Girls on Film

The only thing better than a good movie: a good movie trailer. Maybe it's because of my field (marketing) or just the instant gratification of a quick fix, mini-movie begging for critique. That fabulous two minute judgement reel and glimpse into new characters gives me a thrill!

A few trailers that I saw recently, however, irked me. What bothered me most? The females.

1. How to be Single - AKA 50 shades of Moaning Myrtle mopes til comic relief pal drags her out for shenanigans, then acts awkward til she can return to her couch. Over it. Being single is amazing* - quit pouting and enjoy. No, that doesn't mean clubbing every night and waking up with strangers - that's a hazard to your health (#CuzIm90). The BFF of the film will have six STDs when they find her passed out in boozy puke in a Qdoba bathroom. NO, I haven't seen the movie. Maybe the comedy makes up for the toxic friendship in the end. Or probably not. 
2. Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates - AKA two unladylike ladies con two bros into taking them to Hawaii where they out-bro them. Yes, I'll see this one. Love the cast and the trailer made me literally LOL. In fact, the ladies of this trailer didn't bug me until my sister pointed out: they're dirty. Not raunchy dirty, but like, filthy. They're messy and not well put together (unless in peak con). Does a gal have to live in squalor, watch porn, smoke pot from an apple (still don't get it), and excel at ATVing to be attractive? If that's the only way to win over Zefron and go to Hawaii, sure, I'll try it, but I'd rather not. 
3. The Danish Girl - AKA Actresses need not apply, Eddie Redmayne will be playing the role of "woman" going forward. Exquisite cheek bones once again allow a man to take a woman's job. Even if that job is being a woman... Okay, jokes. Really it just bothered me how much prettier Eddie Redmayne is than me. This film looks fantastic.

The main problem: I didn't see myself in any of the leading ladies above. Painfully awkward, a constant hott mess, a lady-bro, a man-lady... none quite fit. So naturally, I started trying to think of a film character who did match. It's harder than you might think.

I tried to be like Grace Kelly, but all her looks were too sad #Mika

Turning to a nearby stack of DVDs, I reviewed some possibilities:

• Hermione Granger - Intelligent female whose goodwill is taken advantage of by her male counterparts and is overlooked as being attractive due to her wit? Story of my youth. Grows up to be Emma Watson in a perfectly tailored pant suit? My blazer collection and I would like to think so. Unable to adjust to her audience and accidentally belittling? Not so much. Has the affections of a famous athlete? Will let you know when David Beckham lifts the restraining order. Able to do frickin' MAGIC? Still waiting on that letter, Hogwarts!
• Princess Leia - Badass rebel? Sometimes. Has a thing for Harrison Ford? Check. Frequently travels through space and looks good in white? Alas, no.
• Scarlett O'Hara - Feigns ignorance and helplessness to manipulate men around her? Well, sometimes. Pulls off a ballgown (or curtain) like nobody's business? Don't I wish. Charming and determined AF? Will take those. Super petty, childish and obsessive? Less so.
• Then I hit the Audrey movies:
• Holly Golightly - Chic? Looks great in a hat? Someday, friends. Social butterfly? Fo sho. Actual strumpet and borderline delusional? Not typically.
• Sabrina - Humble beginnings, working hard to improve herself? Yep. Studied in France? Yes. Loves Humphrey Bogart? Oh indeed. Nabs her man after pining over his brother for years? Um, that'd be awkward.
• Princess Ann - Can pull of short hair? Thankfully, though still unable to hack those bangs. Gullible and over-trusting of strangers? Unfortunately. Princess living in Rome? Womp womp.
• Bridget Jones - Okay, yes, she's my spirit animal: the vodka, wonky friend group, delightful meltdowns followed by gym goings, the occasional verbal malfunction, a love for Hugh Grant and Colin Firth. However... Smoker and total failure at cooking? Naw. Splendidly British and working a quirky journalism job? Gah, if only.

Finally, landed on Corie Bratter, aka Jane Fonda in Barefoot in the Park. Sure, she's over-the-top, but is also lot of fun, ridiculous, adventurous, and a total hoot. I strive to have witty banter even half as good as what she has with Robert Redford. She goes from hilarious to totally unhinged and spastic. Trying so hard to be a good wife but not even sure how to be married. Self-conscious, but head over heels in love with a man who balances her... a point that, nicely enough, rings true for me lately. So Corie Bratter is the closest match I could come up with for now. Plus, she IS the root cause for all those times I've randomly shouted out, "I want a divorce!!" and that one is always a crowd pleaser.

