Monthly Archives

July 2013


Anatomy of a spin class

July 24, 2013

Disclaimer: I really like spin, and I’ve been doing it more lately because my knee is still being kinda stupid so I’m trying to be nice to it, and then I will be able to run more again hopefully soon.  I miss running.  No, I’m not crying right now, why would you ask WAHHHWAHWAH sobsobsob

All right!  Look at you, girl, planning your schedule so you’re here 45 minutes early.  Aw yeah, you’re awesome.  And you’re here that early so you can guarantee a hiding-in-the-back spot for this class.

Okay, I’m 45 minutes early.  Even the girl at the front desk gave you a look when I said I had a spot saved in the class.  Oh hey, there’s a towel on my bike.  Maybe I can do towel origami for like 42 minutes and then warm up.

That’s stupid; stop laughing at “towel origami,” it wasn’t even funny.  You’re staring at a spin bike in a darkened room and laughing at yourself while folding some basic rectangular shapes into a tiny white towel.  Go do something before they kick you out for being a crazy person.  And no, going up to the giant fan and talking into it so your voice turns into a robot voice doesn’t count as “doing something.” Let’s go run a bit.

Aight, I did my mile.  Now I get to go in like “aw yeah look at my warm up.”  Let’s go back in.

Okay, good, there are like 3 other people in here, it’s less weird.  Don’t do towel origami.  DON’T DO IT.

Bike adjustin’ time.  Just need to unscrew this peg and move the seat down and forward…why can’t I move it?  Did the Incredible Hulk tighten these before me?  Why am I so weak?  WHY CAN’T I DO ANYTHING RI-oh.  It turns the other way.  No one saw that, right?  They all totally saw it.

Aww yeah, feelin’ the burn.  Yeah, whatever, so you can feel a burn with zero resistance.  Don’t hate.

Oh hey instructor.  How you doin’.  You apparently doin’ well because you just said this is the third class you’ve taught today.  We have that in common.  If by “class” you mean “tablespoon of Nutella” and by “taught” you mean “eaten.”  And by “today” you mean “so far today.” 

WHY DID YOU TURN THE LIGHTS ON.  WHY.  I LOOK LIKE DEATH PLUS HONEY BOO BOO PLUS TOMATO SAUCE.  I SIGNED UP FOR DARKNESS.  STOP THAT RIGHT NOW.  Oh, you were just checking the sound system and they’re off now.  You’re forgiven.

Yeahhh buddy let’s start this class up.  Love this back row bike.  Oh, a full turn, you said?  I’m sure what you MEANT was a half turn.  Or like, a third.  Or whatever amount of resistance makes my legs go as fast as yours.  Wait, yours are reeeeeally fast.  Like, supersonic fast.  Like they’re gonna catch on fire due to air resistance fast.  Oh, yeah, sure, telling the class to just Do Our Best and take the class Based On Our Fitness Levels and How Often We Do Spin is gonna make me forget that you could potentially power a city with your spin bike and I look like I should still have training wheels.  Don’t patronize me.  Whiiiiiiine.

I need to get out of the saddle now.  Okay, out of the saddle.  Why am I giggling?  Saddle isn’t even a funny wor-hehehehe saddle.  Shut UP.  Focus.  Finish this song out while blatantly ignoring all of the prompts to add resistance.  She’s staring at me.  She knows I’m ignoring her prompts.  Shit shit shit.  Okay, look at me reaching down, I’m being good and totally adding resistance.  I am a LIAR.

Water break thank you GOD.  Ew, am I seriously sweating that much?  No, that has to be the dude next to me.  I cannot possibly be dripping onto the ground.  It must be that, um, gravity is working not quite perpendicular to the ground and it’s the people next to me.  Ugh it’s totally me I’m the grossest I’M SORRY EVERYONE.

I did not know a remix of “Free Fallin'” and “Get Low” existed.  Now I do.  I cannot unknow this.

Well, at least pretty much the whole class looks like some form of hell right now, so We’re All In This Together (don’t actually use that as a song plz and thank you).  Except for the lady directly in front of me.  Okay, woman, there is no way your butt is a real butt.  It is clearly made out of Valyrian steel and it is not fair to the rest of us that you’re parading around as if that is an attainable butt.  Your tiny shorts encase a lie.  Okay fine, your butt is real but can you please get it away from me because I’ve now started to hate my butt and it knows this and is responding by falling asleep.  That might be because we’ve spent 9 straight minutes seated but it’s MOSTLY YOUR BUTT’S FAULT. 

Nice, a new song, let’s do some stuff where we get out of our seats.  Position 3, I am all over this.  Leaning forward like a champ.  Elbows and shoulders are loose, my weight is shifted back.  I am basically a Tour de France rider right now, I look so fly.  Aaaand I’ve got sweat on my chin.  It’s dripping ugh ugh ugh this is unpleasant I need to wipe it.  Well, I can do this, because I’m being good and not supporting my weight on my arms so I can just shift and get that sweat and nothing bad will hap-BAM.  Or I’ll slip and my nose will come within one inch of the handlebars and one of my feet will fly out of the pedals and I’ll give the lady next to me a heart attack.  Basically the same thing.

