I walked into a nearby Gold's Gym on Friday evening to attend a Zumba class. I had to miss my Thursday class and was feeling a little roly-poly. I walked directly to the front desk.
Helper: "Hello! Welcome to Gold's Gym! How can I help you?"
Me: "Hi. I would like to purchase a drop in class for the 5:30 Zumba class."
Helper: "OK! The guest fee is $10, I'll need you to fill out this form and I will also need your ID. We hold onto this until you're done with your workout."
I handed over my card and ID and started filling out the form. Pretty standard.
Helper: "Oh, by the way, I'd really like to introduce you to my friend Brett! He would love to meet you!"
Brett: (from a nearby cubicle): "Well, hello there! I'm Brett!" --Yeah. Got that much.
Me: (to the helper) "I'm not interested in a membership. I only want a drop in class."
Helper: "Brett, this lady is doing a drop in for ZUMBA!"
Brett:"Oh, you don't want to pay for a drop in class! You want a membership!"
Me: "I'm not interested in a membership. I'm here for a drop in class."
Brett: "But why pay for it when you could sign up for a membership and get the class free?"
Me: "Yeah. I'm pretty sure I'd still be paying for it. I don't want to be part of Gold's Gym. I'm just here for a drop in class." --(I feel like a broken record)
Brett: "But if you sign up today, your class is absolutely free."
Me: "I'm here for a drop in class. I'm not interested in becoming a member."
Brett: "Why aren't you interested in becoming a member?"
Me: :"Y'know Brett, I feel like you aren't listening to me. I'm going to say this one more time. I'm not interested in membership. I am here for a drop in class."
Brett surrendered my ID and showed me to the classroom.
The Zumba class was less than thrilling. But better than nothing.
The end.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
26 facts about this 26 year old.
In honor of my 26th birthday, here are 26 facts you may or may not know about me:
1. I peel bananas backward.
2. I use the New York Times bestseller list to know what NOT to read.
3. I don't like the feeling of my teeth scraping a fruit pit so I don't eat fruit with pits. Even if the fruit has been cut up.
4. I was diagnosed with hearing loss in fourth grade and wore supplemental hearing aids until high school.
5. I know all of the words to American Pie by Don McLean (and have since I can remember).
6. When I was younger I wanted a limo, an RV, or a Honda Del Sol when I grew up. Those three were always present on my MASH game.
7. I studied psychology because I knew I was the next Clarice Starling.
8. I usually count stairs as I climb them but not when I descend.
9. I had every intention of joining the Peace Corps when I was 21--it ended up not working out.
10. I hate asparagus.
11. I obsessively watched the Kids Inc. movie as a child and was able to sing all of the words to "Gloria" and "I Need a Hero". I wanted to be Stacy so bad.
12. I look to my sister to keep me up to date on the latest in fashion and accessories. I rely her hand-me-downs to stay hip and with it.
13. I have lived in Citrus Heights, California, Utah (Pleasant View, Ogden, Salt Lake), and Bentonville, Arkansas (technically) and have dwelled in twelve different homes/apartments.
14. Most of my time between jr. high and college was spent purchasing and memorizing every broadway show I could get my hands on.
15. I love roller coasters but hate the feeling of falling.
16. It's a life goal to hold every type of wild baby animal.
17. I wish I lived in a place where cars weren't necessary.
18. Andy and I spend most of our alone time sitting on the couch laughing.
19. WALL-E is my favorite movie.
20. I rarely send cards (any type of card). I prefer sending presents instead.
21. I wish I could travel more... like everyone else in the world.
22. I believe that people who have made bad decisions in their past can make good decisions in the present and future. Working at a lock-down juvenile facility taught me that.
23. I claim Styx as my favorite band.
24. I miss my mom's yogurt pie with graham cracker crust more than any other food. I've tried to recreate it but it never turns out as delicious.
25. I love playing the game "Name that time signature" with Andy. Rush makes the game more interesting.
26. Ideally, I would buy a ton of land and adopt every animal that needs a home. There is no excuse for the amount of animals put down every day from neglect, cruelty, and ignorance.
1. I peel bananas backward.
2. I use the New York Times bestseller list to know what NOT to read.
3. I don't like the feeling of my teeth scraping a fruit pit so I don't eat fruit with pits. Even if the fruit has been cut up.