The park, NYC. Starring me, barefoot.

*Doesn't mean I don't also love being in a wonderful relationship!

Everything AND the Kitchen Sink

Hi, my name is Gina and I'm a recovering pack rat... Why get into this now? Three reasons:

1. I saw that insane Pack Rat "puppet" / thing of nightmares at B&N the other day again. It makes me laugh hysterically while secretly fearing that some day I'll find it hovering over me in my sleep.
2. Because I finally Googled "packrat" and it's a REAL rodent. And it's adorable. So, you know... in my defense.
3. Vacation is coming. 

Mostly the last point is the struggle. Despite having gotten progressively better about not hoarding objects (including food) - thanks to several interventions and relocations - when it comes time to face the suitcase, my pack rat anxiety ramps up. Yes, I'll only be gone for a few days, but what if I NEED something? Maybe I'll finally wear that poncho that I've never worn ever, because it's vacation. Better bring it, just in case. And all those shoes. Because they don't sell shoes anywhere else in the world, so if I needed a pair that I didn't bring with, I'd have to go barefoot. Like Pocahontas. And we all know what happened to her. She didn't end up with Mel Gibson and then she died. All because she didn't pack those heels. 

I always wear bright socks in airports (in case anyone ever needs to ID my body).
And, I pack a plushie Canadian moose named Maximus when travelling alone.
But that's a story for another day.

The funny thing is: I'm great at packing. I could pack the Smithsonian into a shoe box. Dozens of outfits, shoes, miscellaneous crap, snacks, all the vitals and then throw in the kitchen sink. Because I've still got room in my suitcase. ((Note: the credit for learning this skill goes straight to my momma - you should see the woman pack a car, it's a thing of beauty. I'll never need to hire movers, because she'll make it fit somehow! #OneTrip))

It's not how to pack it, it's more like... Why? Why feel the need to pack half of my belongings into a bag that will potentially get lost en route (or picked up by that old lady at baggage claim who mistakenly thought your red suitcase was her black one)? It's totally unnecessary. And I have, in plenty of cases, packed extremely light (read: a week around Italy during college with just a backpack and a bag of cookies), meaning it IS possible. So, what is it that triggers my hoarding nature occasionally when attempting to pack? I figured out some possibilities:

• The idea of my stuff shuffling around inside my suitcase during the baggage handling process bugs me. If the suitcase is jammed full, then everything stays nicely nestled in its appropriate place. It has no room to move unless the hull is breached.
• I really hate wasting money. If I didn't pack something, and had to go buy it, I'd kick myself. Plus, I'd then have duplicate items, which really just comes full circle into the pack ratting thing. 
• For vacation wardrobe, the more outfits, the more photos you can be featured in. I know all the damn tricks for mixing / matching, but when I look back later I just see that exact same shirt. Now with a scarf, with a jacket, with a sombrero... Doesn't matter; it's the same frickin' shirt. And it's probably smelly because you wore it the whole trip. I'm not fooling myself or anyone else. I'm judging me.
• It's kind of a puzzle. I love puzzles. How to fit ones entire closet into a suitcase? What a most excellent game. 

I hate that shirt, better pack it. And the hangers, too.
Just to make it more of a challenge.

• If I buy a souvenir and don't have room to bring it back, I'll toss something else out. Anything packed is subject to discard. This was the strategy I employed returning from study abroad. All bags, filled to the brim. Arrived at the airport, found a scale. Weighed, discarded items, weighed, tossed, etc. til I hit weight. The garbage became home to almost all my socks/panties, empty notebook pages, plain shirts, tights, various flats, etc. Anything that could be easily replaced was chucked. This seems to contradict point two above, BUT odds are I'll be too lazy to replace anything tossed so #streamlining.
• I like my stuff. That's part of the pack rat nature. I want my things at my disposal, including while travelling.
• There are so many items with multiple purposes and my suitcase wants them all. A pillowcase used to be my secret weapon for hostel hopping. It's a grocery bag, a towel, a beach blanket, a headscarf, and...a pillowcase. 
• What if something goes awry? When we end up on that desert island, and I'm the only one who has a sewing kit and full pharmacy, y'all will be glad I packed all that crap! And I'll become the most powerful person on the island after the bartering system goes into effect. While everyone else is Lord of the Flying, I'll be doing a wardrobe change every five minutes.

