Old Men at the Gym

Over Thanksgiving, my mom and I went to the gym a couple times. Now, the closest one to us (maybe 1.5-2 miles away, still in LH), is kinda ghetto, and by kinda ghetto, I mean really ghetto. The nice ones are 3-4 miles away, in Aliso Viejo. So basically, you have very few hip, cool, young people. What you have mostly are very old men.

One of the old men was maybe in his mid-to-late 60s, he was a very slender gentleman, and he was wearing short shorts (!), a tank top, and knee-high socks. It was quite an image.

Another gentleman was very interesting, too. He was 50-ish, on the chunkier side, but his outfit might've been even better: denim shorts (!), a dark polo shirt, black mid-calf socks, and white walking shoes. It really was magical.

Who knew you could be so entertained at the gym?

Seriously?! Seriously??!!

Tonight I had a Women in Management dinner on campus that turned out to be absolutely awesome. I was lucky enough to sit at the table with the director of the Marriott School, as well as the two speakers for tonight. The director was more than happy to brag me up to the speakers because of our Ohio State competition win, which might come in handy if I end up interviewing with them (and I SO want to!).

But the main thing I came away with? I'm a pig. And I'm totally okay with that. Dinner was served buffet-style, and I noticed when I came back from the line that my plate was the only one that was totally stacked. It's not just because it was a free dinner, either; I piled my plate high because I was STARVING and because the food looked dang good. But I came across this same problem in Ohio, even with my boys: my plate would be stacked, and theirs were only moderately full.

I'm okay with being a pig, but then it really cuts into the talking time. I dunno . . . anyone else think this is a problem?