Tag Archives: yoga pants

Business Review: Planet Fitness, Somerville Massachusetts

10 Jan

I didn’t know it was the one with the “Lunk Alarm.”  I was just going with my brother because he had a free pass.  But it turns out Planet Fitness is the chain that made news a few years back for not allowing grunting.  Not allowing overly strenuous barbell exercises, weight dropping or general steel on steel clangor, and above all else banning “judging.”  Signs everywhere in the purple and yellow interior remind you that this is a Judgement Free Zone.  You are not to judge, lest ye be judged.  Except for the biggest sign, which reminds you that it’s also a Lunk Free Zone, and there’s a big purple police gumball mounted above the definition of a Lunk, which is anyone who grunts, drops weights, or judges.  You may judge Lunks.  In fact, you are supposed to set off an alarm if a Lunk grunts in earshot.

lunk-alarm

Fine, I don’t give a fuck.  I don’t drop weights; I wouldn’t dare waste the eccentric resistance. Lower that shit all slow and controlled.  I will try not to grunt, although I can’t promise anything.  Because it’s been several days since I’ve lifted and this means today must be squat and deadlift day.  I’ve been known to have difficulty stifling a grunt as a dremel tool chews the bone behind my kneecaps and a family of rats eat their way out of my pelvis as I’m deadlifting.  That shit is fucking painful but there is no substitute.  In the world outside Planet Fitness, if my ass is unlike the twin meaty cinder blocks sported by a nude Khal Drogo, I will be judged.  So, I’ll try to keep it under control but in any case let’s find a 45 pound bar and some plates and get to it. Continue reading →

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Park Diary: Yoga Practitioners

23 Dec
bigstock_yoga_woman_on_green_park_12510542-450x300

Image stolen from some stock footage web site

I came back out to the park even though it is god damn motherfucking freezing, because there are two girls doing yoga, in yoga pants, on the grass.  I came out so I could look at their asses.

They are going to look over here and see me looking.  Fortunately this laptop gives me legitimacy.  I have some ostensible purpose other than leering at their asses in their yoga pants.  That’s right– stand on one foot, grab the other foot, lean forward.  You are bumbling.  You are going to fall over.  Your expression of physical vulnerability is delightful.  Also, I commend you for your commitment to flexibility and health.  Your yoga pants are being consumed by your ass crack.  Your buttocks are meaty and robust.  You are in fact slightly heavier than one would expect for someone so committed to yoga.  This is an asset.  You are the kind of girl with whom one thinks he has a shot.  By retaining a slight layer of padding, you are not pricing yourself out of the market.  I think that if I met you through a friend I would talk to you and charm you and you would end up drunk on red wine in my filthy apartment cozying up and watching The Dark Crystal on my Xbox before I ate you out on the carpet and got rug burns on my knees.  If you were thinner I’d assume you wanted someone with money. Continue reading →

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Yoga Pants

24 May

No woman in the entire Los Angeles area, outside of those compelled to wear a work uniform, now wears pants. Or a skirt.  The entire cohort of Los Angeles women is now to a one wearing black or dark gray “yoga pants,” which is to say, sheer insubstantial tights.  Of course, they cannot wear underwear with these things.  So you are seeing fully defined, flatteringly compressed ass and pudenda at all times, everywhere you go.  I feel, sometimes, like I must have willed this into existence.

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Diary: An Actress

16 Feb

I need to jack off, to that chick (REDACTED), whatever the fuck her name was.  She showed up to dinner with (REDACTED)’s parents wearing dark gray yoga pants and when her legs hit the right angle you could see the outline of her vagina.

She is hot.  Skinny, in good shape, perfect bone structure hot.  In her youtube videos she looks merely “quirky hot,” like, her face looks a little fuller and her teeth look like a mouth full of jagged chiclets and she just, you know, looks like the kind of chick you would see across a room and think “that chick is kind of hot.  Maybe I have a chance.”

Then in person it is clear she is the kind of chick with whom you have no chance.  She has that sleek, lithe build like a lemur, or one of those whippet-looking marsupials that just went extinct– the thyalacine.  A thyalacine I want to fuck.

Continue reading →

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