At no point in time have I really regretted over-packing. But I have regretted under-packing. So for now, this pack rat will continue to attempt to streamline at home, but maybe not so much for travel. Will work through my over-packing insecurities in due time. Meanwhile, my kitchen sink and I will send you a postcard from the beaches of Key West! 

Anyone else have problems deciding what to pack? Do you get a little bit judgey when you see you've packed six pairs of socks for a weekend trip, too?

I Quit my Six-Figure Job to Sell Popsicles in Timbuktu

We've all seen articles on the internet with similar titles. Someone is a super successful VP of something, rolling in dough, but is oddly dissatisfied and starting to twitch from the overwhelming anxiety. They quit their job and move to a tropical island where they now sell ice cream and take long walks. They're happy as a clam, and money didn't get them there. Well, money got them their plane ticket there, and paid off their debts, bought them their beach-side bungalow, and gave them financial security to allow them the freedom to go hock their frosty treats to tourists, but you know, money didn't make them happy... but I digress. 

Unfortunately, my title was nothing but snark. I've not yet found myself in a six-figure salary role, else you know, I'd surely quit it. When I get there, I'll let you know. BUT meanwhile, I did quit my job!

Taking this show on the road! Come, plant!

Saying "quit" is far more dramatic than saying, "I got a new job." And to be honest, the masses respond much more favorable to "quit." Maybe it's the "don't let the man get you down" mentality running like a strong undercurrent through the middle classes. Or maybe it's the dream of all disgruntled lackeys chained to their desks in corporate America. Whatever it is, because I love me some solidarity, I made sure to tell everyone. The cashier at the dollar store, the lady at the pharmacy, receptionists of all shapes and sizes, the drive-thru guy: every stranger I had an excuse to talk to. 

Typically, when someone says, "Hi, how are you?" I'll respond with the standard polite, "Fine thanks, I'd like two cheeseburgers." Not the past two weeks. The past two weeks I went for the shock factor. No one expects a response of, "Doing swell, I just quit my job!" Granted, some gave me the "you still need to pay me" suspicious look, but overall the response was more "good for you!" I got several high fives, and even more well wishes. Pretty sure some people were more excited than me even.

After my farewell happy hour, I made going-away treats.
The cupcakes were blue, since I knew everyone would be sad to see me go #Ego
OR they were blue because I made them after happy hour #BoozeyBaking

So what did I learn from quitting my job and making a fresh start? I'll keep it quick:

• Sometimes the grass is greener. Life's too short. Take the leap. 
• That weight on your shoulders? It's not the world, it's your perception. Don't be a beast of burden. Check it each day at 5 o'clock, it's okay. Your health will thank you. So will your friends and family. Stress shouldn't be the third wheel in your relationships, or ride shotgun. It should be stuffed in the trunk or left on the side of the road. If you're at the right place, they'll support that.
• The baby birds can fly on their own. You can't always help them. And if they can't fly, well... Darwinism? 
• True colors show brightest during those final two weeks. The wheat will separate from the chaff. You'll figure out who's worth keeping. 
• Don't burn out before deciding to move on. Shine on. 
• Making new friends and meeting new people feels oddly foreign the older you get. It shouldn't. It's exciting. I highly recommend it. In general, people are just plain nice. 

Someday, I'll look back in my autobiography to the stat of this chapter, a chapter preceded by frustration and bitterness, and will smile at the title: The Turning Point. Cheers to new beginnings, dear friends. Cue the Frank Sinatra.

Regrets, I've had a few, 

but then again, too few to mention.

Resolutely Yours

Why hello there, 2016! Fancy seeing you here. You sure snuck up on us all! Barely got used to writing the "15" on my dates, and here you are to screw that all up again (luckily the 5 and 6 are an easy to correct - thanks, similar looking numbers!).

