I’ve always been a little bit pervy, but I’ve never been much of a steam queen or a locker room lookie-loo lounge lizard type of perv–at least not where gym etiquette is concerned. Then I joined CRUNCH gym.
I may’ve mentioned on this here blog that my local W. Hollywood 24-Hour Fitness gym closed down for renovations two months ago. My ass went from getting a quick beauty pump around the corner from where I live, to doing a five-mile hike to the Hollywood location on Sunset and Vine where the boys are real pretty, pretty dumb and pretty much unemployed waiters/actors/models (WAMs). The gym is crowded like all fuck as you can well imagine. By the time you get to a bench press, the beauty pump pretty much goes kaput. Then you wait in line to relieve yourself of some body water in the restroom and that pretty much does it! Something has to give.
It’s not like I can take three months off from working out…cuz…umm…like yeah…let’s face it; I can’t get fat. I’m one of those mean skinny bitches who has talked way too much smack about the not-so skinny bitches. Maintenance of the bod is a must. It is both a curse and a cross that I must bear till the day I die.
SOOoo I joined CRUNCH gym, which is only 2 miles away from where I live. That gym also had a recent nip and tuck. It’s mostly a guy’s gym, which means the queens have to man up. And while it is not a big and beefy body builder’s gym, the smell of TESTIN is undeniable (TESTIN is a testosterone body gel that has been sweeping across West Hollywood recently; the smell is like catnip for gay guys). The aerobics classes seem to be geared more towards ladies and lady boys alike. I’m fascinated by the Stripper Pole and the Stiletto Strength classes, but mostly because of the guys that walk by wearing size 11, 6 inch heels—I’m sorry, but balls and stripper poles can only add up to a painful mash-up. I cringe when I see a guy a straddle a hooker pole with his balls clearly getting in the way of a sensual swirl. Then his obscene ballsack peeks out of his short shorts and forget about it; I can’t help but stand there and stare. You can almost see those vocal cords stretch to a falsetto range.
And speaking of staring problems, in comes the part where I feel like a total perv. This is old news, but it’s new to me. Anyone who is familiar with CRUNCH GYM knows about their spotlit showers, which throw a shadowy naked torso against a smoky, frosted fiberglass pane on the walkway towards the locker room areas. On one side you have the men’s showers, and on the other, is the women’s . Anyway, I can’t help it. If I see the shadowy motions of a guy scrubbing his ass, I’m always gonna stop and stare. I guess I’m just wired that way. You can see pretty much everything depending on where the person is standing against the light. You’ll be minding your own business checking in at the front desk and then you’re checking out the silhouette a plump penis with water dripping from a mushroom head. You don’t mean to stare, but it’s RIGHT THERE!!! What drives me crazy is that other people walk past these naked shadowy figures as if…it wasn’t a naked shadowy figure. It makes me feel like such an immature perv. My workout bud who also recently joined CRUNCH, find these penis puppet shows equally distracting.
What kind of person puts himself on Front Street like that, you ask? To be honest, it’s mostly the same kind of guy that puts himself out there at a nude beach. In other words, he has no business putting himself on a shadowy display at a Hollywood gym (you know the type–“I love me. I love my big body. You need to love it too.”). You’ll see the beautiful naked figure of a man giving himself a scrub down, so you rush to the restroom to wash your hands with the hopes of getting a glimpse of the real deal. But what you see coming out of that shower stall is some overgrown hairy fool that looks more like a wet pinata–a big pink pinata at that. It’s like the Bugs Bunny cartoon where the beautiful belly dancer hides her face behind a veil. Then the veil comes off and what you see underneath is some hag with a hairy nose and scary teeth. Yup, it’s exactly like that. I guess it’s what I get for being a perv.
Don’t get me wrong, I like the CRUNCH GYM, I plan to stay, but I miss my old Weho gym. My workouts are suffering tremendously. I feel so damn poochy. It’s scheduled to open in January 2011, but I hear the construction is behind schedule; one wall goes up and then contractors come and tear it down). The new wet areas are supposed to be uni-sex, to keep the pervs at bay. I bet it gets more pervy than ever. I said it once and I’ll say again: If there’s a gay, there’s a way. We’re kinda/sorta pervy that way.