The ClinTicker 2000: June 23rd - June 30th

Montreal DJs get Hot for Clinton:M
I've been trading links with these guys for several months, but I finally made some interpersonal inroads with Somsay and Dee Bass from Metrolium this week. It started innocently enough, when I tagged Somsay on MSN and asked him about choice clubs and events to scope out when I go visit his town next month. We got to talking more in-depth, one thing led to another and the guy graciously invited me to spin at his Friday night weekly, July 14th to be exact - the day I get off the plane! Just like a superstar. Well, I was flattered, flabbergasted and excited.
Update: the Friday night is looking like a no-go. Somsay put too many DJs on the card, and me being the outsider, was easily ousted off the line-up. Currently sharing mixes and DJ stories with Dee Bass and maybe, just maybe I might be invited to play his Monday night special. It would be really cool to represent Vancouver during my Montreal trip. Vancity jocks are apparently well respected over there and after listening to some mixes from both Somsay and Dee Bass, I definitely feel like I have the chops to bring honour to Vancouver's many DJs.

Action Around My Office
I work in a sleepy little neighbourhood where nothing usually happens apart from the constant stream of tourists strolling about, taking pictures of stupid things. Well the sirens of emergency vehicles filled the air this week, starting on Tueday, which saw a boat in the harbour burn to a blackened husk after its owner applied too much flammable wood polisher to the hull. Fire crews seemed to take their sweet time getting to the scene. A couple days later, I drove past a nasty looking accident involving an SUV and a pedestrian. The man was laying motionless in the middle of the crosswalk and the impact left a massive dent in the vehicle.

3 Dates in 2 Days
Definitely a new record for me. The last date is debateable... I'd say it was more of a hang out session than anything else. We got together and checked out a show at the International Jazz Festival. NoMeansNo! What? Are you kidding me? Note to festival organizers: NOT JAZZ. Still, the opener acts were rather jazz-inspired as well. The first was Zu, a trio consisting of a sax, guitar and drums that banged out energetic, meandering rhythms and not much else. Wibutee, aside from having a wicked name, were the spotlight of the show, playing very groovy progressive jazz tunes that would seem to fit perfectly well with the opening credit sequences of spy or indie movies. Anyway, back to the dates: hey, sometimes I manage to impress even myself.

Moving On Up
I was offered a raise and bonus at the ol' day job. Superb. One of the owners psyched me out with a much higher figure when she first announced the good news. Then the other owner, the one who's good at math, brought it back down to reality, so the actual amount of the increase isn't all that impressive. The bonus, however, is quite nice: a week's stay in any of our luxury condos in Mexico! Shazam.

Watermark Gets the Shaft... Again... And Again.

I don't have anything against the Watermark Restaurant on Kits Beach. I had lunch there with my parents when it first opened last July and found it be a pleasant place to have a mildly overpriced meal.

They outfitted the restaurant with all the necessary ingredients for success in Vancouver...

• ULtra modern design, with liberal use of glass... CHECK
  
• Lanky, attractive waitresses... CHECK
  
• A nice view... CHECK
  
• Open kitchen layout, staffed with many cheffy looking chefs... CHECK
  
• Willingness to allow Clinton to cancel multiple dinner reservations in a row... CHECK
  

Okay, so you're wondering about that last one. I exaggerate, of course, when I talk about cancellig all those reservations. They were all done over a period of say, 5 months? Back in January I was giddy over a girl who I went out with a couple times before she disppeared for a few weeks to enjoy her vacation in Costa Rica. When she got back, I jumped the gun a couple of times, booking a table at Watermark in anticipation of our next date.

Why Watermark? I don't know really. The food is nicely presented but pretty unremarkable for the price you pay. When I lunched with papa-san the one real standout was the encrusted pan-seared tuna. It was good enough to order a second helping. I chose to have a dinner date at Watermark because a) the environment is nice and b) lack of alternatives. Normally, my mind is brimming with restaurants I would like to try. Opening new restaurants is like a sport in this city, so there really is never a lack of places to sample. But put me on the line to figure out where to dine on a date, and suddenly I'm Mr. Tourist who doesn't know fine cuisine if it slapped him in the face. Some of you unfortunate ones may remember the wannabe glamour model I tried to date over the course of last summer. For our final painful outing, I actually made a last minute swap and took her to Cactus Club instead of Feenie's! Cactus Club!! I continue to hang my head in shame...

