy. Glenda says that she acts like her ‘Aunt Flo’ is always visiting. Ethel told me it means Wendy’s a bitch.

I’ve learnt that if they like you, they’ll invite you to their book club, where this month they’re reading the ’50 Shades’ trilogy. Everyone brings a plate. They asked me to bring my guitar. So you know, I’m totally going to sing THIS for them.

And even though spending time with the fossils won’t cure my fear of watching old people eat (and now you can add a fear of their vaginas to the list) they’re kinda awesome, and not judgey at all. They’re welcoming and lovely. It’s like I scored 20 new Nannas.

I like that when I’m with them, I laugh my arse off.

And I love that I have the perkiest set of tits in the room.
But the most important lesson I learnt (twice) this last week is, when you’re in a class with old ladies doing sit ups and someone next to you farts, and it smells like shit…

It probably is.

 

 

PPS – for those of you after my diet and exercising secrets, on how you too can GAIN 6 MOTHERFUCKING POUNDS while working your box off….feel free to leave a comment and I’ll get back to you.