Top 10 Signs You're A New Year's Resolutioner at the Gym

1. You have a beach towel.
This could be Mickey & Minnie, some Polo Sport one from the mid '90s or something loud, splashy and pink. Either way, you're just kind of dragging it around, not really knowing what to do with it, except that you know you should have a towel at the gym. Here's a tip: You wipe your nasty sweat off the machines with it.

2. You're wearing jean shorts.
Ah... this is one of my favorites. Ladies, yours are inevitably cutoffs because, let's face it, that's the last time you wore shorts. Fellas, it doesn't really matter what yours are; guys don't wear jean shorts anymore.

3. You are chugging Gatorade, Red Bull or Vitamin Water like it's your job.
And it's not like you're thirsty... you haven't done anything. But you're at the gym, so clearly you need to hydrate. Excessively. Like, more than any of us who are actually sweating and possibly working up a thirst. Free tip: All those drinks have many calories, so you're technically taking in more calories by going to the gym. Tip #2: It's called water.

4. You have a CD Discman.
I'm not sure I need to explain this one any further. But I will say that they have these really cool things nowadays called Mp3 players and iPods which don't weigh 17 pounds and don't even skip! Imagine that... no skipping!

5. You do a nifty quad stretch in between every exercise.
This is where you just finished "a set" on that cute machine where you twist back and forth at a feverish pace because you think it's going to get rid of your love handles, and then you stand next to the machine, death-grip it and pull your ankle up behind you. Editor's note: You did not just work that muscle.

6. You are gnawing away on a Powerbar.
See #3: Gatorade, chugging.

7. You get on the bike and don't understand why it won't turn on when you press the buttons.
I know, this one's a little tricky, and I almost feel unfair adding it in here. But, surprise, it's not broken! Oh, and moving to the next one won't help; it's not broken either. Tried-and-true tip: Start peddling, and the pretty screen with magically light up.

8. You are reading the instructions on every machine.
This is not wrong, and I don't fault you for it -- at least you're trying to do it right (see #5: quad stretch, nifty). However, you are taking up way to much of my precious time, and my nice, neat compact 30-minute workout is somehow now ticking and tocking longer and longer, and I'm not getting up earlier in the morning to accommodate for your decoding of the torture devices. Gym-goer tip: Please get a personal trainer. They're free for a session or two for new gym members, and they'll explain the scary machines in plain English.

9. You grab a smoothie from the juice bar on your way out.
Again with the healthy eating and drinking... Please, once again refer to #3: Gatorage, chugging and #6: Powerbar, gnawing. You know you're going to eat as soon as you get home, so what is this extra feeding for?

10. You are in the waaaay back of the class.
I understand you don't want to be in the front because people will see you, but here's one you may not have thought of: We can see you even better when you're in the back. That's right, those rooms have glass walls in the back, and you know what's on the other side of the glass? The entire rest of the gym... full of people who have nothing to do between sets but watch you almost bust your ass. Tippy tip: Try the middle for two reasons: a) You should be closer to the front so you can actually see the teacher and learn how to do it, and b) We're too busy watching the back people to find you in the middle.

Have any more to add? Please leave a comment. I love these.

Oh, and Happy New Year!

The hoodlums in my hood

At least twice a month, I would say, the hoodlums flock to my neighborhood.

I say this because at least twice a month (at least), I am assaulted by helicopters circling and circling with their high beams on, pointed near or directly at my little slice of heaven. Today they came armed with backups -- more than a few cop cars illuminating my dimly lit streets with their vibrant red and blue swirly lights. How thoughtful of them.

I'm driving home from the gym (like a good little marathon-trainer), when I see the first cop car at the entrance, parked by the security guard (Yes, we have one. No, I'm not sure what he does... except shoot the shit with his budding and simply wave people in.). I assumed he had pulled someone over. I didn't yet know he'd unleashed no less that four of his good bad-guy hunting buddies into the "luxury" apartments at Tivoli Park.

Luxury my ass. Unless you like fake rims and 13-inch Wal-mart spinners.

Anywhos, this show happens probably twice a month. I hide out in my apartment because I just don't know who their searching for. Surely it's just some guy who drove through Popeye's and kept it moving instead of paying, but you just never know.

