The Metamorphosis

Let's talk about the fact that it is hotter than hairy balls here in Charm city today, which is doing nothing for my pheromone output. I mean, it really doesn't help when you're sweating so much that it takes over what little pheromones you actually secret. I have also learned that wearing yellow pants on a hot day is NOT a good idea. I got into my car at lunch time, sat down on my leather seats and drove off. When I got out of the car, I had to tie my jacket around my waste so as not to show the world my Swass (for those of you who don't know what swass is, it's Sweaty Ass.)

I guess this is a good time to talk about the evolution of Anita Mann's body over the last 5-6 years. Now, I think everyone can think of a time in their lives when they looked hot. I, on the other hand, can think of no such time. I guess i was kind of a cute baby with platinum blonde hair, blue eyes and super rosy cheeks. Then middle school came around (aka the "awkward years") and while my eye color didnt change, they were hard to see behind my wild and out of control perm. That's right, I said it, PERM! And let me tell you it was NOT a pretty sight. But what was worse was when it began to grow out. See, I have always had long hair and never wanted to cut it. This became quite the conundrum when the perm began to grow out and half of my hair was still curly from the perm while the other half was completely straight from the roots of my hair until about my chin. I think it's the closest look to a mullet that i had ever had. And to top off this look, I, like every other awkward adolecent, had braces. But not just your regular braces. I thought it'd be quite fashionable to get colored braces... which if that wasn't obnoxious enough, i also had hot pink rubberbands. I mean... what was I thinking... why did I want to attract MORE attention to my hideous mouth.

By high school, the perm had grown out, the braces had come off and I had worked my body into pretty decent shape from swimming and lacrosse. I guess this would be considered the time when I looked "hot". I peaked in high school, sweet. I guess this means I've let myself go and it's all down hill from here.

I think college was the beginning of the end for me. All those years of wearing braces apparently did nothing for me because my straight teeth reverted back into the crooked teeth of redneck, backroad inbreds of yesteryear. In fact, I developed a snaggletooth right smack dab in the front of my mouth. The good think is that it's on the bottom so it's not very noticable.. unless i smile or talk or do anything that requires opening my mouth. Also, with the addition of a steady diet of beer, boones and junk food I grew a spare tire, whom I affectionately call, Stewie. Stewie has a mind of his own. I liken him to my conscience. Like most guys think with their weeners, I think with my Stewie. It was by junior year of college that Stewie had grown to such immence proportions that my belly button had become the size of Cleveland and I was not longer able to wear a bikini in public.

Now that I am out of college and have a steady job, I am pretty much sitting behind a computer for eight hours a day. With this lack of excercise and constant tonnage on my rear end, I have developed Secretary's Ass. Secretary's Ass is a phenomenon where you rear end expands not only outward, but downward, sideways, north, east, south and west. I have since dubbed my Secretary's Ass: Lois. Which brings us right back to the present. It is because of Lois and the boiling heat that I am more susceptible to Swass during the summertime.

So on to today's GSSM tip. Day five requires that I take a kickboxing or weight lifting class at the gym. I am to arrive early to get a spot next to a hot guy and make small talk. I like the idea of taking a kickboxing class (maybe it'll help me get rid of Stewie and Lois) but I feel like a weight lifting class is not the best bet for me. Afterall, I have been known to rip shirts by merely bending over. I think the goal is to look like Lois Lane, not the Incredible Hulk.

I do frequent the gym however and even work out with a trainer. Now, the gym is in my condo complex so the only people who work out there, besides myself, are old people and housewives. I will say that the trainer is quite attractive (I think, the beer goggles may be in effect and I'm still waiting for a second opinion on that thought) and he's a super nice guy. Although he does have one flaw. He wears enough cologne to cover the smell of an entire fishing fleet. In fact, on more than one occassion, I have asked him to step away because the smell of his cologne was hindering my work out. I never knew why he wore so much cologne until one day he was training another resident. This was circa valentine's day and I come down to the gym wearing mesh shorts and an oversized tee shirt. Then walks in this middle aged lady wearing a juicy velour sweatsuit, black prada sneakers, a full face of make up and a botox coctail on the side. She brought the trainer flowers and candy and kept touching his arm as she flirtily laughed at his lame ass jokes. Then requested that he "help" her with her stretching. This display was so foul that it was actually amusing. Now, the sad thing is, this lady is one of about five or six ladies who come to hang out with the trainer to "work out." I call them, the Desparate Housewives and love to walk by them after I work out in all of my sweaty glory.

So I have to send out my deepest and most sincere apology to Rocco. Apparently, he was more than a little offended when I didnt consult him on getting a recommendation for my manhunt. However, being the gracious friend that he is, he still offered some advise:

I think right now it wouldn't be too tough for you to show some guy your diary and he'll hook up with youon the spot to end it. He could be king of the jungle.

My advise: Murphy's Law

When it rains it pours. So what you do is find some wasy hook up at a bar and make out with him some. He can be really drunk or kind of ugly - but still your foot is in the door. You'll get that feeling about you that you still got it and next time you go out you move up. It's like climbing a ladder.

Thanks for the advise... next time I go out I'll wear a sign that says desperate and only go for the ugly guys or guys who would be too drunk to know what they were doing in hopes that the streak will end. After all, one girl's Igor is another woman's Tarzan.

Welcome to the jungle,
Anita Mann