4. I was diagnosed with hearing loss in fourth grade and wore supplemental hearing aids until high school.
5. I know all of the words to American Pie by Don McLean (and have since I can remember).
6. When I was younger I wanted a limo, an RV, or a Honda Del Sol when I grew up. Those three were always present on my MASH game.
7. I studied psychology because I knew I was the next Clarice Starling.
8. I usually count stairs as I climb them but not when I descend.
9. I had every intention of joining the Peace Corps when I was 21--it ended up not working out.
10. I hate asparagus.
11. I obsessively watched the Kids Inc. movie as a child and was able to sing all of the words to "Gloria" and "I Need a Hero". I wanted to be Stacy so bad.
12. I look to my sister to keep me up to date on the latest in fashion and accessories. I rely her hand-me-downs to stay hip and with it.
13. I have lived in Citrus Heights, California, Utah (Pleasant View, Ogden, Salt Lake), and Bentonville, Arkansas (technically) and have dwelled in twelve different homes/apartments.
14. Most of my time between jr. high and college was spent purchasing and memorizing every broadway show I could get my hands on.
15. I love roller coasters but hate the feeling of falling.
16. It's a life goal to hold every type of wild baby animal.
17. I wish I lived in a place where cars weren't necessary.
18. Andy and I spend most of our alone time sitting on the couch laughing.
19. WALL-E is my favorite movie.
20. I rarely send cards (any type of card). I prefer sending presents instead.
21. I wish I could travel more... like everyone else in the world.
22. I believe that people who have made bad decisions in their past can make good decisions in the present and future. Working at a lock-down juvenile facility taught me that.
23. I claim Styx as my favorite band.
24. I miss my mom's yogurt pie with graham cracker crust more than any other food. I've tried to recreate it but it never turns out as delicious.
25. I love playing the game "Name that time signature" with Andy. Rush makes the game more interesting.
26. Ideally, I would buy a ton of land and adopt every animal that needs a home. There is no excuse for the amount of animals put down every day from neglect, cruelty, and ignorance.
Monday, May 2, 2011
High Five
My friend, Mandee and I met for lunch in Ogden as she will soon be leaving for London. After eating a delightful lunch, we decided to walk around 25th street and check out some boutiques in that area. Our first stop was a new age-y store that was not our speed. The second store is the awesomeness that inspires this post.
We walked into a sort of shrine to Ed Hardy. Bejeweled jeans as far as the eye could see. Oversized jewelry populated the center of the store. Hiding within the Ed Hardy wear, one could find a cute sundress here and there. These sundresses were the purpose of us being in this store in the first place.
Upon entry, we could see the store was a popular spot. It was crowded and had a line for the dressing rooms. Mandee and I began sorting through the Ed Hardy monstrosities to find any sort of wearable item.
Mandee was victorious and found five cute items to try on. She proceeded to the fitting room. I waited outside of the dressing room with my arms crossed.
The atmosphere changed as a greased up 40 year old (who turned out to be the owner) approached me, placed his hand on my back
and asked how my day was going. #1- a strange man's hand was on me and #2- his person (not to mention his overpowering cologne) was invading my personal space. I could practically tell you what he had for lunch. Gross.
“I don’t mean to be rude but please don’t touch me. It makes me feel uncomfortable.”
“No worries, no worries! I hope you have a beautiful day!” said aged Jersey Shore man as he moved on to his next victim.
I watched the man approach most of the customers in the same manner. Apparently, this is the way to gain customer rapport in Ogden. What was really disturbing is I watched multiple women carry on animated conversations with his hand resting comfortably on their bra straps. Ugh. I resumed standing with my arms crossed staring and the dressing room.
Not five minutes later, Jersey man was back in front of me. “You never answered my question. How is your day going?”
“It's fine.”
The man looked at me, cocked his head to one side and held up his left hand. “High Five,” he said.
WTF. “Thanks, I’m fine,” I responded coldly.
“What?” asked Jersey man.
“I said 'I’m fine. Thank You'.” I repeated with my arms in their securely crossed position.
He moved away and turned his attention to people who would accept and appreciate it. My friend made her purchases (which Jersey man deemed “excellent purchases” which needed a high five—she awkwardly tapped his palm and looked at me with confusion) and we left the shrine.
