It was sunny and 75 yesterday and there were river currents in the streets today. When I crossed over my shoes were wet to the ankle, along with my purse, which I cared about, and my hair, which I didn’t. I wouldn’t have crossed the street at all, except the fine coffee of Urth Caffe was on the other side.

Long story short I was driven back inside by the weather. This is unheard of in LA. I nodded understanding glances at the strangers I passed standing on street corners with folded down umbrellas and the blank faces of awe and botox. I offered to show one woman how to unfold the umbrella. She must not have heard me.

I texted a few people to see how they were faring in the rain, and mostly to find something to do. My trainer was at a fitness expo. I really shouldn’t call him my trainer because I never train with him anymore. I eat with him, and I swap sex stories with him, and he helped me saw the stump off a Christmas tree once, because he happens to carry saws around in his back seat, which he won’t admit is weird, but I don’t really work out with him anymore. He hurts.

Aside from attracting homeless people and knock off purse vendors, downtown also attracts throngs of people who want to come together and bond over very specific interests en masse. Between the Staples Center, the Nokia Theater, LA Live, and the Los Angeles Convention Center, there is always a pack of hardcore enthusiasts to be found. I love the conventions that attract the costumers. The sci-fi and gaming ones are fun. The porn ones are spectacular. You usually have to travel far off the beaten path to find a man in latex with bigger tits than your girlfriend, but you visit any one of the three and they’ll come straight to you. And there is usually more than one convention at a time. For example, today there was a Crafts and Hobby convention in the West Hall and the Fitness Expo in the South Hall. Last time I attended the Porn Convention it was the same weekend as the Ski Convention. Girls with bleached blond extensions down to their ass cheeks and belts for skirts were gliding past bleached blond trust fund kids in sunglasses and beanies in opposite directions on the escalator. Let’s just say you can tell who is going where.

The Fitness Expo. I went. I went partly out of guilt, because as the text came through that said I should check it out, I had a chocolate truffle halfway to my mouth. The chocolate truffles were breakfast. I don’t even think they were organic or fair trade. The only thing worse I could have been stuffing in my body at that time of day is kid’s cereal. I also went because it was indoors, and because I was curious about what sort of things fit people involved themselves with.

Once I got past the Crafts and Hobby entrance I got very excited. The people flocking to that one had all looked like cat owners, or like they might be repulsed by vaginas. Or by sex in general. But then I rounded the corner and there were beautiful beautiful men with broad shoulders and thick necks and asses like shelves. They had crispy tans and bleached hair (what is it with bleach and conventions?). I was reminded of male talent, and of why I like porn so much. I went on like that for a while, with the eye fucking and walking, and then stopped because each would gradually feel the burn on their skulls from it and turn around and I’d see that she needed to shave, not her legs—because they all had that covered—but her face...

Inside I did feel better about the chocolate truffles. Fit people love chocolate. It’s all they eat. Chocolate bars, chocolate shakes, chocolate supplements, chocolate chews, chocolate appetite suppressants. Ninety percent of the booths sold only chocolate flavored food knockoffs. The other ten percent sold Affliction wear knockoffs or gym memberships and home exercise options and replacements. There was hair and hormone replacement. Everything was a replacement for something else. Someone had actually reinvented the jump rope, which made me sad, because I was looking for a real jump rope. Apparently they are extinct now. The world’s children should mourn. The new one isn’t connected to itself so you can’t trip. Lawyers everywhere should also mourn.

There were pull up competitions on the stage, and MMA fights in the rings, and I lost track completely of male and female when they started moving fast. Little food bars were served in cut up squares with toothpicks like gallery hors d’oeuvres. They were powdery and had no food ingredients. There was a booth for sexercise, and a stripper boot camp, and both drew me in and sent me away sad. There was no sex in the sexercise. There was just an exercise mat and bad hyped up music in the background, for copyright reasons. The stripper boot camp involved a pole. That was better. Except that the man teaching it had a vagina.

The confirmed males were hot though. Eye candy everywhere. But I don’t think I was their type because my BMI registers, and because I am pale and unmotivated. After some time I did see some especially hot women, like women-women, but my problem with them is that they wore work out clothes with high heels. They were like sneaker-stilts. Lawyers everywhere can be happy again.

The children should stay sad though. This is what we’ve replaced fitness with.

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