The Wing Suit

And so Friday morning happened…

I learned a valuable lesson.


After watching innumerable YouTube videos and making all of the required purchases I found that a wing suit is not nearly as aerodynamic in the pool as in those worldwide base jumping videos.


I came walking in to hoots and cheers from the Aqua-Ettes clad in my new suit with the screaming raven stitched onto the back and dove into lane three between the chatty lassies water jogging in lane four and Samantha L. Jackson in lane two jabbering away colorfully with my special friend. “What the &*$# is that?!?!” I heard her say.

The dive was smooth and flawless but my new leather helmet immediately shifted all the way to the back of my head and began choking me with the nylon chin strap and the goggles leaked profusely, blurring my vision.


The suit quickly filled with water and became the sea anchor I should have known it would be but hope clouded my judgement as it so often does.

Trying to salvage even a smidgen of my dignity I reached down in the water and ignited the smoke packs I had so hoped would trail my sleek and elegant swim through the pool leaving a mystic smoke that was a wonder to behold.

This was not the case either.


Enormous gouts of red smoke came belching out of the depths of the pool from my ankles making my eyes burn and everyone else around me shoot away like grease from a drop of Dawn in the sink.

A strange film was left on the surface of the pool like an oil slick and I was left to trudge up the wheelchair ramp wheezing puffs of red smoke with every step and the sound of unrestrained laughter emanating from every corner of the aquatics center.

The maintenance crew showed up just as I was leaving and I heard one guy mutter under his breath “Oh, it’s him again…”


Thank (insert deity here) it’s Friday.

I think the ladies should pay for my membership just for the entertainment quotient I bring… 

The Hottie

I met a new girl at the gym last week.

She was beautiful.

I don’t mean just good looking but really beautiful like an airbrushed Health & Fitness magazine cover model.


I noticed that she’d gotten into the pool when I resurfaced after a particularly grueling set of laps.

I had ingested a mere 1.5 gallons of chlorine tainted pool water while thrashing back and forth like a first timer in the ocean during a shark attack so what I’m trying to say is, I looked pretty good myself.


As she finished her lap she stopped for a minute and I though maybe I might lay a smooth line on her.

Maybe something classy like “Do you come here often sugar britches?”


What actually came out of my face was “Good morning!”

A big smile broke out on her face and he said “Hi!” (Perfect teeth, of course)

Me: “I haven’t seen you here before.”

Supermodel: “This my first time but I like it so far.  Everyone’s been really friendly and it’s close to my house.” (Sweet!)

Me: “Oh, did you just move into the neighborhood?”

Supermodel: “Mmm hmmm.  I’ve been traveling between Paris and Milan between jobs (supermodeling, of course) and I decided to come home to Kansas City.  It’s kind of a lonely life and I want some new friends.” (OMG, I’m feeling faint.)

Supermodel: “I found a great house about three blocks from… wait… “
As she said that last word “wait” her hand rose out of the water and her delicate finger was pointing up and down from my chin to about mid chest.
I looked quickly down to see what she was pointing at and the thin line of snot that had apparently been flowing out of my right nostril had decided to slowly escape the confines of my face and rappel toward the earth at a snails pace (and also viscosity).  It was hanging about eight inches off of the bottom of my chin.
It was also sickly multicolored and as I frantically tried to hide the evidence I sneezed , blowing the biggest snot bubble I’d ever seen.  This includes the multitude of YouTube videos I’ve seen late at night (laughing maniacally). 
It looked like I was trying to envelop my head with a green, yellow (& a little red) translucent and lumpy balloon.
The supermodel had a look of pure horror on her face and I could see her gag reflex working furiously as she did her best to keep her (dainty, I’m sure) breakfast from making an appearance.
I ran as fast as I could toward the ladder (which is kind of funny because running in chest deep water is incredibly slow) and exited to pool, leaving my towel, goggles and dignity behind.
I haven’t seen her since.

A Word To The Wise

I heard the most ridiculous thing today.

The Glamour Boys were having their usual Oprah Winfrey show going on over in lane four when a strikingly beautiful woman walked out of the gym door leading out to the parking lot wearing pink yoga pants.

With the huge windows next to the pool you can see the entire lot and the conversation screeched to a halt (yes, complete with scratching record…) while the boys watched her walk away.


“Man, would I like to get in her pants…” one said to the other.


Now, I don’t know about you but that line really stuck with me for a couple of reasons.

1. He’d look awful in pink.

2. She was like, waaaaay smaller than him.


I could see in my (psychotically bent) minds eye this huge man trying to get those teeny little pink trousers onto his enormous frame.

The seams would blow apart like an incredibly over inflated balloon and he’d be left wearing a little pink waistband and some tattered remnants around his ankles.


Plus the authorities would have to be involved because let’s face it, both he and she would be half naked in the parking lot at that point, several laws having been broken or, at least bent beyond any reasonable flexibility.

Let’s take a look shall we?

