I saw this one bitch's vulva at the gym tonight.

I know that I tend to hyperbolize things sometimes. But not as often as you'd think though. As sad as it, the majority of this shit actually does happen to me. Most of it is true.

Anyways, I saw this one bitch's vulva tonight at the gym. That's right. I saw enough into her snatch to see her actual vulva.

WHY was I looking at her snatch you ask? You ask this because you know I'm not one to actively seek out snatch and for the most part I tell people to put it away. See here. I saw homegirl's vagina because she felt it necessary to show it to everyone.

HOW you ask? Which you really shouldn't do because that shit looked straight up like a beef-n-cheddar from the Arby's. Not cute.

Homegirl had on the shortest shorts I think I've ever seen a person wear in public. Aaaand her legs won't even that cute. (For this to have the full effect you need to imagine me pursing my lips, snaking my head, and pointing in some abstract direction.) She was in the 'Knockout' class which is a synonym for that dumb kickboxing shit. In this class they begin by stretching, by bending over and touching the floor.

I'm not sure if you ever watched 'BET After Dark' in the late 90's when they had Too-Short on (They may still do this. I don't know. I saw it once and was scarred for life. Why was a 17 year old white girl watching 'BET After Dark' in 1999 you want to know? Two words: STUPID BOYFRIEND. I'm getting off-topic here. Plus my high school was kind of ghetto and he was kind of in a 'black girl' phase. Yes, I am aware I am white.) but the one time I did see it for a split second I saw this black girl with a giant ass and a g-string bend over and her thong went up the crack of her hoo-haa and you saw her labia hanging out the sides. Both major and minor. It was kind-of like when you get on a rollercoaster and they warn you to keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times except no one warned anybody and EVERYBODY was hanging out the both sides of the cart.

Shudder.

From the room in which I take spin class, you have a downward prospective over the entire gym because you go up about half a flight of stairs to get into the room. So everyone on the bikes tonight in the 5:45 class saw homegirl's vulva. And so did the person behind her. Because she was having a wardrobe malfunction of great magnitude unless she meant to do that on purpose; if that is the case I believe she may be deluded about what kind of establishment our gym is. But here's the kicker. Did she stand up and pick her shorts out of her hoo-haa? No. She continued to repeatedly bend over and stretch and further her frontal wedgie (Yes boys, it is a thing.). I halfway expected her shorts to become a wedge and split her in half up to her ribcage. Every time she went to bend over everyone in the spin room cringed and leaned to their left to get further away from it.

But that's the problem with stationary bikes. No matter what the horror, you aren't going to get very far.

Breasts are not conducive to push-ups.

*<i>This is like the 9th re-try of this post. I kept screwing up the formatting. Sorry bout that.</i>

Because I cannot fetch a proper relationship I've been attending this weight lifting class. Actually I've been attending this weight-lifting class to tone and firm my body but I'm doing that for the aforementioned reason so there you go.

Please see my last post on whether or not I need/want a relationship. It's not that I really want one, I just feel that I need one. Mostly because I wake up in the mornings and find my uterus doing a jig at the end of my bed sticking its tongue out at me with its thumbs in its ears and proving yet again that I still suck at life. SCORE! Before you ask, yes I do find it odd that my uterus has ears. I don't know either.

And I feel that if I am indeed going to be reproductively successful I'd like to have a partner to do that with because we, as humans, have the reproductive strategy that benefits from the pairing of two individuals in order to raise a tiny human. And someone else is going to have to change the tiny human when it poops because I am not doing that. I am currently accepting applications for 'Tiny Human Collector of Poo.'

So I've decided once again that I'm single because I'm fat and not because I'm fucked up as a football bat. I do so enjoy making these decisions.

Except damn ya'll, I'm getting kind of HAWT. I hate to brag but damn. The waist keeps getting smaller and while as yet the bust is shrinking it looks bigger because my waist is smaller and my ass is just getting higher and tighter. God I look like Gena Lollobrigida (I have no clue how to spell this). Doesn't that suck? MWA HA HAA, Right, yes it does actually because I look like that in this, the 21st century. You menfolk think I'm fat.