We stopped at a few more boutiques but this one was by far the highlight of my shopping experience in Ogden.
We walked into a sort of shrine to Ed Hardy. Bejeweled jeans as far as the eye could see. Oversized jewelry populated the center of the store. Hiding within the Ed Hardy wear, one could find a cute sundress here and there. These sundresses were the purpose of us being in this store in the first place.
Upon entry, we could see the store was a popular spot. It was crowded and had a line for the dressing rooms. Mandee and I began sorting through the Ed Hardy monstrosities to find any sort of wearable item.
Mandee was victorious and found five cute items to try on. She proceeded to the fitting room. I waited outside of the dressing room with my arms crossed.
The atmosphere changed as a greased up 40 year old (who turned out to be the owner) approached me, placed his hand on my back
and asked how my day was going. #1- a strange man's hand was on me and #2- his person (not to mention his overpowering cologne) was invading my personal space. I could practically tell you what he had for lunch. Gross.
“I don’t mean to be rude but please don’t touch me. It makes me feel uncomfortable.”
“No worries, no worries! I hope you have a beautiful day!” said aged Jersey Shore man as he moved on to his next victim.
I watched the man approach most of the customers in the same manner. Apparently, this is the way to gain customer rapport in Ogden. What was really disturbing is I watched multiple women carry on animated conversations with his hand resting comfortably on their bra straps. Ugh. I resumed standing with my arms crossed staring and the dressing room.
Not five minutes later, Jersey man was back in front of me. “You never answered my question. How is your day going?”
“It's fine.”
The man looked at me, cocked his head to one side and held up his left hand. “High Five,” he said.
WTF. “Thanks, I’m fine,” I responded coldly.
“What?” asked Jersey man.
“I said 'I’m fine. Thank You'.” I repeated with my arms in their securely crossed position.
He moved away and turned his attention to people who would accept and appreciate it. My friend made her purchases (which Jersey man deemed “excellent purchases” which needed a high five—she awkwardly tapped his palm and looked at me with confusion) and we left the shrine.
We stopped at a few more boutiques but this one was by far the highlight of my shopping experience in Ogden.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Putt-putt
I am generally a good sport. I am terrible at most sports but can have a grand time when with good company. I love bowling, though I average about 40 points per game. I have developed a love for hiking, though I am winded 15 minutes in and am really slow. I can even enjoy an afternoon at the driving range, though every ball I hit manages to bounce a few times before even leaving the gate. What I can’t handle is a game of putt-putt.
Miniature golfing is stupid. I remember as a kid liking and hating putt-putt at the same time. As an adult, I am finally able to recognize it for what it is: an annoying humiliation.
Andy took me miniature golfing for one of our first dates. I warned him that I was a poor sport and would not be much fun but I promised to give it a try. After getting our stupid little sticks and our stupid little balls, I took my pretty pink ball and threw it right into the stream. I looked at Andy and said, “It will end up there anyway,” with a shrug. He obtained a new ball and the game began.
Andy became increasingly frustrated with me as I met his helpful putting hints with disdain and threats. He tried to teach me good putting form; I preferred either whacking the ball as hard as I could or dragging the ball with my stick directly to the hole. Eventually, he gave up and laughed at my shenanigans.
That was almost 7 years ago. We haven't been since.
I’m not sure what it is about miniature golf (and board games) that makes me such a poor sport. I can’t think it’s because I’m bad at it—I’ve demonstrated above that I’m bad at a lot of things I enjoy. It might be the jolly little courses that mock you as you fail. Who knows.
Happy Gilmore knows what I'm talking about.
Miniature golfing is stupid. I remember as a kid liking and hating putt-putt at the same time. As an adult, I am finally able to recognize it for what it is: an annoying humiliation.
Andy took me miniature golfing for one of our first dates. I warned him that I was a poor sport and would not be much fun but I promised to give it a try. After getting our stupid little sticks and our stupid little balls, I took my pretty pink ball and threw it right into the stream. I looked at Andy and said, “It will end up there anyway,” with a shrug. He obtained a new ball and the game began.