Where was I? Right, so things with that girl back in January turned flakey, but not before booking, then cancelling 2 dinner reservations. Advance a couple more months and I think I did the same thing with a new girl. Into the future a little bit more, I booked, then cancelled a lunch reservations for Mother's Day. No... they actually wouldn't accept any reservations with less than 5 people for Mother's Day. Screw them! Still, I came back for some more fun for Father's Day. My father, the frugal man that he is, refused to go to Watermark for fear that it would hurt my wallet too badly. Awwww, what a sport! Finally... seeing a nice young lady now and was this close to taking her to the Watermark, then decided to check out Lucy Mae Brown instead. Now that dinner kicked my wallet in the nuts... but it was worth the bruising, oh yeah babeeeey. That time I didn't even bother calling in to cancel. I was using them as my backup reservation in case Lucy Mae Brown fell through.

Does this mean I'm destined to never return to the Watermark to nibble on their savoury seared tuna? It could be one of those signs, you know. A higher power out there is trying to tell me, time and time again, to gather up some creativity, rub those brain cells together and pick a restaurant based on merit and not on how it juts into the view of the beach like a gian, metallic splinter. Fairly good views from inside. Look at the exterior and... well.. it almost looks like it doesn't belong there.

Until next time... remember to do more cooking at home, unless you have a hot (or even lukewarm) date.

Another Post About My Dysfunctional Relationship... with Sleep

Photo by klsmith77

A couple of strange things have been happening to my body of late. The first, and least believable phenomenon, is that... I no longer crave meat.

You heard me right. Meat. It just doesn't turn me on the way it used to anymore. I can't drive by a KFC and fantasize about what a guilty pleasure it would be dig into a bucket of extra crispy, undisclosed chicken parts. No, there's not more fantasy. I just see the sign and immediately feel like I want to double over and vomit. I imagine the grease and mulched up chicken flesh coursing lazily through my intestines, their journey progressively slowing down until it all comes to a complete halt. All that half-digested sludge just sitting there in my gut, motionless and completely disgusting.

It doesn't stop at meat. I don't find french fries very appetizing either. Strike that. I can no longer get it up for anything that spends anytime being dipped in batter and oil. I start feeling weak when I see that stuff and immediately seek solace in a vinegrette-drenched big salad, soups and any kind of fruit I can get my hands on.

What? What on earth has happened to my body? What is this travesty? What did you do with the real Clinton? Where did you discard his lifeless body, you evil doppelganger from hell?

I figure this recent changein my diet has been a reflection of my body finally having enough of years of abuse and has decided to revolt. I'm a guy, after all, and I've lived through my teens and the better part of my 20's as one of those invincible eaters. Essentially, I knew I could shove any edible substance into my craw, healthy or not, and my youthful metabolism would make short work of it. I was unstoppable. Aside from turning into a Skinny Fat Guy in my early twenties, I never suffered any ill consequences for being such a shit eater.

Well, call it payback time for my body. And call it gettin' old. Hey, if it takes a full-on biological rejection for grease and regular overdoses of meat, then I'm all for it. The first step towards healthier eating is removing the natural temptation of those sinful foods and my body and I are deciding to work together on this front. Perfect. I ain't complaining yet.

What I would like to complain about is the original reason why I started writing this post, hence the title that subtlely makes references to sleep and the implication that, surprise, I don't get enough of it. To wit, 6 hours of sleep is not cutting it anymore. That's how much I'm averaging now and it's starting to really kill me at work. My job title may as well stop being "webmaster" and instead be "senior corpse that sits at a desk all day". This radical change in my body is part of parcel of getting older, yes, but I'd also like to believe my body is desperately trying to communicate with me and to get me back on the straight and narrow.

I can't explain why I end up staying up past my "bed time". And when I say "bed time", I'm referring to a vague hour of the night when I think, in very general terms, that I should hit the sack so as to get my daily recommendation of 8 hours of slumber. I simply always find things to do late in the evening. There's always something to do... whether it's writing, e-mailing, reading, updating my websites, browsing new music, chatting on MSN, writing sweet nothings to the ladies or a myriad of other things that I amuse myself with.

There is one way to get my attention. One very foolproof way to get me to change my ways, even temporarily, is to hang the spectre of sickness over my head. Yes! Make we wake up with a headache and extra sore muscles. Throw in some random aches, make my head feel heavier than usual and a few sniffles of the nose to really get me scared. Because we all know a tired body tends to be more prone to illness and without fail, I usually get sick at the worse times. Correction: when is it ever a good time to get a nasty cold or flu? Hint: NEVER. The days of being a carefree kid and using an illness to skip out of a day or two of school are long over. Sad, but true.

