I'm A Total Friggin' Rock Star From Mars

Looking good, Chuck!
I like your rub-on tattoo.

"Yeah, I'm on a drug. It's called Charlie Sheen. It's not available, cuz if you try it once, you will DIE."
~ Charlie Sheen


I have never done a poll before, because I am far too lazy to bother. But if I was ever tempted, it is now, and it would look something like this:


Who is more completely fucking, head-up-his-ass-bonkers delusional right now?
                        Charlie "I'm an F18, bro!" Sheen?    
                                          or
            Muammar "But I'm The Most Populist Guy On Facebook!" Gadhafi?


Seriously, every time I see Charlie Sheen, I just want to go on a massive cocaine-fueled bender, and then laugh about it, cuz hey - I'm tired of pretending I'm not special. Cuz I am. And seeing Gadhafi just makes me want to smack myself stupid with Al Qaeda hallucination pills. Whatever the fuck they are.


Anywhoo. Enough ranting. From me and them. Let's see what's happening in my life.


Um...


Erm...


Hmmm.


I got nothing.


Just kidding.

I recently started going to the rich-people gym by my house, instead of driving all the way down to the one by the university.

The Edgemont location is literally a two minute drive from my digs, but I used to prefer driving the extra half hour to go to the Richmond location, to be with my own kind.

About a month ago, though, I decided it was time to nut up or shut up, and get my ass up to Edgemont. It was stupid, driving all the way to Richmond twice a day, when I could almost walk up to Edgemont.

I say almost, because if I were going to walk all the way to the gym in the goddamn snow, why would I even go to the gym at all?

Anyway, I think I went to Edgemont a whole two times, then stopped going completely.

I didn’t like it there. I missed my own people. I hated being an eyesore, a social misfit, an anomaly, even more so than usual. And at hoity-toity Edgemont, they made sure I knew I didn’t fit in.

At the gym by the university, there were plenty of other freaks like me. I mean, the place didn’t crawl with people of the pierced and tattooed persuasion, exactly, but none of the other members screamed when they saw us coming, either.

Cut to my first day working out at Edgemont, amongst the city's elite and wealthy.

It looked something like this.

Them, grouped en masse, staring and appalled.

Me and my barely discernible tattoo,
working out alone and ostracized.

Now, I like to fly in the face of public opinion, but even for me, this was a bit much. The glob of them, literally massed at the far end of the weight room, just staring and whispering, like I'd grown an extra boob or something.


(Note to self: demand immediate $100 raise in show price if ever grow third boob.)


And so I found reasons to not go the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. They were plausible reasons - I had a headache, Mr. Rollins-the-MacBook was lonely, the dogs were looking at me funny, the sun was too shiny. Before I knew it, a month had gone by, and I was bored, out of shape, and pissed that I had  allowed myself to be uprooted. I used to be staff there, for fuck's sake! What the hell was wrong with me?


So I tucked in my petticoats and went back yesterday - probably, I will admit, with a massive chip on my shoulder. 


I was upstairs in the gym, lifting weights next to an posh-looking blond lady and her trainer, blasting some kind of offensive music into my ears (it was NOFX Shower Days, actually), when the shit hit the fan. Or the excrement hit the oscillator, mwuarh mwuarh. Top drawer.


Posh Blond Lady was pointing directly at me and talking animatedly to her trainer.


Fuck! I thought. Here we go.


I put down my weights and pulled out my earbuds, ready for a fight. I pay my fucking dues at this club, I thought angrily. I have every right to be here.


"I'm sorry?" I demanded aggressively, putting my hand on my hip.


"I said 'I want abs like yours!'" Posh Blond Lady cried, and pointed to my stomach.


"Oh," I said, taken aback. "Oh!" I said again, as my face burned red and I realized what a fucking fucktard I truly am.


I immediately apologized and thanked her, told her she was lovely and started alphabetically listing off her finest physical attributes in my guilt-fueled sycophancy, until she and her trainer just kind of backed away, frightened. 


I was left alone once more, to consider myself, and the fact that while I had been so angry at these women for judging me based on my looks, I hadn't noticed I was doing the exact same thing to them.


Ooooops-a-dilly! I don't know.


Life's funny, innit?


Sorry, what's that? What have I learned, you ask?


Um...


Er....


Hey, isn't Charlie Sheen like craaaaaaaaaaaazy right now?

"I, like, love working out!"
That's me ten years ago, when I actually worked at the Edgemont location
and somehow became their poster girl.
I'm still pissed you can't see my rack in this photo, though. Bastards.