Frack the lot of you.

Anyways. SO I'm doing this weight lifting class. And for our chest we do these flys with free weights and then about 9 million push-ups. And in the midst of doing these 9-million push-ups I glance into to the mirror and guess who I see in said mirror on the stair master staring into said room?

Oh that would be Sex-on-Skates.

Maybe you do not have awesome breasts. I do. Maybe you can do multiple push-ups. I cannot. I can do a bajillion flys and and a bajillion bench presses but apparently if I was dying and had to support my upper body weight with my T-Rex arms I'd die in about a minute and a half. Mebbe just a minute. They're awesome, my breasts, but it sucks trying to move them. I mean I can do it. I amm hardcore. I just cannot do it often right now. Because I'm a girl. And I have T-Rex arms. And breasts.

So anyways that is my opinion on why breasts are not conducive to push-ups and I don't think that I should have to do them. Not that I do a lot of them to begin with but still.

I'll leave you with this lasting thought: You know those uber-hard-core muscle bound women on those fitness shows that can do one-handed push-ups and all the other assorted sundry push-up type things? Do they have attractive breasts? Do they even have breasts at all?

Ooh! I just thought of something else! Chickens! Chickens have significant breasts, because they're genetically modified but still, and they cannot do push-ups either!

There you go. Conclusive proof that if you have breasts, you cannot do push-ups.

Why I will not whine about weight lifting class again.

Here's a quick update on 'the-thing-which-I-cannot-not-speak-of': Apparently basketball camp is important but as my HILARIOUS friend Mickey told me the other day 'What? He cannot leave campus ever? He can't go to the Burlington Coat Factory? He can't go to the DOMINOES? Whatever. Tell him to make time for you.' it's not thaaaaaaaaat important. Seriously I should quit speaking of this, eventually I'll have to tell him about this blog and then I'll have to go back and redact all of the parts that I mention the 'the-thing-of-which-I-cannot-speak-of' and then those posts will just be utter nonsense and then I won't be near as funny as I think I am which is probably the case anyways but the point of all this is that 'the-thing-of-which-I-cannot-speak-of' SEEMS to be progressing along at a nice pace. But ya'll keep your fingers crossed and the prayers coming (Yes I realize that it is somewhat hypocritical for people to be praying that I continue to get laid but come on! I NEED this. I need to have some sort of physical interaction with another human on a regular basis so that I know that I am indeed a member of the human race because sometimes it seems as if I'm just wandering around as this asexual plant type thing even though I couldn't even be a plant as plants actually get to have sex! So that would make me one of those weird ameobic things that reproduces by budding itself off of itself, which don't get me wrong I don't see how the world having another me would be a bad thing but whatever. Gee I'm really tangential this evening aren't I? I apologize for that.) that this continues to work out nicely for me at least through basketball season. Of which I must admit I am very excited. Jesus I NEED TO SHUT UP.

Now I will continue the normally scheduled blog post about why my new favorite thing is my power lifting class at the gym.

Four words: My ass is phenomenal.

For serious ya'll those 9 bajillion squats they make you do that make you see stars are actually doing something for meeeeeee. My ass has never looked this amazing in it's 25 years of existence. Shut up I am too only 25. I was just really smart in high school and finished early. Sucks to be you, I know.

Normally I bitch about going to this class because I have yet to understand why people would put themselves through that much physical, actual torture and now I know why. To get a great ass. I kind of see the point in running/spinning until you want to puke because eventually those endorphins kick in and you could literally run 'til you puke but that does not happen in power lifting. The only hormones that show up there are the ones that realize there is way too much lactic acid being produced and that you need to chill the fuck out, drink some water and put down that heavy ass bar and eat some pizza. If that is indeed a hormone that does that; it may just be a regular chemical or something I don't know. I was always to lazy to really take to those signaling pathways.

