First off, oh, Geraldine, how could you? I wrote out a thing last night about the ’80s and Ferraro and being young and female. But, my computer jammed up whilst I nodded my head onto the keyboard and drooled into the couch pillows.

But, yeah, Geraldine Ferraro got a little carried away with her bad self. And, maybe it wasn’t “racist” in the sense of angry hatred keeping a man down and all that. But, fucking hell, what it was was patently absurd and so fucking stupid. Yeah, the privilege of being Obama and his half-black self. Maybe that would have slid on by until Gerry said “Racism works in two different directions. I really think they’re attacking me because I’m white. How’s that?”

Um, what? What did you just say white lady? Talking about feet in mouths. Not to mention the attention whoring herself on the cable news frenzy channels, including a horrible turn to FOX News where the erstwhile, history-making historical VP candidate, got a sympathetic ear for all that bad, reverse racist mojo, and lost any respect she could have had. Gerry, Gerry, Gerry.

As a side note, how did she end up working on Hillary’s funding? Isn’t this the same Ferraro who raised questions on her tax forms back when she was had Mondale’s running mate, maybe got investigated for campaign financing (definitely part of the wave that lead to reform) and had a couple of failed Senate races marred by the lack of effective fundraising. I guess past performance wasn’t part of the hiring for the current gig, which she just quit.

Anyway, enough of writing about cranky, older women and their angry taunts.

What’s really on my mind is gym class. My place of toil has it’s own gym. On Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays at lunchtime, it also hires on a trainer to give a circuit training/cardio class in that self-same gym space.

It’s free. It’s small. I know everyone in the class. And, it’s free. What’s not to like?

I tried it today. Thankfully, none of the other girls in the glass called me names, made me cry, ostracized me, beat me or, as I was fearing all morning as noon approached, threw me in a shower and whipped tampons at me. Maybe, because as one of my co-workers pointed out, I hadn’t had my period for the first time today.

Running around a gym doing calisthenics was a horrible nostalgic onslaught. I muddled through it, because I’m fighting off the aging and the fattening. Plus, did I mention it’s free.

I’m giving myself two weeks to lose 70 pounds just by showing up in the gym and sweating until I’m red-faced, which in my case involves sloth-like movement of any kind. If I don’t lose that much weight, or if any of the girls threaten me with their youth and whatever young people do these days to bully the chubby, slow girl in gym class, I’ll have to reconsider. But, for now, I’m planning a Spring and Summer of scootering, maybe some bike riding and gym-ing it up.

Strangely, signing up for a gym class where you basically just exercise en masse intimidates the hell out of me and conjures all of the old-fashioned Phys. Ed class angst. Even though, it’s absolutely not competitive, and there won’t be team picking. However, I signed up to play softball after work. I looked at the roster, i might not be the oldest player.

Sure, at some point, I’ll have to don a glove or grab a bat, and I will likely suck madly. Still and all, unlike gym class, beer and snacks likely will ease the fear. And a sign up sheet of 20-25 for an 8-person team kind of dissipates my ever being a key player. Plus M. will be there, and he grew up with cricket.

Finally, it’s not quite the day for the wearing of the green. In the holiday’s honor, I’ve exploited some ancestors of the sod.

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