Forever Young/Happy Friends/Working Out/Whatever

We’ve been indulgent. We gotta keep it fresh. It’s starting to not be pitch black when I leave work. Summer’s coming. We hate Hoosick street. We love pizza, friends, happiness, cheeseburgers, and questionable hemlines. So the only logical solution is….. Happy Friends. It’s a gym. Technically named Forever Young, we can walk to it, its super cheap, and there is a machine there called a Butt Blaster. This blog could be over now, really. I’m sure you have dropped your electronic reading device and are already running there as fast as you can. (IF YOU possess that kind of dedication to fitness,  this is probably not the right place for you.)


I’m not 100% sure how she came to call it Happy Friends, but my only logical conclusion is that CMAXBY subconsciously longs for a Chinese restaurant/gym combo. Or decided that Rod, Bobby D, and Jay Z had already used up all the space for Forever Young, and frankly, we don’t want to be young forever (unless I get these mint green satin pants, then yes, yes I do.) We just want to be happy (damn it) and be friends. Wine helps.  But one too many Bacchus pours leads us back to the beginning…and to Brown Bag. (Vicious cycle….you see?)

Which brings me back to the point. This is a gym, and we don’t hate going to it. WIN. And by that I mean we go sometimes. Not regularly, and not with any kind of commitment you can count on. I can’t meet you there, or tell you that I go on certain days, or wear sneakers to work and then go right after. I can’t. But what I can do, is tell you that it’s a perfect tiny little gym for people who don’t really give a shit and are just looking to almost get it kind of together.

Before Betty lost control.

Considering Forever Young. Also considering laying down. Perfect candidate.

So…..Happy Friends/Forever Young even has a ladies entrance. Or maybe just a  ladies area. Which sounds very exciting. But I don’t want you to get excited, because that is not the point of this place. This gym will not excite you. You don’t even have to call it a judgement free zone because no one gives enough of a shit to make up a slogan to tell you how chill it is. But like I said….it’s cheap, close by, and easy. Basically all things I look for in any long term relationship with a gym.

To sum it up, Green Island just really redeemed itself. The liquor store and gun store in the same strip mall was a VERY solid start, in my opinion, but this just seals the deal. GREEN ISLAND…..the place to be. Not really. But the place you should consider being if you are almost thinking of working out but are also thinking of laying down, can’t commit to a fancy gym and/or don’t want to drive anywhere far, but are clinging to the hope of not totally losing control of yourself, and/or you are on a budget. Then this could be your place. If you can’t make it anywhere… can make it here. (Quote credit Jim Scully and now I need pizza.)

Right before I was almost asked to leave. But no one cared enough to even give an enthusiastic eye roll. No one.



  1. Guy says:

    Because it is obvious that you are very keen on being stalked, could you please provide your home address, your work address, and the color, make and model of your car to facilitate this stalking to the greatest extent possible?

  2. Jessica says:

    You are such a freak MIKE.

  3. PizzzaGod says:

    If you can’t make it anywhere, you can make it here!

  4. Laurf says:

    Shouldn’t you be plugging Maximum Fitness in Troy? I love that fucking place so much. People leave you alone and they have more than two benches. A+!

  5. M says:

    Had to reevaluate my membership there when I opened up my usual locker and found an opened jimmy cap wrapper. Shut the locker quickly and opened it once more hoping my eyes were mistaken, but they weren’t. Then my mind raced with awful images and thoughts about said locker room: what in the world did I just step into? But I still go back because of two corresponding reason that are quite silly: quick easy drive and televisions in front of the treadmills.

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