Stylin’ and Profilin’

I’ve been to the gym five times in the last five days, and in those five days I’ve somehow managed to GAIN four pounds. Feeling a little desperate when I looked at the scale, I considered taking my clothes off. But then I realized I was already naked. Then I considered trying to use the bathroom, but remembered I had already done that today. Feeling defeated, I realized the only thing left to do was to shave. Every little bit helps, right? Well, not exactly. The additional water in my hair after the shower added another .2 lbs. Though quite disapointing and unfortunate for me, I think it was more unfortunate for the scale. I’m taking comfort in the fact that inanimate objects don’t have feelings…and also that they can’t call the abuse hotline and report you for verbal and slight physical abuse. I swear I only kicked it once!

Anyway, now that I’m back into my gym routine (four pounds be damned!) I’ve been on the look out for the ever-popular Candy.  If you weren’t reading this blog back in October, you can catch up on Candy here.  Basically, she’s one of those girls that always wears the sexy workout ensemble with a face full of makeup and hair so blonde I could do a load of whites with a strand of her hair in place of Clorox. That’s Candy.

Well, Candy wasn’t there tonight. Instead, there was Bambi. (I apologize in advance if I offend anyone reading this whose name might be Candy or Bambi. These are just my go-to stripper names. I could use a different name if you’d like. Or, you could just change your name, which is really what I would recommend doing because honestly? You have a stripper name.) I had never seen Bambi at my gym before and unlike Candy, she was be-yooo-tiful. Think Vegas stripper rather than East-side stripper. Her butt was toned, her boobs were perfect(ly fake), and her long blonde hair didn’t require me to wear sunglasses when looking directly at it. I found myself thinking all of this as I walked behind her in the parking lot. And after about 30 seconds, I began to feel bad for assuming all skinny blondes with excessively long hair and (possibly) fake boobs are strippers. It’s a horrible stereotype and I should know better than to judge people based on appearances. What the hell is wrong with me anyway?

I climbed in my car, ashamed of myself, and began to back out. That’s when I noticed Bambi placing her gym bag in the trunk of a black Mercedes convertible, which can only mean one thing: Former stripper turned trophy wife to wealthy white-collar exec 20 years her senior. Damn, I would have made a great profiler. CSI? I’m waiting for your call.

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Cardio Capades

Well I decided to forgo yoga tonight and hit the gym instead. I figure, I’m paying for both, and since I can’t be in two places at once, I’ll go to the one I probably need more. So the treadmill won tonight. (Side note: Looking at how much money I spend per month on being healthy, one would be lead to believe that I am, indeed, healthy and in shape. Although I guess, technically, I am in shape. Like the guy I saw at Walmart, his t-shirt said, “I have the body of a God. Unfortunately it’s Buddha.” Gotta love those Walmart shoppers and their sense of humor.)

Back to the gym though…holy hell there are a lot of people that work out. Like, in general, a lot of people that work out in this world. And I’d guess 10% of them use my gym. So after circling the parking lot trying to find a decent spot (for safety people, not laziness) I hopped on the elliptical. Four minutes later (yes, I said FOUR minutes, not forty) I felt a pain on the right side of my groin. I suffered through another minute before switching to the treadmill.

Now, some might not believe this, but the treadmill is one of the best people watching spots in the world. It gives you the persona of someone that is just there to work out, but really, you’re scoping every single person that walks by. And, when you haven’t been there for about two to three months, like me, you try to pick out all the “regulars” and catch up, if only in your own mind, on their lives.

For example, I saw Candy tonight. For those that don’t remember my Candy posts from my old blog, let me fill you in. She’s about 5’5, bleach blonde, with rock hard abs and…cankles. Most people don’t notice the cankles, but when you’re reaching for some sort of bodily imperfection, well, sometimes all you can find are cankles. And butterface, but again, most people aren’t looking at her face either. The name Candy stems from her ability to sweat for an entire hour and still walk out smelling like she doused herself in a cotton candy machine. It’s true. I once stepped too close to her and nearly went into a diabetic coma from the sugary-sweet smell alone. It’s also my go-to name when envisioning a sub-par stripper or the name of one that performs in a circus side-show freak act. Trifecta!

So Candy was there and chatting up every single dude in the gym, as per usual. It seems she’s grown ever more popular since the last time I saw her. I’m sure it’s just her friendly nature. I ended up just a couple of treadmills down from her, which happened to be a huge mistake because it suddenly turned into the men’s water cooler hot spot. At one point, the giggling and laughing became so loud that I had to turn my iPod up just to drown out the noise. But, as luck would have it, there is no iPod volume loud enough to compete with that cackle laugh.

In addition to Candy, I also spotted Womanizer-with-the-Jay-Leno-Chin. He was up to his usual oogling. And of course there was Stinky McCurry – one to be avoided at all costs once he starts sweating – and scrawny-arms dude who actually managed to beef up a little bit in the last few months. I was quite impressed with his improvements. Of course, I also managed to beef up but not in the same way and with little to no effort. I doubt anyone was as impressed with my changes.

Hopefully I’ll be able to get back into a regular gym routine, but I should probably state now that I make no guarantees. When it comes to working out, I’m taking the “set the bar low and you won’t be such a big disappointment” approach. True pessimism at its heart. I like it that way.

On a completely unrelated note, can someone (in St. Louis) tell me what the hell is going on with the radio station Movin’ 101.1? I’ve heard nothing but Christmas music from them for the last 72 hours. It’s terribly confusing. In the shower this morning I started humming “have a holly jolly Christmas”. Someone needs to do something about it soon before I get committed for making obscene amounts of rum balls and gingerbread in mid-October. There’s also something eerily wrong with singing Little Drummer Boy when en route to a gruesome haunted house. That song will never be the same.

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