I’ve mentioned not long ago how I started this new “gym” thing where they make you do loads of squats of all different types and some of them you do on your hands…HA, funny right? Yeah well my arms are having a hard time typing this out because they did all sorts of arm squats that caused my head to swell with all the blood that started to pool in it until I got back on my feet which then almost made me black out, I know what it means to see stars now. But whats even more disturbing is that since I contracted The Tuberculosis it’s been a week since I actually went to this new “gym” and when I knew I was going the next day I ended up having a dream about it but instead of “Forging Elite Fitness” by squatting. On my hands.  I was doing some kind of strange whole body v-fold thing while wearing hot pink spandex, leg warmers and listening to “Do you want to get physical, physical, physical? Let me hear your body talk…” And for some reason I found it all very funny.
And sexy.
In my dream that is, until I woke up and felt like I needed a good slap in the face to shake me out of it.
The other disturbing thing is that I found my self missing this new “gym” and missing the constant way my body feels like an over stretched rubber band fused with a wet noodle  and I think I may be a Sadoaddictivist to this place now.

I totally made that word up.
I’m allowed to make up words because I’m a Word Nerd.

Apparently saying motherfucking knucklehead makes me a brillionare.
Which,  by the way,  is another word I made up because I am allowed to.

And since I am trying not to post about the weather. Or my hair.  Or the fact that we still have no signal for our satellite. I’ve realized that I am a shallow person  because the only thing I could come up with is my lousy rubbery legs and arms and my apparently IMMENSE vocabulary.  Or as the Word Gestapo put it my Brobdingnagian vocabulary which, in a fitting display of irony, I had to look up and it just means huge, as in size and then I thought how they really are trying to fuck with me because they know I’ve had The Tuberculosis and haven’t been at the gym in a week so really they are just calling me a fat ass.
Cock knuckles!

About two months ago I tweeted about HER. The cold, heartless, soulless bitch and how she wouldn’t even look at me much less make out with me.
When all I was doing was bringing her to  a place that could patch up her shame.
(Wouldn’t it be nice if we all had that kind of haven?)
 Guiding her to the place where she would be restored so she could reclaim her position of prominence with some dignity and grace.
But all I got in return was HER cold shoulder.

On a beautiful early fall day there was a chill in the air, the leaves still green, still on the trees. The entry door closed with the heat turned up a bit to ward of the dampness of an old building.
A couple enters into the boutique innocently looking for something to warm the cockles of their hearts.
How would they know the horror that would befall them the moment they crossed the threshold?
How could they be prepared?
They couldn’t.
And I, alone in the office waiting with bated breath for SOMETHING….ANYTHING to happen, was startled off of my lazy ass when I heard the calamity happening…the struggle, the thump, the screams of horror.
And then the aftermath.
An Elderly Man picking up the sloppy mess of HER.
The Elderly Man’s wife looking on.
Me, The Vapid Blonde, leaping up from my office chair, slow motion sprinting though the store to see what the ruckus is.
I happen upon the chaos.
The Elderly Man clinging to HER.
HER right arm dangling.
Me grabbing her out of the Elderly Man’s hands.
I tell him to let go.
LET HER GO. 
I will take care of HER as I always do.
As I always will.
I whisk HER in the back.
I take off HER clothes.
I inspect HER.
She is…
beyond repair.
I think with a heavy heart.
Beyond my realm of expertise.
I can’t help HER, but I know who can.
I make arrangements.
I take HER home.
I store the rest of HER. I save HER.
And the thanks I get?
Almost two months later is that she has no intentions of coming back.
I think she has found HER place.
She doesn’t care that HER arms, hands, legs and feet are ten miles away.
She has so much more freedom.
So much more expression.
In HER new home she changes weekly, if not daily.
Unlike life in the boutique where she might wear an outfit for a month, a really nice outfit that costs oodles of money that she got to wear for free I would like to add.
But that doesn’t seem to matter now.

In HER new world she has a following.
She has friends.
She?
May have  found her mojo.

Almost two months ago I let HER go.
She hasn’t come back yet.
And these pictures are all with in the first week.
HER story is not finished and I have only begun to tell it.

Stay tuned.

This is just the beginning of HER journey.