In NYC there is simply no filter on what people will wear at the gym. Or rather, what they won’t wear. Sometimes I come into the locker room and automatically put my head down so I don’t feel like I’m staring at all of the bodies on display. It’s like the world’s strangest free peep show. Sorry, I’d rather change in the bathroom behind the safety of a closed cubicle door.
I’m sure some of you know that my father and our family own a vacation house on the Jersey Shore. There’s been a little bit of talk about it whenever the summertime rolls around, since people always ask me “What does your father do in the offseason?” Well, when he’s not recruiting he’s hunkered down in Jersey, smoking cigars and drinking wine and putting off re-applying sunscreen until I yell at him to do so.
This weekend, I was allowed to bring a few friends down to our house on the southernmost tip of the Garden State for Memorial Day, which was in turns blazingly hot and freezing cold, and utterly hilarious throughout. One particularly funny moment was opening the local newsletter and finding a long article that my father was interviewed for in which he extolled the virtues of the New Jersey beaches. One of my friends mentioned that on the wikipedia page for our town, there’s a list of celebrity homes and my father is not mentioned. She said as a Father’s Day present, she would edit the page so that Dad’s name did appear, which I thought was hilarious.
But now I’m back in NYC, hanging out in my apartment before my job interview as a hostess for Wildwood BBQ tomorrow (Well, I have the job, but I need to get my training schedule worked out) and I thought I’d answer one question that John Altavilla put on his blog because it intrigued me. Sorry if I steal your thunder, John!