Body Sculpting

When I moved to New York I stopped going to the gym. I kept my membership at Bally's for a while until I decided that I could not carry everything I owned from the gym to my place of employment (7 big blocks), and plus the Bally's I went to was dark, dank, and didn't have any good classes in the morning or after work. So instead I joined a Crunch gym that was not even finished. I spent an entire summer without working out. I didn't even gain weight. Granted, I am walking around a lot more, but I am not eating as healthy as I used to. I don't get it.

But I am back at the gym now. Crunch finally opened its doors, and I now have the task of making workouts part of my schedule. It is hard, I am having a hard time getting out of bed or being motivated after work. Skinny jeans helps the motivation process. You may wonder why I chose Crunch over Bally's when I decided that working out is a necessary part of my life again. Well, Crunch is only 4 short blocks from work and they will soon be renting out lockers, thus I will eliminate that whole carrying everything I own back and forth. They also have hair dryers, towels, shampoo, conditioner, and lotion, so I actually have less to carry anyway. All they need to do now is put an Aveda, Sephora, and Saks in the locker room, and then I'll only have to bring my undies and a wallet. Crunch also is famous for its innovative classes, like stilleto aerobics, BOSU(R) Bootcamp, Buff Yoga, and Pole Dancing. (I am seriously contemplating the pole dancing class. It could come in handy one day.) These classes have been part of what gets me to the gym.

I took Buff Yoga on Thursday. It is basically a yoga class that uses weights and other strength moves. And as I write on a Saturday afternoon, my bottom still hurts. Good class. Last night I went to the Funk class--aerobics using funk dance moves. I thought it would be more fun than a treadmill. By the end of the class, however, I decided that tread mills were more fun. The class was filled with tiny girls who really got into it. I suspect they took the class to either prepare for that evening's club escapades or they hoped to be a dancer on some hip hop superstar's next video with rump shaking chicks. Then there was me: the tall gangly one. Sometimes I don't remember that I am tall. But seeing myself in a mirror surrounded by tiny Pussycat Doll wannabees harshly reminded me that I am a giant. A giant that has a hard time with rapid footwork.

The class started out fine. I can shake my rump like the best of them, but after we warmed up, the instructor led us into a routine. This is a normal occurrence in aerobics classes, and I can do a grapevine in my sleep, but I could not do the funk footwork. There were a lot of obstacles in my way. First of all the music was really loud, and I could barely hear the instructor. Second, she didn't teach the steps slowly. I imagine she thought we all could dance, and lastly I was never good at routines. I am not an inhibited dancer, but routines and line dances befuddle me. I am so much better at freestyle.

We went through the routine several times, but I actually got worse as the class went on. One particularly good dancer angered me. She was showing off, flipping her hair around because she could do the dance moves (probably imagining herself in the next Ludcris video.) She reminded me of the Very Flexible Girl at Bally's who would flip her long hair around after she would drop into the splits into the middle of the gym. I have nothing against the Hair Flip--I do it rather well--I just dislike the blatant showing off. I only wish I didn't look like one of those tall girls who cannot control the way their bodies move. (Watch the 6 feet tall twins on America's next top model and you will know what I mean.)

Halfway through the class I saw people enter the Indoor Cycling class. I've done that class before and I love it. After tripping over my feet for the umpteenth time, I really wanted to be in there. Cycling is easy; all I have to do is pedal. Cycling is also fun because I usually imagine that I am racing with Lance, Floyd, Ivan, and Dave Zabriskie. (Congrats to Dave for winning the silver medal at the World Time Trial Championships!!) So the verdict on the Funk Class: I'll leave that to the Solid Gold dancers, and instead join the ranks of elite cyclist hopefuls. But I may try out that pole dancing class. It really may be useful one day!

On Thursday afternoon I did not have any concrete Friday night plans. This is not new. But this particular Thursday I did have two options: I could attempt to get tickets to see Snow Patrol's show or RSVP to the above event. My co-worker Shennell was invited, through a friend, to the Duckie Brown fashion show and after-party. I was immediately jealous--a fashion show during fashion week--well it is the ultimate New York activity, even if he designer is for men's wear. Shennell, in all his good-naturedness, forwarded me the invite and said I should try to rsvp and go. So I did. I didn't get immediately rejected, so I decided to go.

Oh, I vascilated. For one thing I didn't think I would have anything fashionable enough to wear. Plus, Snow Patrol's CD is really good. (I've already written about it.) Even though I recruited Alejandro to join me, I thought perhaps Snow Patrol would be more fun. In the end, I chose the Fashion Show. So I bought a new shirt and bag (with skull lining) and prettied myself up for the fashion show.

So it turned out to be just the after-party, not a fashion show, but I am not complaining. First of all, at the very beginning I proved my chops as a PR person. I sent my RSVP, but my name didn't show up on the guest list--I looked; it wasn't there. I explained that I may have sent a little to late, but since I hadn't heard anything I was sure I was on the list. The bouncer let me and Alejandro in! When I recounted the story to Shennell, he was impressed.

Since it was a party at a club, Alejandro and I weren't too sure if we would stay too long. After all, we wouldn't be drinking...and everyone else would be. We sat down at a booth and the British kid already sitting there asked me to watch his backpack. Now, my mom freaked out when I told her this. Just so you know it is a really small percentage of people who carry pipe bombs in their backpacks. This kid was like the many millions of New Yorkers who carry their personal belongings in a backpack. And he had shampoo in his bag, and although the airport security folk would have you believe that I should run for cover, rest assured I was completely safe. He took his time getting back to the booth, and he even joked that we must have thought he was a terrorist, and then he said that it was just shampoo. I immediately thought he must have been the hairdresser for the show. But before I asked, he explained it was the free stuff in the swag bags they always give out during fashion week. I aksed if he went to the show. Then he said that he was one of the models. Right away my curiousity was piqued. The recorded show was being projected on a screen, and I asked which outfit he wore. He explained that he wasn't in the show--he was the print model, i.e. the one on the invite. As you can tell, all there is up there is a mouth. He struck the pose, and voila! there was the mouth. I was going to ask him more questions, like what's your name, but Kanye West's "GoldDigger" came on and Alejandro wanted to dance. That was the end of a lovely conversation with a male model. Thanks Alejandro. He obviously does not get that I have a few requirements in a crush. Good-looking was one, and British accent is the other. Mystery Print Model had both.

