Me and my friend...the dryer sheet

You know, it’s really not that easy to be cool when you’re a middle-aged guy working out in a room with a bunch of college kids that are in the best shape of their lives and they’re not even trying. There’s usually more posing going on at Dixon Rec Center than exercising, but I’m always in there, sweating, panting, gasping for air while everyone around me flexes and tries to find a date for Friday night. But hey, I still try to be cool…

So I’m at Dixon last night, just got changed into my running stuff in the locker room and I’m walking out to hit the treadmill. They’ve got a nice full-length mirror just before you leave the locker room so you can make sure you’ve got your pants on. As I go by, I notice I’ve got a Bounce sheet from the dryer hanging out the leg hole on the back of my right leg. Jeez, how embarrassing - glad I caught that one before I made it out.

So I go do a nice little five miler on the treadmill, sneer at the college kids putting in their mini workout/poses. That’s right, you want to see a man working out? Right here. Check it out, Holmes. You gotta keep these kids in their place.

So I finish up and strut out to the lobby. The basketball team is hanging out - Hey guys, how’s it going? Man, I’m feeling good. I’m showin’ these kids what an old man can do.

I head back into the locker room to shower up and glance in the mirror on my way through. I’m heading the opposite direction now, so the mirror is on the other side of me. Hey look! I’ve got a Bounce sheet stuck hanging out of my shorts on that side too! Ya know, if you just glance at it quickly, it sort of looks like toilet paper sticking out of my shorts. Nice.

Yep, I’m cool all right. Maybe I’ll just start working out at home.

snort nicely done - thanks for the story…

I posted this about three years ago:

I should state straight off that I’m in a committed and loving relationship.

Be that as it may, I never mind it if a cute woman looks in my direction. I like to labor under the illusion that I still have some power of attraction. If I can flirt a little and get a positive response, it makes me feel good. Even better if the object of my flirtation is a jimp young thang.

For this reason, as well as health reasons, I am trying to lose some weight. Hey, nothing says “sexy” like non-blimp, right?

Part of my weight loss program is exercise. I’ve mostly been doing kickboxing, but that gets boring. I’m always looking for a new way to get my heart rate up, and if it’s fun, all the better.

I have no idea why this occured to me, but somehow I got it into my head that Hula-Hooping might be fun. I set out on a quest to find one, which is not as easy as it may sound. Where does one go to get a Hula-Hoop? Well, it turns out CVS has them, at least one in my neighborhood does.

So anyway, I made my way home tonight, and walked into my apartment building. I was waiting for the elevator, and just as it arrived, who arrived but two of the hottest, sexiest girls I’ve ever laid eyes on. Not enough S’s in Ssssssexy to describe them. Hhhhhhot.

And there I am, trying to look as buff as possible. Chest out, stomach… uh, partially out. Lo and behold, they’re going to my floor.

So there we were on the elevator. Me. Two hot sex babes.

And the girliest, glitteriest, gayest of all possible Hula Hoops.

I was on the transit train, standing, and from a few seats away a very pretty girl was staring up at me. I couldn’t get close enough to say anything but was flattered. Until after a couple of stops she left by the far door and just then I glanced in a window and saw my reflection. She had been staring at me because I had a sharp suit and tie and laptop, dressed for success, except for one collar point sticking up in the air. She was probably just debating if she should tell me. Sigh.

And this is where it becomes x-rated, right? Surely the hula hoop gave you ample opportunity to spark some conversation.

My sister (as I’ve posted recently) is brilliant, and focused at her job. Like me she is amply proportioned and utterly disinterested in fashion. Black pants, and a polo shirt are appropriate for her.

One day at work she was befuddled as more than one coworker asked, “new pants, Sisdee?” You see, again like me, she doesn’t particularly enjoy shopping for clothes. Her needs are consistent. The pants that she buys are of the sort that one grabs folded from a shelf. She’s bought the same style and size for rather a long time. How did they notice? (Yeah, you guessed it three sentences ago)

The sticker that retailer puts on them so you can see the size when they’re on the shelf was still on them.

Yeah, we pretty much did a naked 3-way hula hoop session right there on the elevator. I figured I owed the girls that much.

One of my best friends and I had headed out to the local truckstop (one of the few places in town open 24hrs) for a bite and mostly for coffee and conversation afterwards. The “dining room” is a huge rectangle with a line of booths down the outer wall (with windows on parking lot), a line of booths down the opposite back wall, and loose tables and buffet inbetween.

We were seated in the front row of booths, and almost caddy-corner from us on back wall in a booth was a slightly older couple (late 50s maybe), and the rest was empty.

We proceeded to eat, then talk, and as a people-watcher and being seated facing across the length of the room, I noticed the woman (who faced from her corner back out towards me) was staring at me. No biggie, I ignored her and enjoyed the company of my friend, and the coffee, but still…I kept looking back and she was still staring at me.

Not just staring, but making an angry face! Her top lip was curled back and her eyes were narrowed in suspicion or anger. I mentioned it to my friend, who looked back over his shoulder at her, laughed, and confirmed my impression.

We sat for a good hour, and try as I might to conversate, to form input or listen attentively, I kept losing my train of thought and returning to look at her. Her gunslinger eyes had narrowed further and her snarl was unmistakable now. My heart raced and I felt like the main character in the Tell-Tale Heart (I grew furious as I gazed upon it!). Her bared teeth were now provoking a simian-level reaction of challenge from me as I silently debated whether to confront her, say something to her husband, or what?! Perhaps she had mistaken me for some bitter enemy or something, and we could straighten it all out?

I finally stood up and crossed the dining room towards them. As I got closer, I lost my nerve, and spotting the restroom sign in their corner, I veered just slightly and headed to the men’s room, still passing within six feet of their booth. As I did, I noticed the woman had the same expression, and was focused past me entirely back to where my undefended friend still sat. Had she had a stroke? Was her face just frozen in that position? As I got closer, I tried not to stare. As I entered the small no-man’s-land of the entrance to area outside both restrooms, I glanced back over my shoulder to see if my friend was laughing that I had chickened out on saying something, and realized…

There were TVs hanging on the wall every 4-5 booths, up near the ceiling and at varying angles in to the dining room. The poor woman was near-sighted, her snarl was merely a painful-level myopic squint, and she was watching the TV about three feet above my head the whole time. I had almost picked a fight with an old lady for forgetting her glasses and trying to see the news.

To this day, my friend will look at me across a crowded room and make an ape-like snarl challenge to mock me. I fully deserve it. Sometimes I catch his eye and do it first.

I walked through the parking lot to work one morning with one of those on a new pair of jeans. Some kid I passed said nothing but luckily my co-worker told me right away. That’s a true pal.

(I thought you were going to talk about the wonder that is dryer sheets–what can’t they do? Put them in your shoes to remove shoe odor, by the way.)

No “wonder”. Dryer sheets are not my friends. They mock me when my back is turned.

Dryer sheets are your friend. They stick by you through thick and thin.

If ever there was a missed opportunity for “Hey, look! No Hands!”… that was it.

“There’s, there’s no static at all!” /Steely Dan (?)

I had one stuck on a new shirt one day at work, until a customer pointed it out to me. (Fortunately, it was only a little while after opening.) Of course, she also commented that “I don’t think that’s a 2X”, because it was stuck right down my boob. Boy, that makes her sound bad, but it really wasn’t. We all laughed. That’s what I miss about the place, actually, the customers. Sorry to those of you who deal with the truly crazy side of retail, but that fabric store had mostly the best.