Wednesday, Oct. 16, 2002 - 4:59 p.m.

7:00 a.m. Arrived at the gym. Today is legs and shoulders. I hate doing legs. I hate doing lunges. I refuse to do lunges. I hate Mr. World, my trainer, for attempting to make me do lunges. He�s under the misunderstanding that he�s the boss. He thinks I pay him to force me to workout. So not true. I pay him to make me show up. I pay him to amuse me while I grunt to lift a wimpy amount of iron above my head. I pay him to make me feel insecure about my arms as he struts around with his 24-inch biceps.

7:23 a.m. Christina Aguilera�s "Dirrty" is on the radio. She�s dirty and liking her makes me feel dirty. Mr. World�s dirty too, but in a different way. Not in the good way. Not in the Christina way.

10:10 a.m. I�m late for my haircut appointment. As punishment I�m given to the new shampoo girl who proceeds to wash my hair as if it was a filthy dinner plate scoured and scrubbed with the nonchalance of a overworked under appreciated unmarried mother of six illegally working under the table for below minimum at the corner Thai joint.

10:50 a.m. Love the cut so much that I decide to forgive Frau Prell and give her a five buck tip. After she looked at the Lincoln, looked at me, looked back at the Lincoln, stowed it away in her bra (who knew), looked back at me, I ran.

11:10 a.m. Finally made it to the office. The instant Knoxville sees me he remembers that he forgot to bring in my flu shot that he�s promised to administer.

12:00 p.m. Therapy. Enough said.

2:35 p.m. Knoxville returns from lunch with the long awaited flu serum. He instructs me to roll up my sleeve for the injection. The sleeve doesn�t seem to want to roll high enough to satisfy Nurse Ratched. He wants the shirt off. I wonder how much weirder this can get. I�m standing in my office with my shirt off in front of my 22 year old assistant while he readies to prick me (and not in the good way). I�m flooded with memories of when I was 22 and injecting my boss with� Anyway, as Knoxville grabs and pinches my shoulder muscle I squeal with a mixture of trepidation and arousal and feel light headed like a school girl catching a glimpse of the quarterback making his pecs dance beneath his size small gap T-shirt stretched taut over a size large frame. Anyway, I control myself by conjuring the visual of my doctor with the unruly eyebrows and prominent nose hairs. Poor woman.

2:45 p.m. Knoxville swabs and disinfects my arm like a pro. I tuck this information away for later.

2:46 p.m. It�s over. Knoxville says, "It was like putting a needle in butter." I�m going to kill that Mr. World.

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