And I know I should have used a few of my sleepless nights to put some thoughts together about real estate, which is what I have been promising to write about for the past week. And I would, except I got nothing. Or rather, I recently stumbled on some articles that offered up some interesting ideas that I might want to try to incorporate into my ramblings. We'll see what happens in the coming days. In the meantime, I'll try to reset my body and replenish it with a few consecutive nights of restful sleep.

As the Weather Turns

Can we talk weather? I think I'm entitled to bitch about the weather here a few times a year.

So it's June in Vancouver and as much as I'd like to believe the hype, summer is clearly not here yet. Or rather it is, but it is being its usual manic Vancouver self. The day started off with some spirit in the form of a neighbourhood parade in honour of... well, in honour of the neighbourhood and all the businesses that make their home on my idyllic little street. It was a nice little bit of community spirit. A tad self-aggrandizing but aren't all parades like that to an extent? Besides, what else you gonna do at 9:30 on a Saturday morning? Sleep? Pah! Not if the sirens and bagpipes have anything to say about it.

The plan later that afternoon was to take a leisurely rollberblade around English Bay with Bilbo the Christian Cock. As you can see, the clouds got quite menacing and the pitter patter of the rain disuaded me of my humble ambitions.

So the afternoon turned out to be a bit of a wash. Just stayed indoors, pretended to mix some tunes and tooled around until it was time to head out to my private DJ mixing bonanza. I like to call this even the Meeting of the Minds. It was the first time I had gotten my little crew of miscreants together in one room. Talk about long overdue. The intention was to talk business and talk about the future of our DJ collective. Can't say we stayed focused in our conversations, but we got through the general gist of things. After our dinner meeting, we retired back to AJ's still rather spartan apartment in the burbs to throw down a very glitched-ridden, but interesting marathon mixset.

And that, friends, was my Saturday.

Blogging At Work - New Post Brainstormin'

I've kept a substantial backlog of musings to blog about but I've forgotten most of it due to the psychic purging that took place from finishing up my Fitness World trilogy.

So I need another day or so to regroup and will be back to converse about the almost fetishistic real estate culture in my fair city. It will either be an illuminating or poorly researched rant, likely the latter.

Fitness World: Scoping Chronicles Part 3 of 3

Welcome to my final (or is it?) segment of my gym babe oggling magnum opus.

Before I begin I would like to thank everyone for their support and for keeping their catcalls of "dirty old bastard" to a minimum. I would also like to pay tribute and give credit where it is properly due. In Part 2, I revealed to you the archetypes, the overdone "Make Up Monster" and the delectable "Large Parts". Both of these terms were originally coined by my good friend, who we'll refer to as Bilbo in order to protect the innocent. We'll be encountering even more terminology coined by my brilliant friend, who I should add, is a faithful Christian, unmarried and gets 20x more ass than I do. (I'm sorry, Bilbo, but even you must agree the irony is much too delicious to ignore) He is known with great reverence among our close-knit group of idiots as the Christian Cock. Check the headlines, you'll be hearing about this superhero very soon.

If I could perhaps add one final disclaimer, it would be to advise all my readers, men and especially my gentle female followers, that although there may be a hard kernel of truth to these demeaning categorizations, they are made in jest and cleary with tongue firmly planted in cheek. And whenever I say "tongue in cheek", I can't help but picture someone pantomiming fellatio with her tongue... Is it just me? Okay, it's just me.

Well, now that's out of the way, we really should get down to business. I really skimped on Part 2 and later realized that there are many more types of babes to talk about than I originally predicted.

On with the show!

Chunky Monkey
This one's easy. You may remember the pool of saliva I left at your feet when describing the Large Parts girl. Depending on my mood on any given day, I may on occasion mistake a Chunky Monkey for being a Large Parts, when in fact the lady in question is simply just borderline blubbery. Remember kids, if it looks like they've breached the body mold that God poured them into, then they no longer qualify as Large Parts.

I have no big beef against Chunky Monkeys. They are here for the same reason we all are, to get fit and to nurture their shakey sense of self-w9rth. We get into problems, however, when the Chunkies don't get that they are not yet in fabulous shape and wear gym attire unbefitting of their body measurements...

