I'm A (Workout) Slave for U

So, earlier today I was driving to the gym, en route to wail away on my pecs (jealous?) when out of the blue I spotted the madness.

The shouting.

The screaming.

The vague foreign accents.

The rat-at-tat clicking of the cameras.

The Paparazzi!

And we're not talking about a trio of lurking pervs with cameras...

I'm talking PAPARAZZI worthy of the one, the only....

Yes, Britney.



Now, I didn't jump to this conclusion judging from the sheer chaos of the scene before me, I jumped to my conclusion based on the location of the scene...

Starbucks.

Does Britney like her Starbucks!??!?!



Like, Duh!!!!

SCUZZY PARASITES WITH CAMERAS + SUGARY FRAPPAHELLYEAHS ='s BRITNEY?

Looking at the insanity to my left, I followed my first natural instant and immediately slammed on the brakes. My heart was steering the wheel, but my head trying to interrupt me the entire time: "Go to the gym, Brian, leave the poor girl alone!"

But my heart had different ideas: "Shut The Fuck Up Head...You Gotta See This Mess For Yourself!"

I finally got a clear view of the parking lot I was heading into, and never in my life have I seen this kind of frenzied mob, it was a goddamn madhouse, I swore I saw a dancing bear in the midst of it all....

So, I'm sailing into the parking lot via the exit only lane, and suddenly they spy me and a couple of them start screaming at me. "THEM" being the paparazzi, or as I call them after my personal run in, THE PAPS.

So, the Paps are getting hysterical and a few of them scream at ME in vague foreign accents, for pulling in through the exit lane.

WRONG WAY, WRONG WAY!

EXIT ONLY, READ THE DAMN SIGN!

Lord, what a fucking oversensitive bunch. When did they get all high and mighting for following the rules?!!?

Have you ever noticed how incensed they get when they scream things at the celebrities, even if it's about the most mundane act. Picture it: Lohan's leaving the hospital (for dehydration, hardy har har) and while running to her car she happens to drop her pen, and suddenly they (the PAPS) start shaking with uncontrolled, unhealthy, unnerving energy and scream out:

"Lohan, you dropped the pen.

Your pen.

THE PEN MY CHILD,

YOU DROPPED IT,

THE PENNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!"

(Back to Reality)

In MY own uncontrolled, unhealthy, unnerving impulse, I pulled into a pretty decent spot in the middle of the parking lot of hell.

Confession: At that moment I was honestly disgusted with myself based on the fact that I willingly, dangerously (the lid to my diet coke was unscrewed!) and deliberatly was throwing myself into the world that has contributed to (and in my opinion) enabled the demise of Britney Spears. A demise that is gleefully being featured on a weekly basis by an industry with the most artistic integrity...the tabloids! I'd say look for yourself, but how can you not?!



So, I'm in the parking lot, I've braked and before I can open my door handle, I take a quick glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror.

.
..
...
....

Ewwwwww!

Honestly, I looked freaking sicccccck. Before I jumped in my car to head to the gym, I had taken the dogs I'm dogsitting for on a walk around the block. (Where I spotted Jenny...from the block...and for what it's worth I was fooled by her rocks.) Anyhow, the walk unfortunately led to me stepping in dog shit (symbolic for my later with the shitty paparazzi? hmmmmmm....) Dog-shit-stepping-in led to a sneaker hose down in the backyard, which led to me getting totally drenchd. (The hose had a totally gnarly spray, the nozzle dangerously dialed to some powerful turbo mode.)

So, I'm sitting in the car, I haven't even worked out yet, but I already look like Whitney three songs into a concert...aka dripping wet! (How dated was that diss?)

When I turned on the hose, it jerked rapidly and my head bore the brunt of the spray as evidenced by my hair, matted to my skull as if I had just dipped my hand into a jar of green Depp gel and slapped my forehead as hard as I could. Unflattering? Yes!

Also of note: I got the sneakers pretty clean, but there is an off chance that some leftover canine excrement (dogshit) was still stuck to the bottom of my shoe.

My hand still hovering on the door handle, my eyes transfixed on my soppy, sad, saggy grey workout gear, my sneaks quite possibly reaking of crap, I had to ask myself:

"Brian, do you really want to barge into the Starbucks just to get a glimpse of a woman (girl) who is suffering from a drug problem or a legitimate mental disorder?"

I answered, quickly: YES!

I had to ask the immediate followup:

"Brian, do you really want to get caught in the background of a blurry Britney paparazzi shot looking like you just emerged from the the fountain located in front of the Starbucks?!

I answered, quickly: NO!

You see folks, it's called personal dignity!

It's called respect. R-E-S-P -you get the idea....

I started up my car, I buckled up, I pressed on, heading for the exit lane, this time with the intention of exiting. As I passed the Starbucks entrance which was the center of attention for all the paparazzi's lenses, I slowed down, as if passing a bad accident on the highway, which I kind of was. I strained my head out the window as I circled around the Starbucks, still secretly hoping I might spy a hand cupped to her mouth or a whisp of her matted hair extensions?!

No such luck.

So I exited.

I held my head up high, basking in the pride I felt for not giving in to my sick, scary impluse.

I drove to the gym.

I wailed on my pecs.

The whole time thinking...

Britney, was that you!?!

Peace, Love & Snax Me Baby One More Time,
Brian