Gym Chicks, Ugh...

Dear Diary,
Today I went to the gym for the first time since the new millenium. I had decided to go yesterday when I realized that sweat on fat only works in one place, and by place I mean location, and by that I mean my local YMCA. I walked in to see a half empty fitness area, clean and sparkling. The place was damn near deserted with the exception of the clusterfuck by the counter. I patiently waited while a slightly distressed clerk helped strung out mothers with afterschool program fees. Half an hour later, with my bright red 1week membership in hand, I hit the workout floor. By this time everyone in the neighborhood had heard about the persperation avalibility, so getting to a machine wasn't as easy as it would have been if the mothers-in-screaming hadn't taken their sweetass time. But no bother, I jumped onto a treadmill and began what I knew would be the most liberating and phisical part of my near purposless day. After entering just about everything except a urine sample into the treadmill, I was off. As I powerwalked my way to invigurating bliss, I noticed the girl next to me. She had long dirty blond hair, a huge shirt with equally large pants, and not one but TWO tabloids on her treadmill shelf. She had set her incline to cliff-side and her speed to 'where's the bathroom'. She clutched the rails of her machine as if riding a flying bull. She was about my age, quite thin. She glanced over, first at me, then at my treadmill settings. She would look at mine, then at hers, toss her thrown-together ponytail, and continue her climb. Clearly, she was hating. For a split second, I was besmirched. How could some dumb bitch who can't even operate the manual settings on a YMCA treadmill be talking trash with her eyeballs when I had JUST got there?! So I eat, FUCK YOU BITCH! Just cause your trashy ass is here to burn off the baby weight from your last failed relationship with a high school drop out, doesn't mean you can come my way tryin' to shit throw my millin' time! BITCH! But then, I decided to chill. After all, I was at the Y in San Francisco. If anyone looked like a freak, it was twig sister, not me. Besides, what kind of pathetic, apple slice diet snatch would risk a brawl with yours truly. My conclusion was simple, given my appearance and light hearted nature, this starving olympic reject had taken me for a cookie.
How simple life can be....