Where are the pasties, precious?

I am currently irritated because I wrote a whole blog post and then accidentally closed the Word window without saving it first. This is what I get for writing blog material when I’m not at home.

There is a pole dancing studio one floor up from my gym near work (the gym I recently quit as part of my resolution to take better care of and therefore be nicer to and stop beating up my body). The sign for the pole dancing studio used to be really small and nondescript, like it wanted to be hidden. Maybe the owners felt the need to be subtle or maybe their students didn’t want anyone to know where they were going? I’m guessing here, only because if I were taking pole dancing classes you can bet your ass I’d tell everyone I knew, though probably not anyone I worked with, and so subtle signage in the vicinity of work would be nice. But that’s neither here nor there. Today I walked up and there’s a new, bright pink sign for the pole dancing studio posted right in the middle of the glass door to the building. Carmen Electra would be proud. Just as I walked in, a flock of youngish women came flooding out. I was so curious—did they come from dance class? Did they think I was going to dance class? It adds a whole new level of excitement to going to the stupid gym, at least for the three weeks that are left in my membership.