Stuffed Sausage
If you've lived in my city for any length of time, you've witnessed the phenomenon known as Lululemon. I won't get into too much detail but Lululemon is a local company that's been around for the better part of 10 years and specializes in yoga fitness wear. The trendiness of yoga, combined with Lulu's sleek styles and cachet, has made their various lines of tight pants and midriff-baring sport tops de rigeur fashion for every and all women in Vancouver.

No, scratch that. The clothing is available to all, of course, but there's only a select phylum of woman who should be seen in Lululemon clothing. For example, watching a Little Miss Breakable or a Large Parts pumping away on the stairmaster while dressed head to toe in skin-tight Lulu-wear is usually enough to pull the pin from the grenade in my pants. But to see a Stuffed Sausage waddle around in the same clothing is several shades worse than staring at the sun. We're talking optical poison here, folks.

Stuffed Sausage: picture it, shudder, shake it out, and move on.

Rape Me Factor
Alright, you're thinking I've crossed the line now. Before anyone gets up in a huff, let me just say that I do not condone rape of any kind, whether it be bodies or Third-world countries. Let me also say that this term is the creation of my genius friend, Bilbo. That's right, Bilbo the church boy! I love it! This guy is Christian and he sometimes outdoes me in the perv department. To be completely fair, I laughed my ass off when he first pointed out the Rape Me Factor and found it worthy of inclusion into this post.

These girls simply do not know when to stop. Rape Me Factors are quite often very young (17-20), so they are more apt to get their fashion cues from Cosmo, MuchMusic and their 18-year old idiot boyfriends rather than using their own good judgment, of which they have none. In their vain attempt to look "sexy", they will don shorts that are way too short and tops that are far too small. Combine that with their nubile, but still developing bodies, and you have something that simultaneously attracts and repels the eyes.

You'll only see these girls in gyms located in the most affluent parts of town. I don't think even these female numbnuts would have the balls to wear what they wear (or don't, in this case) in the less shiny neighbourhoods. Quite simply, they are begging for someone with a mustache to stalk them in a deserted parking garage.

Phone Maven aka. "No Sweat"
This girl works out without working out. She also spends way too much time yapping on her cell phone. You know the type. They'll be pedalling away on the stationary bike, level set to a challenging "1", and on a lengthy phone conversation that just can't wait. I've seen more of these chickies in the past when I used to patronize the local community centre gyms. I have yet to see a Phone Maven at Fitness World, probably because of the price tag attached to the place. Did you know that a drop-in session at Fitness World costs $15 for non-members? Insanity.

Getting back to the point, Phone Mavens usually don't need to be on the bike since they are often young, skinny Asian girls. They may be Toothpicks but more often fall somewhere in between a Skeletor and a Little Miss Breakable. Like, they are thin but they didn't work for it, so their muscle tone is lacking and may even harbour an impressive pooch instead of the soft, flat abs you'd get on a fitter chick.

You can also spot Phone Mavens out of the crowd by the tell-tale brain tumours hanging out their ear.

CBC Girl
No piece about gym babes would be complete without a few choice words about the CBC Girl. In case you're out of it, CBC stands for Canadian-Born Chinese. And let me tell you, the CBC honies I have seen thus far at Fitness World are in top, fighting form.

CBC Girls trump their overseas counterparts in a few key areas. First off, they've been raised in beautiful British Columbia (or pick your Canadian location of choice), replete with a steady diet of hormone-enhanced meats, fruits, veggies, dairy and water. Vancouver CBC Girls tend to nurture their already superior upbringing with an active lifestyle, frequent trips to the beach or tanning salon and a healthy sense of desirability.

CBC Girls and LMBs share the same body type, that is, small and tight.

Varsity Chick
You can tell a Varsity Chick by their university-emblazoned sweatshirts and other paraphernalia, as well as by their super athletic bodies. These girls are interesting in that they can attract your wandering eyes and also command a certain kind of respect. Whatever it is they train in, be it hockey, soccer, track and field... keep doing it, baby. Daddy likes.

Some of them may not be the prettiest girls on the block. In fact, most of them are pretty average in looks when you get right down to it. A few of the Fitness World staff look like they may have been Varsity Chicks in a past life. They make up for it, of course, with their battle-hardened heineys and the aura of being more low-maintenance, casual chicks.

G.I. Jane
Before you start picturing a buzz cut Demi Moore doing one-armed push-ups in the rain, I'll just tell you to stop right now. It's not what you think. I'm actually questioning whether I should even have this category, since I've only ever seen two or three woman at the gym that actually made me think the name, G.I. Jane.

