Halloween Planning and the Return of a Beloved Gym Mystery (with pics)

Right off the top, I want to apologize for the sudden scarceness of posts on the site. No, I didn’t get too “Hollywood” for this blog, despite what the buzz on the Internet may say. The actual story is that it’s late September which means I’ve been in full-blown preparing for Halloween mode for the last … I don’t know. July? Since July. All of this planning and such has finally begun to eclipse my devotion to my other favorite pastime: writing nonsense on the Internet.  

                Some years I handle my spooky season business a little bit better than others. This year not so much. I’ve got three trips to the hardware store invested into my Halloween costume (making a T-800 arm, dressing as Arnie from Terminator: Genisys). I’ve also got some designs worked up in my brain for new homemade outdoor decorations. It’s just, it’s a lot. I don’t want to say planning a wedding was easy compared to planning Halloween … so I’m just going to leave it at that. Hahaha kidding … or am I?

                Anyway, so even though blogs are light right now I still love you all to bits and pieces. And that is precisely why I felt it was imperative to interrupt my Halloweenings to share this news with you.

                So, remember my classic blog post from August 29 entitled “Gym Mysteries: The latest and most adorable new chapter?” Here’s the link in case you don’t. The long and the short of it was I walked out of the gym one morning and saw a cat napping in the rear window of a car. This sent me off on fits of wild and rampant speculation about the true nature of the car’s owner, life in general and cat’s place in it, etc. Then I didn’t see the cat anymore, Halloween took over my life and that was that. 

Gym Mysteries: The latest and most adorable new chapter

Not actually "Car Cat." Courtesy: www.calautomuseum.org

I’m going to pull back the curtain right at the start here and tell you I had no blog topic for this week. As late as Friday morning, my plan was to take maybe ten of the roughly 12,000 pictures I took during my honeymoon and do funny captions. Spinning pure gold here at The Cheese Life. That was the plan – it may still be a future plan, so if that sounds like fun, stay tuned – but then on Friday morning, inspiration struck in a familiar location: the gym. Well, more accurately in the parking lot of the gym.

                There I was, crossing the parking lot to my car, my old grade school and high school backpack full of dirty clothes on my back. The morning had the chilly feel of Fall, by the way. As I was walking passed a seemingly run-of-the-mill, plain old car, it happened. I noticed four things which gave me a blog topic. This blog topic. I will now relate to you the four things I noticed, not in the order I noticed them, but in a calculated order based on dramatic effect.

                So, the first thing I noticed –and this was actually the first thing I noticed – was two open Tupperware containers were sitting in the back window of the car. This seemed an odd place for Tupperware, and upon further inspection I noticed they also contained little bits of food. The back window of a car seemed a very strange place for containers of food. Front window or passenger seat, those would make sense. Someone was eating and tossed them there when they got to their destination. I get that. Back window, that’s a hard place to reach from the driver’s seat, maybe whoever it was, wasn’t traveling alone.  

                That brings me to the second thing I noticed – not really the second thing this time, dramatic effect: the car had a handicapped tag prominently hanging from its rear view mirror, but it wasn’t in a handicapped spot. It was actually parked across from the handicapped spots outside of the gym, all of which were empty. While the car was close, many of the empty handicapped spots were even closer. Again, odd. Maybe the tag is for a relative who wasn’t traveling in the car that day or the person just wanted to challenge him or herself.

                Now we come to the third thing I noticed – but not really: Not one or two, but all four of the cars windows were slightly open. Just ever so slightly. Now, I usually leave my back two windows cracked when I get to work to air out the towel I use at the gym, but never all four. Also, the day, as I mentioned when I set the scene for you earlier, wasn’t hot. All four windows cracked was certainly overkill on a day like that, when even in direct sunlight, a car likely wasn’t going to get all that stuffy.

                And now the last thing I noticed: but not really: There was a full-sized adult cat, white with a few black and brownish spots resting on the car’s dashboard. My mind couldn’t process what I was seeing. I reeled. The cat paid me no mind and continued lounging.

