Wednesday, January 06, 2010

Paula, The Gym Rat

This is the story of Paula, the Gym Rat.

Paula, a former beauty queen, was married to the perfect man who had the perfect job. They had four of the most perfectly beautiful children on the planet. Each year, Paula and family would hand out their perfect family portrait at Christmastime.

Paula liked to strut her hot, tight bod in public. She called it exercise. Each day Paula, dressed in one of her many small 'n tight exercise outfits, would drive her two youngest to the holy grail of all hook-up joints, The Gym.

At this Gym, Paula would drop the young ins off at the daycare, slide on those gloves she used for "lifting" and sashay about while many an ogler would drop their jowls over her buoyantly bogus double-Ds. Sometimes you'd get to see an ogler or two wipe the slobber from their chins.

This was Paula's routine and she received a lot of attention. Which was good because Paula was too hot for only one person to enjoy. Paula figured that out. She was entirely too hot for that Mr. Perfect she was married to.

After a while, we all began to notice that Joe Football, a former college footballer gone pro, would show up at exactly the same time as Paula. After weeks of "casual" conversation, their flirting became fallacious and Paula changed her routine. Paula would drive her kids to The Gym, drop 'em off at the day care, climb back in her van with Joe Football and drive away. Paula and Joe Football would come back to the gym an hour later, just in time to do a few reps on the peck deck. There was no need for the flat or inclined dumbbell press because that was already accomplished in the back of the van.

Get it!? Flat or inclined dumbbell Press?

After a few weeks of vehicular rendezvousing, Paula realizes she's in a pickle and begins a smear campaign against Mr. Perfect. She had that entire Gym feeling sorry for her cheating ass. Being as the Gym is full of thugs with thimble sized IQs, it wasn't hard for Paula to get them all singing her sob story. So these fellow Gym Rats convince Paula that it's time to leave Mr. Perfect. "But I don't have any income!" she'd cry. "How do I support my children?" As if the children are a priority at this point, right?

Paula then sets out to find a job. And find a job she did! As a stripper - complete with g-string, pasties and that brass pole. Speaking of brass pole. Have you ever considered the bacteria running about on those things? Ewe. Anyway, Paula figures that if she works as a stripper for a few months, she can stash enough cash to get away from the tortuous tyranny of Mr. Perfect. That's the plan anyway.

Mommy and Wifey by day - Stripper by night.

The need for Paula to be more than 90% naked begins to make her a bit self-conscious and she hires a trainer. She hires Jimmy. This means I was married to a personal trainer who had a stripper as a client. Jealous, aren't you? I'll bet you're jealous.

Being the unorthodox oddball that I am, I get curious and want to see this Paula girl show her stuff. I convince Jimmy and his meat-head buddies that we need to go see Paula disband and dance - let's go see her protein shake. (Okay so convince might not be the right word for I had them at protein shake. I suppose the convincing part came when I begged them to take me along.)

Get it?! "Protein Shake?" Sometimes I think I'm so funny.

In the which the Rabid (before she was the Rabid) had her one and only strip club experience. It's very shocking at first. But then you get used to eight or so dumb-broads dancing about in the buff while dirty old men throw cash at them. The girls that night were quite lucky. The LA Clippers were in town to play some Jazz and they were tossing hundreds like taffy. During Paula's break, she jumped down from her red velvet stage, wanders over to us and using her best vocabulary says, "Thanks so much guys for supporting me guys! It means so much guys!"

Whatever toots. I'm down here making some serious fun of you.

Rumor has it that Paula was brought to her knees with ridicule. This is Rumor to me for I was out-of the loop by then. Jimmy had moved in with his own Paula-esque Gym Rat and I had given up that grody gym for pavement pounding. (That's when I became the Rabidrunner, by the way. Running soothed the soul and the fury of infidelity made me foam at the mouth.)

One day, on a cold dark night, one just like tonight, Paula's Mr. Perfect, suspicious of her recent behavior, follows her to "work." And while Paula was up there gyrating away, Mr. Perfect marches up to stage, throws a handful of quarters at her and screams, "Show me what you got!"

