2 thank horus for clorox and spray bottles. and before you tree-huggers get mad at me, i spent two months wearing dirty clothes and showering in a dirty tub and picking old pasta sauce off dishes i'd washed the night before because i was trying to care about the planet and switched over to cleaning products you get from whole foods. that shit doesn't work, costs too much, and left my bathroom smelling like salad. BLARF. even helen was all, "hey girl, why you so stressed out? did target run out of dawn?" while watching me almost dislocate my shoulder trying to scrub seared meat from the inside of my fancy cast iron braise pan. which is hard on my joints. hence my need for a fucking sponge on a stick.
3 99% of the time i am awake i am in pain akin to that of childbirth. sometimes you can see the excruciating discomfort on my face, but i've gotten really good at masking that shit because really it just looks like i'm holding in a big fart. bitches are always asking me what this crohn's feels like, and my answer is this: it's like a small toyota is trying to drive through my midsection ALL THE GODDAMNED TIME. seriously, and it doesn't matter if i eat or don't eat or whatever. oh, here's something fun: i don't care what diet you're on or what herbal supplements you take. if they work for you, i'm happy. now shut the fuck up about it. i don't know if it's something about me or if people walk around just dispensing unfounded medical advice to everyone they've ever met with a health issue, but more often than i'm comfortable with some asshole with a high school diploma wants to sit me down and talk at me about how they can cure my goddamned disease. there's always some bag of dicks with a beer in his hand, a triple cheeseburger on his plate, and a cigarette in his mouth trying to talk to ME about healthy eating. and with zero trace of irony. i appreciate the effort, i really do, but this shit is AUTOIMMUNE and i have A MOTHERFUCKING DOCTOR. if all i had to do was put down this bag of oreos i'd already be cured. thanks, though.
4 so this arthritis and i decided that feeling like total shit all the time is for the birds and that we were going to have to do something about it, and that something probably needed to be swimming. EXCEPT. aside from the fact that i seriously do not possess the kind of body any normal person is trying to see in a bathing suit, i REALLY am not trying to get my bikini waxed. or shave my armpits. or risk being in a pool full of sexy young hairless meat looking like my real self. in my imagination the local YMCA is a shining beacon full of healthy and tan chlorine-scented muscles gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights overhead, a happy place full of health-conscious singles mingling over protein shakes and energy bars, goggles and towels draped gently around their necks as they flirt and laugh about the number of calories they'd burned. and those mental images are precisely why i decided to take senior aqua aerobics at the fucking YW. i need to be around some pancake arms and spider veins and national geographic titties, for reals.
5 but first: A BATHING SUIT. typically i'd wear a thong and a couple small halved coconuts for this sort of endeavor, but i thought it would serve me best to be modest; for the first class, at least. goodness, no i wouldn't. the saleswoman approached the corner in which i'd barricaded myself and cowered shivering like a child in a horror movie, clutching handfuls of jewel-toned polyester to my chest. she hesitantly asked if i needed some assistance. "i'd like to see your most opaque turtleneck-ini," i stood up and declared, "and your finest ankle-length swim bloomers." her eyes widened with concern as she tried to determine whether or not i was insane. did you guys know that those things don't exist?! i was shocked, too. anyway, lori told me i should get a two-piece in case i needed to go to the bathroom and didn't want to do so while completely naked (why didn't i think of something as practical as that?), so i pointed to the wall of mix and matchables and snatched a black tank top with a built in full-coverage underwire bra and some sort of panty-skort-culotte type of contraption for my bottom half. literally the closest i could come to being fully clothed yet appropriately dressed for water calisthenics.
6 sunday night heather came to the studio to hang out while producer kate and i embarrassed ourselves for half an hour on the radio. best part of the evening: we got to see the hundreds of thousands of records and cds at the station, the "stacks" as the hip young things call it, and i nearly fell over and died. really, there was just so much MUSIC. then i went home to my television, as usual. celebrity apprentice is my favorite thing on television right now, and donald trump is the best stunt queen in the business. what a showman! seriously, he's like the liberace of the pool of fake presidential candidates. MORE, PLEASE. anyway, my landlord came to fix my sink and the first thing she snorted was, "pajamas already?"
