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It's Not Me... It's You....
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It's Not Me... It's You....

Well, it's over. I'd be kidding myself if I said I didn't see this day coming. We were just too different -- different needs, different passions, different ideas of what exactly constitutes "cleanliness." It was just there, hanging over us for all these years... not a question of "if" it was going to end, but rather "when."

I'm leaving you, YMCA.

Don't get me wrong -- I loved the over-chlorinated pool, the scalding cauldron-like temperature of your bilge-y water, the roving hordes of locker room septuagenarian coots lathering their sagging ballsax in my general direction. The final straw, though, was that they've changed the summer lap times to 5 a.m. - 7:30 a.m. Yeah... THAT'S gonna fucking happen. The only things swimming in this house at that hour are my kidneys, engorged with a nightfull's-worth of crabby-piddle.

Plus, after Bob-the-guy-at-the-front-desk died, no one knows who the fuck I am over there, anymore, so the time is ripe for an exit.

Today, the Old Lady and I got a family membership at Court One, the fancy-schmancy tennis club that's literally a 5 minute walk from the Crabshack. It's not really fancy-schmancy, but compared to the Y, a club foot is fancy. And we didn't sign up for the tennis part. We're not tennis people. We're not even racquetball people. Nor ping-pong people. No, we're more like whacking-dirt-clods-with-a-stick people.

But we did get the membership that includes swimming (indoor AND outdoor pools), the bigfuckingass cardio room, the basketball courts, the steam room, the whirlpool, and the all the free classes we want, like kickboxing, yoga and other shit that I didn't read about in the booklet... jazzercise, maybe?

And it's basically the same price as the Y, so what the shit, ya know? I don't owe the Y any fucking loyalty. I mean, what am I doing at the Y.M.C.A. anyway? a) I'm not "young." 2) Okay, I am mannish. iii) I'm definitely not Christian. And D) I've never trusted "associations." So I'm not even their target demographic. They're probably happy to be fucking rid of me -- fucking godless heathen.

So now, I can just stroll on across the road and swim any goddamn time I want. Oh, and did I mention that this new place hands out free towels... as many as you want. Free! Towels!!! I'd be lucky to find a soiled wet-nap stuck to the bottom of my shoe, at the Y.

Yep, it's definitely over, Y. Time to move on. I'm cleaning out my locker. Aw, c'mon, don't start crying. You'll find someone new. Some young Christian man, straight outta college. Your individual membership is still very alluring to someone like that. Besides, I'm no good for you, clogging your shower drain with my hair, and making all the old ladies uncomfortable when I ask if I can "share their lane." And you were never into my kids. Sure, you had that half-assed climbing wall, but I could tell your heart just wasn't in it. You can barely take care of yourself, let alone the spawnage. No, it's best that I just go.

Let me just leave you with this... there's no need to feel down.
Just pick yourself off the ground.
Because you're in a new town
There's no need to be unhappy.