Let's Get Physical?

I have never, ever been a person fond of physical exertion. When people ask me how often I workout or go to the gym, I can only laugh. One of my all-time favorite jokes is that I only run if I’m being chased – which, thankfully, has not ever happened.

And I really don’t understand those people who actually claim to enjoy exercising. Between you and me? I think there’s something wrong with them. I suspect brain damage.

My aversion to all things requiring exercise goes way back. As a child, I abhorred gym class to the point that I’d beg and plead for my mother to write excuse notes for me so I could get out of it. Or I’d just simply fake injuries.

When I got a real injury, I milked it for all its get-out-of-gym-free-card-worthiness. Mom had to write notes then! This strategy became increasingly difficult as I got older though, because gym period became a daily thing once I got to middle school. DAILY. GYM. CLASS. The horror. Oh, the horror.

Thankfully, I was genetically blessed enough to the point where I didn’t have to workout to stay slim. That is perhaps the biggest reason I why never established a regular exercise regime – I just plain didn’t have to. I could eat anything and everything I pleased and I never gained weight. God bless a high metabolism. Thanks, Mom! So why on earth would I bother working out if I didn’t have to? There was TV to watch, dammit!

So that all makes the fact that I recently started working out regularly all the more funny to me. ME! The girl who has always hated gym class and physical exertion. Working out! It’s laughable.

What brought me to this, you ask? Good question. I could say it’s because I’m getting older and I’m not as lucky with that ol’ metabolism as I once was, though I still weigh the same. I could say I’m doing it to simply be healthier. But that’d be a lie. It’s not for my health. It’s not even to “feel better about myself,” because everyone knows that’s crap. No, it’s purely for vain reasons.

Now, I’m certainly not fat by any means, but I fear that my mid-twenties and years of college, beer, and fast foot have finally caught up with me. About a month ago, my mom and I had a picture taken together and I was horrified by my appearance. Now, the women in my family have always been naturally thin, yet when we do gain weight; it’s always been in our stomachs. I am no exception. This has always been easy to hide, camouflage or otherwise pretend didn’t exist though. Well not anymore. Not when the photographic evidence was cruelly staring me in the face and telling me otherwise. I had to act. I had to – GASP! –exercise. I couldn’t avoid it anymore.

But working out for someone like me is not an easy thing to do. Not only because I’m naturally lazy or because of the hatred I’ve cultivated for exercise over the years. No, it goes way beyond that. Let me tell you why this recent workout regime has been nothing but a comedy of errors.

#1. I’m a highly impatient person. I expect immediate gratification. Yes, I am THAT person who does cardio for fifteen minutes and then immediately goes to a mirror to see the results. And I’m actually deluded enough to believe there will be a detectable change. Imagine how annoyed my impatient self gets then.

#2. I hate working out in public. Makes sense, right? Someone who hates exercise in general is not going to want to do it in front of others. I am no exception. Nevermind the fact that I have FREE gym access not only at my apartment complex but also in my office building, I will not do those stupid routines in front of other people.

#3. I have an attention span the size of a flea. I get bored and distracted very easily. I shouldn’t be entrusted to work out alone. I don’t have the discipline or the concentration to do so. I cannot concentrate throughout an entire workout video. I will wander away from the TV. And because my impatient side isn’t seeing results, I feel totally justified in doing so.

#4. I don’t have a large apartment. I have about a 7 by 3 foot space in which to exercise. I also have two cats constantly running around the place. Yeah, like I’m really able to get a quality workout in while I’m trying to prevent stepping on and/or tripping over them and falling and breaking my neck.

#5. Perhaps most difficult of all, I am a perfectionist. Everything has to be just so. I’m like Goldilocks. If it’s not right, I’m not happy. This is really funny when I’m trying to work out along with a DVD or TV workout program that I’ve never done before. I get all mad and discouraged and worried that I’m not doing it right, and think, “If I’m not doing it right, I might as well just not do it.”

It's been just over a month since I've started this little project of mine and I still detect no discernible difference. Which of course annoys me. So with apologies to Olivia Newton John, but people who like getting physical are goddamned morons. And if my body could talk? It'd sound something like this, I imagine:

My knees: "For the love of God, stop jumping around. Please, just stop."

My arms: "Put the weights down! Are you crazy?!"

My heart: "If you don't knock off this whole, 'make me beat faster' thing, I'm going to stop on you, I mean it."

My lungs: "Why do you hate us?"

It's Always Better to Fire People on a Friday

Subtitle: My Eyes Are Up Here. Or Down Here, as you'll see.

