Gotta say, I havenít been feeling much love for the eXile these days. Yeah, thatís right, Jake, Mark and Yasha. I know youíre proofreading this right now. Keep on reading, this is meant for you.
Remember how you threw the rough draft of a fitness club review I wrote last week into the trash can? You didnít think that it was interesting to our readers. Well, tough. Iím going to force you to print what I wrote. You see readers, Iíve sent this article within minutes of the issue deadline. If they decide to can it, theyíll have to write a new club review on the spot themselves. But thatís highly unlikely Ė these guys are a bunch of lazy fucks. Iím not like other girls. I always get what I want. And if you guys have a problem with that, you know what number not to call for your next club review.
About a month ago, I became friends with the manager of the FITNESS CENTER at the KOSMOS HOTEL. I told her I wanted to review it for the paper, and she happily give me a weekís membership. Iíve heard good things about it this gym from other expats and frankly, I decided it was time to start moving my ass in places other than clubs and bedrooms.
The place has a pool, two Jacuzzis, a water slide, two female only saunas and a small room with work out machinery, free weights and cardio machines. The exercise room has satellite TV that you can listen to with personal headphones.
I used to be an workout freak in high school and college, putting in about 2 hours a day, so I know my shit when it comes to the equipment. And although the place was a bit cramped, the equipment was top notch.
The men there were of the sugar daddy variety Ė bald, big bellied and hairy. I wonít dwell on them. It was the women that were fascinating. All, without exception, of the aging trophy wife variety, struggling to stay in shape to keep their rich husbands from ditching them for a younger slut.
I give them an A for effort, but Iíd hate to break it to them, no matter how many crunches they do, itís only a matter of time, honey. Only a matter of time...
And thatís the thing about this place. There isnít a single woman under the age of 30. Trophy wives all around. Now they werenít bad looking at allÖ just depressing.
They reminded me of astronauts working out in space to keep their muscles from atrophying. From what I heard, the astronauts never fully succeed, but theyíre so adamant about it. And itís the same with these chicks.
One pair of girlfriends seemed to live in the place. Each time I showed up, they were already there and were still exercising after I left two hours later. I had this overwhelming urge to get all Oprah on these women. Maybe they should spend more time trying to educate themselves, you know, making themselves more interesting to their husbands instead of perfecting the tone of their buttocks.
I even had a dream about them. They were perfectly toned and were still wearing their sexy neon-colored exercise outfits. But they had gray hair and deep wrinkles. The two of them didnít speak, they just sat there drinking tea with the saddest expressions on their faces. For them, no man means no happiness. How sad.
But on a happier note, I feel much better after the three day work out and swim session last week. I even stayed at home and caught up on some DVDs my parents sent me. At least thereís one thing I donít have to be afraid of, and thatís being boring.