Andy became increasingly frustrated with me as I met his helpful putting hints with disdain and threats. He tried to teach me good putting form; I preferred either whacking the ball as hard as I could or dragging the ball with my stick directly to the hole. Eventually, he gave up and laughed at my shenanigans.
That was almost 7 years ago. We haven't been since.
I’m not sure what it is about miniature golf (and board games) that makes me such a poor sport. I can’t think it’s because I’m bad at it—I’ve demonstrated above that I’m bad at a lot of things I enjoy. It might be the jolly little courses that mock you as you fail. Who knows.
Happy Gilmore knows what I'm talking about.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Most. Embarrassing. Moment. Ever.
We chose Lugano as the venue for our 2 year wedding anniversary celebration. Lugano holds many special memories for us and is one of the best meals you can get in Salt Lake City. I made the reservation last week and we anxiously looked forward to what would be an undoubtedly amazing meal.
I picked up a dress at Urban Outfitters last month (80% off!) and have been looking for an occasion to wear it. What better time than for an elegant dinner to celebrate our anniversary?
Monday rolled around and we spent the day relaxing and enjoying each other’s company (minus the one hour it took to renew my driver’s license and the DMV). At 6 PM, we began primping for our dinner date. I put on my new cute dress, my awesome wedding shoes (in honor of the day), and the earrings Andy brought me from Spain. I put on some make up, whipped up my hair, and was content because I looked super hot.
We went to the restaurant and had a great dining experience. We started with wine/beer and salads (Andy- arugula salad, Me-baby spinach salad), moved to our main course (Andy- short ribs, me- risotto of the day), and sadly declined dessert as we thought we would burst.
After arriving back at home, I took off my coat and began unbuckling my shoes. At that moment, I put my hand over my backside and felt skin. I stood up, mortified. I ran my hand along the back of the dress and found that the entire seam from waist band to skirt was non-existent, exposing my bare bottom. With wide eyes I thought through the evening, trying to remember any time I had felt a pop or a tear, anytime I had added extra strain to the seam. Nothing came to mind. I ran to Andy.
“How long has my dress been like this?!?” I screamed with utter horror.
“Hunh. I don’t know,” said Andy. “I didn’t notice it.”
“Oh. My. Goodness. I bet I mooned everyone in the restaurant!”
I removed the dress and inspected the two foot tear. Yep. This wasn’t a tear from too much stress on a seam. This was a stitching error. It looked like it was never stitched in the first place. Then it made sense—the dress was 80% off. I never noticed the gaping hole on the back side.
Happy Anniversary.
I picked up a dress at Urban Outfitters last month (80% off!) and have been looking for an occasion to wear it. What better time than for an elegant dinner to celebrate our anniversary?
Monday rolled around and we spent the day relaxing and enjoying each other’s company (minus the one hour it took to renew my driver’s license and the DMV). At 6 PM, we began primping for our dinner date. I put on my new cute dress, my awesome wedding shoes (in honor of the day), and the earrings Andy brought me from Spain. I put on some make up, whipped up my hair, and was content because I looked super hot.
We went to the restaurant and had a great dining experience. We started with wine/beer and salads (Andy- arugula salad, Me-baby spinach salad), moved to our main course (Andy- short ribs, me- risotto of the day), and sadly declined dessert as we thought we would burst.
After arriving back at home, I took off my coat and began unbuckling my shoes. At that moment, I put my hand over my backside and felt skin. I stood up, mortified. I ran my hand along the back of the dress and found that the entire seam from waist band to skirt was non-existent, exposing my bare bottom. With wide eyes I thought through the evening, trying to remember any time I had felt a pop or a tear, anytime I had added extra strain to the seam. Nothing came to mind. I ran to Andy.
“How long has my dress been like this?!?” I screamed with utter horror.
“Hunh. I don’t know,” said Andy. “I didn’t notice it.”
“Oh. My. Goodness. I bet I mooned everyone in the restaurant!”
I removed the dress and inspected the two foot tear. Yep. This wasn’t a tear from too much stress on a seam. This was a stitching error. It looked like it was never stitched in the first place. Then it made sense—the dress was 80% off. I never noticed the gaping hole on the back side.
Happy Anniversary.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Who’s got the pain when they do the mambo?