Sooooo it just goes to show you, well me really, that with a little effort and some determination one can achieve their goals.

I'd still rather eat dirt than do shoulder presses though. Those can eat a dick.

You want me to do what exactly?

The other day my trainer (I know, I know.) wanted/expected me to climb the rock wall in our gym for exercise. I protested and he wanted to know why.

Nevermind the fact that I have T-rex arms, you know the whole 'teeny arms that cannot support body weight' argument, but have you seen a rock climbing harness? They're hideous.

Look at her ass? It's like right there.

He of course wanted to know why. So for the first time in our relationship as trainer and trainee I was painfully honest.

I told him that I was not climbing the rock wall because I was not putting on that god awful rock climbing harness. "I've seen people in these things and if you think I'm going to put my ass in that contraption and scutter up a wall for God and all of his creatures to see, you're crazy." I have a nice ass. I know this because I notice people noticing it in an admirable fashion not in a 'oh my God, that's a big ass' fashion. You can tell the difference because the former is has a subtle affirmative head nod and the latter carries an expression of widened eyes and a slightly agape mouth. But I've seen fat people at our gym in the rock climbing harness and it's less than flattering. (I tried really hard to find a picture of a fat person in a rock climbing harness and the google has failed me yet again.) This is why there are people out there that free climb. They've realized how hideous their nether parts look in a rock climbing harness and they've made the proper fashion choice and left the fucking harness at home.

He was less than pleased but I didn't climb the damn wall.

Fine, you do not want to go to gym. I will punish you with this blaring alarm.

I had the best of intentions this morning. I was going to the gym after work. Then work actually happened. After that, the bus ride home. By the end of that adventure I was in no mood to do anything but eat, flop around on the couch and watch re-runs of Mad Men to see Don Draper (Who I'm very afraid that I may be developing actual feelings for. It's scary, I know.).

Apparently God was angry with my choice.

The exact minute that I had on my pajamas, had my dinner laid out before me, lounging under my blanket, with the credits to Mad Men rolling, Voila! Yes, that aggravating noise would be the building fire alarm.

I spent some time in the industrial setting working in an actual factory where there are literally 12 different alarms for everything ranging from a CO2 dump (To extinguish a fire on a machine.) to an alarm for tornadoes and heavy winds. You haven't heard annoying until the wailing cacophony of the same note falling flat and rising sharp in rapid succession for minutes on end. But I will say this about our fire alarms; our fire alarm has the added bonus of a very pleasant woman coming on to tell us that 'A fire has been detected on an adjacent floor. Please be ready to evacuate if needed.' This is in addition to the aggravating siren like wailing of the alarm.

Of course the cat goes ape-shit and dives under my roomate's bed. For the first several minutes I continued to eat my dinner and listen to this nice woman repeatedly tell me that at some poorly defined point in the future I may need to evacuate. Then I decided that maybe I should ready myself and the cat. I put my real clothes back on (Look if I am caught outside of the apartment building while it burns to the ground I'm reasonably sure that Sex on Skates will be there and I can't be caught in my oh-so-alluring holey plaid pajama pants. He may want to seek solace in my arms and I need to be looking my best for that.) and go to fetch the cat. I never did find her cat carrier so I guess if I had ever managed to get her out from under the bed I would've just dumped her in a pillow case. To be safe I texted my roomate that the building was on fire and told him his cat loved him. I neglected to mention my plan of tossing her in the shower and shutting the doors with the water on to protect her from the encroaching flames.

As it turns out, some asshat set their microwave to the 'Manhattan Project' setting to cook their popcorn. The building never was on fire and avoided burning down. For 15 minutes I listened to the nice woman tell me over the intercom system to get ready to evacuate. Do you know what that accomplishes? Absolutely nothing. What do I do once I'm prepared to evacuate? Do I actually evacuate or do I just stand around waiting on her instructions? And how prepared do I need to be? Is this a drop everything and run emergency or do I have time to grab some things? Will there be a follow up message of an equally polite woman directing me to evacuate? Or will it be some maniac screaming 'Run for your lives!' and 'Please take the stairs in case of emergency'?

