And by leap, I mean squat. Yes, I did it again. I signed up for a personal trainer. Here's the thing... I swear I didn't mean to. It was Monday morning, I was minding my own business running at a nice relaxing 6.0 pace on the treadmill when this friendly, big, black trainer asks if I want to do a quick 5 minute bootcamp with him. Obviously I am unable to turn down a good work out, so I say yes.
Three sets of squats, lunges, jump ups and bicycles on my back and I feel slightly nauseus. (side note: I've never puked from working out and I'm sure as hell not going to let my first time be after a 5 minute work out. What am I? A pussy? Don't answer that)
Post feelings of wanting to upchuck my breakfast, I sit down with "G". Ok, so his real name is Gilbert, but he was the one calling himself "G"- black men can apparently do this. I asked what I thought was a very viable question: are you also an "OG"?
G: No.
I shrug my shoulders... Say, oh and think to myself this is completely lame because if you're gonna be a gangsta you should at least be an original gangsta... I mean, right?
"G" then pulls out a large scary paper that will establish my fitness goals. Question 1: how much do you weigh? Question 2: what is your ideal weight? And on it goes. I dutifully complete the entire form and hand it back to "G". He grimaces when he gets to the last question: how motivated are you about achieving your goals on a scale of one to ten (ten being very motivated). -- I had very confidently and very pleased with myself circled the six. I would have gone for the 5- but i figured in true Jillian form that I would give him something to work with.
G looks at me. Why isn't this a ten, his voice echoes in my ear and I'm reminded of a recruiter that once asked me why I had a 3.3 gpa in college and not a 4.0 (ummm because I had a life?- no that was not the answer I really gave, but come on!- Surprise, surprise I didn't get that job lol). Anyways, so there it is that inevitable question hanging in the air. And then I just say what I was thinking. I say the truth: I'm happy with the way I look.
Now, it takes a very good trainer to recover from a blow like that. So, he does the only thing he can do. He pulls out the... Dun dun dun- body fat percent calculating contraption. I groan- yes, both figuratively and literally. Even when I was doing interval training and running 30 miles a week I had 20% body fat. I did not want to think about what it was now that I had said "fuck salads" and actually started eating what I wanted.
It was 27- gahhhhhhhhhh! Apparently this is very poor for someone my age and I am going to die- well, someday. My heart sinks. I stare down at my thighs and give an obligatory its been nice knowing you pat to my ass. The fun food and booze run is over (go ahead mom breathe a sigh of relief).
I look "G" square in the face. Ok, let's do it.
And that is the story of how I decided to sign away $160 of my hard earned dollars a month.
Mannnnnnnnnnnnnn.
Xoxo J.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Fuck the American Dream
You know exactly what I'm talking about. It's the house, the white pickett fence, the two kids and the dog. Yup. Fuck it.
Don't hate me yet- wait till the end of the post. When I was five I repeatedly told my mom that I wanted 20 million babies. Ridiculous, right? Obviously because since then Ive realized you either endure a c-section where you smell your own flesh burning or you rip from your vagina to your asshole giving "natural birth". Tell me, how is that natural? Its not like a ziploc bag down there. Yea, exactly.
So, that brings me to my statement: fuck the american dream. If you know me fairly well you know I left SB for lotsssss of reasons. One pretense being that I couldn't buy a house there, couldn't have a family, blah, blah, blah.
Then I moved to Georgia and slowly I started to realise maybe I don't want a family. A house. Two kids. A dog. It's not about money- i mean that would be silly- I just... Well I'm selfish. I don't want to go through childbirth, I don't want to blow up like a balloon, I don't want to dress like a mom.
A couple days ago one of my guy friends told me: "you're getting older. You need to get married soon." I wanted to punch him in the face. What is it with getting married? Just leave me the fuck alone. Ok, now yes, I admit I'm sure I have some issues with marriage due to my parents failed marriage, but I have even bigger issues with people telling me I need to get married.
So, maybe no kids, no fence, no dog.
Cheers, Jildo
P.S. This is really random and probably completely stupid and I HOPE other people feel like this... After I saw 'A River Runs Through It', I thought of Tristan, thats me, I'll never find anyone that can handle me.
That said, I've always said by 30 I wanna have a family or be successful. I pray to God I'm successful.
P.P.S. Because el blog should relate back to money... It costs like $15K to have a kid. And thats just child birth. Forget about the stress of secret thong buying when your little girl grows up, college, puke on your whole carpet from the party the kids threw without your permission (okay that actually kinda makes me want them haha). But, yea. The American Dream? Isn't there a dollar menu version?
