Weirdo A. The Vampire in the Gym
I’m beginning to believe that the woman who works out beside me at the YMCA is a 50 year-old chupacabra. I am constantly questioning whether I should be working out next to someone devoid of a circulatory system who eats babies. Then again, I'm pretty sure the other guy who shares the elliptical machines with me is a hard-lining Republican and bipolar, so this really couldn’t be much worse.
The woman who works out beside me looks like the secret love child of Nosferatu and Helen Gurley Brown. Her skin is almost translucent, and I can see the blue veins in her massive forehead between her stringy blonde-highlighted bangs. Every time she inhales, one particular vein pulsates, and I shudder. Her over-waxed eyebrows arch upwards at a forty-five degree angle, so at all times she looks surprised, fearful, and/or insane. I also have a sneaking suspicion this woman's startling countenance is due to more than one injection of botchulism.
Sometimes, I can’t tell if she has a lazy eye or if she is very interested in the veins in my neck. Either way, my palms sweat.
I have seen this particular woman in RSVP magazine several times, smiling with her millionaire philanthropist husband at huge galas attended by bored rich people. She's a socialite, and I know her name though i am not giving it here, of course. Just find the person in RSVP magazine with the most plastic surgery, and we're on the same page.
The other day as I was working out, I looked over at her. She's rail thin, obviously has an eating disorder. No one could be that thin without intentionally doing something to your body. She's always there before me and I always leaves before she's done. Sometimes I sneak a peek at her calorie count, and it's over 1000 calories. (Only a chupacabra would have that stamina)
She answered her cellphone as I looked at her, and she didn't even say hello. "Fashion is just people's last resort when they don't have enough to offer other people. Be suspicious of anyone in couture."
And that's all she said and hung up. I liked this woman, even though she probably hated herself.
Weirdo B. The Corn Starch Lady
As I'm driving down Summer Avenue the other day, I came upon a stop sign where, at first, I noticed two transexual prostitutes standing across the street looking for johns. Then I noticed the hefty lady in the Kia Rio right beside me. While I don't like to stare at people, she had an interesting resemblance to a hamster so I couldn't take my eyes off of her.
She raised her hand upto her mouth, holding a box of corn starch. Just as the light turned green, she began shoving handfuls of cornstarch into her mouth. All I could do, as I drove away, was wonder how fun that must be to swallow.
Weirdo C. The Guy Who Talks to His Weiner
A few minutes ago, I walked into the bathroom at work and took my place at the urinal beside a tall, thin man. Just as I began to relieve myself, I noticed that the man was staring at his own penis. This is not uncommon behavior. Some people's eyes remain focused on the wall, refusing for a moment to catch a glance at their neighbor's peeing. We'll call these people the Wallwatchers. Others glance around, perusing the room as they go to the bathroom. Some even talk to their neighbor about things like sports, the weather, or boobies. Heterosexual men normally engage in this, as we homosexual types fear rejection, embarrassment, or a black eye if we engage someone in conversation. We'll call them the Socializers. Others feel the need to watch their own urination, as if they must closely guard this natural phenomenon for signs of discrepencies in the color, odor, or consistency of their urine. Or, perhaps, they really like themselves a lot and take every opportunity they can to marvel at their own reproductive organs. We'll call these types the Narcissus Urinators.
I was assuming that this man beside me was a narcissus urinator, as his eyes were fixated on his own organ. But, I was shocked as he began to talk to his own member as he stood there. Now, if you know me at all, you know I don't typically respond well to situations like this. Who would? "Men who talk to their penises" is not a topic covered in any chapter in "Social Norms 101," right?
Perhaps he was a socializer, and he was talking to me. Hmm....no, clearly this is a conversation he was having but certainly not with me.
"No, no, no, no. You aren't listening to me," he said to his penis, which we will now name Joey, as I don't enjoy typing the word penis this many times in a blog.
He paused and continued staring, as if Joey was responding. "No, that's really beside the point. Those kids are not your responsibility!"
I am sure that many would beg to differ. He looks at me, and I cannot take my eyes off of him. He gives me a look like, "what the fuck are you looking at, mary?" and returns to the conversation down below.
By this time, I'm freaking out. I've gone from wallwatcher to now watching this guy talk to his body part, but really I just want to run back to my office and tell everyone about this guy. The IRS shares space on our floor of the building, and an ongoing joke in our office is about how weird the IRS people are. Boy, are they. Now that I know they talk to their weiners, I'm really convinced they are a strange lot. Just imagine the next time you get audited that the guy who audits you might have been talking to his weiner earlier in the day.
I've finished my business, and I made the error of wearing button-fly pants today. Gap really needs to work on making better button flies for their pants. I stand around the bathroom for what seems like five minutes desperate to get my pants finished while this dude is talking to his....Joey.
"I have other priorities!" he said to Joey, his tone getting harsher. "What do you expect me to do?"
It was then that I noticed the earpiece in his ear and the cellphone clipped to his belt. It was then, and only then that I realized he wasn't so weird. He was a Wireless Urinator, a rare breed of cat that makes telephone calls at the urinal. And, because I almost had a panic attack thinking he was talking to his Joey, that sort
Weirdo D. The Overreactive Paranoid Drama Queen