Wouldn't it just be simpler to direct people to evacuate? It seems to me they're sending a somewhat ambiguous message. 'You may have to evacuate but we're not really sure where the fire is yet or if there is a fire or hell, it may just be a blip in the system, but keep on the lookout just in case. And remember, rent is past-due after the 5th!' In public school they send you outside no matter what, shouldn't the same principle be applied here?

I ask you, in the case of fires is there really room for ambiguity?

And then I looked at the girl next to me and said "People do this for fun?!"

Apparently one of the things that I wasn't aware of, was that I, Anna Gray, am a glutton for punishment. For some reason I thought it would be beneficial to me to go to 'Power Yoga' on Monday night.

Let me start off by saying that I'm not big on all the hippy mushiness of yoga and breathing and blah blah blah. But I heard my spin instructor talking about what a good class it is and since I'm trying to look like her I figured, What the hey? It can't be too bad right? I mean I did do ballet for 13 years and I'm one of the more flexible people I know.

I was wrong. Yoga is evil. It is Wednesday and my hamstrings still scream at me when I even think about using the stairs or proceed up a gentle slope or graduated incline. Granted I went to spin class before yoga but I figure at this point my legs are used to spinning for 50 minutes. That's no biggie, but this yoga class. Yeouza.

Anyways this was the narrative of yoga class:

Breathe, hold, exhale,

fold, 

standing dog, 

lower, 

exhale (Somehow I missed inhaling. I don't know.), hold, 

whisper down, 

low dog, 

hold, breathe,

warrior king,

exhale, hold, breathe,

retching rabbit,

hold, exhale, breathe,

skipping shrimp,

hold, exhale, breathe,

'This is a tough one!'

Pimply Penguins Punching Pineapples,

hold,

'For my arm balancers, here we go'

(There are yahoos out there that can balance their whole body weight on 2 fingers of their left hand and the thumb of their right. For serious?)

hold, hold, hold, Exhale,

whisper down,

low dog, 

fold, 

come up, 

standing dog,

. . .    . . .

and on and on in a similar fashion in rapid succession for an HOUR.

At some point she came by to hold me up. I believe this was during the exercise where we grabbed our big toe on the opposite foot behind our back with the first two fingers of whatever hand wasn't on the floor. I'm not sure if you've ever tried this but I was not aware that it was humanly possible to fall over 14 times in less than 60 seconds and it's called something asinine and self-reassuring like: relaxing swan. I figured that at some point my body would yield and I could do this. Nooooooooo. Not at all. In fact the only thing that my body was doing was having a dialogue with me I cannot publish here because it is simply too vulgar and profane.

I felt muscles burn like they had never burned before, and I did 13 years of ballet mind you. I wanted to be a ballerina. Professional ballerina. Granted that all went way when I hit puberty and it was apparent that I was never again going to be able to pirouette without tipping over, but still the point is that I put myself through some grueling shit. And none of it compares to the flim-flam of yoga and the anthropomorphic animal poses that really should be called 'Go ahead and cry now because you'll need to save your energy to get out of the ridiculous pose you get yourself into later.' Things that accurately portray whats going on like:

Sweat-drenched Pretzel

Sobbing Adult

Just Go Ahead and Remove Your Leg From Your Hip Socket

Repeat above exercise with your arms

Dead Warrior

and 

Paralyzed Person

It was halfway through the class when we were standing on one arm and one leg with the others flying in the breeze somewhere that I looked over at my spin instructor and asked two questions:

'People do this for fun?'

and

'Make sure they take me to Forsyth. Will you?'

My latest gripe.

Because you know I've always got one, I am going to tell you about my latest gripe. I'll give you some time to get comfortable and mutter under your breath some snide remark about how I've always got some crisis going on. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Ahem.