A Special 'Cheese Life' Announcement and More Gym Embarrassments

With the beard so went my interest in writing about your show apparently

Sad news: The poorly titled “Good and Bad” column is no more. I know, I know. Sad faces all around. Last night, I was halfway into trying to decipher just what the hell was going on with Rick’s character when I realized a pair of things. Thing #1: I don’t really enjoy writing about “The Walking Dead” anymore. Thing #2: I’ve become so jaded by writing about “The Walking Dead” that I’d almost completed a bulleted list describing why a character who beats his wife is more likeable than the show’s hero.

                When a man gets to that point, it’s time to step back from the keyboard, put away the sarcasm and rethink all of the steps that got him there.

                So instead, here’s an embarrassing story that happened to me the other day at that place that I go to in the morning in between bed and work. In addition to curbing my TV reviews, I’m also trying to stop namedropping the gym as much, but it was the gym. This story happened at the gym.

                If you’ll recall a few weeks back, I told you about a pair of old guys whose names I know, but who don’t know mine. I talk to them a bunch, but somehow we skipped over that whole awkward introduction phase and went right into daily acquaintance. Those were simpler times. Back before a zombie TV show broke my soul.

                Anyway, so the next chapter in that sad and meh tale goes as such: It was a Friday morning, just like any other Friday morning. I’d completed my workout for the day and was completely tuned out to the world, as is often the case when I’m at that place that I don’t want to mention by name. I was walking to the locker room, when I was accosted by the one older gentleman.

                Editor’s note: The names in this story have been changed to protect the innocent.

                “Hey!” he said. I stopped. I had headphones on, so what he said next was slightly muffled, but it sounded like: “It’s Tyrion, by the way.”

                I. Was. Floored.

That's Not My Name: The Adventures of Guy and Young Fella

If I had to give my ability to form meaningful relationships with other human beings a grade, I think I’d give myself an NI for Needs Improvement. I’ve got a solid group of friends, a long term girlfriend, positive relationships with family members and neither of my cats have attempted to tunnel out of the house to escape me yet. All of those truths have elevated me above the pitiable U for Unsatisfactory level, however, I clearly don’t deserve an S for Satisfactory, either. I’m just far too socially awkward and stunted for any teacher, no matter how lenient, to put that S on my report card.

                Consider this social phenomenon I’ve been observing over the last, maybe two years of my life. It’s something I can only imagine is not a common occurrence in the lives of most.

                I go to the gym most mornings (Disclaimer: I’m not a hero). While at the gym, I approach no one. I put on a pair of headphones, listen to my music or a podcast, go about my routine and leave. I’ve followed this exact blueprint across three separate gyms over the course of nearly a decade. I ask no questions, I make no conversation, I do nothing beyond a friendly nod and smile at whoever happens to be manning the front desk.

                I’m not a dick. If someone talks to me or approaches me, I will absolutely give them the time of day. I’ve even made one or two friends this way during my time spent getting all jacked up and shredded and so forth. I don’t mind talking to people, it’s just not the reason I’m there.

                In addition to the friends, I’ve also made a rather large collection of … undefinables. This is where my social defect is on full display. Allow me to explain.

                I know a guy at the gym. I know he’s unemployed. I know what job he used to have. I know his wife is pregnant. I know it’s a daughter. I know when she’s due. I know what his wife’s name is. I know he hates ab day. I know what kinds of onesies he’s planning on buying her – the daughter, not the wife. Counter to that, he knows what I do, where I work, where I grew up, that I hurt my wrist playing softball a few months ago, and he knows I struggled to get an MRI scheduled for said wrist.

                Guess what we don’t know about each other? Our names. I know intimate details about his personal life and the same goes for him, but we’ve never actually said “Hi, I’m blank.” We just started on page two of the “How to Make Friends” pamphlet.