Don't hate me yet- wait till the end of the post. When I was five I repeatedly told my mom that I wanted 20 million babies. Ridiculous, right? Obviously because since then Ive realized you either endure a c-section where you smell your own flesh burning or you rip from your vagina to your asshole giving "natural birth". Tell me, how is that natural? Its not like a ziploc bag down there. Yea, exactly.
So, that brings me to my statement: fuck the american dream. If you know me fairly well you know I left SB for lotsssss of reasons. One pretense being that I couldn't buy a house there, couldn't have a family, blah, blah, blah.
Then I moved to Georgia and slowly I started to realise maybe I don't want a family. A house. Two kids. A dog. It's not about money- i mean that would be silly- I just... Well I'm selfish. I don't want to go through childbirth, I don't want to blow up like a balloon, I don't want to dress like a mom.
A couple days ago one of my guy friends told me: "you're getting older. You need to get married soon." I wanted to punch him in the face. What is it with getting married? Just leave me the fuck alone. Ok, now yes, I admit I'm sure I have some issues with marriage due to my parents failed marriage, but I have even bigger issues with people telling me I need to get married.
So, maybe no kids, no fence, no dog.
Cheers, Jildo
P.S. This is really random and probably completely stupid and I HOPE other people feel like this... After I saw 'A River Runs Through It', I thought of Tristan, thats me, I'll never find anyone that can handle me.
That said, I've always said by 30 I wanna have a family or be successful. I pray to God I'm successful.
P.P.S. Because el blog should relate back to money... It costs like $15K to have a kid. And thats just child birth. Forget about the stress of secret thong buying when your little girl grows up, college, puke on your whole carpet from the party the kids threw without your permission (okay that actually kinda makes me want them haha). But, yea. The American Dream? Isn't there a dollar menu version?
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Holy Cheese Grits!!!
When you work second shift in hospitality its very easy to lose your social life. For the past two weeks my roomie Jennifer and I have been working all 2:30-11pm shifts. Which means 1. We're going out on the late night tip or 2. Im snuggling up with my ipad and a handful of twizzlers (because for the life of me now that Im back on the east coast I can't find red vines anywhere) before setting my sleep cycle app on my iphone and rolling over. More often than not its twizzlers and reruns of how i met your mother- cuz that shit never gets old. But tonight, tonight we decided was a night to get out... And relax.
Thats right ladies and gents, we made a date with the shisha. The long necked dragon. The mellowmer. The emperors new groove! Wait, no that was my groove to the southern hip hop they were blasting in the background. Rewind. First we had to find a place. Jennifer and I are both pretty new to the ATL, so we decided to ask Google a queston: shisha atlanta?
I found a place called Hookah Kingdom somewhere in midtown that was open till 1am, it seemed like a fantabulous idea. Yep, simply fantabulous. Until I missed our exit and then after a few loop-de-doos we found ourselves asking my GPS questions like: oh god, where are we going? Uh, where is this place? And lastly, WTF?!?!?!
It wasn't an awful area, there just wasn't really anything else around- ok, I lied there was a bbq place a block away with a fat screaming pig statue outside.
Yeaaaaaaa.
We pulled into the parking lot of Hookah Kingdom. There were two other cars there. Uhhhhh. What do you want to do? Should we check it out? Should we go in? We decided to go in. Let me paint you a picture, aside from blue club lights streaming out from this empty hookah lounge the street was completely black. Jenn pulled on the door but it didnt budge. Closed. About halfway to my car the door opened and a guy poked his head out.
Rome: What's up?
Jenn: you closed?
Rome: yea. We're open friday, saturday, sunday.
Jenn: oh, ok.
Rome: You girls wanna smoke?
(Reminder: shisha)
We look at each other, shrug and head into the empty hookah lounge. For the next 3 hours we're passing the pipe, throwing back grape vodka shots and wiggling to dope beats. Ok. I was the only one wiggling, because I was the only white person. And, yes, I said dope beats. Dope. What upppppppp.
By the time 2:30am rolled around we decided it was time to go to bed. By the time we were a minute down the road we decided it was time to grub. Waffle hizouse! We wanted to see Des, our other room mate who was working- it was her last day. After waiting about ten minutes so we could sit in her section the games begun. or should I say the fucking ass crackery. Aka tom foolery or just all around ignorance. The four other workers would not stop harassing Des... Telling her to shut up, f you, etc. I was fucking pissed. Then came the cheese grits.