Last I heard, they were still married.


Winder said...

That story is awesome. I think you should share the bacteria infested pole thought with Delmar. Just to watch him become grossed out.

Jessica said...

Who thinks of getting a job as a stripper? That's so weird. Although, it appears that it fits Paula's MO.

The handful of quarters in the face (or pasties) was my favorite part. Maybe Mr. Perfect shouldn't of paid for those double Ds?

Jessica said...

um, that should say "shouldn't have". I'm losing it....

Mandee said...

I am ashamed to admit just how much I enjoyed reading this story. So much so, that I IM'd the link to Aaron at work. And he read it at work. And when he reads a blog, during precious work time- well that is a HUGE compliment. Totally sucked us in.

I want more.

Mandee said...

And YOU went to a strip club. So brave ... so, so, so brave.

tom lindsey said...

Phallacious flirting with Football Fred presents Paula with pickle.

Lars said...

Did you go to The Bush? When I lived in SLC my guy friends tried to get me to go there...such a classy name.. clever too.

megan said...

I had to wait a whole day before commenting...could you add a Chinese Proverb to the end?? something like "stay fat to ensure good marriage"?

I'd like to say that I live and breathe for the free babysitting at the gym :) until they stopped allowing babies and my whole life turned upside is a mom with a baby supposed to workout? (sorry the frost on the eyebrows thing doesn't work for me - AND its tax season...single parenting??) BUT just so you know...I wear crappy clothes for 3 days in a row...that don't match.

megan said...

Oh...I only had to wait a day because I found the story soooo insanely interesting - and I kept thinking about it all day...even dreamt about it - and still trying to figure out how you overheard ALL of it? :)

Julie said...

This sort of makes me want to give you a high-five...or a hug...or something.

I love it. A lot.

Amber said...

You don't know me. I grew up in Yuma and knew Megan's sister Tia. I stumbled upon Megan's photoblog from Tia's and was (obviously) mesmorized. From there I saw her Christmas card post and somehow landed on your blog. I'm so glad I did.

I work at a gym. I'm an average-sized healthy instructor. And you are spot on. My favorite is when a Lady Gaga lookalike comes to one of my classes, because I don't give a crap if her mascara runs or if she breaks a godawful red nail. Get off your pretty little cellulite-free-after-multiple-surgeries butt and run.

I seriously almost peed myself after I read this. I hope you don't think I am a freakish blog-stalker, but can I share this post with some of my gym girls (the non rat-like ones)?

rabidrunner said...

Jessica, you know those are my sentiments exactly... who the hell gets a job as a stripper? I'm sitting here trying desperately to think of circumstances that would drive me there. (There's also the fact that my body type don't exactly fit the part. And believe you me, I've seen the part my body type would have to fit.)

Mandee there's no shame in sharing other peoples' filth right? Glad you enjoyed it. Incidentally, while I was doing my final read through before posting, I COULD NOT BELIEVE that it actually happened. It's Young 'n the Restless type stuff, don't you think?

Tom! Alliterative annotations! Oh how that adds delight to my day!

Lars, I don't recall the name of the joint for it was a long time ago and I don't intend to go back.

Megan, I "overheard" this decrepit story because I was right in the middle of it. My current betrothed was her trainer. Trainers know EVERYTHING about people. They have more dirt on people than their doctors. Or their insurance agents. Or even their accountants (tee hee). Trainers are not bound by that confidentiality crap so they just rattle away. I have dirt on lots of people. You should also know that I can spot a matrimony masquerader from many hundreds of miles away. You will never fit the part, so no need to worry about what you sport at the gymnasium (for the record, Gym Rats go to the Gym, the rest of us go the gymnasium).

Amber darling, oh how I do adore that name, please pastie away... er... I mean, post away. Glad to meet your acquaintance. I have a certain fondness for anything that comes from Yuma, by the way.