While 2015 sure was a hoot, 2016 is already shaping up to be one heck of a 365. To keep grounded during all the shenanigans, I decided to resolve a few things. Be resolute. Let my resoluteness abound. Not like, make resolutions, but you know... basically make resolutions. We all know once you attach the word "resolution," it's over. So really, I just decided to take some things I've been meaning to do and put them in list form. Because I don't trust anything that's not in list form (thanks, Buzzfeed, you've ruined my life).

In case you're looking for some resolve of your own, or just are curious, here's the list that will intertwine itself into my daily 2016 doings. You all have permission to obnoxiously hold me accountable now, and I have permission to say, "What list?" come May if I haven't held true to any off it. As is the American way.

1. Tidy Up: Life is never spotless, but I'm making a point to clean up my place each night before bed (dishes, putting things away, etc.). That way, when the serial killer that's been lurking in the shadows my whole life finally strikes, and Derek Morgan comes to my apartment to investigate, he'll look around and think, "Wow, this girl really had her shit together. It's too bad she's dead now because we'd have been perfect together." (And then he rips off his shirt...in mourning.) 
2. Hydrate: Not just drinking more water - that's a given. I may as well live in a desert for the amount of water I consume. It's a constant struggle to pick H20 over my other favorite awful forms of "hydration" (Dew, it's you). But besides that, I need to moisturize better, too. My face/neck regime is solid (thanks, Grandma!), but winter in the WI takes a toll. Let's face it, underneath our clothes are entire bodies are covered in scales. Bridget Jones let the cat out of the bag there. It's time to spend the two minutes and $2 it takes to put lotion on my legs/arms/everything else once in a while, like an adult.
3. Jam It: Love me some good jams, so decided to put a few new radio stations into my rotation. New music keeps life light and dance moves fresh. My sister gave me the precious gift of a shower radio, and currently it only gets two stations: church and local alternative. I've opted for the latter. My hippie rubber ducks approve.



Shower companions, jammin' it up.

4. Get in Touch: Being blessed with a wide array of wonderful friends and family, it's time to stay in touch better. Yes, that means scheduling phone calls sometimes, and spending a week trying to work out timing conflicts, but it's important. Blanket apologies on any previous neglect; cocktails soon (but, for reals this time).
5. Square One on the Noms: Time to quit hoarding food like a squirrel. I'm working on eating up all my food stuffs so I can start fresh and maybe just a wee bit healthier. (No, I'm not just going to throw it away! Y'all know I hate to waste - especially when it comes to food! I'm taking one for the team and eating it til it's gone.)
6. Get Out of Dodge: Boy, my passport sure needs renewing. Finally upgrading to a photo without braces and glasses - huzzah! Also, need to pick out adventure number three for the year. With Key West in February and Colorado in September, there is an awful six month gap there that is distinctly lacking in trips. Simply unacceptable. 
7. Be the Mermaid, Run the Race: Speaking of Key West, this gal has to pull off a swimsuit in a few short weeks. Much dread, many workouts. Besides that motivation, this spring/summer, I have re-upped my commitment to doing a 5k with the beau. It didn't work out so well last spring, but this time I'm determined not to let him down. Eye of the frickin' tiger and whatnot.
8. Shine On: Must revisit the positive attitude of old. Have lost it a smidge, so it's time to get that shine back. No one likes a Debbie Downer, cranky bee.
9. Life Skills: Get some. Like knitting. The end times could strike at any moment. What will you contribute to the post-apocalyptic nomadic herd? If you don't have something better than a keen eye for a good Instagram pic, they'll kick you to the curb. Time to revisit old abilities that have gotten rusty maybe - like building a fire and shooting a gun. Or knitting. Seriously, I really keep meaning to learn that one.
10. To Blog or Not to Blog: Speaking of life skills. Story telling is totally one. If I'm going to keep on this though, it's time to get a domain and maybe switch to another platform (any advice on that one is much appreciated). And get back into the writing rhythm. Else maybe this lil guy should take a hiatus. Decision to be made soon.
11. Streamline: Time to pare down some of my knick-knack, bric-a-brac, beloved little trinkets. I've always wanted my living space to contain enough objects that, should a guest be present and I need to step away for a minute, they would be able to occupy/entertain themselves. Case in point, my elephants. 80% of visitors know what I mean. Because trinkets are my favorite. But, there's that fine line between happy and hoarder. New year, fresh start! 

