Derivatives of Douche Used Frequently in This Post

Gym Misanthrope

I’m not one of those people who likes other human beings. Nowhere is this exacerbated worse than the gym.  Usually, I go about 6 in the morning to avoid the big rushes, but this time of day tends to also bring out the weirdos, who do odd enough things, that make them want to go to the gym when no one else is there, i.e. misanthropic people who don’t like other people who go to the gym early to avoid other weird people in the gym.

In the morning the cast of characters include:

Pirouette Lesbian:

There is really no need to clarify that she is a lesbian because EVERYONE that goes to my gym is gay. Everyone. Even the mice that roam the halls at night like mice of their same gender.

PL is one of those variety of gym creatures who somehow manages to be everywhere at once. This includes her “lunge” activities that involve the following gym items.

1. Dumbbells – uses 1 set, but does not take a step back from the rack, so, by default, she makes it impossible to use 30% of all dumbbells.
2. 2 flat benches; because what good is stepping up on one when you can step up on one, spin, and jump over to the other?
3. The necessary other flat bench, not in use, but totally invaluable in its ability to set the 8 x 4 inch towel on that she will not need until she gets done jumping between two flat benches six inches away from the entire dumbbell rack.

When this woman goes up to the dumbbell rack there is a collective sigh because everyone KNOWS that, essentially, 1/3 of the entire gym will come to a screeching halt.

To be fair, however, there might have been a complaint, because, in my own observation, the most egregious pirouetting has been abandoned. This may have been because of the complaint, or, because jumping between flat benches whilst spinning and twirling dumbbells probably caused her painful, prolonged back injuries.

Sunglassed GUY!!!:

Why talk like a normal human being when you can shout while wearing Oakleys? This is the question that a man at my gym asked himself one morning and evidently found the answer to be, “I should stop talking like a normal human being! It’s so dull!”

This man shows up in the afternoons with his personal trainer and grunts and groans loud enough for all to hear. This is annoying enough in and of itself, but tack on his need to bellow things like, “HOW WAS YOUR WEEKEND?” and “I LOVE WATCHING THE NEWS.” And he basically becomes one of the most obnoxious people on the planet. The icing on the douche-cake, so to speak, is his pair of Oakleys that NEVER COME OFF. I have seen this man on the train, on his commute, and he is still wearing his Oakley sunglasses that he wears in the gym. He wears these in the dark, in the day, in the gym, on the train. He likes these sunglasses, Sam I Am. He likes them likes them – and should shut the f$&k up when he’s in the gym.

Gropy Asian:

The Gropy Asian is repulsive. I have seen him in the gym a few times. He is a general gym type, not specific to my gym. While I’m honored to have the eccentric PL and OAKLEY GUY, Gropy Asian is a dime a dozen dbag available at most (gay and straight) gyms on the planet.

He has dragon tattoos up and down his chest, all clearly visible, because over his obscene muscles he wears a scrap of cloth loosely able to be called a tank top. He lifts lots of weight and is one of those roll-your-eyes-Tom-Cruise-objectively-hot-kind-of-guys.

One day he was taking up two machines in the gym. Normally I wouldn’t just jump on one when I see this happening, but he felt the need to lift at one machine, lift at the other, then walk to the closest mirror and grope his muscles and flex for himself. I was waiting for him to get off his machine and saw this display and decided that I didn’t have time for this.

I walked over to one of his machines, changed the weight, and started to go to town. I got the bar about halfway down, when he comes stomping over.

“Hey,” he said, trying not to sound gay. “I’m using that.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, I’m going to work in one. K thanks.”

And proceeded to finish. I knew I could take him in a fight in there – he’d be too busy checking himself out to throw a clean punch.

How to Fail in Business Without Really Trying

I’m still kind of new to my job, which means there are large chunks of time when I do things that I don’t really know what I’m doing. The most recent event was at a meeting last week. It was for marketing staff and the web designers, but my boss thought it would be good to sit in so I can find out more about the marketing in my specific school.

We were all introduced and sat down. In a weird turn of events, I was positioned at the end of the table with the marketing team, separated from my boss and the other people I knew in my department.

Throughout the meeting the marketing staff made occasional comments like, “Yeah, we should ask Ed to fix it.” “That tab should say, call Ed!” And generally comments that my boss said, like, “Ed is going to take a look at this later.” Led to heads being turned in my direction and nods.

During all of this commentary, I kept a blank stare on my face and reacted to nothing. No smile, no shrugs, no nods, no nothing. At one point when the one marketing guy said, “That tab should say, call Ed!” I felt uncomfortable when people turned to me and immediately turned my head to look at the projected video screen.

At the end of the meeting one of the marketing guys shook my hand and said, “Your last name is Bott?” “No,” I said. “It’s Hawks.” “Yeah,” he said, “ebott is your sign on name. It’s funny because there use to be another ebott.”

This led to my most confused expression of the day and this, wonderfully snappy business comeback: “Uhhhhhhhh…”

“See ya, Ed!”

It was at that moment that I realized that during the entire meeting, the marketing staff had thought I was Ed Bott the technical writer for our department. Now they still think that I am Ed Bott, and also a terrible douchebag. Thinking back to the meeting, I couldn’t help but think of all the jokes they made about Ed that turned into me staring at them blankly. This juxtaposed to when my boss told some jokes and I laughed heartily, probably made me look like the biggest suck-up, bitch-douche in the whole department.

When Ed comes into the office next week, I kind of feel obligated to tell him that

1. Everyone thinks he is terrible person.
2. Everyone also thinks he is too dumb to know his own name.

You’re welcome, Ed Bott – please don’t return the favor.

There is a god (and he is made of glitter and rides a unicorn)

Facebook is great for many reasons; the most important being updates like Ke$ha is playing at the Illinois State Fair. Yes, single blog reader and Mr. Fluffer, she is coming to the middle of Illinois, to the State Fair, where all other headliners are country singers. Why? There is no reason. There is none other than that this event was specifically planned for my friends and I to attend.

For a long time I have been planning to take a bunch of my friends to my hometown. It’s just kind of fun because I can show them my high school, which is legit in the middle of a cornfield, show them the Lincoln home, and take them to White Oaks Mall. For some reason this idea/dream has always been linked to me renting a 15-passenger van and driving down. It’s like a church field trip only… Well, we’re renting a van.

The last time I saw Ke$ha live – well, let me tell you everything I remember:

Anyway, it seemed like a great time to get together a bunch of friends, go to Springfield and rent a 15-passenger van.

Essentially, this in real life.

  

If I’ve never cornered you at a party and told you why I think Ke$ha is great, then you’re very lucky. The explanation shall remain unblogged until such a time when I can find you at a party and fill you in – or you can just follow the van to Springfield.