Underwear Mare

So the other day, the most shameful thing happened. Possibly even more embarrassing than my naked stint with the neighbours during the heatwave (see The Naked Truth).

As I was leaving work, I decided to do a sneaky change in the car for gym – I don't own a lock and it saves time. In the car park at work I whipped off my jeans only to find that I had forgotten to pack my gym pants. Bugger. I'd have to pop home to pick those up. Started to drive home in my knickers when realised I'd have to put my jeans back on to run up to my flat so pulled them on at the next traffic light and continued to drive home, singing my heart out to Jason Mraz's 'I Won't Give Up'.

Arrived home and hopped out car, and bumped straight into one of my neighbours – 'Hot Trainer' I call him (not to his face), since he runs training sessions in our 'garden', and is often out there in a wife beater pumping dumbbells, his biceps glistening beneath the evening sun.

As he came over to say hi, I suddenly became aware of the fact that when I pulled on my jeans in the car, I hadn't done them up!!!

SHIIIIIT

It's not like I could just suddenly do them up mid convo. So, I stood there... Literally... through a 5-minute chat.. the front of my jeans wide open, fucshia and flourescent green 'flamingo' underwear staring him straight in the face. Tried to strategically hold my hangbag over the area, but it was simply too late. I caught him glimpsing at my crotch, his eyebrow raise, before his eyes quickly darted back to mine and a half smirk appeared on his face...

There was nothing I could do.

He knew it.

I knew it.

We knew it together.


Massive pink elephant.

Or pink flamingos in my case...

Safe to say half the neighbourhood has either seen me naked or in my knickers. Great. 

Do Not Disturb

Why do people come and say hello at gym?

LEAVE ME ALONE!

I'm not there for a social gathering. I'm there to make myself thin and hot for an actual social gathering. Where I will actually WANT to talk to you.

I have no make-up on, am sweating like a rapist, hair scraped back like a frigid ballet teacher, pushing myself to a potentially aggressive level, in the zone, pumping Avicii 'Levels', counting the calories as they burn off my body...

When I get a tap on my shoulder.

Annoying Person I Know: "Jolly Olive! Hi!"

Ignore.

Again:

APIK: "Yo Jolly Olive!"

Apparently very obviously irritated face means nothing, followed by slowly removing earphones, pausing hectic treadmill workout... stop, turn around.

Olive: "Yes?"
APIK: "Waz going down?!"
Olive: "My endorphins."
APIK: "You shvetting a little over there?"
Olive: "Who'd have thought."
APIK: "Not looking your best!"
Olive: "Did I not put on enough make-up?"
APIK: "So the knees must be better – you're running again?"
Olive: "I was..."
APIK: "We should do a run sometime."
Olive: "How about not."
APIK: "So is that your gym outfit?"
Olive: "No, my new dress was at the dry cleaners."

APIK then decides to get into a detailed explanation of his latest career prospects, oblivious to my annoyance. I start up the treadmill at a slow pace to make a point.

APIK: "That's pretty slow."
Olive: "So is this conversation."
APIK: "Do you run for long?"
Olive: "About as long as you've been talking!"
APIK: "Oh, er, should I leave you to it?"
Olive: "Does a bear shit in the woods?"

APIK is now APIDK (Annoying Person I Don't Know)... Coz he certainly no longer wants to know me.

The Early Bird Catches Nothing

I'm not a morning person. I never have been and don't think I ever will be. This morning, still dark, not even a bird chirping, I was fast asleep dreaming of my Champagne house with Champagne pool and Champagne husband when...

VIBRATE VIBRATE VIBRATE... ... VIBRATE VIBRATE VIBRATE...

I choose to ignore. But...

VIBRATE VIBRATE VIBRATE... ... VIBRATE VIBRATE VIBRATE...

I look on the phone and see 'Home Sweet'.
Home Sweet my ass.
I answer.

Olive (still half asleep): Really??!?!?!
Mother: Sorry Darling but there's a Kulula sale!
Olive: Stop traffic.
Mother: Shall we book flights?
Olive: It's stil dark outside.
Mother: And the sale's already started! So when do you want to come down?
Olive: When I've had more sleep.
Mother: Come on Darling. What about just before your birthday. I'll take you shopping for presents?
Olive: Book it!

So now I was awake. So I did the unthinkable. I got changed and went to gym. I repeat: I am NOT a morning person. I gym at 5pm. And I don't like change.

Random Gay Man In Pink Gym Top And Spandex: Er, are you using that machine?
Olive: Shhhhh, I'm sleeping.
RGMIPGTAS: Sorry, but if you're not using the machine, can I?
Olive: I'm just having a warm-up nap.
RGMIPGTAS: That's really very selfish of you. I'm calling a PT.
Olive (with the hand gestures and everything): OMG. You wouldn't.
PT: Are you using this machine or can this man get on?
Olive: Man? It's wearing a pink top!
PT: That's very rude. I think you need to give up the machine.
Olive: But I'm using it!
PT: For what?
Olive: As a headrest.
PT: Ma'am...
Olive: Fine!
RGMIPGTAS: Yay!
Olive: Ug, could you BE more gay?!
RGMIPGTAS: Whatevs! 

The bald and the beautiful

The most fabulous thing happened yesterday. I simply couldn't wait to get into work so that I could tell you guys. So much so that I even came in early (and I'm really not a morning person! Anyone talks to me before 8:30 and I respond with an acrimonious grunt). But in order to fully understand the sheer drollery of this post, you need to (if you haven't already) have read my last post Awkward Moment. So do that quickly, and we'll wait for you...

…

…

Right. Let's hop to it.