You may wonder why I didn't let him dance by himself. Well, it was for his safety. The party was in Chelsea--a neighborhood with a lot of gay men, and there would most likely be a lot of gay men at a menswear fashion show, so I promised I would keep him from getting hit on. That requires me to leave a potentially good conversation with Mystery Print Model.

I hadn't danced in a while, so it was fun. But it was fun to see all the pretty boys too. Actually that was slightly depressing. All the boys were prettier than me, including the Hugo Boss model that graced us all with his presence. (Check him out - www.hugboss.com) I was also glad that despite the club location, no one danced like it was a club. Well, one couple enjoyed eachother's company a little too much, but no stranger came too close! Thank goodness. or darn it. I can't really decide.

Shennell asked me if I was disappointed that the invite was only for the after-party. Sure, I would love to have some free stuff, and see a show live but this is just my first Fashion Week in New York. I'll be at a real show soon enough.

Just Another Day at the Beach

A couple of weeks ago I agreed to head to Long Beach with some friends. When I moved to NYC I was pretty surprised to hear that people went to the beach around here. I didn't realize that there were beaches to visit. I should not have been so surprised, after all Long Island is an island. Maybe I thought the beaches were like the ones in Seattle: fun for bonfires, not so fun for swimming or laying out. I had to go through a huge paradigm shift when I went to Coney Island, but you can see the picture and read the post to know why that wasn't a good time. Nonetheless, in order to strengthen new friendships, I donned my suit and went to Long Beach.

In order to get to the beach, we had to take a train and buy a ticket to enter the beach. I guess the prices keep the riffraff out (note to Coney Island...). The train was lots of fun, since my days in Europe I have fallen in love with train travel. The un-fun thing about train travel in New York is Penn Station. That place is HUGE. I actually got lost for a bit when I hung out in the New Jersey transit area while looking for my friends. They were at the Long Island Rail Road area, obviously. Fortunately I actually had cell phone coverage or I would have never ever found them. I am not going to blame myself entirely because I see the ticket counter as a meeting place, not Cinnabon.

The train trip took about an hour--we didn't take an express. We read Vogue and InStyle, Holly had her hair braided, and we discussed Project Runway. Then the train stopped an a quarter of Manhatten got off the train and headed to the beach. We made a detour to the grocery store--a real live actual grocery store. We don't have big grocery stores in New York, and I mean more than three isles. This one had probably twenty isles and a parking lot. They also had grapes for 99 cents a pound. I bought some along with other munchies and water.

We found a spot at the beach, applied sunscreen, ate, and then finally hit the waves. The water was not too cold and it was fun to play in the crashing waves even though I inhaled salt water a couple of times. Needless to say, my sinuses were completely clear by the end of the day. But the water did have a lot of white jellyfish. And a lot means that they were constantly brushing up against me in the water. The Lifeguards assured us that the white ones didn't sting, but still--ICK! And they were all over the shore too. Holly wanted to poke them with a stick, fortunately for them she didn't find any sticks.

My biggest dillemma with the beach was what one does when not in the water. Pretty much you sit and read under the scorching sun. However, it was pretty windy, and hard to read the InStyle or Vogue when Nature decides which article to read. So I sat in the sun. Then Richard decided that he wanted to be buried in the sand, and then Ann wanted to be buried. See the above pictures. When Richard was buried Alejandro and Ann made a sand evening gown, and when Ann was buried we turned her into a beer-bellied truck driver.

I got a sunburn. I reapplied my sunscreen, but I still burned my arms. I was even covered up. So I think the only way for me to leave the beach completely sunscreen free is if I wear a bhurka. It's really the only way. Or I will invest in beach gear: floppy hat, umbrella, prescription sunblock, a house on the beach...

I'm going to make it after all

I know I haven't written in a while, and I do need to update you on the restaurants I've been to and what not--I promise to do that--I just wanted to quickly write and say that it is official: I work in public relations!!!

I know I haven't written about what I've done this summer during the nine to six (Okay sometimes 9-7), but that is because I'm sure that it is not OK to blog about my job. Many people have been fired for divulging too much info via blogs, and I didn't want it to happen to me.

On June 1st I started my internship at Zeno Group, a boutique firm owned by the Daniel J. Edelman Corp. (That's a big deal in the PR world.) Even though the New York branch is primarily a healthcare-focused firm, I convinced the recruiter to let me intern in their consumer division. It was a wise choice because I was busy all summer long. I worked late, juggled multiple projects, gave assignments to the other interns, and basically proved my P.R. abilities. And my superiors even liked my writing!! Which is good; that's why I went into to p.r.--to write more. So last week Zeno offered me a job. I gladly took it. I work with great people, and for the most part I like our clients. I'm not sure how my responsibilities will change now that I am no longer an intern. It is possible that they will not change since, according to my V.P., I worked as an account exective all summer. Two of the times he said this, he had had a couple of martinis, so I will continue to work hard.

If I had a hat I would toss it into the air, spin around, and catch it - a la Mary Tyler Moore. Actually my catching skills aren't stellar. I would probably end up picking the hat up off the ground.