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August 22, 2011
"I don't know whether to be turned on or terrified," I say to Jose.

He, like other friends I've informally polled at the gym, is of the mind that the chick with the body that's a cross between Madonna, David Beckham, and a length of polished caramel-colored marble, is "too much". This is quite something, given that we're all are insane enough ourselves to spend two hours at the gym every weekday morning.

Aloud, I agree with Jose and the others. But every time I see her, I feel like she's a crisp cookie and I'm a bowl of pudding.