I Zumba. A lot. If you are unfamiliar with Zumba, it is a Latin-inspired dance/workout class that is not for the faint of heart. For a lifelong dancer like me, Zumba is a dream come true. Four days every week I put on my dance pants and do my very best Shakira impression for 60 minutes at a time. This post is from a class I take at a nearby rec center. The class is filled mostly with older women who shake it far better than me. It’s a party—no lie. Until this point, I’d experienced one teacher and just loved her enthusiasm and energy. She’s great. This particular day, I experienced a new teacher.
The new teacher showed up late, looked like she had just woken up from a nap, put on her Zumba music and proceeded to lead us in a four minutes song of nothing but squats. I was pissed. This was not Zumba. I stuck it out and finished the squat song. As we moved on to the next song (my thighs yielding an uncomfortable burning sensation), the teacher began to count the music off incorrectly. The music obviously went 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8. She yelled out "1-2-3-4-5-1-2-3-4-5". Then she began her very best samba which looked like a cross between the Tin Man and a little kid who needs to go to the bathroom. This lady was obviously a kick boxer (no offense to kick boxers who like to dance). This continued for a full hour. She looked bored most of the time and had the energy of a wet mop.
At first, I was really mad. Why was a lady who couldn’t dance teaching a dance class (of sorts)? When the class was finished, I realized I had still had a great time. If nothing else, it was fun to watch her. Who cares if the teacher can’t dance?
The new teacher showed up late, looked like she had just woken up from a nap, put on her Zumba music and proceeded to lead us in a four minutes song of nothing but squats. I was pissed. This was not Zumba. I stuck it out and finished the squat song. As we moved on to the next song (my thighs yielding an uncomfortable burning sensation), the teacher began to count the music off incorrectly. The music obviously went 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8. She yelled out "1-2-3-4-5-1-2-3-4-5". Then she began her very best samba which looked like a cross between the Tin Man and a little kid who needs to go to the bathroom. This lady was obviously a kick boxer (no offense to kick boxers who like to dance). This continued for a full hour. She looked bored most of the time and had the energy of a wet mop.
At first, I was really mad. Why was a lady who couldn’t dance teaching a dance class (of sorts)? When the class was finished, I realized I had still had a great time. If nothing else, it was fun to watch her. Who cares if the teacher can’t dance?
Friday, March 25, 2011
The Worst Soup of My Life
Once every six months I allow myself a “cheat day”. This is the day I can have any gluten-filled craving my heart desires. I look forward to every March and every September when I can throw caution to the wind and have whatever I want. My past two cheat days have been at Greek Souvlaki where I order the Chicken Souvlaki in a pita (my favorite flatbread in Salt Lake). This March's cheat is special. This cheat is all about the chicken strips at Hoppers. Generally, I don’t like Hoppers. I have been disappointed time and again by their bad menu selection and even worse food preparation. Their chicken strips, however, are the exception. They are delicious.
Yesterday was a particularly stressful day at work. I ran around all day like a chicken with my head cut off and was even pulled aside by one of my superiors to ask if I was ok. I was in meetings all day and rushing to meet some very pressing deadlines. Finally, I caught my breath at 3pm and texted Andy “Do you want to go to Hoppers after Zumba?” I had Zumba at 6:30 but thought that some much needed chicken fingers (my first in over a year) would do my soul good.
I went to my hour of Zumba and left feeling satisfied after my long day. I no longer wanted chicken strips. In fact, the mere thought of something fried made me sick to my stomach. Andy and I decided we’d go to Hoppers anyway since I wasn’t very hungry and Andy had been planning on it.
We went to Hoppers and were greeted by the nauseating sound of their live music where a well-intentioned woman was doing an unplugged version of “Living on a Prayer”. After requesting the farthest table from the live music, the hostess seated us, told us the specials, highly recommended the soup of the day, and left. We were faced with the underwhelming menu that Hoppers has to offer. I grimaced as the singer continued to sing too high for her range and Andy happily fixed his focus on the ever-present basketball games that make March as insufferable as it is.
Our waitress came to our table and we ordered. I decided on the soup: turkey chili (since it came highly recommended) and Andy got his usual: garlic burger. After a little while, our meals came out. Andy’s looked pretty good whereas mine looked like chunks of unrecognizable meat floating in what seemed to be teriyaki sauce. It was DEFINITELY not chili. Andy and I looked at my bowl in disgust.
