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This is the Jennifer

My current job has me tinkering with a few tasks that are related to work I used to do in my old job. I used to be cool and work at a dotcom where I was able to curse freely and engage in witty discussions about the latest posts on Men Who Look Like Kenny Rogers.com. Without boring you with the details, I was trying to refresh my memory on a few old job skilz and pulled out the discs with all of my old files. At one point, I was working on a project that involved nameplates for our offices. The running joke had been that we all felt like animals in cages at the zoo whenever a client-to-be was given the office tour. As we sat in our cubes/offices working away on whatever project, groups of men in women in suits would stand outside our doors and watch us while a fellow co-worker gave a brief description of who we were and what we did at the company. Following along this theme, I decided that the nameplates for our offices should read like the little signs on the cages at the zoo. Had we implemented this grand scheme, my sign would have read:

This is the Jennifer. Most comfortable in her natural habitat of couch and large T.V., she also thrives in dimly lit taverns where she feeds on chicken fingers and ales. A nocturnal creature, the Jennifer struggles with early mornings and can be temperamental if disturbed first thing in the day. The Jennifer ranges in height from 5'1 to 5'5 depending on foot ornamentation and is distinguished by her constant chatter and sometimes seemingly unconnected rambling.

I wish I could make that sign today and put it outside my office in this very corporate environment. I�d probably be handed a pamphlet on the mental health services offered in our benefits package. Oh the joy of a joke that some people just don�t get.

Speaking of things people don�t get, I totally did not understand something that happened to me last night. Committed to reducing my saddlebags, I left work at 4:30 pm to go to the gym prior to a business dinner I was required to attend at 6:00 pm. Yeah � I know � 30 minutes on the treadmill and travel time doesn�t leave anytime for showering prior to dinner. Fucking sue me. Anyhow, I got to the gym, and since I was there prior to 5:00 pm decided to go to the Big Gym rather than the Little Gym.

I�ll explain � my health club has two buildings � the main building or Big Gym has newer equipment, bigger locker rooms, saunas, a hot tub, massage rooms, etc. It also has a weightlifting area where big guys go to kiss their biceps. Ew. The Little Gym has a sufficient amount of equipment, a walking track and a women�s only weightlifting area just outside of which big guys like to lurk and kiss their biceps. Ew. I usually go to the Little Gym, because all of the SAHM�s who are rich enough to have nannies are usually there in their tight little workout clothes bending over in front of the bicep kissers. There�s a lot more ogling that goes on at the Big Gym, and since I�ve just gotten back into the swing of things, my body is in no condition to be ogled. However, the Big Gym also has 13 inch TV�s with headphone jacks in front of each individual treadmill. Talk about sweet! I wanted to watch me a little Surreal Life while I worked out, so I headed to the Big Gym.

As I walked briskly on an incline while watching Verne motor around on his cart shrieking at children, I noticed the woman on the treadmill next to me was watching my TV versus her own TV which featured Christina Hagulera or someone like that on Oprah. I absolutely hate when Oprah has live music on her show because she instructs the camera to serve up gratuitously long shots of her singing along to the pop stars newest hit single. Super bleh. Again, I digress. Walking on the treadmill. 30-something chick watching my TV. I finish my workout and slow things down for a five minute cool-down. She�s on a very similar timeframe to me. As the Surreal Life ends and another show begins, I enter into the last minute of my cool down. My headphones are still on, but in the mirror, I can see that she�s addressed me. I pop a headphone out and ask her to repeat herself. Mind you, I don�t know who the fuck she is.

She didn�t say anything else, and I hopped off my treadmill. As I was walking away she said goodbye and that she hoped I enjoyed my dinner.

I made her repeat herself because again, I didn�t hear her right. She repeated that she didn�t drink, that the beer just sounded good. What in the hell was that whole conversation supposed to mean??? A beer sounds good, great drink one, oh I don�t drink??? What the fuck!!! My co-workers said that she was hitting on me. I think she was testing her AA twelve steps. Who knows??!!? Freaky gym people.

1:36 p.m. - January 19, 2005

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