On Being a Haterista

I'm thinking of adding Yoga to my workout program. Yes, I'm sure it will help me alleviate stress, and help me breathe better, and all that. But what I'm really interested is in releasing my inner hater upon the actual objects of my wrath, to their faces.

Instead of what I do now, which is rant on a blog about stupid everyone is.

I got this idea by when I was going through the Big, Fat Sousa blog list this morning, and came across "yoga makes me insult people" at Zoe Ruiz's A Fantasy of Flight. The basic gist is that after she went to a yoga class in Silver Lake, she went into a coffee shop and insulted a bunch of hipster douche bags to their faces. It's awesome.

I'm not there yet. I have to keep my haterisms to snarky comments whispered to friends and family, or to unhinged rants on this blog (and sometimes on my other blog). For example, yesterday, the Professor and I were working out together, doing the circuit training workout at Planet Fitness, when, as long time readers can doubtless, the inevitable fucking ass bag just walks in and starts using the equimpent we need, so we have to skip over it, and it fucks up our rhythm. The Professor was the first to be irritated, because she was ahead of me in the rotation.

Anyway, these two stupid women were using the tricep extension machine, and in addition to monopolizing it, they were doing the shit fucking wrong. Anyway, one of them was a skinny-ish woman with disgusting saggy boobs, barely contained by her sports bra. I like big boobs as much as the next guy, but she looked like she was trying to smuggle two deflated basketballs full of lumpy oatmeal. The other woman looked like Melinda, the subnormal check-out girl in Sling Blade who brings Karl flowers on her lunch break.

So I said, a little under my breath, "Flowers sure is pretty. hmm. I've always thought that."

The professor looked up, saw what I was talking about and said, "I got you these flowers on sale, cuz they're not fresh."

(actually, this role playing got us kinda hot, so we went home and made some retard-love)

ANYWAY, the point is, if I did some yoga, I would have just been able to go up to these stupid whores and say, "Look, bitches, my wife and I are trying to complete a workout as prescribed by that gigantic fucking sign you walked past on the way to this machine. Since you two are most likely illiterate anyway, that's not really important, but it does say that this area is for members completing the circuit only. Get the fuck out of here and go downstairs to the other machine."

I also could have said to my brother, this morning, as I was driving him to the BART station, to hang up his fucking phone, because I hate it when I'm giving someone a ride, and they turn down MY radio so they can have a conversation, and everyone else in the car--in this case, it was only me, but still, it's fucking rude--has to listen to one side of the most boring conversation in history. Something about how $4.00 a lbs is too much to pay for donut holes, no matter how much lard is smeared on them.