Andy said, “That looks…”
“Terrible.” I finished. “Will you taste it and let me know if I’ll like it?”
Andy (the trooper) took the spoon and swallowed some of the soup. He stared at the table while smacking his lips a few times.
“Well?” I asked. “How is it?”
Andy contemplated the question. “It’s salty,” he said diplomatically.
I took my spoon and filled it with the brown liquid and put it in my mouth. Salty was about the nicest description it could have been given. Really, I would have described it as “Ass in a bowl”. “Poop flavored salt lick”. Or perhaps just “effing disgusting” (that’s right, effing). Andy and I came up with some other descriptions that are just too graphic for a classy blog such as this.
Anyway, I was not eating this soup. Andy and I wondered aloud if the hostess knew what she was promoting when she “highly recommended” it. I understand that restaurants have their staff push certain menu items, but I believe this is the quickest way to lose a customer. A new customer might think If they are recommending this bowl of excrement, how much worse is everything else on their menu?
The waitress noticed I had pushed the bowl aside and asked “Oh, did you not like it?”
“No,” I replied with a smile. “It’s really terrible.”
I ended up not ordering anything since the brown mystery stew and thoroughly killed any appetite I had. Sick.
On our way out, I mentioned to the hostess that she should probably not push the soup. It was really terrible. Hoppers has topped themselves yet again.
Yesterday was a particularly stressful day at work. I ran around all day like a chicken with my head cut off and was even pulled aside by one of my superiors to ask if I was ok. I was in meetings all day and rushing to meet some very pressing deadlines. Finally, I caught my breath at 3pm and texted Andy “Do you want to go to Hoppers after Zumba?” I had Zumba at 6:30 but thought that some much needed chicken fingers (my first in over a year) would do my soul good.
I went to my hour of Zumba and left feeling satisfied after my long day. I no longer wanted chicken strips. In fact, the mere thought of something fried made me sick to my stomach. Andy and I decided we’d go to Hoppers anyway since I wasn’t very hungry and Andy had been planning on it.
We went to Hoppers and were greeted by the nauseating sound of their live music where a well-intentioned woman was doing an unplugged version of “Living on a Prayer”. After requesting the farthest table from the live music, the hostess seated us, told us the specials, highly recommended the soup of the day, and left. We were faced with the underwhelming menu that Hoppers has to offer. I grimaced as the singer continued to sing too high for her range and Andy happily fixed his focus on the ever-present basketball games that make March as insufferable as it is.
Our waitress came to our table and we ordered. I decided on the soup: turkey chili (since it came highly recommended) and Andy got his usual: garlic burger. After a little while, our meals came out. Andy’s looked pretty good whereas mine looked like chunks of unrecognizable meat floating in what seemed to be teriyaki sauce. It was DEFINITELY not chili. Andy and I looked at my bowl in disgust.
Andy said, “That looks…”
“Terrible.” I finished. “Will you taste it and let me know if I’ll like it?”
Andy (the trooper) took the spoon and swallowed some of the soup. He stared at the table while smacking his lips a few times.
“Well?” I asked. “How is it?”
Andy contemplated the question. “It’s salty,” he said diplomatically.
I took my spoon and filled it with the brown liquid and put it in my mouth. Salty was about the nicest description it could have been given. Really, I would have described it as “Ass in a bowl”. “Poop flavored salt lick”. Or perhaps just “effing disgusting” (that’s right, effing). Andy and I came up with some other descriptions that are just too graphic for a classy blog such as this.
Anyway, I was not eating this soup. Andy and I wondered aloud if the hostess knew what she was promoting when she “highly recommended” it. I understand that restaurants have their staff push certain menu items, but I believe this is the quickest way to lose a customer. A new customer might think If they are recommending this bowl of excrement, how much worse is everything else on their menu?
The waitress noticed I had pushed the bowl aside and asked “Oh, did you not like it?”
“No,” I replied with a smile. “It’s really terrible.”
I ended up not ordering anything since the brown mystery stew and thoroughly killed any appetite I had. Sick.
On our way out, I mentioned to the hostess that she should probably not push the soup. It was really terrible. Hoppers has topped themselves yet again.
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