Countdown till my lease ends and I move to within WALKING DISTANCE TO THE BEACH: 59 days. :)

Cackling

Something I can't stand:

Unnecessary cackling (including, but not limited to: loud fake laughs, ear-piercing outbursts, deep forced chuckles, blatant kiss-ass guffaws, hellified hoots, ridiculous girly giggles that should have been let go 30 years ago, uncalled-for chortles at entirely inappropriate moments, overemphasized low-self esteem driven whoops, random honks, absurdly drawn out titters when no one else found it funny, hyuckhyukhyahhyuk, howling at something that was slightly funny last week, heart-stopping hollers, building-rattling bellows, etc.)

Worst. Run. Ever. Bugs, high steppin' & a rubber

It was all I could do to take a shower before I poured myself a glass of wine.

Out the door, I knew it was going to be bad, but this was ridiculous. First, it's summer here in Florida and it gets humid and we get these swarms of gnats. Those nasty clouds of those little bugs that you can't even swat away.

So I'm running and eating bugs. Mmm. And I'm trying to get them out of my eyes (there's one that I know is there because I see a little blurry out of the corner, but I can't seem to "find" it). They're in my nose.

I've been running for a few minutes now and I'm starting to sweat. I look down at my chest at all my freckles -- wait a minute... I don't have freckles. Those are more freaking bugs.

OK. So there are bugs. I'm over it. But then I run up on three kids on my sidewalk. They're exercising (bless them for combating childhood obesity), BUT as I'm catching up to them, they start running -- so now I can't pass them. Then they slow down and start doing this high-stepping thing, so I figure I can pass them now.

I pick back up the pace, and they start running again. I'm annoyed. I stop for a minute. They start high-stepping. I run again; gonna pass. They start freaking running again!

I'm not about to run in a pack with these three, and I think it's incredibly rude of them to keep this crap up so I can't get past them. Thanks for crapping on my run. So I turn around.

I'm almost home. At this point I'm not even running anymore. Now I'm just totally defeated and just strolling with my new buggy buddies, looking around at the neighborhood.

Which is when I notice the used condom on the edge by the grass where I'm walking. Well that's just lovely. At least we know they were safe.

I wish I was safe from shitty runs.

UPDATE: The bag of turd

It's here!

So last night after I bagged the bagged turd, I left it outside my front door (no way I was inviting that thing in), with the intent of taking it to the dumpster in the morning.

This morning I leave, grab that poo and put it on the floor in my car to drop in the dumpster down the block -- and drove right past the dumpster. It's not till I park at work that I realize I'm still in possession of said turd.

What now? There's no dumpster around. I'm too nice to litter (besides, then someone would have to grab it a third time and that's just ridiculous). So I decided to...

...wait for it...

bring it into my office... and THROW IT AWAY IN OUR KITCHEN! (In the garbage, of course, but still -- enjoy, everyone)

Hahahahaha.

What? You didn't think I was going to have it stewing in my cubicle's trash can, did you?

The bag of turd

I woke up one morning last week to the beautiful view outside my sliding glass door.

Ah... there's the lake, with the pretty fountain; and there's my bird feeder, with all the pretty cardinals, blue jays, doves, crows, squirrels, the mouse, the duck, and, wait, what is THAT?

It looks like a... um... a Publix bag? Maybe. Closer look: Yup, it's a Publix bag. But why is all knotted and twisted. Oh. Ohhh. Ew. It's a bagged turd!

Someone has had the audacity to toss their turd into my fabulous view!

Now what. It's not like I'm going to go get it. Hell to dah nah I'm not touching someone else's pooch poop. So I wait a couple days. Maybe maintenance will come get it. That's why I pay so much rent, right?

Couple days later, I'm about to name my new turd. Apparently, he's not going anywhere.

Couple more days... Good morning, turd!

Today: Enough! By now it's been festering long enough. I get a garbage bag. I wrap my hands in other bags. I prepare to face the turd.

And I did it! Turd be gone. And to whoever felt like my bushes are a turd dumping ground, don't do it again!!!