Okay, cool, we’re done with like 40-ish minutes of this 45 minute class.  Almost time for cool down.  Um, instructor lady, what do you MEAN we should all try for 60?  No no no, I did not sign up for 60 minutes.  I have things to do, like eat more Nutella.  Everyone here thought it was 45, it’ll be fine!  Someone will say something, she’ll stop, and we’ll all leave.  Can you hear the people SING, singing the songs of angry men…

No one’s leaving.  THIS IS WHY REVOLUTIONS FAIL, PEOPLE.  DON’T JUST LET HER BULLY YOU.  Ugh, fine, maybe I can just leave…nope.  My wonderful back row bike spot has made it so I am actually trapped.  Fine, I’ll do this.

(15 minutes of death later)

Can we please be done now or I will cry.  Please.  I mean, I’m probably gonna cry anyway, but I was planning on doing it out in my car like a normal person.  Now you’ve forced my hand and you’ll have to watch my ugly cry face.  Wait, you said “cool down”!  I love you!

Sure, “Sandstorm” is a cooldown song.  Go home, spinning, you’re drunk.  Whatever, I’d cool down to the damn Macerena if you just let me out of here.  I’ll do your stretches, I’ll clean off my bike, and then I’m GONE. 

Same time next week, yeah?


How to make me want to destroy you while at Chipotle

July 17, 2013

First of all, a good way to start is to be a teenager and wear some weird skinny jeans and glasses that are so comically oversized as to only be helping your vision if you see out of your cheekbones.  Good first steps.  Actually, these are the second steps, technically, because your bright zigzag tank top (that you checked in your car’s side mirror) blinded me to the rest of your outfit and all I could see was the neon.

Then, please do continue in the front door by yanking on one handle, and when it doesn’t budge, trying it 3 more times before the woman who drove you here (mom? I presume?) pulls on the other door which magically opens, allowing you entrance.  Once through the door, just stop there.  It’s a great place to stop, directly inside the entrance.  I really like standing in the actual doorway waiting for you to figure out that yes, this Chipotle is like all other Chipotles, and there is a line that forms.

Why are you sitting down?  Why?  Oh GOD, you think there are waiters here.  Also you should say “I guess we just seat ourselves.”  Down here in the world of plebeian food, we have to go get it ourselves.  Because I am a brat, I’m taking what is technically your spot in line because you can’t get it together.

Oh hey, you’re behind me now.  It’s like 4:30 in the afternoon, so the people cooking back there are basically just starting up, so we get to stand here.  Nope, too close to me, back up.  No, I’m not moving up, because no one is being helped at the moment, so my creepin’ up on this poor girl in front of me is not doing a damn thing.  Just talk amongst yourselves for like 2 minutes; you can wait.

Then, definitely give a stupid, hipster answer to a question.  The woman with you just asked you what kind of work you’ve been doing recently, and the correct answer is not “well I’ve been really interested in graphic novels lately.”  Huh?  Are you an artist, or you just like to look at things through your dinner-plate-sized glasses and call that working?  Also I find it extra amusing that your voice was at a normal volume before but to answer that question you needed to let ALL EIGHT OF US in this CHIPOTLE know that you REALLY like GRAAAAPHIC NOOOOVELS.

Keep inching up behind me. Really.  I truly enjoy you slowly and sneakily closing the 12-inch gap between us so you can be sure to ask for extra cheese on your burrito bowl.  As we both know, Chipotle workers will refuse to serve you unless you are acting as the big spoon to the customer in front of you’s little spoon.  I am the little spoon.  Let’s do this.  I’m a kickass little spoon, especially when the big spoon is wearing stupid stupid jeans.  I’d LOVE it if your neon-and-denim-clad hips made contact with my butt.

Then, be sure to question the fact that guac is extra, and make the guy behind the counter repeat it.  Guac has been extra since the dawn of time.  Newborns know that guac is extra.  Jesus knew that guac was extra: he would have put it in his Sermon on the Mount except he was thinking about it and was like “nahh everyone knows about that already!”  Trilobites knew that guac was extra.  Are you a trilobite?  No, but this is the Main Line of Philadelphia, so there’s a decent chance the woman with you actually named you “Trilobite” to be trendy.  But yes, nothing gets me going quite like a bit of surprise spooning and then avocado inquiries.  Aw yeahhh. 

Oh yeah, now that we’ve gotten the foreplay out of the way, please do reach over my shoulder and touch me to grab your bowl.  I was thinking of just stealing it and rearranging the cheese inside to match the sexy neon zigzags of your large-armholed tank top as a seduction method, but now you’ve ruined it.  Oh wait, maybe not?  Your hips just did their spooning thing again.  Yes, I still have a shot! 


You’re still a teenager, so maybe I can chalk this up to “people with 2-digit ages beginning with 1 are all terrible” but dude, get it together, or the next person you surprise-spoon is gonna be a cage fighter and he’ll end you.

Not that that would, y’know, make me happy or anything. 