I may have spent the last seven years in California, but don't EVER fuck with my cheese grits. The cook at Waffle House obviously did not get the memo. Desarae had to ask the cook where my grits were. He handed them to her... Sans cheese.
PAUSE. Uh, cest cheese?
Yes. Cest cheese. The cook threw a cold slice of cheese on my grits, handed it to me and said it would melt. I told him that was just plain wrong and that it wouldn't melt. He yelled back at me that it would (approximately 6 inches from my face). I said no it won't again, crossing my fingers that it wouldn't because I was just pissed at the way he had treated my friend and wanted to punch him in the face. I didn't punch him in the face, but we did get a free meal out of it. No, it wasn't on the w house. Apparently the two nice gentleman sitting behind Jennifer and I over heard the entire argument and said they wanted to take care of our bill. Score!
1. Free food
2. Oh yea, and Rome didn't charge us for the hookah
3. ... Or the grape vodka (thank god, i mean, it was grape. Insert fizzle face *here*)
Hmmm. Two girls. One night. Smoked. Drank. Ate. FREE!!! This is how we do.
Budget baby. Xoxo, Jildo
P.S. I still want my grits.
Thats right ladies and gents, we made a date with the shisha. The long necked dragon. The mellowmer. The emperors new groove! Wait, no that was my groove to the southern hip hop they were blasting in the background. Rewind. First we had to find a place. Jennifer and I are both pretty new to the ATL, so we decided to ask Google a queston: shisha atlanta?
I found a place called Hookah Kingdom somewhere in midtown that was open till 1am, it seemed like a fantabulous idea. Yep, simply fantabulous. Until I missed our exit and then after a few loop-de-doos we found ourselves asking my GPS questions like: oh god, where are we going? Uh, where is this place? And lastly, WTF?!?!?!
It wasn't an awful area, there just wasn't really anything else around- ok, I lied there was a bbq place a block away with a fat screaming pig statue outside.
Yeaaaaaaa.
We pulled into the parking lot of Hookah Kingdom. There were two other cars there. Uhhhhh. What do you want to do? Should we check it out? Should we go in? We decided to go in. Let me paint you a picture, aside from blue club lights streaming out from this empty hookah lounge the street was completely black. Jenn pulled on the door but it didnt budge. Closed. About halfway to my car the door opened and a guy poked his head out.
Rome: What's up?
Jenn: you closed?
Rome: yea. We're open friday, saturday, sunday.
Jenn: oh, ok.
Rome: You girls wanna smoke?
(Reminder: shisha)
We look at each other, shrug and head into the empty hookah lounge. For the next 3 hours we're passing the pipe, throwing back grape vodka shots and wiggling to dope beats. Ok. I was the only one wiggling, because I was the only white person. And, yes, I said dope beats. Dope. What upppppppp.
By the time 2:30am rolled around we decided it was time to go to bed. By the time we were a minute down the road we decided it was time to grub. Waffle hizouse! We wanted to see Des, our other room mate who was working- it was her last day. After waiting about ten minutes so we could sit in her section the games begun. or should I say the fucking ass crackery. Aka tom foolery or just all around ignorance. The four other workers would not stop harassing Des... Telling her to shut up, f you, etc. I was fucking pissed. Then came the cheese grits.
I may have spent the last seven years in California, but don't EVER fuck with my cheese grits. The cook at Waffle House obviously did not get the memo. Desarae had to ask the cook where my grits were. He handed them to her... Sans cheese.
PAUSE. Uh, cest cheese?
Yes. Cest cheese. The cook threw a cold slice of cheese on my grits, handed it to me and said it would melt. I told him that was just plain wrong and that it wouldn't melt. He yelled back at me that it would (approximately 6 inches from my face). I said no it won't again, crossing my fingers that it wouldn't because I was just pissed at the way he had treated my friend and wanted to punch him in the face. I didn't punch him in the face, but we did get a free meal out of it. No, it wasn't on the w house. Apparently the two nice gentleman sitting behind Jennifer and I over heard the entire argument and said they wanted to take care of our bill. Score!
1. Free food
2. Oh yea, and Rome didn't charge us for the hookah
3. ... Or the grape vodka (thank god, i mean, it was grape. Insert fizzle face *here*)
Hmmm. Two girls. One night. Smoked. Drank. Ate. FREE!!! This is how we do.
Budget baby. Xoxo, Jildo
P.S. I still want my grits.
Friday, March 9, 2012
For the Love of the Game
There are two types of people in this world. The type that enjoy what they do for a living and those that do not. Usually the ones that do not like what they are doing at least make a lot of money. If you like what you are doing it really is a toss up. Are you dating your job? Have you fallen in love with your job? Is your job in love with you too? No! Its a job!
