The Blogs and The Bees

Don't worry, even after the title, this blog will still be rated PG... Ok, PG-13.

Ok, so lately I've been trying to go to the gym and get back in shape. I joined 24 Hour Fitness, I wrote about that lovely experience a while ago, and I've been doing my best to get there and work out.

First of all(As I'm sure everybody understands this) it's not easy! I am not a morning person, so as much as I would love to get up at 5:00 AM and haul my lazy butt down there, work out for an hour and a half, drag myself back home and into the shower, where I would most likely fall asleep and either drown or crack my head open, and then be ready for when my kids wake up or AJ(aka Dora the Explorer) arrives? It's just not going to happen. I mean, there's not even a chance of that happening. Not even a little bit.

So we're up early with the kidlets, and with AJ there, for moral and ethical reasons I can't drop them off in daycare while I hit up the treadmill. It's not right. "Thanks for paying me to watch your kid, oh by the way, I'm not the only one watching your child, for two of the five hours I watch her, she's actually in the care of someone else, whom I don't even know." Yea, it doesn't work.

By the time we drop AJ off at school, it's nap time. And since this is the absolute, most important time of my day, I cannot miss it. Do Not Mess With My Nap Time.

Then the girls wake up and usually there is something to do. An errand I forgot in the morning, dance, a mad dash to the grocery store..... Something. Always something.

Around 5:00 PM we start dinner, but let me just say, that no matter what time I start dinner, and I am not kidding about this, it could be 4:00 in the afternoon, or 6:30, dinner will not be ready until 7:00. Every night it's like this. Oy.

After dinner, it's Tubby Time(Bath Time for those of you who don't speak toddler) every other day and it's always, always the dishes before bedtime. The next two hours are spent putting the kids down. And don't get me wrong, my kids go to bed really easily most of the time. But there is the pajamas, the brushing of the teeth, the story time, the praying, the singing and that's only Stella. Scarlett goes down an hour later! Although she doesn't need all of the pomp and circumstance.

When everyone is finally quiet then, and only then do I have time to sneak out to the gym. This usually happens around 9:30 PM, sometimes later.

Ok, I just need to say right now that I am NOT complaining. I am a creature of habit and that's what the above paragraphs are... my routine. I just wanted to clarify. (Ok, there is a little bit of a whiney tone to some of that.... but most of it is just our daily schedule! :))

So, I throw on my gym attire, which is becoming more and more layers. I don't know what I'm trying to hide. Ok, yes I do. But at one time in my life I think I was an athlete. I may be the only person on earth that remembers this time, but I feel like there were moments of in-shapeness.

Two kids later. Not any more. Ha.

So, I layer up. And I'm off. I start on the elliptical. I'm a huge fan. Somewhere along the way, I got really bad knees(I know it's pathetic. I'm 25 and falling apart. Plus there's the chronic back problems that started in high school.) so the elliptical is perfect for me. After the elliptical there's more, but today I just want to focus on that part of my work out.

Believe it or not, that was just the introduction! Let's get to the meat of this thing. That is if you're still with me!

Ok, so there I am, working out in my layers. Long pants, or at least Capri's(I gave up shorts a long time ago.... You're Welcome.) a tank top, and a long sleeve shirt. I mean for the gym that's basically dressing like a polar bear.

I meant to type Eskimo. But instead came up with polar bear and I feel like that's my mind trying to tell me something. Hahaha.

So, I'm working out, fully covered, fully engaged and I begin to look around me. I begin to notice what other people are wearing. This in itself is a strange occurrence, because if you talk to anyone that knows me they will tell you that I am absolutely the most unobservant person you will ever meet! It's totally, totally true. I see nothing, observe nothing, pick up on nothing.

But since, my sister-in-law, Kylee, who usually goes with me, isn't there and since we're not talking non-stop(Yes, I've become one of those irritating people who talks during their work out instead of taking it seriously. Shut up. At least I'm there.), I have some free time.

So, I'm looking around, noticing that first of all, all of the people here are beautiful. I should have gone to Gold's, where the ugly first timers go. And second of all, I notice that these beautiful people should really consider looking in the mirror before leaving their houses. Just because you're pretty and have a nice body does not mean that you can leave the house looking like a stripper!

You think I'm talking about girls right now don't you?

And I am, kind of.... The girls are pretty. In shape. Dressed like Aerobic Instructors from bad porn. Blah blah blah.

But, the ones dressed like strippers??

Oh no. They were totally guys!

What? You say. I know!!! I say.

They were totally, totally rocking the short shorts! And what is up with the tight shirts? I don't want to see man nipples. Man nipples actually really gross me out, because what is their purpose? Can anybody tell me what the purpose of a man having nipples is?

So here are these guys in shorts way above their mid thighs and shirts with holes where their nipples have penetrated(Ok, I'm exaggerating, but if you're grossed out by the thought, imagine how I felt watching them do bench presses and squats. Oh gross. Oh. Gross.)

I'm doing my best by now to look at anything but these effeminate body builders become walking contradictions, when my eyes stumble upon the shortest of all shorties.

There is this guy, working out directly in front of me might I add, doing some kind of arm curl standing up. He is in, I'm not even exaggerating, straight up booty shorts. Like the kind of shorts women volleyball players where. The ones that just cover your bum. The ones that force you to either wear a thong or go completely commando.

My mouth drops open. Vomit rises in my throat. My eyes bug out of my head. You get the picture.

What? What is the purpose of those shorts buddy? Because from where I'm standing, there isn't one. And please don't turn around because I feel like that could get really indecent.

I think, ok maybe he's gay. Which, don't misunderstand me, I would have NO problem with. And I might understand the shorts. Maybe. Not that all gay guys would wear those. In fact, all of the gay guys I know would rather be dead then wear something so hideous and unflattering.

But any question to his sexual orientation is quickly cleared up when an attractive girl walks by. He literally stops what he's doing, mid curl. Biceps flexed, shoulders bulging out of his skimpy little tank top and all the glory of his exposed, clean-shaven legs glistening in the florescent lights of the gym. Booty Shorts stops her with some witty quip and makes her laugh a moment before moving on. He keeps talking and she has to turn around to answer him again.

Gross. I'm vomiting to the left of my machine. He has to know her. They must be friends.

Oh no. Well maybe. But if he knows her, then he must know the next five girls he stops to entertain, repeating the same gun show as before.

So not gay. Definitely straight. But seriously, we're bordering on some type of pervert here with those shorts.

If we take this guy seriously, we might as well consider Pee Wee Herman flashing that poor movie theater as just an attempt to get some hottie patottie's number!

That happened Monday night. I've been afraid to go back, due to my general practice of avoiding Live Nude Shows.

Tonight I'll go back. Maybe with a blind fold. Or an extra pair of sweat pants(That I can hand out in desperate situations).

Seriously, to all exercising men out there: Cover it up. A waxed, male thigh is not going to get you anywhere. I promise. No matter how muscular you think you are.

And, let's get back to when guys used to just cut off the sleeves of their t-shirts. These pre-fabbed muscle tank tops, that are skin tight and lucky if they cover the belly button are seriously grossing me out.

You're men. You care about your muscles. Unless you're applying for Chip and Dales, act like it.


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