Starting off on the right foot... certainly not the LEFT one!

The Johnny Cash of Fridays

Spoiler alert: I frickin' love Black Friday.

We've all heard the backlash. Watched the social media statuses about boycotting. Seen the news clips of trampling, crazy crowds. Listened to the growing dislike / bitching about how Black Friday is now more like Black Thursday or Black November (which is not very shiny for the holidays). And yes, I genuinely do feel bad for any retail employees forced to work on Thanksgiving - but I usually feel bad for retail employees all year round, so...

None of that phases me though because, above and beyond anything else, Black Friday is that most important of things: tradition. It's not a day that takes me away from my family / from being thankful and robs me of my soul or some nonsense - it's the opposite. It's time spent with my mom, being grateful that we can afford to buy gifts for the holidays (even if it's just once they're on sale). And this, dear friends, is the tale of how Black Friday has stuck with us, and why it will until someone forcibly stops me from continuing with it.

It started in 1992, when my hard-working single mama wanted to get something special for her babbling daughters, both under age ten at the time. That special something? A g'damn Super Nintendo (with Mario Paint!). That staple of our childhood wouldn't have been affordable if not for those super sales. We'd have surely turned to a life of crime or hard drugs had we not had three versions of Donkey Kong Country to conquer instead. From that point forward, the morning after Thanksgiving had new purpose.

The definition of happiness. Framed. 

Living in a small town, the nearest major retail stores were a 45-minute drive. That meant that (depending on the year), you would find my ma, grandma, sister and me (and sometimes my aunt) loading into the car around 3:00 or 4:00 am. We weren't leaving in the middle of family dinner or anything. In fact, we left around the time most of the men of the family were getting ready to hit the woods for deer hunting. This was our version of "hunting season" - hunting for sweet bargains!

The first stop: the local gas station to get coffee (or, in my case, hot cocoa). Then we were in the car, jamming to the oldies, until our arrival to "the city." We strategically picked store order based on desired purchases and opening times. If we really wanted something, my sister and I served as the family placeholder in the line, with ma and grandma jumping in as soon as we got within range of the door. Once inside: the pure adrenaline and sheer thrill of unadulterated capitalism took hold. 

Since a young age, Black Friday has been a game for me. It's like the ultimate, high-stakes scavenger hunt, where being small is a beautiful advantage (until you need to carry a TV or a big crock pot or something). No carts, just zipping about, my little hands reaching into a bin and running off with the goods before the adults around me knew what was happening. If tears needed to be shed or elbows thrown to get the last of some item, then the game face went on and you did whatever it took. A battle royale with stressed out moms at 4:00am - a most dangerous game indeed. 

Everyone had their mission: a list written up after reviewing the sales papers the day before. There was often the sneaky exchange of, "Grandma, I want to get this for mom for Christmas but I'm a child and have no concept of money, I have $3, can you help me?" or of my Grandma insisting that we go sit in the car with her, while my mom skirted around the nearby cars and ninjaed two three-foot long Casio keyboards into the trunk without us seeing somehow. We were mostly buying gifts for one another, so discretion was key. 

If anyone got lost, the rendez-vous point was usually the unoccupied greeting card aisle. To help find each other, we also had a string of family chants over the year. This was usually a random phrase that could be shouted in an attempt to locate missing persons without causing much alarm. Because a little girl shrieking, "TEAM JACOB!" in the card aisle is just amusing, and not worth calling security over. And when you see a grown woman hollering "Alright alright alright" (à la McConaughey) into the void, you just assume she got up too early to go shopping and is getting a little loopy (or is drunk).

At the end of it all, we'd return to the car. Victorious, we'd nestle against our crinkly plastic bags and settle in for the ride home. The sun was usually coming up, and our bellies were grumbling. Nap time awaited, followed buy turkey day leftovers for lunch. All was well. 

Cheers to victory, and another item checked off the list!

