How You Doin’ Blondie?


“36-24-36? Only if she 5’3…”

I took Cody for a walk today, and I actually spent the bulk of it running. He goes crazy over puddles, he loves to splish-splash around in them to his little Husky heart’s content. The problem is, his leash is like 6 feet long, and the puddles are like 20 feet wide…so not only do I get wet, but I have to run like crazy to keep up. And I do not like running. It could be a Southern thing…it’s always too damn hot down there to even move, let alone run (a true Southerner won’t even run in the face of imminent danger, that’s what the right to bear arms is for)…or it could be a laziness thing.

Regardless, I don’t like running. In fact, I don’t like working out just for the sake of working out at all. I’ve tried to, I’ve joined two separate gyms in my lifetime with the intention of becoming one of those super-toned 21st century Playmates, but I never stuck with it. The biggest problem I had was with the gym clientele in general; it was always Tiffy and Rex in their super-tight spandex checking out each others rock hard bodies. I was always in some old t-shirt and shorts.

The other problem I had was actually a specific incident as opposed to just a general complaint. There’s a new gym that opened up a few blocks away from my house, not so close that I could walk to it, but close enough so that my fall-back “it’s just too far away” excuse wouldn’t work. So they have a membership drive, and I figure, ok, alright, let’s do this. So I go in there and say that I’d like to sign up and they assign me to a “fitness mentor” named Gary. Now Gary looked to be about 16 and in addition to having the body of Jose Conseco, he was also wearing a black t-shirt he apparently purchased in the children’s department. So Gary takes me over to his little “station” and he asks me a few general questions and he asks me what my overall fitness goal is and I say, “Oh, just to tone up.” Then Gary gives me a skeptical glance which he tries to cover up with a used car-salesman smile and says, “And maybe a weight-loss plan, too?” That was strike one. So then I step on the digital scale and Gary looks down at the numbers and says “That’s more then I expected.” Strike two. Then Gary whips out the measuring tape and proceeds to take my measurements. When he’s finished, he glances at his little clipboard and he says, “Well Suzanne, I think we can put together a great work-out regime for you. We’ll cut about 10 pounds and trim off some of those inches, how does that sound?” Well that was strike mother fucking three. My reaction was a little delayed, because my first instinct was to inwardly beat myself up about not being in perfect shape, but then there was little something that just went off.  The real me, the me that would’ve had Gary for breakfast after strike one, woke up and said, “Hey, why the fuck are you letting this little dick mother fucker talk to you like this? Get the fuck out of here! You don’t need this shit, Suzanne, you’re a bad bitch!” So I look Gary in the eye and I say, “You know what, I think I’ve changed my mind, I don’t think this program is for me.” Gary, who has clearly been caught off guard, starts back pedaling like a mad man and says, “You’re probably right, you’ve got a great shape, you don’t really need to exercise, but everybody likes to stay healthy, right?” I snorted, thanked him, and then walked away.

I’m done with gyms, fucking done. And you know why? Because I am five feet and ten inches tall, I weigh one hundred and fifty five pounds, my measurements are 36DD-27-38, I wear a size 8, AND I FUCKING LIKE IT. When I look in the mirror I LIKE WHAT I SEE, and I couldn’t give a FUCK LESS if it’s not good enough for Gary. I don’t care if my tits don’t look like the gym rats’ do, mine are REAL and JIGGLE and SAG A LITTLE BIT. I have cellulite on the back of my upper thighs. My triceps wobble. AND I LIKE IT. I FUCKING LIKE IT.

FUCK YOU GARY. And not only Gary, but FUCK EVERY MEDIA OUTLET THAT CALLS FAT GIRLS CURVY AND MAKES THE GENUINELY CURVY GIRLS FEEL LIKE THEY NEED TO LOSE WEIGHT. FUCK ALL OF YOU ACROSS THE STREET AND AROUND THE CORNER.

Ahem. Rant over.


12 Comments so far
Leave a comment

Amen, Sister!

Comment by midnightrambler

do you have any parks near your home? power walking a few days a week would be great cardio.

It’s not just about dress size (I’m a 12), but about fitness too. (I wish I was an 8 without trying, but I’m not.) Keep your heart healthy so you can stick it to Gary for that many more years.

I teach at a gym on the weekends. Gyms will say anything to make a sale. They have a few diff’t directions they can take the conversation in, and you probably said something that was misinterpreted by Gary and off on the wrong tangent he went. ANYTHING to make a sale.

Comment by zak

Rambler – Thanks 🙂

Zak – I appreciate the concern, and you’re right, there is a certain level of activity you need to maintain to be healthy. I walk my dog literally every night, seven days a week, for at least an hour and a half. And you’re right on the second count too, I’m fairly certain Gary would’ve agreed to performed degrading sex acts if I’d just signed up.

Comment by How You Doin Blondie

Gee, ya sound awesome to me…………

Comment by Tim

Thank you. I had one of those days where you feel fat and ugly in everything.

Comment by How You Doin Blondie

Well! Unless that ain’t you, I highly doubt it…… Looks like we both need to work on some self-esteem !?!?!

Comment by Tim

Guess so :-). But I think everybody does, really.

Comment by How You Doin Blondie

Blondie you will always be perfect in my eyes..you got what I like..and if you want i might kiss the ground you walk on

Comment by theroadnow

blondie.. i think.. i love you.. 😉

Comment by jonathan

I loved her first – get in line. ROTFLMFAO!

Comment by Tim

To Adam, John, and Tim – In all fairness, I think Adam was the VERY first in line…but let’s not split hairs…there’s obviously plenty of me to go around ;-).

Comment by How You Doin Blondie

Swell! (my favorite word btw…)

Comment by Tim




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