1. Theft. (the pants themselves)

2. Public nudity. (two half naked persons of semi interest)

3. Lewd and lascivious behavior. (Glamour Boy in pink stretch pants)

4. DIsturbing the peace.  (Seriously, at 5:30 am the sound of rending seams on pink yoga pants drowns out the sound of a woman screaming about losing them.)


As the pants trying-on-er was being carted off to the loony bin (still in my psychotically bent mind) I noticed that the pink remnants of the yoga pants complimented the stark whiteness of the straight jacket nicely…


To recap, gentlemen, you NOT want to get in her pants.




Exorcise & Die-eting

I’m dying inside.

Just a little bit each day.

After several months of dedicated self emasculation and exercise I decided to make my way over to the absolute liar sitting benignly on my bathroom floor just to see if I’ve made any progress.


I stuck my toe out towards the scale & I actually heard it growl at me.  It had a menacing look but I was dedicated to my task and I stepped aboard.


I was delightedly surprised to see that in the last 6 months of swimming, running, weightlifting and projectile crying I had lost absolutely zero pounds.

Not.  One.  Ounce.

My eyes welled up and threatened to spill over.

My first thought was “What the *&%# have I been doing this for?!?!”

My second thought was “Maybe I should lay off that third funnel cake and the half pound of bacon in the morning…”


So, rationale took over and I’ve begun to diet as well as exercise.

The first few days didn’t go so well.

On day 1, after a breakfast consisting of 6 wood chips and a bowl of grout, I began my run.  About 15 minutes in I heard a low rumble deep in my belly and was racked with spasms I can only equate to childbirth.  I ran the rest of the way home on my tiptoes with my knees clenched together and hunched over looking like a damned fool but not caring in the least. 


I barely made it.

My blushing bride thought I was killing something in the downstairs bathroom but it was only my squeals of unbridled terror about what was happening in that very confined space.

Day 2 was slightly better with the morning meal made out of a miniature hay bale and flavored with beaver anal glands. At least the algae beverage was…well…never mind what it was.  Rest assured that the result was clearly (rather murky actually) the same as the day before.


I began to realize that apparently the correct diet was one that not only made you regular, but one that made you unstoppable.

I’m now happily munching away on a box of sawdust bars and not straying too far from my porcelain throne which, subsequently, is now decked out thanks to “Pimp My Throne” from the fine folks at Home Depot.

It’s got gold accents and the handle spins after it’s done flushing.



Manly Man

Some crazy bastard wanted to hit me today.


She was swimming (sinking, actually) in lane two looking like her body fat was about 0.000000000001% and her hugely muscled arms stuck out from her even more muscly body so swimming was a chore.

Occasionally she’d look over after a particularly harrowing lap, compose herself and give me that special “come hither” look that unfortunately looked more like the “I’m gonna get you” look.


Once, after some particularly confusing body language that consisted of pushing herself halfway out of the pool and looking over at me “seductively” (as seductively as one can while wearing a track suit in the pool) I giggled nervously.


The woman came unglued.


I think she thought I was laughing at her but any excuse I had would have been drowned out in her steroid fueled rage. 

She came after me like a hungry grizzly bear on a bunny.


Swimming away in sheer terror I couldn’t help but think how insane this scenario was.  I’d just come in, sleepily rubbing my eyes, to swim like any other morning and now this was happening. 

I was certainly awake.

Jumping out at the far end of the pool, I ran toward the men’s locker room but she beat me there by a couple of steps and I ran straight into her outstretched paw.

In the grip of my fight or flight syndrome as she reached back to punch the soul directly out of my body I did what any red blooded American man would do in that situation.

I wet my shorts and threw up on myself.


Seriously, what girl wants to touch a guy who does that? 

She released her grip on me with a cry of disgust and I escaped into the relative safety of the men’s locker room.


I’m currently waiting for her to come crashing through the cinder block wall like some deranged Kool Aid psycho.

We’ll see…



As I’ve begun to exercise out of the pool as well as in (and I have the relative anonymity of the faceless Internet) I’ve notice a bit of chafing in all the wrong places.


Once I made my mind up to take action I had to stop and consider my alternatives.

One does not just simply attack their “area” with a pair of scissors and some electrically charged shears if one would prefer “action” ever, ever again.

I’m sure that with some shears I could effectively yet accidentally neuter myself but missing the berries from the twigs & berries combo is definitely not what I’m shooting for.


So, with trepidation in my heart, I delicately proceeded to trim the nethers in order to avoid the man scourge known as Monkey Butt and the occasional Crotch Rot (seriously, the next time you see a man waddling around like he’s wearing a cactus between his person and his undies you’ll understand what I’m talking about.)


Having visions of my bits looking like they should belong in an Obsession for Men ad I happily trimmed away.


I’m fairly sure that if my significant other walked in at the time it would have seemed slightly awkward with me hunched over my goods, paying waaaaaaay too much attention to the cash & prizes.


When I finished, I took a look on the mirror expecting to see something like a 1920’s finger wave hairdo in my midsection but what I saw was something vastly different.

