I did get started on my little girl purse but I just have to share my latest gym experience (today) with you. I told you about the 'I'm Talking and I Can't Shut Up' lady but unfortunately she's not the only character I've encountered at the gym in my attempt to get healthy.



The music world may have been blessed with Lady Gaga but I've been saddled with Angry Mama. Angry Mama spends her entire workout session on the phone screaming, and in no particular order, to: her kids, her friends, her family, and anyone else she can speed dial at a moments notice. And I have to admit I was a bit puzzled with the fake patent leather, shiny sack of a purse that Angry Mama jerks and yanks about to each work station. And then today I realized it was a Coco Chanel, and while I think Angry Mama is proud of her Coco Chanel, I find it at complete odds with the mean looking tattoos inked across the back of her neck (although if I let someone dig needles into my neck I might not be too cheerful either).

Anyway, today I was on the elliptical machine and since I don't want to be on the elliptical machine I try to watch (really read, as everything is close captioned) the TV and get done with this nonsense as quickly as I can.



And have you ever tried to read what the illiterate closed captioned person is trying to type when they are unfortunate enough to interpret information from a zillion dollar football player who can't speak grammatically correct English? All I can say is, those football players should be thankful that someone is willing to pay them a zillion dollars because otherwise they wouldn't be able to get a job at Wendy's! And can you imagine trying to decipher their drivel over one of those fast food loudspeakers?



So I'm sweating on the elliptical when a voice comes zinging out of nowhere and I think, "Oh please God no! Don't be Angry Mama!!" But it was.

I let my eyes skitter to the left and that's when I saw her big Coco Chanel purse plopped on top of the controls of the treadmill she was using.



Here's an example of just one fun conversation:



Speed dial. "Tell Kevin to call me!" The phone snaps shut and gets slammed onto the top of the treadmill.



Ring.



"What!" Pause. " Tell Kevin to call me!" Snap. Slam.



Ring.



"What!" Pause. "He needs to call me." Snap. Slam.



Ring.



"What!" Pause. "He needs to call me."

Pause.

"Because."

Pause.

"Because."

Pause.

"Because."

Pause.

"I just need to talk to him, okay? Tell him to call me."

Pause.

"Because."

Pause.

"Because."

Pause.

"He needs to call me." Snap. Slam.



Ring.



"What!" Pause. "He needs to call me."

Pause.

"He needs to call me."



And that's when I'm ready to leap from my machine, jerk the phone from Angry Mama's ear, and scream into the mouth piece, "FOR GOD'S SAKE, WHAT PART OF JUST TELL HIM TO CALL HER AREN'T YOU GETTING?????!!!!!!



Today she fought with her daughter. She had her phone between her ear and shoulder and was yanking like crazy at a rowing type of machine. Somehow I don't think the directions specify the human body to be twisted in an abnormal position while attempting to row.



Daughter wanted picked up from somewhere at around 3:30 PM.

"I can't pick you up."

Pause.

"Because I can't."

Pause.

"Because I can't."

Pause.

"Because I can't."

Pause.

"BECAUSE I'M GOING SHOPPING AT THE MALL AND WHEN I SHOP I LIKE TO RELAX AND I'M NOT PICKING YOU UP!!


"WELL WHEN I WORK OUT I LIKE TO RELAX BUT YOU DON'T SEEM TO GIVE A RAT'S ASS DO YOU????" I wanted to scream but since she scares the holy hell out of me, I didn't.

This is the price I pay for moving to a city where I can't just run out my own front door at any time for a run (that doesn't cost anything!), and have to depend on a gym.

I'll be glad when spring gets here and we can go for some decent bike riding and I can maybe walk my Granddog Duncan.

Thank God Duncan doesn't have a Coco Chanel purse.