June 08, 2005 - 10:56 p.m.

Just now, my fingers were a little wet from the grapes I was eating, and I was trying to dry them on my fuzzy robe so I could start typing, and it wasn't really working -- because, fuzzy -- and it took me two or three minutes to remember that I just got out of the shower and have a towel on my head.

So this entry might have to be a little short, because apparently I need to retire and call this day a day.

Tonight at the gym I saw a woman wearing a tank top that had "Yoga" spelled out on it in rhinestones. My first thought is that "yoga" is one of many words that it is kind of weird to spell out in rhinestones (others, off the top of my head, "famine," "accountant," "string theory").

My second thought was to wonder whether she has separate labeled shirts for all of her workout activities. And then I imagined that maybe she has shirts at home for all of her daily activities ("cleaning the tub," "doing bills," "masturbating"). And I wondered if maybe, as she moved from one activity to another, she felt the compulsion to stop and change into the appropriate shirt.

Because I totally would. I am in many ways messy and scattered and easily distracted. But I am obsessive and rigid about the strangest things. If I had days of the week underwear (and, oh! How I wish I did!), there is no way I could wear the Wednesdays on Monday. Ergo, there is no way in hell I could clean the tub in a shirt that said "masturbating" on it.

(In fact, when I first saw rhinestone yoga girl, I thought to myself, "I wish I had something to write this down, so I don't forget and then slack and not update. And I was carrying a notebook and pen in my hand. But it was my weightlfting notebook, not my writing notebook. I finally convinced myself it was OK, but only if I scribbled my notes far enough ahead in the notebook that there was no chance I would accidentally get workout all over my journal notes.)

The other dumb thing that happened at the gym is that I did not have a ponytail holder. Which is not that interesting, at all, and I am pretty sure that writing on the Internet about how you couldn't tie your hair back at the gym is perhaps the height of self-obsessed ridiculousness. But I was deeply annoyed because I own enough ponytail holders that it is conceivable I will need a separate storage unit for them when I move. My hair was up earlier today, in fact. How could there not be a fucking ponytail holder anywhere on my person?

And then I went down to the little fitness-wear shop to see if they had ponytail holders, which they didn't, which annoyed me even more (they had seven-day pill holders, and who suddenly needs one of those in the middle of a workout?). Although, truth be told, I would hate myself a little if I bought a 24 Hour Fitness-branded ponytail holder. I already, due to my own forgetfulness, own two different sizes of their towels. I need to stop giving them my money.

I was amused, however, to note that one of the big TV's above the cardio machines was broadcasting some sort of plastic surgery show. I had fun imagining everyone watching the show, going "fuck this" and leaving en masse to make appointments with cosmetic surgeons.

And, as always, I had fun watching people's different styles on the various machines. There are the people who do the jaunty running arms, of course, but they are just perky and irritating. But! To the left of me, an older Asian man swayed from side-to-side on the stairmaster as if he was part of some fitness-related sing-along. And the best was the aging frat guy in front of me, who was totally doing pimp-walk hands on the elliptical trainer.

Of course, as someone who has been known to headbang to Sleater-Kinney on the same piece of equipment, I have little room to talk, but he sure did look funny.

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