These chickies mean business. They are no-nonsense gym users. Their bodies are rock-hard and they dress in Lulu-style clothing but tend to eschew the girly pinks and blues for blacks and army greens. Their breasts are also gigantic and almost out of proportion with their bodies and are most likely doctor-assisted. You'll find them wearing trucker-style caps pulled down low over their eyes, hair cinched into ponytails and the earbuds firmly planted in their ear. And yes, that would mean their iPod Nano is strapped to their arm, which always makes it look like they are monitoring their biometrics instead of just listening to music.

If you haven't pictured them in your head yet, these ladies strike an imposing form. Physically, they are very desirable, yet they are so business-like, so imposing, that only the bravest chump would even try picking them up. See these earbuds in my ear? Yeah, that means, "Don't talk to me, you're not here. Can't you see I'm sculpting my body to perfection? Don't talk to me."

No, I have not tried making idle chit chat with a G.I. Jane.

Lemonator
This is another easy one. If you've been following along at all, then you know Lululemon fashion figures heavily into the daily babe scenery of Vancouver. A Lemonator is a girl, usually a LMB, Large Parts, Toothpick Girl or CBC Girl that is draped head to toe in authentic Lululemon attire. They even carry a Lululemon bag around with them.

They're still hot and nice to look at. I just think you can go just a bit overboard with your love of a certain brand of clothing, no?

Scythables
Umm... hmmm. Um, well, this is another one of Bilbo's terms and it's almost more inappropriate. If you know the concept of the "butter" face, then you may be able to guess where Bilbo was going with the "scyth" thing. Yeah, it's kinda gross. God, Bilbo, you are such a freak. I take no responsibility for this!

And that, my furry little friends, is the end of my foray into the pig's trough of blogging. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it and hopefully my future wife never stumbles upon this blog. NEVER.

My eyes hurt. Time to retire and come back here with some clean posts once again.

Fitness World: Scoping Chronicles Part 2 of 3

It's here, people! It's midnight and I'm tired but I'll be damned if I don't at least get started on the highly awaited follow-up to my first post about Fitness World, which is easily the Starbucks of fitness clubs in my neck of the woods. To refresh your memory, you can look over the goods here and read my semi-sequel to that post about my girly arms.

Here it is, Part 2 of my continuing saga to visually molest every attractive girl I see at the gym. It sounds distasteful, because it is and it's the reality of all men who set foot inside the flesh pile that is Fitness World. Anything else is a full out lie! So I'm going to lay it all out here and now: I likey to appraise the many hot females at my gym. There are many, many archetypes and I've tried to distill it down to any girl at the gym who I'd take a second look at. So if you're perhaps looking for my analysis on the granny who reps a 2.5 lbs dumbell for five minutes before calling it a day or my take on the sweat-soaked yuppie dude on the stationary bicycle, you may be a little disappointed with the next 500 or so words.

With any luck, my superficial and demeaning terminology will catch on to our present zeitgeist and I'll become the next pop culture phenom. Stranger things have happened, no? To the post!

Little Miss Breakable
These gym girls are small, compact packages of sexual sin. They are usually not the most scantily clad bodies on the floor but you can bet they are up on the fitness fashion and are clad in at least 1 garment from Lululemon. Part of their appeal is directly attributable to their moniker. That is, in our more confident moments, we men have this bravado about our own "prowess" in the sack and in particular, with women who are small in stature and seemingly easier to "handle". Therein lies the origins of the name Little Miss Breakable, because many of these babes are so tiny and tight, the manly thrusts of our members would surely pummel their fragile bodies asunder.

This fantasy is of course preposterous on every conceivable level of physical possibility, not to mention the legal/moral implications of literally fucking a girl to pieces. *Ahem*, moving on...

Toothpick Girl aka "Skeletor"
This babe is essentially a Little Miss Breakable gone horribly wrong. Regular gym visits and a healthy diet are replaced with a dangerous flirting relationship with every girl's suitor tag team from Hell: Anorexia and Bulimia. I don't personally find these girls very arousing to gaze upon, although I may find the rare one who has a hint of actual hips or breasts or just a very pretty face. Since when does Lululemon produce loose-fitting, baggy clothing? Oh right, they don't. These girls are just freakin' skeletons. Some guys would jump at the chance to slide their shaft into a random, bony orifice, but not me. Next!