I have been to spin class for 4 consecutive days this week. 4 days. That means I've riden close to 60 miles this week. Yesterday I made a puddle of sweat around the bike. For serious. It was kind of gross. (If I ever do snap and actually kill someone and after I've fled the country, because it's stupid to hang around after you've killed someone, they'll totally be able to get my DNA off that bike. Blegh.) Today I weighed myself and I HAVE GAINED SIX TENTHS OF A POUND. What the HELL IS THAT ABOUT?

And I swear the next person that looks at me and says "Muscle weighs more than fat," well, we're going to test that theory. I'm going to punch you in the face and then we can see how much muscle I've gained.

Obviously my body is stupid. Not only do I have an itching/sweating disease, an extra sex chromosome that we suspect may be a Y (which would explain my comittment issues and my ability to make people feel cheap and tawdry) and a worm in my head, MY METABOLISM HAS QUIT! I'm constantly hungry and granted I haven't been eating super great but I am sorry. You cannot exercise on 3 brussels sprouts that have thought about butter without actually coming into contact with it and an apple sauce cup. I've tried. I almost died.

Apparently I'm not working hard enough. I'm not exactly sure how, but maybe I need to run 43,000 miles after 45 minutes of spin to lose a few pounds. Or I could just quit eating.

Maybe I'll develop a drug habit.

I hear crackheads are pretty skinny. And I wouldn't mind losing my teeth as long as I could get fake ones. They make some really good replicas and they don't get cavities. Which will be beneficial once I have my crack habit good and running because crackheads also eat a lot of candy. Not that I like a lot of candy but I'm sure that will change once I'm jonesing for some crack, I'm sure that I'll take any candy that I come across. Or I could be like that girl in that Cheech & Chong movie and snort Ajax off the counter. Although that doesn't seem healthy?

Listen to me, I'm praising the weight-loss value of Crack and criticizing someone for snorting Ajax off of a counter. I should chastize myself.

But Hey, I'm not that crazy.

An open letter to the annoying girl in my spin class. Again.

Hello there. Again.

I realize that this time I goofed up. I spoke to you first. But that was to tell you to not ride the bike that was out of order, since you clearly cannot read. It was not an invitation for you to sit next to me, thus putting all four of the people in the class in a row. Thank God I have enough good sense to sit on the end. Speaking of good sense,

I do admire the change in your attire and that your hair is looking much better these days, but you're still a chatty Kathy and that just has to stop. I cannot talk and spin. Mostly because as stated before I am working HARD.

Stop trying to be cute. She clearly said "Abs" because when the instructor refers to our "Ass" she calls it "Glutes." If I didn't know any better I would think you were hitting on me. But you're clearly hetero because you've got progeny.

And must you continue to mention your children? Are you trying to give my uterus a complex? Seriously? I DO NOT CARE THAT YOU HAVE CHILDREN.

NO NO NO! I do not care! Just shut up and go away! YOU SMELL FUNNY ANYWAYS! ALTHOUGH THAT'S PROBABLY THE SCENT OF YOUR UTERUS BEING USED! SINCE YOU CLEARLY HAVE CHILDREN! AND I OBVIOUSLY DO NOT! YOU'VE PROBABLY GOT ANOTHER CHILD GROWING IN THAT WOMB-O-PLENTY. IF YOU WERE A CHICKEN YOU WOULD BE ONE OF THOSE CHICKENS THAT LAYS DOUBLE EGGS BECAUSE YOU'RE SUPER FERTILE OR SOMETHING. QUIT TALKING TO ME! I CANNOT TALK and SPIN at the same time!

REMEMBER THE STROKE! Oh look! I'M HAVING ANOTHER ONE.

EGHGHHHH HUUUNNNNH EEEWWWWWUUUUUU
Translation: I hate you. I hate you for reminding me that my love life is non-functional and for reminding me that I am no closer to having children than the last time you were here. I hate you for being here. I hate you for being ugly and having a horrible fashion sense. Couldn't you just go away and pick a different class? Why didn't you come to the earlier class? Why do you continue to talk to me when I clearly do not talk back to you?

