Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Sex ed? Really? And meet the Globo Gym Purple Cobras...

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Recently Will Faour, age 10, went through sex ed. In the fifth grade. They had a night where the parents were to join their children and see what their kids had learned.

Will, of course, told me they had been discussing puberty.

Hah.

Maybe I am an old prude. Maybe I am naive. I was expecting something like Sammy the Sperm meeting Elaine the Egg. Together, they created Ed (Eddie or Edna) the embryo, who became Fran the fetus. Hey, just need to drop this off and get back to my Roman orgy

Or maybe I was expecting Spanky the Stork. I don't know.

Instead we got diagrams. Very descriptive pictures. Discussions that included the words anal, oral and vaginal. Masturbation. Wet dreams.

Yes, kids know more at a younger age, but now I have visions of a little group of fifth graders having a Roman orgy, dressing as Spartans and discussing whether or not to go oral, anal or vaginal.

Even I was rendered speechless. All I know is if you see a serious looking little woman with a dvd wanting to talk frankly about sex, run like hell.

Or join the orgy. Your call.

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Whenever I visit a new gym, new stories often follow. Tuesday was no exception.

We are filling in from 3-5 this week for Carl Dukes, which gives me a nice two-hour window to hit the gym nearby. I belong to a gym that has locations all over Houston and stays open all night.

(You want more than that, advertise with me, gym owners).

So the one closest to the station does not have a basketball court. That's usually enough to send me further up the road. But since time was limited, the plan was a quick weight rotation, a little treadmill time and back to the station.

However, as soon as I walked into this place, I knew something was wrong.

I had stumbled into Globo Gym.

The plastic surgery-supported supermodel behind the front desk glared at me with that, "who invited you to this club?" look. She ran my card twice to make sure I really belonged.

When the machine actually accepted it, she tossed it back at me, not even looking at me.

I had walked into the world of the beautiful people on their lunch break. Needless to say, everyone else in the gym gave me that same, "what the hell are you doing here?" look -- at least the ones who could spare a half second to look down their noses at me.

Other than occasionally amorous old ladies, I like the other two gyms I usually go to. I play basketball with some good guys, and I don't ever feel self conscious. There are a lot of policemen, firemen, shift workers...just good hardworking folks who like to work out and talk sports. My kind of guys.

Average Joe's Gym kind of guys.

At this place, the people were clearly in a rush. No one was even remotely friendly. I kept expecting to see White Goodman show up on a giant screen and say, "Amber, work those abs! Tiffany, feel the burn!!!"

"Who is that old dude over there? Go back to the Meyerland gym, loser."

"Fred, you don't look like this guy. You should hate yourself." -- White Goodman.

As an aside: Do all women try to look exactly like each other in the gym? At the other two places, every woman (except Estelle) is blond, wears a baseball hat with a pony tail, light blue leotards, white shoes and usually a pink and white top. There are dozens of them. At this place, they were all brunette, black leotards, black shoes and a gray top. No hat. Is there a Female Law I don't know where everybody who looks like has to congregate at a certain gym? There were at least 20.

Meanwhile, as if I weren't feeling out of place enough, the locker room had a V.I.P locker room.

Nicer lockers? Really? That's it? You feel the need to pay for nicer lockers? The beautiful people truly have to separate themselves from other beautiful people?

Not only that, the VIP room had a glass door so the second-class beautiful people could see inside and long for the days they, too, could get in the V.I.P. locker room.

I pressed my nose against the glass, whimpering. The best of the best ignored me. I think one actually called security. We are the Globo Gym Purple Cobras. And we will, we will rock you!

I quickly left, fearing Lazer, Blazer and the other Purple Cobras would come and take me away.

I was, frankly, afeared.

But I am no longer.

You are not afeared of me???

I have news for you, beautiful people. I am here all week. I will be there every day. Get used to it. Quit looking down your nose. There are more of me than there are of you, and I will start bringing friends.

Go watch the end of Revenge of the Nerds. Go watch the end of Dodgeball.

We win, hot people. You should be afeared.

Um, how much is that V.I.P. locker room?

5 comments:

Dana said...

When your kiddo starts discussing sex, it is very scary. But I had to have the "masturbation" conversation with my oldest and it was not fun. Just tell Will that wet-wipes are his friend and to not leave sticky towels around his room for the parents to deal with. Worked for me, now all i have to do is replenish the wipes when they are added (in very tiny lettering) to the bottom of the grocery list.

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Elliott Broidy said...

Touchy subject

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