Blah Blonde
If you don't know me in "meat space" aka. the Real World, then you don't know my affinity for the stereotypical hot blonde. There is something about an attractive blonde woman that is hard to beat. It's that Aryan nation kind of poise and inherent superiority that somehow turns my crank like a madass, horny mofo.

That said, I've noticed that all gyms, not just Fitness World, are rife with the Blah Blonde. This is the blonde girl who has defied the laws of nature and has managed to not be attractive. Now this doesn't mean they are hideous to look at. They are simply very plain. They typically do not have a lot of tone and definition to their bodies, appearing rather square and blocky. Stubby limbs and a pale complexion usually completes the unsatisfying picture. Man, the paleness and freckles! Can someone please tell me why Blah Blondes are pale and have that rosy cheeked look that makes them look almost childish?

I've included these ladies on my list because they do have potential to be stone-cold hotties. That's why I keep seeing them at the gym sweating it out on the ellipticals with their obscenely red faces. They obviously want to get hot and Aryan on our asses. Ironically enough, almost all of these plain Jane blondes are actually real blondes, as opposed to their hotter counterparts who are more prone to sport the dye jobs.

Large Parts aka "Sexy Chunk"
Now we get into the good stuff. These type of babes are quickly rising up on my list of "ones to watch". A girl who qualifies as Large Parts probably embodies what is most widely desired by men when they go looking for a female playmate. Mainstream media would have you believe differently. I could describe these girls as being curvaceous, but that wouldn't do them justice. These days, "curvaceous" connotates fat and these girls are far from being the typical fat, sloppy chicks.

Imagine if you will a plastic mold of the female form, shaped to allow ample room for showcasing all the prime locations of excitation: tits n' ass. Then imagine that the almighty Creator then pours into this mold the meaty substance of our lady. The flesh is poured into the mold in abundance, stressing the limits of the mold but only enough to create an uneasy tension. The mold holds, so what we have at the end of this process is a body that is full, yet contained, tight yet pliable. And best of all, you are guarranteed a sizeable booty and decent rackage. Yeah, you heard me. RACKAGE.

Big, giant bonus points for a Large Parts who also happens to be a blonde and sporting a perfect cinnamon summer tan. These type of girls are quickly becoming my favourite, can you tell? God forbid I'm crossing a busy street one day and I spy one of these girls out the corner of my eye...

The only downside to these chicks lies in the future, when they may suddenly stop working out and spontaneously transform into sloppy fat chicks. The mold breaks and the blob inside expands and goes crazy.

Make-up Monster
The name says it all really. These gym babes do not quite understand the full concept of working out at a gym, and that is to exercise and get sweaty and filthy because you're exerting your body towards a physical, healthy goal. Reeking of perfume and caking on the eyeliner normally does not work to further this sort of objective. But there's no keeping the Make-up Monster down, oh no. They lay on the make-up and can sometimes be caught reapplying their rouge or whatever in the middle of their workout.

To be fair, most of these types often pick a fairly pleasant-smelling perfume to douse themselves with. They also tend to be fit, older women so they are obviously in a battle against the relentless forces of nature to retain their fading good looks. Basically, they are still worth scoping out. Just sometimes their obsession with image and their own insecurity only serves to make them look desperate and manufactured.

Time Fighter
I must give credit to the 2005 Uma Thurman romantic comedy vehicle, Prime, for this choice term! I haven't seen the movie, but I read a review that recounted the moment when a male character refers to our alluring, but aging protagonist hottie as a "time fighter". Brilliant!

Time Fighters are the Make-up Monsters minus the nauseating chemical overload. These women mean business. They are lean, they are cut and they probably leave you in their dust on the Grousse Grind. The elite Time Fighters are often yuppie MILFs who know what's fashionable to wear to the gym but are at least mature enough to have some class and not expose every nook and cranny of their immaculate bodies.

Sure, their skin shows the ravages of years of careless sun exposure and they show a little crows feet action in the facial regions, but who cares? They still look great and they have years of sexual shenanigans under their belts. Just imagining the bedroom scenarios are enough to get me in a tizzy as I use a mirrored pillar to sneak some sidelong glances at these mature lovelies.

And that, folks, concludes Part 2 of this series. If you're a woman, congratulations for still reading my blog. Join me for Part 3, where I will conclude my finely tuned analysis of Sporty Spice, Just Right, Phone Maven, G.I. Jane and many more!