Over the years, we've gotten more savvy about the shopping. We're no longer the first ones in the door, we aren't waiting outside in the cold; there isn't anything that we can't live without. After the first wave has hit, we mosey our way into the stores and scoop up any remaining door busters available, wait five minutes in a now empty checkout line and work our way to the next place. Most of what's purchased is no longer sneaky - typically I'll pick a handful of items on my list and tell my ma that's what I want for Christmas. She'll buy, wrap them up, and I'll open them on Christmas morning, happy as a clam at my surprise presents (sometimes having an awful memory has its advantages!). It makes the holiday gift giving infinitely easier. 

At some point, this tradition of scrambling about at dawn, frantically stimulating the economy, may come to an end. Everyone says to just go buy things online instead, avoid the madness. But I tell you what, I live for the madness; it's a thrill. (Not to mention, I still don't fully trust online shopping #CuzIm90) And even if there's nothing I'm getting that's essential to my survival, it's a chance to get some goodies that I likely wouldn't have spent the time to get otherwise, to experience some of the best people watching of the year, and to spend some time with my family. I know I won't always be able to come home for the holidays in the future, so in the meantime, I'm going to cling to this tradition like I did to those $2 candles this morning. You can pry my Black Friday tradition out of my cold, dead fingers, world. Shop on. 

How about you? Is Black Friday your jam, or something you avoid at all costs?

Jingle All the Frickin' Way!

As I began the four hour drive home for the holiday season kick-off (Thanksgiving), my number one exciting thought wasn't of the upcoming pie, or family time, or Packers victory.... it was of the sweet, sweet jams for the journey north. (No offense, family, noms or Pack!)

While perfectly crafted roadtrip mix tapes do hold a special place in my heart, more often than not, it's the random tune that pops up on the radio that ends up creating a perfect moment.  The melody sets the stage and provides a little wink from the past...

Good times in mirror are closer than they appear.

• Getting picked up from pre-school by my grandma. Wearing my little snowsuit and boots. Laying on the fur blanket she had draped over the back seat while The Casinos serenaded my cold little self with "Then you can tell me goodbye." (Note: that song was the definition of love to me as a child - I was a tiny, hopeless romantic.)
• Cruising around my small hometown with my best guy friend in HS (who got his license before the rest of us) in his little pink car, listening to the local pop station, as he shrieked, "OH MY GOD, THIS is the new Britney song! Have you heard it yet??!" and proceeded to crank up "Toxic."
• The ride to/from visiting my dad. The first leg of the journey with my mama pumping up the oldies and the best of 90s country. (Garth, Elvis, Reba, Cher: all the one-named greats.) The second leg featuring nothing but the best of classic rock. (Breakfast in America for days, friends.)
• Having to drive around the block several times and take the "long way" to Senior Prom because "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on. My date wearing the orange tuxedo from Dumb and Dumber and velvet chucks; me donning a dress in the shade of Halloween. We were the scene from Wayne's World only more dapper. 
• Riding in my boyfriend's car, pointing out various songs and how they'll fit into our Indie Rom-Com movie that I'll create someday. Noting things like, "This will be the scene after our horrible break up, with our side-by-side montages - I'll be quite sad and it will probably be raining wherever you are" or "This'll play during the bit years after the breakup, where I randomly see you outside the bookstore and think how this will be our perfect reunion, and just as I'm about to go out to say hello your WIFE shows up - and then I'll run and hide, hoping you didn't see me, but you TOTALLY did." Not that I overthink these things. Or that I watch too many cheesy movies. Just that, you know, the soundtrack is important. 
• Parked outside the movie theater, about to go see the midnight showing of the latest Batman movie (for my birthday, to boot!). Sitting in my car with the volume on max as my sister and I belt out "Kentucky Rain." Our voices hitting a fever pitch at the best line: "Was it yesterday? NO, WAIT the day befoooooore!"
• The certain death that is any car ride in which "Crazy in Love" starts playing. We, the people of the United States of Bey-on-cé, cannot help but dance and attempt all the booty shaking maneuvers (despite any lack of coordination). A silly thing like a steering wheel can't get in the way. The rules of the road? Pfft, negligible when you got me hoping you'll page me right now.

All those songs (and so many more), make up the soundtrack to my memory. They aren't planned, they just happen, creating little points in time that are just sheer perfection. The best we can all do is to try and connect the dots. So go ahead, turn it up. Make sure they hear you coming. 

