In Which It's Time To Drop Those Cookies And Give Me 20  

Okay, so it's January 5th and you know what that means. Time to get back to the gym.

UGH!

The last month was hit or miss with me, mainly miss. Like everyone else on this blue planet I had ever intention of getting back to my routine...your routine... ANY routine, but we were on vacation, the holidays were fast approaching, the dog ate my sweat pants...

Now it's over a month and my wack-ass hip joint is absolutely furious with me and won't stop whining. Even alcohol won't placate the crazy bee-yatch. Believe me, I've tried. It's gotten so bad I look and sound like the Crypt Keeper rattling up out of my chair all hunched over and hideous.

I hate him.

Anywho, this week I've started anew. I have to say I love my gym. It's clean, well maintained and cheapcheapCHEAP!

Holla!!

And perhaps best of all, it's not a meat market. People are there to work out. Period. That seems a little redundant, doesn't it? I use a (.) then write "period".

But I digress.

The point is muscle-bound, numb nuts aren't chatting up wafer-thin, bubble-headed bleached blondes in dire need of a hoagie, trying to impress them with their best "which way's the beach" none-too-subtle bicep curl. No one's hitting on anyone. Okay, except this one time early on when this old guy tried to get a little friendly with me. I had to shut him down. Come on. Besides the fact that, HELLO? I'm married. Not interested... he was like, in his sixties and SHORT, like way short, like a wee l'il man from the Irish Isle short. Ewwwwww. And what is it about short dudes trying to scale Mount Murray?!? Not gonna happen, Dude. Not gonna happen.

Again, I digress...

I like to grab my book, pop in my iPod headphones cranked loud enough to block the piped music (seriously bad BAD music they play there) and hop on various muscle ripping machines which will render me unable to lift a flick of lint off the carpet later in the day because... it's FUN and good for you!!

Anywho there are several regulars that I've sort of missed in my Absinthe...er, I mean absence. There's this petite woman who is there All.The.Time. Every time I see her, Jill Sobule's song "Lucy at the Gym" runs through my head, except I don't think my Lucy has an eating disorder just an off-putting glare.



She has amazingly defined guns like Madonna, minus a nasty bulging vein or two. She whips those 45lb dumbbells around like a guy. Sometimes I check to make sure she's not packing, if you know what I mean. She's in incredible shape. I think she's in her forties. But Jesus, Good God if she's younger don't tell her I said she was older! She'll beat the living shit out of me without breaking a sweat!!

I fear her.

Then there's this short, handsome youngster ripped like Jesus, who I swear is so into himself he steals a kiss on his own tattooed bicep each time he does a curl. *muah* Mirror Mirror on the wall...

What is with all the tattoos? Seriously. I thought they died down, but Holy Crap I'm just about the only chick in the place outside of Grandma that isn't inked. And I'm not so sure Grandma hasn't got herself a big ole tramp stamp under her baggy velour pants.

Then there's this other perpetually tanned, bald guy who has a prominent shuffle and faraway stare. I'm not sure what the deal is with him. He may be suffering from some sort of neurological ailment, and I feel like a horrible person saying this, but he creeps me out. Big time. When he's there, he's at the gym forEVER. And he always without fail is hanging out, sitting on the machine I want to use. He's downright peculiar. And yet, as much as he creeps me out, when he's not around I worry something happened to him.

Wait..What??? I know. Makes no sense at all. Probably just some residual ex-Catholic guilt.

Then there's Odoriferous Man who reeks so badly he could be a new villain on Batman. Not even exaggerating there. Serious funkadelic happening. Makes me wish odors emitted color schemes so you can see it and give a W-I-D-E berth. He needs a cape and a daunting theme song when he enters.

So, to recap, this week I successfully dragged my unruly mop-topped, bed head, boney ass to the gym twice! Yee Haw!!! I'm on a roll, BABY! Good thing, too because tonight is the first of our monthly wine flights. You know the ones where we sample four full glasses of themed wines in about 45 minutes before we're cut loose to give the city a drunken reach around.

Yeah. That should keep that little bastard hip joint mollified and happy.