7 i got up early on monday and put my bathing suit on under my clothes, because i don't care about some old grandma comparing my stretchmarks to hers, but i didn't want to make my introductions while trying to fix my boobs in those stupid cups. helen was rolling her eyes and all, "not even going to trim the sides, eh?" while i was figuring out that silly bottom piece, and i threw a shoe at her head. it costs eight dollars to participate in the aerobics, and after i paid i staked out the quietest corner of the locker room where i could sit and listen to those old hens squawking about medicare and shopping at kohl's in relative peace until it was time to get in the heated baby pool.
8 i was immediately taken back to my days as the poor kid at summer camp whose mom sent last night's meatloaf and an off-brand thermos full of milk for lunch instead of peanut butter and jelly with a juice box like everyone else. i would plead with her every single day: "no one else brings tuna helper or liver and onions. please stop ruining my young life." i was that kid with the stinky home lunch that had to be HEATED UP while everyone else brought delicious chips and pudding cups. no wonder i got pushed to the ground so often. and quit playing like you don't know what i mean. everybody knows that one kid who brought the metal fork from home! that kid was ME. anyway, all of these milkshakes had brightly-colored beach towels with them, and i blushed with shame as i pulled my HOUSE TOWEL from my bag. stop laughing. i have really nice towels, but they are white and beige. these ladies had purple and green and pink towels made specifically for fun times at the local pool. they obviously have mothers that LOVE them.
9 i took a cue from the other girls and wore my cover-up (what is that thing called, a beach robe? pool-jamas?!) out to the pool, got my woggles and tube and hand buoys, then tried not to slip and crack my skull open on the deck. one glance at my feet and i thought, "a pedicure should have happened yesterday," then slipped in the pool before anyone noticed my bruised-looking toes. when i was a baby poor single mother type-people sent their kids to the ywca for day care, so i learned to swim before i could even speak full sentences. they literally just throw you in the swimming pool the minute you get there and pull you out twice a day to poop and eat a couple graham crackers before they toss you right back in. being in the water doesn't scare me, but explaining my horrifying scarlet birthmark does, so i avoided the crowd in the center of the pool.
10 one lady waddled in late, as we were doing k treads to the lively sounds of patti labelle, and i caught some weird looks being exchanged amongst the other women. she had a house towel, too, so i just assumed these elitist snobs were giving her shit for it and made a mental note to ask someone in better shape than i am where to procure appropriate beach accessories. she didn't say anything, just slid on her floaties and had one of the TOO HOT TO BE WORKING THIS SHIFT lifeguards help lower her into the pool next to where i was sweating with the oldies. one of the bitter sows in front of me (i think they were all named either "martha" or "lucille" or "ethel" or whatever) turned to sneer at her before rejoining the group in their uniform leg-kicking. i couldn't stop looking back and forth between them; it was just like real-live mean girls!
11 during the otter roll (kill me, please) there was more vicious whispering aimed in our general direction, which i almost didn't notice because i was having a bitch of a time keeping my breasts inside my goddamned top. all of that "gentle, low-impact movement" was doing a really efficient job of gently removing my tits from their holster, and shoving one back in once it has escaped is the WORST. i was trying to inconspicuously perform the hand in the armpit to adjust my boobs trick underwater and failing miserably. that class was hard as hell. no more snickering behind your hands when you see lumps of curdled cottage cheese bicep curling water weights while bunny kicking in the water. my whole soul hurt after all that physical exertion. i have a newfound respect for active seniors. after that brutality i wanted to go to the daycare and find my sleepy cot and take a NAP.
12 in the locker room the OUTCAST picked up a bottle of atenolol i'd dropped that rolled over to where she was changing back into her flat-front pleated pants, and when she returned it to me i couldn't help but ask why the other broads hated her SO MUCH. turns out they all live in the same assisted living facility, and OUTCAST had recently taken up with one of the few eligible bachelors who could still eat solid foods and drive a car at dusk. the other women didn't like her, and they liked her even less when they found out that old man levitra was sticking his mothballs in her butt. i sat on the bench wrapped in my house towel, mouth agape, through the entire story. when she finished i was like, "i want to be just like you when i grow up" and started pulling my sweater on over my bathing suit. i am an asshole who forgot to bring real underwear, and i can't take these unharnessed real women curves (or whatever tyra is calling fat nowadays) on the train. OUTCAST smiled at the compliment and told me she looked forward to getting splashed by my uncoordinated movements next time. "and you're going to get a yeast infection if you wear that bathing suit home. you young girls don't know ANYTHING."
13 bitch.
