����You want to know who gets on my last nerve? Rod Stewart. I sweartogawd, if his music comes on whatever sort of good mood I might be in goes poof, bye bye, just like that.

����So what's blasting out of the speakers at the gym yesterday morning? Oh yeah, Satan's musical minion, Rod.

����I was feeling like such a cranky poopy head after about the first ten minutes. "Some guys have all the luck," Rod croaked. "Some guys have all the pain." Mentally I was imagining ways to give HIM all the pain and then some. *Sigh.*

����Lots of folks at my gym come in with portable CD players so they can provide their own tunes as a soundtrack while they try to torture their bodies into some sort of fitness. I have one, but I don't use it. Even you know why?

����I'm too nosey, eh.

����Yes, my name is Marn and I am a chronic eavesdropper.

����I know it's wrong, and I know it's rude but I just can't stop myself, eh. Seriously, I'm addicted to eavesdropping.

����I mean, I look around at the people I see two, three times a week at my gym and I start wondering what their story is, what has brought them to this place where they tire themselves and make their bodies hurt.

����So far I know one of the guys is working out because he has a mail order bride coming in a few months. I have no idea what country she's coming from, or when exactly she arrives, but when I know, you'll know.

����Yes, Detective Marn, queen of the eavesdroppers, is on the case.

����As if three mornings a week of eavesdropping at my gym isn't enough nosiness for one person, I did it again today when my buddy Eddie and I were down in Vermont having lunch.

����Two guys behind us were having a very interesting conversation about a wide variety of political topics. From their vocabularly and the breadth of their discussion, I had created a mental picture of two businessmen types.

����Meanwhile, I mentioned to Eddie that I'm thinking about getting a second tattoo for my 50th birthday, something for the small of my back this time. So Eddie asked me if I want to look like the guy behind me. I stole a quick glance at the table where the political discussion has been happening and my jaw pretty much hit the floor.

����Business types? Hardly. I was looking at your basic biker dudes. Although it's still freezing outside, one guy was wearing a sleeveless tee to show off his muscles and his completely tattooed arms.

����*Insert image here of middle-aged woman mentally smacking herself upside the head for her narrow-minded assumptions.*

����Stereotype much, Marn? Um, yes, it appears I do, eh.

����Oh man, I have SUCH a long way to go.