So yesterday after an extremely strenuous, laborious workout, I descended the gymnasium stairs, face aglow with perspiration, hair plastered to the back of my neck, provocative under-boob sweat patches, and I gripped the banister for balance as my knees were remarkably shaky after said taxing workout. As I reached the bottom of the staircase and started towards the exit, who else should emerge from the rotating doors but Beanie (!!) – sporting an unattractive plum-coloured wife-beater and far-too-short nut-hugger shorts – and he walked (invisible pineapples under his pits) in my direction. He's still wearing it?! I thought to myself. What could he possibly be keeping under there? His car keys? Leftovers from lunch?!

We made eye contact. I smiled lovingly at the man who offered me everything, and was about to run into his arms shouting, 'Beanie! It's you!', when his eyes moved away from mine and he carried on walking straight ahead. What?!?! How could Beanie not recognise me – this vision of sweat in hot spandex gym kit? I stood still as he walked past, contemplating tapping him on his naked shoulder and confessing, 'Beanie, it's me! I proposed to you, remember? You're pimping out my bachelor pad, remember? You're buying me a zimmer frame, remember??!?!?!'

As he brushed past me I turned to watch my beloved Beanie walk away. And suddenly... he did the unexpected. He slowly reached up... grabbed his beanie, and pulled it off!!! I stared in awe at the mutant before me. My dreams of soft, flowing chocolate-brown hair to match those emerald green eyes were shattered. I had to shield my eyes quickly from the gym lights reflecting off a very large, very round and very shiny, polished egg top before me. Bald? BALD?!

'YOU'RE BALD?' Shit... I'd said that out loud. 
He turned around, 'What?'
'Er, cold!!! Brrrrrr. I'm so cold!' I said spinning around (just in time to hide my face), and I slipped a hoodie over my head and ran out the gym door, leaving my bald, wife-beatered landlord standing dazed and confused behind me...

Moral of the story: never propose to a guy in a hat, beanie, sambrero, balaclava, panama, yarmulke (could be hiding a bald patch), or a fedora (trying too hard). You never know what they're hiding under there...

Life's Little Pleasures

There's so much on my calendar right now (get in there fast!), I barely have time to get a freezo, let alone find the time to get a good night's sleep – everything from Bastille Day to The Nutcracker, to Harry Potter, dinners, birthdays, drinks, coffees, walks, reviews, movies... But busy is good – it's my plan over the next couple of months to avoid any contemplative existential moments. Any empty hours are filled up by dancing, baths, hot chocolate and watching Friends. 

Of course, things haven't exactly been going my way luck wise, which doesn't help the situation. Having just got my car back from the panel beaters after some fabulous freak decided to ding it and duck without so much as a note, I arrived at a tap class last week (the scene of the first crime) and started preparing for my class. Spilling out my tales of woe to my lovely teacher whilst tying up my shoes I heard a blasting smash, followed by a piercing alarm, and looked out of the window only to see an evil man standing by my car. He had evidently got the fright of his life by the shrill cacophony my car produces and he legged it across the field within miliseconds and had vanished before I could even stand up. That incorrigible thief thought it would be fun to smash my very very expensive window (which I was soon to find out) and then NOT steal anything! – Look, I'm not complaining. If he had nabbed my D&G glasses or my tog bag with my fave takkies and my new tub of hot chocolate I would've been distraught to say the least. But what a waste! What was the point really? He races off with an adrenalin rush and I'm left to pick up the pieces, file a report, get quotes, claim on insurance... The best part of the incident (there actually was a best part) was when my tap teacher whipped out her arm-length hi-tech taser gun from nowhere and raced outside yelling 'Let me at 'im', whilst I cowered behind the curtain, knees wobbling and teeth chattering in fear for my life!

I went to Scarborough this last weekend. Everyone asked how it was, if it was a pretty place, if I walked on the beach, what the town was like... The usual questions one would ask. Unfortunately I can't say I could respond to any of these. Being the lazy introvert I've been over the last few weeks, once inside, I stayed inside – under a rather suspect fleece blanket that belonged to the villa (I won't elaborate on the stains but let's just say I could actually crack parts of it). I put on a large pink woollen hat, ridiculous woollen pink slippers (with a pom-pom on the toe), and we drank wine, ate slab after slab of Top Deck, played 30 Seconds, played Kings, cooked elaborate meals (like only a group of 10 females would), ate cheese platters, watched Wimbledon, watched rugby, slept late and read magazines. It was far too cold and energy-sapping to actually get up and leave the house, and far too creepy to venture in to the so-called 'town' - which consists of a number of lurking odd-looking inbreads, a single shop complete with flies and old meats, and a 'pub' called Camel Rock. Some people braved the beach. The furthest I went was the villa's 'game room' (yes, I did get off the couch once), where I shot some pool and enjoyed a few pitiful ralleys of pingpong, while simultaneously feasting on blue cheese, figs and hummus. Feeling exhausted from the over exertion I collapsed back on to the sofa with a Hunters Dry and stayed there for the rest of the trip. Well... I believe (thanks to photographic proof) we got mildly carried away after a dangerous game of Kings and decided to bust some moves in the kitchen to Party Rockers...

Dancing is closed for the holidays right now. I'm miserable. I need my dancing like I need my freezos. So I have had to make a plan and tonight am trying out one of the 'jazz' classes at Virgin Active. I lampoon the latter merely because these classes usually consist of a blonde elderly ex dancer in latex, now in her 50s, buffalo wings and arthritis, trying to relive her glory days back in the studio or on stage. Within 10 minutes she has a pool of sweat by her feet, as do the rest of the rusks in the room, whereas I generally don't feel warm after a few enthusiatic kicks, jazz hands and a pas de bourree to a Bump 5 CD. I end up longing for the end as we learn routines fit for a 2-year-old, and then I race off to do half an hour on the treadmill. Anyway, here's hoping that tonight's class is different. I might just ask if I can take over...