What's your favorite car jam memory? 

Anyone else agree that singing in the car is better than singing in the shower? (Despite the fact that you're bound to get caught by that guy who looks over at the stoplight - WHY would you look over? Weirdo! Go live in your hurtling, magical metal music box like the rest of us! Keep your eyes on the road!)

The Walrus Quits the Gym

There are certain universal truths for most twenty-somethings. They all start with "at some point, in your twenties you will..." and end with things like "do something silly you regret" or "feel overwhelmed by financial decisions" or "bitch about work." Jumping to just the female version of that list, one thing you're bound to find is "join a gym, start a diet, attempt a new health regime, etc."

Shortly after on the list, you'll find, "quit the gym, cheat at diet, say to hell with salads, etc."

Now, I'm not discouraging living a healthy lifestyle or saying we're a bunch of quitters, it's just a straight fact that we're busy ladies. We've got other things to do, and sometimes we don't want to prioritize healthy stuff. Because happy hour sounds easier after a long day at the office. And some salads are just gross. And I had to look up how to even spell "quinoa." And counting calories is the worst. And no, I don't want to know what's in bologna; I want to bite out a little smiley face from it and hold it up while I laugh like a five year old.

Morale of the story: I cancelled my gym membership. After going really steady for a time, then not, then back again, then taking ALL the classes, then quitting due to my bum knee (#CuzIm90), etc. I fell out of the habit again this summer. It was like a bad relationship; one that I was paying to be in. Spending my hard-earned cash money for something is typically motivation enough, but twas not the case. Finally decided to cut ties and save the $300 a year. This walrus has been quite content with the choice.

A few reasons quitting the gym isn't the end of the frickin' world:

1. The Internet: There are a ZILLION workout videos on the internets. It's actually insane. I've been following an eight week "Fit for Fall" program that gives me all the details for zero dollars. No fancy equipment needed.
2. Fewer Excuses: I can't skip a workout because the weather is bad or it's not safe to drive (Wisconsin problems, world). My gym is my living room, and the traffic to get to there from my kitchen sure ain't bad. 
3. Workout Outfits: They can be literally whatever you want. I can workout naked, or wearing ridiculous looking neon pants, or in a giant sweater because my apartment is freezing, whatever. No one is going to see it, save for the family of claw-machine stuffed animals that hangs out on my couch. 
4. Noms: If I want to pause for a snack break, I can! Okay, wait, this one's not necessarily "good" but... it makes me happy?



Those cookies won't lift themselves! Time for some curls!
(my space pants make me stronger)
#WillSweatForSweets

5. Self Motivation: People say that if it was just left to working out at home, they wouldn't have the willpower because of other distractions. Well, if you don't have the willpower to shut off the TV for twenty minutes, you probably won't be motivated enough to drive to the actual gym either. So...
6. No Human Interaction: Because sometimes I just want to be a hermit and not deal with some bro glaring at me while I use the free weights (they're just ten pound dumbbells, buddy - I am NOT in your way here!). After a long day, the last thing I want to worry about is looking gross-sweaty in public and trying to not feel awkward when my locker is right next to the totally naked woman on her cell phone and I can't remember my lock combo.
7. Sweet Sweat Jams: The soundtrack is in your hands, not the hands of the teenage boy at the check-in desk. All the D. Guetta! 
8. Never Forget: Water bottle. Gym shoes. Headphones. My muscles. There's nothing worse than getting to the gym and having forgotten something. You don't want to turn back, but some of those items (like shoes) are kind of essential. That hair tie will make or break your workout! 

Seriously, they're like elastic angels.
These are actual currency at the gym.
(also just spent ten minutes thinking my fingers look weird...)

The point could be argued many ways; but for me, I'd say this was a decision well made. Maybe someday, when I'm in superstar adult mode, I'll make the gym a habit again.* But for now, I'm going to stubbornly do it all on my own without anyone's help, because that kind of stubbornness is what twenty-somethings are made of. That and hashtags. 

*And all the other healthy adult things. Like meal planning. And doing more than just ripping out the "superfoods you should be eating" article from the waiting room mag at the doctor and putting it on my fridge. And getting healthy magazine subscriptions myself so I don't have to steal pages from expired issues at the doctor's office...