In the Gym Under False Pretenses
My sister and I pretty much have to go to the gym every day to get our credits for the semester. So that sucks. But Brett's over for the weekend so we decided to smuggle him in as Ash's guest.
Brett wasn't actually planning on working out so he came in street clothes and brought along a Newsweek and a People magazine.
When we got there, however, Ash kept bitching about being there because she just got off work or whatever. I told her to suck it up and went into the lockerroom to change. A couple minutes later, though, she burst into the Men's lockerroom (which isn't really a problem since there was just me and Brett in there, but still caused me to cover my boobies, lol) and announced that she needed my cell phone, as she was leaving.
I told her no, but her mind was made up. Since Brett didn't want to attract attention to himself, he stopped her and asked for her sweat pants which are, ironically and hilariously, shiny and pink.
So we were off to work out as Ashley like, hitched home or whatever she did. Yea, it was sad, shut up.
First we played around with the eliptical and we were pleased to find that Newsnight was playing on the TV so we watched and bitchily gossipped about Anderson Cooper, then Dan Abrams, then about how Chad Myers is a berserker. He'll go crazy on you. Well, we wanted him to anyway.
Then we went over to the newish circuit training machines because we're way too lazy to figure out the old school gym equipment in the back. I mean, even with the new gym equipment that tell you exactly what to do, Brett got on one machine backwards.
So we "strengthened the defenses" on those crazy leg opening and closing machines and then hobbled over to work on our rippling pecks and lats or whatever. Brett put too much weight on his or something because I almost hit myself in the face laughing as he moaned, "Aaahhhhooww," every time he pulled it down.
I informed Brett that I was working my pecks, to which he replied, "I'm working my boobies!" He needs them to be firm and supple for summer, you see. Then we realized that we weren't working our chests at all, but our backs. So much for that idea.
Then we laughed at an old guy in the sauna.
We moved on to the bikes but after five minutes, we decided that it hurt our asses...and not in a good way, not at all. ("The seats don't even vibrate!" Brett remarked angrily.)
Then we played on the better bikes, which were definitely a little easier on the ass, and pretended we were businessmen, reading old newspapers people had left behind and Today's Woman, which is about business women and secretly a thinly veiled government propaganda magazine to keep women down.
Then the gym closed and we didn't realize. And the lady who had signed us in had already left and there was only this older shirtless guy showing off his guns. Like, this guy was fucking ripped. I have a sneaking suspicion that's he's the strong ass hole who was setting all the machines to 135 lbs so we ripped our arms off because we're too stupid to check the weight before we work out.
So after signing out and talking to that guy for a bit about his son (who, coincidentally, has the coolest name ever: Felix; Tony Felix.), we decided it was time to go to the Marie Calendar's and eat a whole pie. I mean, Brett had been itching to hit a pie joint the whole time. Since my mom didn't approve of eating a whole pie, we went to Del Taco instead and figured we'd order a bucket of cheese. Apparently, Del Taco has taken the Cheese Bucket Combo off the menu. So we got quesadillas and fish tacos and chili fries instead. That's what real men eat after the gym...says me.
All in all, fruitful day.
Brett wasn't actually planning on working out so he came in street clothes and brought along a Newsweek and a People magazine.
When we got there, however, Ash kept bitching about being there because she just got off work or whatever. I told her to suck it up and went into the lockerroom to change. A couple minutes later, though, she burst into the Men's lockerroom (which isn't really a problem since there was just me and Brett in there, but still caused me to cover my boobies, lol) and announced that she needed my cell phone, as she was leaving.
I told her no, but her mind was made up. Since Brett didn't want to attract attention to himself, he stopped her and asked for her sweat pants which are, ironically and hilariously, shiny and pink.
So we were off to work out as Ashley like, hitched home or whatever she did. Yea, it was sad, shut up.
First we played around with the eliptical and we were pleased to find that Newsnight was playing on the TV so we watched and bitchily gossipped about Anderson Cooper, then Dan Abrams, then about how Chad Myers is a berserker. He'll go crazy on you. Well, we wanted him to anyway.
Then we went over to the newish circuit training machines because we're way too lazy to figure out the old school gym equipment in the back. I mean, even with the new gym equipment that tell you exactly what to do, Brett got on one machine backwards.
So we "strengthened the defenses" on those crazy leg opening and closing machines and then hobbled over to work on our rippling pecks and lats or whatever. Brett put too much weight on his or something because I almost hit myself in the face laughing as he moaned, "Aaahhhhooww," every time he pulled it down.
I informed Brett that I was working my pecks, to which he replied, "I'm working my boobies!" He needs them to be firm and supple for summer, you see. Then we realized that we weren't working our chests at all, but our backs. So much for that idea.
Then we laughed at an old guy in the sauna.
We moved on to the bikes but after five minutes, we decided that it hurt our asses...and not in a good way, not at all. ("The seats don't even vibrate!" Brett remarked angrily.)
Then we played on the better bikes, which were definitely a little easier on the ass, and pretended we were businessmen, reading old newspapers people had left behind and Today's Woman, which is about business women and secretly a thinly veiled government propaganda magazine to keep women down.
Then the gym closed and we didn't realize. And the lady who had signed us in had already left and there was only this older shirtless guy showing off his guns. Like, this guy was fucking ripped. I have a sneaking suspicion that's he's the strong ass hole who was setting all the machines to 135 lbs so we ripped our arms off because we're too stupid to check the weight before we work out.
So after signing out and talking to that guy for a bit about his son (who, coincidentally, has the coolest name ever: Felix; Tony Felix.), we decided it was time to go to the Marie Calendar's and eat a whole pie. I mean, Brett had been itching to hit a pie joint the whole time. Since my mom didn't approve of eating a whole pie, we went to Del Taco instead and figured we'd order a bucket of cheese. Apparently, Del Taco has taken the Cheese Bucket Combo off the menu. So we got quesadillas and fish tacos and chili fries instead. That's what real men eat after the gym...says me.
All in all, fruitful day.