This is what happens when my suburban friends invite me to their home with their giant flat screen TV and videos on demand: we wait for their kids to go to bed, we drink copious amounts of beer, and then we all heave yourselves onto a couch and watch music videos. Because MTV did something to us when we were kids and now it's not enough to just listen to music; we have to SEE it, too. And, for different reasons, each of us is riveted to the TV screen and pointing limply and asking each other, "Duuuuuude. Did you SEE that?" Because Shakira is moving in ways that humans shouldn't be allowed to move.

And then I go home and the next day, I download her songs onto my iPod and I take her to the gym with me. And I run on an elliptical machine like I OWN IT because I think I might be able to look like Shakira one day if I just listen to her song while having my arms pumped up and down by a giant fan with foot pedals. And I justify this repetitive, inane-looking exercise with the thought that, probably, before her singing career was launched, Shakira used to sit at a computer for 9 hours a day and she got that awesome body by using an elliptical machine for 20 minutes three times a week. Yup, probably.

And I become so convinced that all it's going to take for me to be able to wear a cut up bodysuit in public (or to work! I've earned it!) is a few more weeks of pumping cable weights while that weird Leprechaun looking dude with the black dress socks pulled halfway up his calves works out on the machine next to me.

And then I go shopping with CLH and I buy $145 worth of who knows what at Trader Joe's and I while updating my blog, from my laptop in bed, I shove handful after handful of (delicious, delicious) Sesame Seaweed Rice Balls into my mouth. And I decide that maybe the whole bodysuit in public thing is overrated.