It’s spring and we’re all antsy. If you’re somewhere like the east coast or midwest, you’ve suffered one of the most bullshit winters in recent memory — “bullshit,” of course, being a meteorological term for “cold.” If you’re in California, why are you talking to me? Unless you’re reaching out to offer your coach house where I can live rent free, in which case, have a seat. If you’re lucky enough to live somewhere like Arizona where spring is merely a metaphor, it’s time you shaved your legs (If you’re into that), brushed all of your teeth (even the back ones) and headed out to meet some girls. I’ll be your wingman.
Today’s lesson: how to locate your queer girl type at the gym.
“Oh, who is that on the row machine?”
Starting broad, picking the right gym is helpful, but as you’ll see, not essential. Briefly, you’ll find your Body Builder Lesbians at Gold’s, your Bicurious Dental Assistants at 24 Hour Fitness, and your Gym Resistant Gals at the Dunkin’ Donut’s across the street. In the midwest, many lesbians gravitate toward local chains or women-owned gyms. You know how lesbians love our independents. They claim these gyms are homey and that members benefit from one-on-one attention. Last time I tried one though, I found the owner was certified to teach YOGurtmaking not yoga, and her dog kept stealing the three-pound weights.
So we’re at the gym. Now, different areas attract different queer girls, for example, if you’re looking for the type who spells woman with a ‘Y’ head for the women only section if your gym has one. If you want a no nonsense dyke with the sort of forearms which could inspire a new world religion or at least a really good tumbler, check out the free-weight area. If you like your femmes high maintenance, the cardio machines are your target. And if you watch too much porn, no matter what I say, you’re already on your way to the steam room.
Now that we’ve covered the main areas of your gym, let’s talk about classes, or “Group X,” as we in the business say. Not only am I a spin instructor, but I’m a giant fan of Group X classes, mostly because I never got over graduating from college. Group X classes are a great way of feeling like you’re doing something with your life without actually doing something with your life. But in this case my existential crisis is your stroke of romantic luck. Over time, I’ve identified which class to take to target your queer of choice. (Let me just say here that if anyone ever tried to pick me up at the gym I wouldn’t notice because I tend to be insanely focused and if I did notice I’d most likely rebuff her. Talking to people while I’m sweaty is second only to coughing in public on my list of things to avoid. So once again, I’m a hypocrite. Please to enjoy my advice.)
Your Class: Werq/Hip Hop Aerobics
Your Queer: Flamboyantly gay men, Femmes who do Burlesque. Sorority Girls who will find your attention flattering enough to 1. Adopt you as a sort of mascot or 2. Promise you sex and then ask for rides to Planned Parenthood.
Opening Line: “The club can’t even handle me right now.”
Next Step: Alcohol.
Your Class: Zumba
Your Queer: Bored 50-something straight women ready to experiment or at least bake you a pie.
Opening Line: “Nice Z-Kickz. Does your husband still give you oral sex?”
Next Step: Lunch at The Cheesecake Factory.
Your Class: Pole dancing
Your Queer: Bi-gurl feminist bloggers looking for material, chicks who prove they’re hot by making out for men even though that went out five years ago, that colleague with seasonal depression.
Opening Line: “The girls at Larry Flint’s Hustler Club call me ‘Big Spender.’”
Next Step: Depending on your target, either pitch an article about the secret S&M society your roommate runs out of your one bedroom, say “baby, you got my attention right now,” or offer to make a run to GNC to pick up a bottle of vitamin D.
Your Class: Hula hoop
Your Queer: 420-friendly hippies, off-putting child/women with butterfly clips in their hair, at least one bi girl named Cricket.
Opening Line: “It’s a profoundly resonant day outside. What do you say we head out there and leave these assembly line bots to walk for miles on their Nowhere Machines?”
Next Step: Buy some pot and find a hill to roll down.
Your Class: Bollywood Dance Fitness
Your Queer: Gay Poli-Sci majors, lesbians who think their love of indian food will carry them through.
Opening Line: “Those dead-lifters could use a dose of your metaculturealism.”
Next Step: At the gym smoothie bar, no matter what’s actually on the menu, order a Mango Lassi and two straws.
Your Class: Spin
Your Queer: Hard core outdoor cycling enthusiast and lifelong camper dykes, hipster transmen in love with their road bikes.
Opening Line: “Can I feel your gigantic quad?”
Next Step: If your target is one of the transmen, invite him to Critical Mass, otherwise, follow one of the dykes into the locker room and lick the sweat off her elbow.
Your Class: Yoga
Your Queer: Whoever she is, she’s limber.
Opening Line: “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice your knee behind your head.”
Next Step: Follow her ‘Om.
Your Class: Pilates
Your Queer: Former Ballet protégées in need of sexual awakening, Dunkin’ Donuts lesbians attracted to the idea of working out supine.
Opening Line: “I know something else we can do lying down.”
Next Step: Probably nothing. Your aching stomach muscles won’t allow you to laugh, walk or breath for the next week.
Your Class: Cross Fit
Your Queer: The instructor
Opening Line: “Hey baby, pretend I’m a barbell and deadlift me.”
Next Step: Couple’s Burpees.
I’ll take the keys to that coach house now.