Elle Woods: Real American Hero

July 3, 2013

I LOVE Legally Blonde.  Haters to the left.  And for your July 4th reading pleasure, I am going to outline why this movie is the best.  This post does assume you’ve seen the movie or are at least familiar with the plot, which you freaking should be.  If not, get thee to IMDB immediately.

First, to outline the couple problems, because nothing can be perfect.

1. You do not go from a 143 on a practice LSAT to a 179 on the real one.
It just doesn’t happen.  Okay, fine, maybe it’s happened, and there’s some miracle law student out there who bumped that grade up, but otherwise, nope.  That’s going from well below average to the top 99.9%.  Everyone with a 170 or above on the LSAT is in the 99th percentile.  180 is the highest score, and this is not a content exam, so it’s not like she magically crammed a ton of info into her head.  Just, nope.  Still totes happy for her!

2. Gay people stereotypes
Enrique, the pool boy and one of the prosecution’s key witnesses, is about as flamboyant as it gets, and Elle figures out he is in fact gay because he recognizes that Elle’s shoes are Prada.  “Gay men know designers, straight men don’t!”  ahhhh stop.  Additionally, Elle’s lesbian(?) classmate got her Ph.D. in women’s studies with an emphasis on women in combat (which sounds hella interesting, for the record; I would read that dissertation), and is later shown arguing with Warner about how “semester” actually shows preference to men (semen vs. ovaries) and she’s starting a petition to have the next one be the “ovester.”  I can’t.  Semester means “six-month period,” for anyone who was wondering. 

Now that we’ve got the small sad-trombone moments out of the way (such a shame…), let’s move on to why this movie is the best thing that’s ever happened in America.

1. Law school realism
Barring her ridiculous admissions video, the scenes when she’s in school are actually pretty darn accurate.  You DO have first-day assignments, and while you probably would not be kicked out of a classroom for not doing them, you’d better get it together.  The professors DO call on you like that all the time: Socratic method, that’s American law school, they look at the list and “Ms. Cozzetto, please state the facts of this case.”  She seems to have both crim law and civil procedure in her first year, also totally accurate.  And competition for internships (summer associate stuff) is crazy competitive.  Also the amount of work she does.  Pretty accurate.

The one different thing?  She’d be totally hip with her Mac.  2/3rds of students now have them and lots have the brightly colored cases.  Elle Woods, trendsetter.

2. Paulette is the best
The movie’s main love story revolves around a chubby, “lower class” woman and no one, not Elle, not the UPS delivery guy, not anyone except for her ex, makes fun of her or her circumstances the whole damn time.  She gets the hot guy, she gets her dog back, she gets what she wants, and Jennifer Coolidge kills it as usual.  Her relationship with Elle doesn’t feel forced at all.  Which leads me to…

3. This movie passes the Bechdel test with flying colors
More than two named women, they all talk to each other, and about something other than a man.  And just in general, there are so many diverse ladies in this it makes me happy.  Elle and Paulette do frequently speak about men, but Elle takes times out to rescue Paulette’s dog like a champ.  Elle’s two sorority best friends are supportive as hell when Elle decides to go to law school, and while it’s played for comedy (“Elle! We came to see your trial!  Oh look how cute there’s like a judge and everything!”), they showed up to something they have no interest in simply because it’s important to their friend.  The judge in the trial is a black woman, and the lead prosecuting attorney is a white woman.  Elle’s civ pro professor is a McGonagall-esque lady, and even when she kicks Elle out on the first day, no one calls her a bitch.  Elle’s whole sorority both encourages her as she goes out on what she thinks is a proposal date with Warner, and then cheers for her when she gets her LSAT results, because these are things that matter.

Of course, the best example of this is Elle and Vivian, who by all tropes and rom-com rules should hate each other because they’re technically competing for the same man.  But pretty much as soon as Vivian realizes Elle is kind and Elle realizes she doesn’t have to hate Vivian for being engaged to her ex, they start being friends.  And the best kind of friends.  They work together, they both joke about how they are asked to get coffee when their fellow male interns are not, they offer to help each other out.  Vivian eventually dumps Warner for being a punk, and they are besties.  I like to imagine them riding off into the sunset to make the world a better place for women.

4. Elle Woods is so wonderful and kickass I can’t even deal
She’s super happy and kind the whole damn time, even after 1L year, which can easily crush anyone.  She decides she’s going to Harvard, and so she works insanely hard and gets in.  She decides she wants the summer associate job, and so she does the same.  She helps out her classmate when he’s trying to get a date.  She helps out Paulette.  She remembers her haircare rules and because she knows both how perms work AND how cross-examination works, she freaking wins a goddamn murder trial, and I will love the makers of this movie forever for allowing her to use knowledge about “stupid, lady crap” to dominate everyone.  She could easily rest on her appearance and focus on superficial things, but she doesn’t, because she’s chosen other goals.  HOWEVER, and this is the important thing: she doesn’t judge any other person for their choices, no matter how “superficial.”  She decides what’s best for her, and kills herself to get it, without ruining anyone else’s happiness in the process, and especially without having to trample on any other women.  She is my hero.


Happy Fourth, everyone.  And remember the rules of hair care are simple and finite.