I’m here to lose pounds, not my sanity


Since we got the puppy a month ago, I have hardly done anything else but play and potty train.  So to celebrate his extra month alive and therefore his extra hour of bladder control, I went to the gym for the first time in weeks.

I know it’s exciting and all, but calm yourself down, people.

After completely exhausting my sadly flabby self, I went over to stretch out on the mats.  There was this too-cool hipster boy/man with a 1980s headband I could dig and green and red striped socks stretching near me.

I’m busy admiring his socks when the guy stands up, pulls the elastic band of his shorts away from his body (to the point where you could safely fit a football into the space) then takes his other hand and rearranges his balls, which I guess were stuck to his thigh because hipsters don’t wear underwear.  There are mirrors around, too, so he’s letting the whole gym see him grab his junk.  Whoa cowboy!  Not only that, but he then gets back on the weight machines.  So his sweaty-ball stained hands are now on the shoulder press. Eeeew.

How is touching your wee wee in public okay?  My little brother didn’t get away with it at the age of four.  Add twenty years to that and it’s not any better.  I don’t agree with the whole “rearranging” argument even when there are clothes as a barrier–this was too much.  Getting physical is a bad 80’s innuendo, not an invitation.  I left the gym praying I had sanitizer in the glove compartment for the suddenly very dirty feeling I had touching the door handle.  That was a new breed of dickweed for me, but there are lots them at the gym. Allow me the opportunity to lay out the bad etiquette that annoys the ever-loving shit out of me:

Top three dickweeds at the gym

1.  Girl on Cellphone.  Hey, self absorbed harpy.  Not only do I have to listen to your overly loud voice telling me all about how your parents/boyfriend/boss doesn’t ever give you money/admit giving you stds/let you talk on the phone, BUT you’re also taking up a piece of equipment so you can sit down and chat.  Move your ass.  Maybe walk outside so you exercise while you talk.  Maybe in front of that bus, okay?

2. Beefcake at the Mirror.  Yo, protein shake abuser.  Blocking all of the weight equipment because you need to make sure you grunt prettily is lame.  And every dumbbell you’ve ever touched is not yours.  If you’re too busy standing there to do another set with that weight I need in the next five minutes, put it up.  I’m not your fucking mother, and no muscular arms or neck make up for a flabby belly or small penis. You are not that badass.

3.  Secret Stanksville.  Hey you–cologne de butt crack.  I know we’re at a gym and you’re allowed to get sweaty and stinky, but don’t come in with the same shorts you’ve worn for four days now without washing them.  I don’t care if you’re just going to get them dirty again.  Suck it up and do the wash like a real man, because I should not have to fight nausea at the merest whiff of you.  (also related are the Silent Deadlies, who give off nasty farts and walk away.  Not. cool. dude.)

Other annoying habits:

Slutsville:  If you’re at a gym and I see your thong sticking out and breast that are barely covered or any sequins at all while you exercise in erotic yet super slow speeds, get bent.  You’re trolling, not working out, so get off the damned elliptical so I can work on it.  Go bother Beefcake.  You’ll boost his ego.

Slugtrain:  I don’t know what awful slime you have in your hair, or if you just really like jericurl, but when the headrest is still wet 20 minutes later, that’s just wrong. Bring a towel.

Waterhogs:  Do you remember in kindergarten when your teacher told you that you could drink til the count of 10 and then you had to move so the next person could get a drink?  Rule still applies, jackass.  And get your lips off the faucet, douche canoe.

Hungry Eyes:  When the Zumba class comes in and you just casually wander back and forth between two machines, you’re not fooling anyone.  We all see you’re a cheap horndog in denial. Spend that gym membership money on a lap dance and help some poor girl through college, for god sake.

Do you have your own brand of gym jerk?


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