People You Meet in Hell

OK, not really in Hell, but people you come across that make you feel like you're in Hell.

I'm currently at my son's gymnastics. He's off flipping and bouncing while I try to ignore the world around me and enjoy the pure bliss of not having the shit bugged out of me watch him proudly. Unfortunately, there's a group of parents standing 10 feet from me who are droning on and on about how their parenting skills are far superior than everyone else. Since I rather perform my own dental work than join in their hen house banter, the sound of their self-righteous voices tests my control to not yell out "shut the hell up, you windbag dolts!".
Right now, they're discussing how one of their fellow chatty-cathys, who happens to be absent today, allows their kids to watch too much TV, too much violence, too much sweets...blah, blah, blah. They've collectively decided they must all limit their children's contact with this parent's children. I hope they're also making mental note to never miss a class and therefore leaving themselves open to be the recipient of the others' disapproval and gossip.

Oh good, they've moved on to their incredibly high home values. Fabulous. Bunch of a-holes.

I don't know if I'm just pms'ing there's a cosmic malfunction, but I seem to be encountering all sorts of jerks/weirdos/annoying people lately.

The gym seems to be a mecca for dimwits. And I'm not even talking about the blockheads that spend their entire workout grunting and sweating on stuff. No, there's a woman there that bugs the hell out of me to the point that I sorta feel guilty about it. She's not disruptive in any way, but nonetheless makes me want to put a stick through the spokes of her exercise bike. She's there every.single.time I'm at the gym. She's there before I arrive, she's still there when I leave 10 minutes later. She rides the bike or the elliptical like Tiger after a slutty cocktail waitress. I mean, sparks flying off the thing... for hours on end. But the thing is, she's a skeleton. Seriously, I always shield the kids eyes while walking past her in fear that they'll have nightmares of skeletor on the treadmill. I know I do.

I guess I should feel sorry for her or something, but I don't. Seriously, stop already. Go eat a Big Mac, and supersize it! I actually have things I need to get done daily and therefore can't literally run my ass off at the gym six hours a day. I know I'm going straight to hell probably wrong for saying this, but beyond it probably being unhealthy, her efforts are wasted; she'd riding the hein-train... toot! toot! You just can't outrun ugly.

Oh, I am evil. Still love me?

And then there's the guy at the pool. Again, I swear he lives there. No matter what time we go to the pool - mornings, evenings, weekends - he's there. We call him Milton. And yes, he looks like this:

Now picture him in a bathing suit.

And stop gagging.

Milton is always by himself, spending his pool time blatantly staring at all the bathers through his 1 1/2 inch thick glasses. After watching a couple endure a good twenty minutes of his company in the hot tub, where he sat uncomfortably within their personal space, staring without a word, I've made it policy to skip all hot tub time in the presence of Milton. One of these days I'm going to risk certain death to my camera phone and try to bring it into the pool and sneak a picture of him. The things I'd do for you, my peeps.

So how you doin'?