This Is Where I Leave You.

All I really wanted to do was finish my lunch in peace, but then the up-talking wannabe valley girl chick walks in and starts talking about how can I possibly stand being a vegan and how she needs 150 grams of protein a day to survive, and when I say that's three times the amount of protein any human being needs she says she's a body builder, but she's obviously nothing close to a body builder, but more obviously a cross-fitter and naturally casually psychotic. Who else would find it appropriate to have this conversation with a complete stranger than someone who goes to those stupid fucking cubes with all those stupid fucking people in those stupid fucking clothes doing those stupid fucking motions over and over again?

Cross-fitters is whom.

It's like all the ADD survivors of the 90s found a place where they belong and they call it a gym. Do this over and over again, obsess about this all the time, now do this over and over again, now do it over and over again, now yell, now talk to people about how healthy your are, gloss over your own striking insecurities while trying to isolate those of others in what you only fancifully imagine is 'polite conversation', and now do this motion over and over again, and this motion, kind of like the first, and yes, do it over and over again, yell, and wait, and wait, and now do it over and over again. Don't laugh, people actually take you seriously, now do it over and over again. And rest. And rest, but don't reflect. Do anything but reflect.

Shit, Does this make me a hater? Can one actually comment on anything external without that cutsie little rejoinder? I doubt most people who use the word 'hater' know what rejoinder means, but this is where the joke is undeniably not only on them, but about them.