Trend Sucker

I was getting ready for my vacation tonight, packing, re-packing, and packing some more. Earlier in the day I had waded through the ceiling-high crap in my guestroom closet to attempt a retrieval of my suitcase. And that's when I saw it. Sitting there. Dusty. Unused. Mocking me. My last "this will change my life" purchase.

Awhile back I woke up at some ungodly hour of the morning, when the entire world is still asleep, except for criminals and mall walkers. I'd spent the previous night thinking I was a rock star and trying to party like one. Since it was the ass-crack of dawn, my choices for entertainment were early morning cable T.V. or laying in bed listening to the sound of brain throbbing. I chose the former. While surfing through endless channels of infomercials, I came across a gem called "The Firm".

Actually, I came across it about 5 times, but settled on a station and instantly became transfixed. I was feeling pretty bad, hung over, disappointed that I'd done it again, drank too much, tried to soak up alcohol with a midnight run to Jack-in-the-Crack, and hadn't been to the gym in months.

And there they were. Real life women in skimpy, tight spandex talking about getting that kick-ass shape just from jumping around their living rooms and holding weights as heavy as my toothbrush. I thought, I can do this. I too can be all that I can be. I will wear butt floss with pride!! If I don't make it to the gym, I'll work out at home!

A long-absent energy started to wash over me. My headache was dissipating, the pillow lines on my face fading. I mustered the energy to move one arm and picked up the phone, made the call, and ordered my miracle. I was anxious for its arrival. I even paid extra for super duper speedy shipping. Everyday I came home expecting to see this huge box at my door. Day after day I waited. This was the first sign...

After 4 phone calls and 5 weeks, I finally got my "step system". It was a double set of two steps, one able to stack on top of the other, (when I progressed enough to avoid an asthma attack in the first 2 minutes), and 3 videos of increasing difficulty. I tore open the packaging and ripped through the celophane with animated fervor. I made as much space in my living room as possible, gathered up my hand weights and put on my best exercise outfit. I was pumped up and ready to get back into shape.

I put in the first tape and patiently listened to the introduction, then fast forwarded to the work-out since the woman chirping her hello's like a bird outside your window at 5 a.m. on a Saturday managed to instantly surface long ago supressed feelings and high school fantasies of stuffing perky pom-pom girls into trashcans lined with lunch left-overs.

Trying to shed my lazy demeaner and cynical attitude, I vowed to give it a college try. Which should have been an even bigger clue to my lame attempts at snake-oil cures right there since all I did in college was drink and fuck my boyfriend. However, I was a good girl and started stepping. One two, down up. Three four kiss my butt. Five six hate this chick. Seven eight I'm a dick.

And guess what? It sucks. The tapes are boring, the women are annoying, I have no room in my house to flip around in tights without breaking a lamp or a toe, and now I'm getting some type of "supplement" every few months, at $30 a pop, that I'm convinced will cause me to grow a tail or at the very least cause such intestinal distress that I'll have to strap a bucket to my ass.

So, it's in the closet. Waiting for a garage sale price tag. My dream squashed like a snail on the sidewalk. And now they're selling this shit at discount stores for a 10th of what I paid for it. I am a sucker.

You'd think I would have learned from the NADS fiasco.