I looked like I had given myself instant mange.


Bits of me were completely bare while others looked like they’d been in a bar fight.

So now I’ve had to take it all away and  I’m bare as a newborn.

Things are a bit itchy.

If you see me on the street furiously scratching my junk, please, please…

Look away.


Sweet, Sweet Shame

I went running again this morning.

It probably looked more like shambling but I couldn’t find it in me to care.


I think I made it about a block before snot began spraying out of my nose with each explosive exhale.  Run one block, walk one block, run one block, walk one block. 

That’s what I was supposed to do.

What actually happened was that I started off from the house with joy in my heart and a spring in my step while whistling a merry tune.


Later, when I came to, I was in a strange neighborhood with a skinned knee, a bloody nose and missing a shoe.  A large chunk of my right buttock had bite marks.

People bite marks.  

Like some evil grin had attached itself to my hiney and wouldn’t let go.


My only recollection was of a large and overly amorous hermit looking lady running out of her shrub covered shack shouting “Wait up Love Muffin!”


Now, I thought I was fast, but this mountain of heaving aggression had gained on me like a lightning strike with sheer determination on her face.

I don’t remember much after that but I’ve been left with a strange sense of humiliation and I can’t seem to stop blushing.

I may just run that way again tomorrow…






Glamour Boy Reunion

The Glamour Boys were back together this morning


(Peaches & Herb fired right up in my head “Reunited and it feels so gooooood…”)


The cologne, purchased by the barrel at Dollar General, was scented of horse manure (the good part) covered in ammonia and burning possum (the not so good part) but at least there was a hint of ancient seafood dumpster or it would have been truly awful…


My eyes, and those of everyone else in the pool were squirting tears just to wash away the mace like assault on our ocular senses.

The Glamour Boys, clueless as usual, were jabbering away like they were in heaven over in lane four.

The Aqua-ettes and I huddled on the far stairs taking turns swimming laps as far from the mushroom cloud of what I’m positive is named Assplosion por hommmes (…seriously…it’s French…really…)

Claude have mercy, it was bad.


Someday I’ll need to inform these “Gentlemen of the Evening” that decent cologne doesn’t come in a box like Franzia.

The Song Of My People

My Special Friend is clearly losing it.

Or, maybe I am.


Approaching the end of the lane where she was bobbing up and down with her ever present head wrap on (the hair under there must either be incredibly pristine or missing) I heard her humming quietly to herself.

I’m sure it was some sort of church hymn but what I heard was the song Bugs Bunny sang when he dressed up as Red Riding Hood. “Rabbit in red, la dee dee dee da da, da rabbit in red…”


My chlorine addled brain was playing tricks on me.


I keep thinking that too much chlorine may, in fact, ruin my life.
(could be the ice cream though…)

You’ll see me 20 years from now on the Phil Donahue Jr. Jr. Jr. Show with four grey teeth and a filthy hat, spitting while I talk.
“That chlorine ruined my life!!!!!”


When I next approached lanes end SF had burst into song, holding her foam water weights high above her head while belting out her catchy tune in some yet unknown language.

Unfortunately , in cahoots with my previously “losing my mind” argument, I was beginning to understand her.  (Oh ice cream, why hast thou forsaken me?!)


I quietly submerged and vowed to cut down on my favorite sugary dairy snack while still secretly hoping it was really the chlorine…

It’s raining.

I tried rationalizing the fact that it was raining with maybe NOT going to the pool since I would already be wet but no…


I went.

With a heavy heart and a shuffle in my step.

As I arrived at there my heart leaped with the joy of a seven year old child winning the biggest fifty cent stuffed animal out of the bilking crane machine at the mall.

It was completely devoid of another human being.


I smiled (looking psychotically deranged  I’m certain) and took the first icy plunge.

After a few deliciously solitary laps I noticed one lone woman walk out of the locker room. She was wearing a black & white swim suit and when she turned around I was treated to the sight of a killer whale dorsal fun strapped to her back.

I sh*t you not.


The weirdest/funniest part about it was that the fin was curved just like Shamu at Sea World.

Shamette (as she will be known forevermore) looked vaguely familiar and I realized that the last time I’d seen her she was chewing on the lane rope so I knew that at least a few of the synapses weren’t firing in that blowhole adorned noggin.

She looked at me with what I could only assume was hunger and slipped into the opposite end of the next lane.

Never taking her eyes off of me as we passed, I swear I heard whale noises as I glimpsed her bared teeth.


I could also see her drooling which is incredible when you realize that I was seeing it happen underwater so it was prolific.

Sensing her changing direction and heading into my lane I hastily finish my lap & leaped out of the water like a penguin pursued by a leopard seal.

A leopard seal chases a Gentoo penguin out of the freezing waters

Shamette beached herself directly behind me and without using her hands, wiggled her way back into the pool with a look of regret.

I know that the squeaks & whistles coming out of her mouth meant “next time…”

I’m calling the Japanese. I’m sure one of their whaling ships has to be available and I need help.