Yes folks, it's about time for another workplace rant. If it's any time between 8am and 4:30 pm (EST) on a weekday, I can guaran-damn-tee you someone is annoying me in some way, shape, or form. And I promise you, it's going to be straight outta Office Space.

Why should today be any different? Because it's a Friday? Pfft. These people don't care. They'll annoy you on a Friday. They're going to annoy you on Wednesday, too. It don't matter to these people.

Today's rant is related to an earlier post where I made mention of a snarky co-worker who was paying a bit too much attention to the content of my computer screen in that it just happened again today, albeit with a different co-worker.

This time, it was much more blatant and obvious. And incredibly rude and irritating. Someone came over to talk to me. (Which, in and of itself, annoys me. I'm happy to just sit here most of the time and surf the Internet in peace. I don't need to be talking to others constantly). But anyway, if you come over to my desk to talk to me, WHY then are you looking at my computer? It's rude to be reading what's on someone's screen, especially while you're attempting to have a conversation with me. And if you're using this "stop and chat" as a ruse to specifically check out what I'm doing, that makes you even more of a douche.

If you want to talk to me, MY EYES ARE DOWN HERE! (ya know, since I'm sitting at a desk, and they're standing....get it?) If you don't look at me at all while we're talking, I don't want to fucking talk to you. Go away and let me get back to wasting time on the Internet. Thank you.

While I'm on the subject, if you are talking to someone who sits near me, why in the hell are you looking at ME? It's rude to the person you're talking to. Am I really that fascinating and captivating where I and all of my activities must be so closely watched? I think not.

So, as Kramer might say -- Look away, you're hideous! (yes I know he says 'I'm hideous.' But I'm not. So that version didn't work for this story). My activities are not now, nor will they ever be, your concern. Jesus. What happened to the simple days when you just had to hide your non-work Internet-tal activities from your boss? Now you have to include of your nosy co-workers too? This over-interest will not stand, man.

Say Thank You!

Time for an understatment: I'm not the nicest person in the world. I can admit it. I'm not ashamed. I own my bitchiness and wear it proudly. I embrace my attitude and impatience.

However, this does not mean I'm an impolite heathen. I still have basic manners and I observe the standard common courtesies -- respecting personal space, refraining from loud personal cell phone calls in public, holding the door for people. (Although, I must note that I will not wait with the door open if you are more than a few steps behind me. Unless you are attractive. In which case, take your time so I can stare at you some more).

But the most fundamental examples of good manners are the words "please" and "thank you" in addition to knowing when to say these things. Now, admittedly, I'm not very good with "please." I prefer to think that phrasing a request in an overall polite tone is enough of an indicator of "please." If you get this tone just right, "please" is superfluous. But I digress.

"Thank you" is the important one. (Especially for the point of this blog entry). How hard is it to say? How hard is it to show appreciation for something somebody did for you? It's just two tiny little words. You don't even have to be genuinely grateful to say the words. Of course, that helps, but it's not a prerequisite. It's like saying, "Yes, your baby is cute." Or, "No, those pants don't make your ass look fat." Or, "Wow, your new haircut is great and it in no way makes you look like a 12 year old boy." How you really feel isn't as important as the words that come out of your mouth.

I certainly don't care if people are genuine in their thanks to me. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't still like to hear it, especially if I just held the elevator for someone, even though I easily could have -- and wanted to -- hit the "close door" button. But no, I was feeling unusually charitable this morning, and upon hearing someone running behind me, huffing and puffing to get to the bank of elevators, I figured, "what the hell, I'll hold the door and wait for them." Had I known the bitch would have gotten on wordlessly, with nary a glance or other such acknowledgement of gratitude in my direction, I never would have done so. I don't care if you're out of breath from running. You should still be able to squeak out the words, "thank you." And if you cannot, drop a few or leave earlier. It's that simple. But hell, I even would have taken a flashed smile in place of actual verbal gratitude. If you can't even muster that, you deserve to have the elevator close on your head.

Honestly. SAY SOMETHING. DO SOMETHING. Don't act all like you're all entitled or some shit, like it's my job to hold the door and wait for your ass. That's the only thing I can think of that explains staying silent when someone does something they didn't have to do for you. Well guess what? You're not entitled. I don't have to do anything nice for you.

For anyone wondering, yes, I did let my attitude show once it was clear I was not going to get an acknowledgement for my unnecessary good deed. As I got off at my floor, I turned and said, "You could have said thank you for holding the elevator." The girl stammered out an "I'm sorry" and then gave a "thank you." I almost immediately felt bad for my bitchy attitude, but come on. That was too little, too late. As much of a bitch as I am, at least I'm not uncouth. I may not always mean it, but at least I never forget to SAY THANK YOU!