The very last place you should go on a day when every darn thing under the sun grinds your gears is the gym. Against my better judgment I went there the other night. Night, as in, 11:00 p.m. As in, one hour before midnight. As in, the time when I should have been watching Friends reruns and eating Dove dark chocolate. But instead I decided to work out because it has recently come to my attention that if you don't want your ass to touch the backs of your knees or your arms to flap about wildly in the wind, you actually have to do something about it. You can't just bitch about not looking like a Victoria's Secret model while simultaneously shoving a block of cheese and a cream filled donut into your mouth.
Typically, I prefer running around my neighborhood, but given the late hour the husband thought it unwise to jaunt about with the rapists and murderers (one time I ran by the creepy creepers who hang out at the Taco Bell and the husband was not pleased).
On a regular day, the gym pisses me off. Primarily because I am the only one who sweats there. (If I owned a gym our motto would be, "If you don't sweat, you're doing it wrong. Also? Get out.") You should see the looks people give me. Disgusted, they are. Absolutely disgusted. Granted, I have no idea how I manage to sweat 10 times more in an air conditioned building than I do in the Florida humidity (just blessed, I guess), but are the looks really necessary?
It's a little (okay, a lot of) sweat, people. Not a spontaneous outbreak of leprosy. You can relax. I'm not going to get any of my disgusting salty drippings on you (though I am tempted to ring out my hair over your pimple-bedazzled back. Lay off the 'roids dude. Haven't you heard what they do to your jewels? We're talking raisins. RAISINS.)
Tonight, I came to a startling realization. The sole reason some women join a gym is to meet a man (yes, I realize I am the last person on the planet to become aware of this). It's not that I judge them (yes I do) or something I wouldn't do too if I were single (no I wouldn't), it's just that come on. At least try to make it look like you're there to work out.
They could start by removing the fake eyelashes. I have to believe that all that lash impedes their ability to appropriately assess the bicep situation in the free weights area. Just imagine what would happen if
the glue came loose, causing the lashes to dangle from Lashy McLasherton's lid and partially obstruct her view. She could end up selecting a guy whose brain is bigger than his deltoid.
Listen, I understand that if you're in the market for a guy, you don't want to reach the level of DEFCON disgustingness that I so effortlessly achieve. But is it too much to ask to tame ALL. THAT. HAIR.? And is it really necessary to have SO. MUCH. BOOB.? This isn't an attack on well-endowed ladies. Big or small, I take issue with boobs that are IN. MY. FACE. If I'm distracted by it (and I don't even want to get with it) I don't know how the men are even able to function (I think I just realized the actual reason for all the grunting).
Also, can the employees please stop molesting each other while behind the front desk? I haven't taken a gander at your employee handbook but I'm pretty sure it says that all shoulder rubs must be done during your fifteen minute break (actually, it probably says 'don't touch your coworkers because it's sexual harassment and AGAINST THE LAW.)
Honestly, I should just stop going to the gym. Clearly I can't handle it. On my way out, the girl behind the counter said, "See you later, girl." To which I responded, "Thank you."
Because the appropriate response when someone says, "bye" is to thank them.
No sound actually came out when I said the words, because what? people are supposed to hear us when we talk?! I'm not sure if it was a good thing or not. On the one hand, she didn't hear my stupid response. On the other hand, I resembled a fish who had the unfortunate experience of being introduced to oxygen.
Next time, I choose the Taco Bell creeps.
I realize this makes me sound like a big bitter bitch, and I promise I'm not. I was just in a SUPER bad mood that day and everything was pissing me off. Two days later I went back to the gym and was all, "look at all these amazing people trying to get healthy and better their lives! look at how effortlessly they climb those stairs and lift those weights. and not a drop of sweat! how beautiful they are. I LOVE ALL THESE PEOPLE!"
A huge special thanks to TriGirl for her guest post! If you haven't read It's Genetic, DO IT NOW!