WWWHHHHHHIIIIUUUUNNNNNHHHHHH
Translation: Oh god.


NNNNNNNNNUUUUUUUUUUIIIIIIIIII GGGGGGNNNNNN
Translation: Maury Povich called. He thinks he's found your third child's baby daddy. He's narrowed the search down to the last 14 people you've slept with. His production crew never could find that circus carney with the three teeth and vestigial leg. No offense to circus carneys.

No, there's no need to call the ambulance. I'm okay. Really. Although, if you aren't going to use that workout towel can I use it to wipe the blood out of my ears?

Sincerely,
Anna

An open letter to the annoying girl in my spin class:

Ahem.

I understand that you are new to the concept of spin class. Mostly because you showed up late, which is extremely tacky.

But here are a few things to remember:

1. Be Prompt! You cannot show up 20 minutes into class and then whine when I tell you that you still have at least another 20 minutes 5 minutes later when you ask me how much is left.

2. There are plenty of open bikes in the room. People in spin class do not sit next to each unless they: A) Know one another. or B) The room is full. Just because I look friendly does not mean you need to sit beside me. It's a lot like if we were men (which we aren't. Well I'm not. I'm assuming you aren't either because you have breasts and really ratty stringy long hair that suggests you are a woman but seriously...What self-respecting woman would let her hair look like that? Plus I don't like to assume things. It gets me in trouble.) and were in an empty bathroom and you came in and had to use the direct urinal beside mine, even though the rest of them are empty. It's creepy and weird. We space ourselves out for a reason. It gets incredibly hot. 5 people in an enclosed room riding a bike for 45 minutes generates lots of heat. Not to mention that when you sit beside me it cuts off my airflow from the fan. GO AWAY.

3. If you are able to hold a conversation you are clearly not working hard enough. You've already asked me how often I come and you now know that I come to spin class at least 4 days a week, most weeks 5 days. You know that I am clearly serious and committed to a fitness goal. This should clue you into the fact that I am working hard and cannot talk. This could also be recognized by my pained expression and inability to complete sentences. Just because you are lazy and unmotivated does not indicate that I am as well. (Whether or not I am lazy is not the subject of discussion at this moment in time.) And no I do not want to tell you which specific spin class sessions I come to because I'm afraid you'll start coming to ones I come to. And yes, I do know this is hard because we've already established that I am working hard because I'm breathing hard and sweating like a pig or a whore in church which I doubt you've ever seen the inside of because really? Who wears that to the gym? The gym is considered public! Dressing like that is probably how you got those two children that you take to kid care. This is probably the most work you've done since you obtained the gametes that were the progenitors of those children. And No! I'm not jealous that you have children and are probably pushing 20. I'M FINE WITH THE PROGRESS OF MY BIOLOGICAL CLOCK! I'M NOT BITTER AT ALL...I DO THIS FOR FUN! IT'S NOT BECAUSE I'M INCAPABLE OF HAVING A FULFILLING RELATIONSHIP AND MOST DEFINITELY NOT BECAUSE I HAVE A POOR SELF IMAGE AT TIMES AND ATTRIBUTE MY LACK OF CHILDREN AND SPOUSE TO IT! IT'S BECAUSE THIS IS FUN!

THIS IS FUN! FUN I TELL YOU! FUN FUN FUN! I'M HAVING FUN! CAN'T YOU TELL! I ALWAYS HAVE A STROKE WHEN I'M HAVING FUN! DON'T YOU?

Are you going to use that workout towel? Can I wipe away the tears of my lonely and misfortunate life with it? Or at the very least can I use it to wipe the sweat that I produced from actually working hard? A concept which to you seems to be foreign.

Now that you have been well-versed please do remember not to talk to me in the future, in spin class or otherwise.

Yours truly,
Anna