Abracadabra
Two things you might not get about aboynamedstu from reading this or that. I'm pretty Type A personality wise, and as a result I exercise a lot to burn stress as well as suppress some of my more base tendencies. Mainly because I don't want to be a dick. To people I like. And love. Even strangers who don't need me being a dick to them because I'm impatient or wound too tight.
My system usually works fairly well, except in January when the health club is flooded with newbies who have resolved to get in shape in (insert the applicable year.) I realize I sound like a dick, when I write that, but really, I've been going to the same health club at lunch (and the same one on most weekends) at least 4 or 5 days a week for the last decade. Week by week. Month by month. I know traffic patterns, and cringe as January approaches knowing full well that the clubs attendance will spike for most of January, until all these resolute people give up, as they always do, and quit coming.
See. I sound like a dick. But I so want to scream, at the top of my lungs, the next time I walk into the over crowded locker room: "Would everyone just give up now, like you will in a few weeks!"
Alas, I do not do this, and instead walk from locker to locker, trying to find a place to stow my shit. The reason I walk from locker to locker, is another pet peeve of mine, health club wise. Most people, especially the newbies, don't put a lock on the locker where they stow their shit. So, I walk from locker to locker, trying to find one that is free, usually leaving the locker I've just opened, open, because I'm annoyed and want to fuck with the idiot who didn't lock up their shit in the first place.
The coup de grace though, for me, is how whichever locker I select, when it comes time for me to shower, and dress to leave, people on either side of me, will be doing the same thing. Seriously. There are over 100 lockers in the locker room, and by some fucked up reason that can probably be explained by math and or probability I'd never understand, the only 5 with activity are the ones all around me.
It makes me want to scream. Which is what I felt like doing the other day as I attempted to get ready to go back to work next to a newbie who, in all honesty, really did need to resolve to lose some weight. The guy was big. Fat big. And hairy. All sweaty. And worn slick from whatever exercise he had just done. And there I am, trying to dry off my body, and get dressed in record time to get away from him. It didn't help that I had chose a locker in a dead end part of the locker room so I was sandwiched by this behemoth on one side, and a big black man on the other. Adding insult to injury, the club was blaring an extended dance mix of Steve Miller's Abracadabra over their sound system. Fuck me. Who would ever want an extended mix of that song.
So there I stood, awkward personified, trying to dry my wet body and keep my junk covered up, while the newbie behemoth sat (nude mind you) on the bench trying to catch his breathe and cool down, and the black man on my other side took off his clothes.
I was pulling my pants on when the newbie behemoth finally got up, and I shit you not, staggered toward me, which resulted in his penis nearly slapping me on the leg. I was horrified. Grossed out. Annoyed. Pissed. Truly D. All of the above. And the look on my face said it all.
He to was embarrassed so he quickly stepped back into his personal space and said, "I'm sorry. I'm not gay. I'm clumsy."
Which is funny. Really funny, actually, and made funnier by the, 'fucking white people!?!?' look the black man gave us both.
Fast forward to that night, and I was telling the Team my wheels off health club story. Both My Lovely Bride and The Elder Boy laughed, hard, at it. The Younger Boy however, got a serious look on his face and asked, "Did he have an up penis?"
Which is Wyattese for an erection.
I nearly shit. And I'm happy to report that he in fact, did not have an up penis.
Until I BLOG again...I want to reach out and grab ya.
My system usually works fairly well, except in January when the health club is flooded with newbies who have resolved to get in shape in (insert the applicable year.) I realize I sound like a dick, when I write that, but really, I've been going to the same health club at lunch (and the same one on most weekends) at least 4 or 5 days a week for the last decade. Week by week. Month by month. I know traffic patterns, and cringe as January approaches knowing full well that the clubs attendance will spike for most of January, until all these resolute people give up, as they always do, and quit coming.
See. I sound like a dick. But I so want to scream, at the top of my lungs, the next time I walk into the over crowded locker room: "Would everyone just give up now, like you will in a few weeks!"
Alas, I do not do this, and instead walk from locker to locker, trying to find a place to stow my shit. The reason I walk from locker to locker, is another pet peeve of mine, health club wise. Most people, especially the newbies, don't put a lock on the locker where they stow their shit. So, I walk from locker to locker, trying to find one that is free, usually leaving the locker I've just opened, open, because I'm annoyed and want to fuck with the idiot who didn't lock up their shit in the first place.
The coup de grace though, for me, is how whichever locker I select, when it comes time for me to shower, and dress to leave, people on either side of me, will be doing the same thing. Seriously. There are over 100 lockers in the locker room, and by some fucked up reason that can probably be explained by math and or probability I'd never understand, the only 5 with activity are the ones all around me.
It makes me want to scream. Which is what I felt like doing the other day as I attempted to get ready to go back to work next to a newbie who, in all honesty, really did need to resolve to lose some weight. The guy was big. Fat big. And hairy. All sweaty. And worn slick from whatever exercise he had just done. And there I am, trying to dry off my body, and get dressed in record time to get away from him. It didn't help that I had chose a locker in a dead end part of the locker room so I was sandwiched by this behemoth on one side, and a big black man on the other. Adding insult to injury, the club was blaring an extended dance mix of Steve Miller's Abracadabra over their sound system. Fuck me. Who would ever want an extended mix of that song.
So there I stood, awkward personified, trying to dry my wet body and keep my junk covered up, while the newbie behemoth sat (nude mind you) on the bench trying to catch his breathe and cool down, and the black man on my other side took off his clothes.
I was pulling my pants on when the newbie behemoth finally got up, and I shit you not, staggered toward me, which resulted in his penis nearly slapping me on the leg. I was horrified. Grossed out. Annoyed. Pissed. Truly D. All of the above. And the look on my face said it all.
He to was embarrassed so he quickly stepped back into his personal space and said, "I'm sorry. I'm not gay. I'm clumsy."
Which is funny. Really funny, actually, and made funnier by the, 'fucking white people!?!?' look the black man gave us both.
Fast forward to that night, and I was telling the Team my wheels off health club story. Both My Lovely Bride and The Elder Boy laughed, hard, at it. The Younger Boy however, got a serious look on his face and asked, "Did he have an up penis?"
Which is Wyattese for an erection.
I nearly shit. And I'm happy to report that he in fact, did not have an up penis.
Until I BLOG again...I want to reach out and grab ya.
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