So tonight we met our Not Really a Personal Trainer Guy at the Y. I probably shouldn't go into too much detail, because it might set a precedent for what is sure to be much blood, sweat and humiliation to come. But it's just too much fun not to.

Because Drew doesn't really cost anything, he's obviously not that into it. It's just, like, his job, and the kicks come from a sweetly sadistic streak that I can see even if it hasn't manifested itself yet. Basically, we've signed up for the 12 week "Please help us, oh my god, our muscles are jellifying as we try and cross the threshold of your palace of sweat and life" program. We see Drew once a week and he tells us what new torture is in for us. We'll see how it goes. The bad thing is, if we blow it off, we still have to walk George right by the big glass front windows full of exercising people with nothing to do but glare at us, mouth the word "Loser" and fetch Drew.

But I have faith. We'll see. It's only a half a block away.

This wasn't what I was posting. I'm just up later than normal doing anything besides reading, because it's workshop chat night. In three, two, one...

But Michaelangelo had a link to a very funny Kelly Osborne gig review that I just had to snatch. Let me preface this by saying that no matter what else Kelly Osborne may or may not be, she is a beacon of self-confident pudge in a world of uber-skinny for teenage girls. Bust had a piece in a recent issue about Kelly giving all teenage girls the confidence to wear belly shirts and not just the Britney clones (though I'm not entirely sure that's a good sign, natch). Anyway, this is just good catty fun.