I love my gym. It is the mecca for all things strange. It's like a continual, bizarre parade of endless, post-modern performance art. You never know what you are going to witness. And, in my nearly eight years of going there, I have seen some sights. My personal favorite is the man who puts the strap of his Walkman MP3 in his mouth and dances about in a fencing manner through the back weight room. Once, the Walkman smacked him in the face when he got a little carried away. He quickly recovered and resumed his ballet. He's not the wackiest, just the most reliably entertaining.
The gym has the typical random professional athletes, random bodybuilders, random actors, random whack jobs. There are a few normal people, too. The odd ones are just more fun to watch. And when you have an hour to kill on the cardio machines, you have a good perch and plenty of time to check out the membership.
A few years ago, I had a thrill when I found a Lost Boy in my gym. I nearly swallowed my gum when I spotted him standing there on the steps to the back room. Jason Patric. Yum-me. Let's face it, The Lost Boys is early girl porn and Jason Patric -- with those eyes, that jaw, those lips and in 501s -- is a girl-porn star. And I get to sweat next to him occasionally. It's not a bad way to start the day, my friends and neighbors. He perspires in such a pretty way. I, however, do not. At the end of my sixty-minutes, I'm more of a red-faced, drowned rat with a ponytail. And it always amazes me the guys who will actually flirt with me when I am in that state. But, that's my gym for you. A bounty of strange rangers.
(I need to take a brief tangent here...not too long ago, I was upstairs on the stretch deck and Jason was there, too. Our mats were across from each other. I was doing my thing, he was doing his. I was taking my time. When he was finished, he put back on his shoes, got up from his mat and headed down the stairs. Then, a flash caught the corner of my eye. This chick had gotten up from where she was stretching and threw herself on the mat where Jason was nanoseconds before. It was far from graceful. I think she kind of hurt herself when she landed. It was spectacular.)
So, yesterday, I was bopping around doing upper body when another fanged wonder appeared in the distance. I couldn't be sure if it was him at first, because I'm only wearing one contact this week. (Long story.) I didn't want to squint-stare, so I lost track of him when I was doing my lats (I can't believe I just wrote that). But, as luck would have it, he came right up next to me when I was doing my biceps and shoulders (I can't believe I wrote that, either) to do his biceps and shoulders (somehow, it's only weird to write workout lingo when it pertains to me). He was on the side of my "good" eye, so I could see him clearly. Stephen Moyer, the delicious, you-can-bite-me-anytime vampire from True Blood.
I was trying not to stare at him through the mirror, because that's just rude. But, Nine Inch Nails was on the iPod (again), and "Ruiner" was playing. I nearly drew blood biting my lip, trying not to giggle as Trent whispered in my ears: "How'd you get so big? How'd you get so strong? How'd you get so hard? How'd it get so long?"
Really. That was the true scene. You try keeping a straight face and proper form with hot vampire actor on one side of you and Trent Reznor inside of you...your head, I mean...saying such things first thing in the AM. It was perfect.
And you wondered why I wake up early to workout.