When I moved to Georgia I took an $18,000 pay cut. Yowza! In the beginning I told myself, "ehhh, the cost of living is way less... it'll be fineeeeee." Insert coughing attack *here*. Its not fine. Why? Because I like having enough money so that after I pay rent I can actually afford groceries and gas and maybe the occasional night out on the town.
No... I am not throwing away my hard earned cash on my apartment. It's actually quite a steal. Or did I mean to say lots of people steal from there? Yes, I live in the ghetto. I literally live on the other side of the tracks. Dead serious. The railroad tracks are right in front of my apartment building. Starting at around 8pm every night until about 4 o'clock in the morning, every hour on the hour I am waken by very loud train whistles, horns, wheels clanking on the tracks. I try and tell myself its romantic. I've even gotten to the point of trying to convince myself that its like a lullaby that rocks me to sleep. Yea. I know that's just fucking ridiculous.
So there's the noise issue. And then like I said its not the safest place. After my step mother helped me move in she bought me mace. My room mates then asserted that we should go the firearm store and get a .44. Still not joking, and yes, we really did go. When I moved in my roommates let me know that I would be fine as long as I did not make eye contact with any of our neighbors. I figured, hey, they've been living here for months and they are still alive. WINNING!
I know, I know. I have such a skewed perspective, but this is how you have to think when you are living in poverty. I can find the silver lining in anything. True story.
But, why am I and most of the people I work with struggling to get by? We're all super awesome. We all graduated college. What the FUCKKKKKKK. The classic line at work is overworked and underpaid. And, its true. So why do we all stay? Because we are in love with our jobs.
I guess the next most viable question is: is love enough?
(For people that are in love for the first time you will most inevitably say yes. WRONG!!! Trust me... love is not always enough and yes, you will love again. Stronger than before!-- tribute to Lara Fabian and slightly corny, as always)
Over and Out, Jildo
P.S. Thank GODDDD for tax refunds. Seriously, thank you God.
When I moved to Georgia I took an $18,000 pay cut. Yowza! In the beginning I told myself, "ehhh, the cost of living is way less... it'll be fineeeeee." Insert coughing attack *here*. Its not fine. Why? Because I like having enough money so that after I pay rent I can actually afford groceries and gas and maybe the occasional night out on the town.
No... I am not throwing away my hard earned cash on my apartment. It's actually quite a steal. Or did I mean to say lots of people steal from there? Yes, I live in the ghetto. I literally live on the other side of the tracks. Dead serious. The railroad tracks are right in front of my apartment building. Starting at around 8pm every night until about 4 o'clock in the morning, every hour on the hour I am waken by very loud train whistles, horns, wheels clanking on the tracks. I try and tell myself its romantic. I've even gotten to the point of trying to convince myself that its like a lullaby that rocks me to sleep. Yea. I know that's just fucking ridiculous.
So there's the noise issue. And then like I said its not the safest place. After my step mother helped me move in she bought me mace. My room mates then asserted that we should go the firearm store and get a .44. Still not joking, and yes, we really did go. When I moved in my roommates let me know that I would be fine as long as I did not make eye contact with any of our neighbors. I figured, hey, they've been living here for months and they are still alive. WINNING!
I know, I know. I have such a skewed perspective, but this is how you have to think when you are living in poverty. I can find the silver lining in anything. True story.
But, why am I and most of the people I work with struggling to get by? We're all super awesome. We all graduated college. What the FUCKKKKKKK. The classic line at work is overworked and underpaid. And, its true. So why do we all stay? Because we are in love with our jobs.
I guess the next most viable question is: is love enough?
(For people that are in love for the first time you will most inevitably say yes. WRONG!!! Trust me... love is not always enough and yes, you will love again. Stronger than before!-- tribute to Lara Fabian and slightly corny, as always)
Over and Out, Jildo
P.S. Thank GODDDD for tax refunds. Seriously, thank you God.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
I Really Need to Stop Drinking
Ok, first let me just say that the declining number of blog posts is not because I have given up on saving money and am drowning my sorrows in booze. Who does that? Booze is awesome and should only be drunk to perpetuate awesomeness. No, the reason Im not blogging more is because I still haven't taken my mac to get fixed. This means the only time I have access to a computer is when I go home- which yes, is usually about once a week. If you do the math this computes to 4 blogs a month- but then you have to factor in tv. I dont have a tv at my apartment either, which means I have to cram a weeks worth of How I Met Your Mother into 1-2 days. No small feat.
