02/09/2015 12:54 pm ET Updated Apr 10, 2015

Gym Dandy

I go to the gym every day. Not bragging, simply stating a fact. Do I look good? Well, judging from how the ladies check me out, when I bend over to pick up dropped coins, apparently so. And I drop coins a lot. The best thing about the gym, aside from the obvious health benefits, and foxy ladies checking out my rock hard abs and buns of steel, is it's a great place to observe humans, in their natural habitat. When people workout, they tend to drop their inhibitions and let all their weird, dark, crusty stuff hang out. It seems like every gym has certain roles that need to be filled. Like the crazy, self-centered middle aged woman who rants into her cell phone for an hour on the treadmill. And the black guy with headphones who can't stop singing. And the fat guy who never gets any thinner. I'm not making that up. There is a fat guy at my gym, like a hundred pounds overweight fat guy. He's there every day, doing cardio and stretching. Yet he never loses that gigantic gut. I'm wondering, how much does this guy eat? It's not like he's not burning calories. He's burning a ton of calories. And apparently jamming two tons of calories down his neck every night.

And there are the ridiculously hot young women, wearing skintight yoga pants, who hang out right by the front lobby, so everyone can see them, and stretch into seductive poses for hours on end. Like they don't know what they are doing! Lets just say, while these young hotties are working on their glutes, every man in the gym is working on his peripheral vision. Those girls are so annoying! Sometimes for hours.

Something else that really pisses me off at the gym, are all the little passive-aggressive territorial games that go on. Like these people who put their towel down on one machine, then go workout on another. Then, when you get on the machine with their towel on it, they come rushing back over, in a huff, "Hey, I was on that machine dude!" Man, that pisses me off! There is no better way to make sure I do get on a machine, than leaving your towel on the machine, then walking away. I make a point of it. Gandhi had his cause, I have mine.

Then there are the obviously homeless people who basically live at the gym. They are easy to spot. First off, they show up with so many bags and suitcases it looks like they are going to the Greyhound bus depot. Secondly, they use the place for all it's worth; they charge their phone, shower, trim some things, watch TV in the lounge. In L.A., if you have a car, a cell phone and a gym membership, who needs a home?

Then there are the hardcore body builders, or "Meatheads" as they are called by the kids today. These are the young guys, with huge muscles, wearing tiny tank tops, and they all gravitate toward the dead weights. Frankly, I have never even been near the dead weights at my gym. I'm scared to. It looks kind of like a prison yard. All these huge guys, lifting giant slabs of weight and making strange sounds, and there's gangster rap music blaring. For a middle aged white guy, there may as well be a force field around the free weight area. But every now and then, you will see a brute curious woman drift over towards the free weights guys, until she chickens out and scampers back to her yoga mat, in the nice Switzerland that is the stretching area.

I don't know, I bitch about the gym but I just keep going back. You could call it an addiction. But then, if looking this good came in a bottle, everyone would do it.