Happy Blogaversary!

Wow, today is this blog's one year anniversary. That is CRAZAAYYY! It seems like just yesterday I was dragging my laptop to Lovely to force myself to finally make a blog, even if I had no idea what I wanted to do with it.

I tried to write a little somethin' somethin' along the lines of "here are all the things I did this year" but it just sounded so Dullsville, USA, population me. So what do I do? I turned it into another story in pictures, of course.

So here it is, a bit of the past year, as seen from EJS IS ME:

Here is essentially what the Cheese Knives debacle looked like.

In which I realized that not everyone remembers classic Bible stories in the same way.

If you haven't caught on yet, whales are the bane/joke upon my life. But the original post about them was not all fun and games.

I really did want to become a Roller Derby girl. For now, I'm going to settle on buying myself some roller skates next summer.

This is a bit of a random one, but it pretty well represents my time as a true Freelancer.

What a disaster. For the entire story in pictures, go here.


Here is a good representation of the place I sat when I first started the internship that turned into a real job. That window was like God shining his love down upon me.

My most crass title to date, but I still don't take it back.

I don't think I ever got around to explaining the 3rd disaster of our camping experience: besides the fact that it was a ghetto piece of land in podunk Michigan and the showers probably gave me smallpox, there was also a nearby group of Russians playing and yelling Hotel California--and nothing BUT Hotel California--for 24 straight hours, including those times most people reserve for sleeping. What was crazy was that when they first started, Joe and I couldn't figure out what song they were even trying to play or sing. And by the time we left, they were singing in perfect harmony and even playing the crazy bridge part.

Two days after I got a job, I got a cat with a mustache. She likes it with us.


And I really mean that. Thanks to everyone who's shown support for me or for this blog by reposting, voting, becoming a facebook fan, commenting, or even just telling me that they enjoyed what they read. It's the reason I kept going, blog-wise, and life-wise. Your support has honestly changed the way I've been doing things lately. For the better, obv.

Oh! And I didn't include SO SO many posts, like the dogs in sweaters, a bunch of Bible posts, the one about Advertising that got a gazillion hits, anything involving Muppets or my embarrassing childhood, my disdain for sports, my British teeth issue (in which I got a few angry comments from British people who apparently only understand sarcasm if it's coming out of the mouth of Ricky Gervais)...the list goes on. Feel free to go back and read as much or little as you want!

The Gym Saga: Happy Endings All Around

On Saturday, Joe and I went to our "new" Bally's at 5pm, hoping to get in one more crappy work out before we finally left that crappy, crappy place forever. And guess what? It was closed.

And this was, I'm pretty sure, my exact word-for-word reaction:


So Joe and I marched on over to XSport Fitness, slapped a few dollars on the counter and demanded a shot of whiskey and a tour.

They have a climbing wall. And TVs on all their cardio. And SUNLIGHT. Because, guess what? Their gym isn't actually just a moldy dungeon cellar with a sign that says "Bally's." We were sold.

On our test run of the place, I finally got to watch tbs again (yay!) Except apparently it's now the Tyler Perry channel (boo.) So I watched The Kids Are All Right starring Tyler Perry as a man named "Terry." Yeah. Feel it. Feel that in your soul.

But the point is, I got to watch SOMETHING that wasn't The Bally's channel, with a static screen suggesting that blueberries are healthy (ARE THEY NOW?!)

While we were walking home, Joe said "The only downfall is that there are still old men in the locker room walking around naked." I told him, "Yeah, but that's not the gym's fault. That's humanity's fault." Because, really. If you can go one locker room trip without seeing some old person's bits, you have performed a miracle.

So we've got a new gym now! And it's great! And I'm excited to work out again (I mean, as much as you can be excited to work out, really.) So hopefully this means that the saga has ended. We shall see.

I WANT TO QUIT THE GYM

Today is Monday. And it is very much a "My Monday" kind of day, but not really in a comically-funny way this time. Yes, there was an incident in which I accidentally spilled about a pint of hot water all over the editing floor today ("What, you have to STOP the water as WELL as start it? What kind of magician do you think I AM?!") But mostly all the things that have gone wrong have had to do with insurance and appointments and pharmacies and it is sadly not the funny kind of "oh EMILY."