Sigh, I feel so much better now that I got that off my chest- I didnt want you to think I was cheating on you with another blog. I could never do that. I love you my broke ass blog. Anyways, heres the spending update: booze. Yea, that pretty much sums it up. I really am not an alcoholic and normally only drink once a week. But damn this last week felt like a staycation with all the booze Ive consumed.
It started last thursday with the hawks game- ok those beers were actually free- but we'll just say for arguements sake that they were the gateway beers. Then there was the bottle of wine friday- old friend from High School was in town that I probably hadn't seen in 5 years. We each had our own bottle-- which really is nothing when you consider 5 years of catching up.
Two days later one of my best friends from college came to town. Wineeeee. Beerrrrr. Vinegar popcorn.... Cough, hack. What do you mean you don't sell it without the vinegar?! Stupid hipsters and their vinegar popcorn. Yea, I'll take another beer to wash down the vinegar. Bleahhhhhh.
If you live in Atlanta maybe you've heard of The Porter Beer Bar and their strangely ass flavored vinegar popcorn. Forget the popcorn... Just flip through their 29 page beer menu, close your eyes and point. Fun game. What next? How about our receipt from the beer bar gives us a free growler at Chevron. Say what?!!!!! Yes, Chevron now offers beer on tap! God bless America land of the free... Flowing beer... Sigh.
We had to get our free growler... Obviously. Then for some reason, maybe because GA has a law against open containers we went to another bar- where we couldnt drink our growler, but instead had to buy their beer. At the time spending more money on more booze so we could sit at a bar seemed like a better idea than sitting in our car and passing the growler back and forth. I mean, we are civilized after all.
And, now that ive come completely full circle- its been a week since the basketball game- can i give it a rest? Apparently not. My cousin Travis is in town on business and we're getting beers after I get off work. I really should keep a running tally of how much money Ive spent on booze in the last seven days... But Im scared. :(
Here's to no more boozing! After tonight! Until St. Patricks Day! Unless something really awesome comes up in the mean time. Gah!
Xoxo Jildo
P.S. Just in case you're still doubting my blog love you should know I used my iphone to write this post. If thats not love, i dont know what is... Incidentally my hands are cramping up and I cant read anything I wrote... Soooo tinnnnny. Tinnnnnnnnnny.
Sigh, I feel so much better now that I got that off my chest- I didnt want you to think I was cheating on you with another blog. I could never do that. I love you my broke ass blog. Anyways, heres the spending update: booze. Yea, that pretty much sums it up. I really am not an alcoholic and normally only drink once a week. But damn this last week felt like a staycation with all the booze Ive consumed.
It started last thursday with the hawks game- ok those beers were actually free- but we'll just say for arguements sake that they were the gateway beers. Then there was the bottle of wine friday- old friend from High School was in town that I probably hadn't seen in 5 years. We each had our own bottle-- which really is nothing when you consider 5 years of catching up.
Two days later one of my best friends from college came to town. Wineeeee. Beerrrrr. Vinegar popcorn.... Cough, hack. What do you mean you don't sell it without the vinegar?! Stupid hipsters and their vinegar popcorn. Yea, I'll take another beer to wash down the vinegar. Bleahhhhhh.
If you live in Atlanta maybe you've heard of The Porter Beer Bar and their strangely ass flavored vinegar popcorn. Forget the popcorn... Just flip through their 29 page beer menu, close your eyes and point. Fun game. What next? How about our receipt from the beer bar gives us a free growler at Chevron. Say what?!!!!! Yes, Chevron now offers beer on tap! God bless America land of the free... Flowing beer... Sigh.
We had to get our free growler... Obviously. Then for some reason, maybe because GA has a law against open containers we went to another bar- where we couldnt drink our growler, but instead had to buy their beer. At the time spending more money on more booze so we could sit at a bar seemed like a better idea than sitting in our car and passing the growler back and forth. I mean, we are civilized after all.
And, now that ive come completely full circle- its been a week since the basketball game- can i give it a rest? Apparently not. My cousin Travis is in town on business and we're getting beers after I get off work. I really should keep a running tally of how much money Ive spent on booze in the last seven days... But Im scared. :(
Here's to no more boozing! After tonight! Until St. Patricks Day! Unless something really awesome comes up in the mean time. Gah!
Xoxo Jildo
P.S. Just in case you're still doubting my blog love you should know I used my iphone to write this post. If thats not love, i dont know what is... Incidentally my hands are cramping up and I cant read anything I wrote... Soooo tinnnnny. Tinnnnnnnnnny.
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