SO! When one of those bad-day things turned out to be that in order to quit Bally's, I have to send them a letter in the mail, there was a bit of explosion on my part.

All I'm saying is, don't get a copywriter mad and then ask them to write you a letter. You will get this:

Dear Bally’s,

I want to quit the gym.

My name is Emily.
My member number is: (*my number is here*)
My enroll date is 5/31/2010

Unless the Postal system fails me miserably, this should arrive to you in plenty of time before my next payment date. I then expect to have an extra 30 days tacked on as stated in the contract I signed, which fully ends my membership at the end of September. That sucks, but I knew about it when I signed up.

Of course, I didn’t know that my gym would be an aquarium within two months of signing, but I guess that’s what I deserve for belonging to a gym that was created in the basement of a building next to a river.

Live and learn, I suppose. I’ll be switching over to XSport Fitness. They’re on the second floor, you know.

Wish that had worked out between us, but I guess it wasn’t meant to be. I would say, “it’s not you, it’s me” but it was definitely you.

By the way, you should tell your employees to quit turning off the fans and televisions over 15 minutes before you close. I know when you close; I don’t need to work out in still-aired silence as a reminder. I hated that, and it is a large reason why I’m not coming back.

Sincerely No Longer Yours,

Emily

Bally Total Fitness Can Suck My Ovaries

A) Ew.

But you know what? B) You deserve it, Bally's. You deserve that mental image. And I hope you all think of that image each and every time you hear mention of Bally Total Fitness Centers.

Here's the thing. Technically, Bally's is...FINE. They didn't murder my grandchildren. They didn't tell me they'd be at my home between the hours of 8 and 8 and then not show up (I'M LOOKING AT YOU, AT&T, YOU SON OF A BITCH.) They didn't eat all the Drumsticks out of the freezer without so much as leaving me the bottom of a cone where all the chocolate collects.

No. Bally's is.....fine. Their gym doesn't really feel top-notch, but hey. I'm not paying top-notch prices. But tonight they went too damn far.

Here's the thing. The Bally's I go to is in the basement of a building. A building that is right next to a river.

Let's let that sink right into the ol' noggin there.

Who puts anything--ANYTHING--into the basement of a building that is next to a river? A river in a city that is NOTORIOUS for its terrible weather patterns? Shouldn't all buildings be on some sort of STILT system?! I mean come on, Shelly. THESE people figured it out, for Christ's sake!


All this to say, yes. My Bally's has flooded. I don't know the extent of it, but I know there were firetrucks (plural) and at least one animal control truck (I'm sorry...did the ducks get out of hand? Were there otters floating around your free weights?)

At first I speculated that we might get some money back. No problem. You prorate us or some nonsense, and Joe and I will run around the block for a week instead.

Until we got the email.

"Your Bally's in closed. But lucky for you, we have 80 million OTHER Bally's locations that are all inconveniently located from where you live!" ....Yippee.

Guess what, kids? I finally got my butt over to the next closest Bally's. It is also in a basement. It sucked.

1) I got there at 8:30, since my Bally's closes at 10. Well THIS one is downtown Chicago where no one lives, so it closes at 9. Huzzah.

2) I jumped on the elliptical. In front of me was Larry King. Sans subtitles. It is the only television within eyesight. So I got to lip read Larry King talking to that gymnast girl about how she apparently had a stalker. Mostly I got to ponder the effects of blonde hair dye on a girl who looks a squirrel. Anyway, there is no one around to ask to change the channel. So I opt to watch myself in the mirror and imagine fake conversations (which is my most common day-to-day activity.)

3) At 8:40--TWENTY MINUTES before close--the guy comes down and turns off all the TVs AND all the fans.

4) So now I, who HAVE PAID for a membership, am sweating my ass off in the gym I never intended on patronizing, with no visual to focus on and no fan to circulate the basement air. I can feel my claustophobia setting in AND I can feel just how deeply I am not wanted at this gym. I get the hell out and decide that my calories are better spent walking home.

And OF COURSE I can't cancel my membership right away; I have to give a full month's notice. And by then, my flood-center gym will probably be back up and running.

Basically what I'm saying is, I unknowingly paid to be screwed over. And now I'm going to go get some cheese to go with my white whine. A-thank you.