I Be Up in The Gym..

... just workin' on my fitness.

So this summer I joined a gym. It's a really nice gym with a pool , a yoga studio, and scented towels. It's around the corner from Sprinkles Cupcakes, but that's neither here nor there. And after these few months of pumping iron, I probably could now be considered a fitness guru.

I'm just so sick of people stopping me on on the street and asking about my body. They always ask me, " What's your secret ?"  or "How ever do you maintain that Kate Hudson circa 1980 physique?!"

And I tell them the truth, it's not easy. I follow a strict diet of Greek yogurt and Cinnamon Toast Crunch, plus I  have my own patented work out plan. But I've decided to share my tried and true fitness secrets with the masses, so you too can obtain abs of steel.

1. Go on an elliptical and listen to your iPod. Put "Danza Kuduro" on repeat until you forget there are other people in the gym and start doing weird little dancing hand motions. You could also start singing in fake Spanish aloud. This will cause everyone around to leave, and you can now turn the TV closest to you to the Bravo reality show of your choice.

2. On the way into the gym, stop in the gym's apparel store. Buy a bunch of cute yoga outfits and tell yourself you are going to start taking yoga. Never attend yoga, but wear the comfortable clothes all over town. This way people don't assume you're too lazy for real pants, but that you simply came right from an intense yoga class.

3. Go into the gym's stretching area. Instead of using the mirrored walls to examine your squat technique, use this opportunity to fix your hair. That messy bun could use a few more bobby pins, you sexy fitness queen.

4. Get on a treadmill and walk on the slowest speed setting possible. This is necessary, because if you start going too fast you could miss important plot developments of a "Gallery Girls" rerun.

5. As you are perfecting your barely moving treadmill walk, an extremely fit brunette might get on the treadmill next you. She will start showing off and running. At this point, you need to race her to prove your superiority. Crank up your settings to match hers and refuse to get off until she does.

6. This race will probably cause you to tear your ACL or something equally as dramatic , you must now skip the gym for the rest of the week.

7.  Start attending early morning workout classes to start your day off right. However if you wake up too late to get Starbucks on the way, skip the class altogether.  Now feel free to sleep until noon and watch Dr. Dolittle on Netflix

8. Get hit on by the creepy gym janitor, feel great about yourself, immediately leave the gym , and reward yourself with a muffin on the way home.

9. A great way to end a workout is with a nice, refreshing steam. Go sit in the steam room for a bit. Then be freaked out by naked people and an intense fear of being locked in Final Destination style. Leave quickly.

If I Should Die Before I Wake...

One of my favorite parts of Mindy Kaling's book is the section where she leaves explicit instructions for her funeral. I am also just as important and famous, so I decided to do the same.

I hate funerals/ wakes. They suck and are held at creepy places that smell like wax. I want my funeral to be like the Irish funeral depicted in the classic film  "P.S. I Love You". But not at a pub, at a trendy bar with ceiling drapery and white leather couches that are low to the ground. And instead of shots of whiskey, my 12 closest loved ones will have to down a hot pink Cosmo before they can say what they love about me and flip the glass over on top of my little sparkly box.  (My remains will be in a small, antique-y looking box covered in large rhinestones)

I don't want everyone wearing black, because then it looks like a goddamn episode of "The Addams Family".  It can be a classy mix of black and white, so it looks like Diddy planned it.  ( Be strict about this, nothing ruins a black and white party like some asshole trying to great creative with pink accents. It's tacky).

After my friends do the Cosmo Irish funeral thing, there will be one official eulogy. This could be designated to my loving astronaut/ investment banker husband. However, if he is too distraught to speak or does not exist, my cousin Kathen can do it.

No reading of anything unless I wrote it. No poems by Emily Dickinson or Bible verses. This is a celebration of me, and therefore everyone needs to celebrate my magic way with the written word. An option for this is someone performing a dramatic reading of my most profound tweets.

"If you're taking flash photography of your baby on a 9 am train , I probably hate you." -August 2012

"I want my life to be like the post- war Harry Potter years, all of the magic and none of the fear."- June 2012

"I'm so glad ugly people can find each other and be happy."- October 2011

"If I had to be buried alive, I would be buried alive in Easy Mac because I'm confident I could eat my way out."- September 2011

Nothing religious, unless my grandma is still alive. In which case this whole thing is irrelevant, and I will be buried like the 18th century Roman Catholic saint she always wanted me to be.

I want upbeat pop music to be playing so everyone will remember how fun I was. There should also be an open bar, because the best way to deal with sorrow is alcohol and Rihanna jams.

There should be food. I hate going to something and there not being food. If I am going to make people turn off  a great episode of "The Mentalist" and put on pants that aren't of the yoga variety, there will at least be some mini corndogs offered. There probably should be a cupcake tower too.

Also, there should be a photo slideshow of pictures of me where I looked my hottest/ most fun. However, no bathing suit pics because I am not a trashy trailer park tween on MySpace.  In between the pictures of me,  the slideshow should include of the clips from all the Harry Potter films where there is apparent sexual tension between Ron and Harry. (Anyone who knows me , knows I enjoy nothing more than pointing out those erotic moments during a 12 hour HP marathon). 

 

(This picture could definitely be used. I look sad and pouty because I'm dead and can't drink vodka with my friends. Also, it showcases me in my natural state of never wearing pants)

 Ex- boyfriends are most definitely allowed at my funeral, if only so they can see the pictures of me at my hottest. They can slowly weep over how they wasted their chance with me, and missed their once shot at true happiness because I am awesome. As Mindy Kaling wisely decided, no current girlfriends of these ex- boyfriends are allowed. They will, in fact, only use my untimely passing to look hot and bitchy in a black dress.

Finally, once the funeral-ish part is over, a raging party should be begin. If my friends and family don't celebrate my life by getting intoxicated and drunk dancing to the Spice Girls, you are all doing my memory a great disservice.

10 Things That Are Easier Said Than Done

10.  Quickly shopping at Forever 21 without experiencing a mild epileptic fit.

9.  Showering without getting your hair wet.

8. Going to the Keg sober.

7.  Going to Flattop and then Andy's for a light dessert.

6. Taking NyQuil to go to sleep and then not experiencing a very real exorcism/ the second coming of Jesus when you have to wake up at 8 a.m. for Journalism 201-1.

5.  Actually working during the day, instead of Googling "Mischa Barton fat" for 6 hours.

4.  Pulling off trendy hats and no one questioning your sexuality.

3. Going to Chipotle without Grace.

2.  Going to a work-out dance fusion class and not ending the experience with self conscious tears.

1. At - home bikini wax.

The Worst Person in the World

A lot of people have said to me, "Emma , you seem to hate almost everyone, you should blog about a person you really hate!"

Which I think is a great idea. I mean, when has cyber-bullying ever yielded negative results? I mean, I'm pro-bullying in general. I was bullied for the majority of my young life for a having a weird middle name and a hot mom. But look at me now! All that verbal abuse has allowed me to develop a mean- spirited sense of humor and an inflated sense of self. 

So here it is, a list of 5 things that make one person in this world just the worst. And as you all already knew, that person is me. Seriously, I suck.

1. Please stop telling the same long story over and over again. No one cares that Harry Caray held you as a baby after your parents took you to "Pocahontas". Just like no one cares about the one time your dad saved a mouse and you named it Alfredo. Just because some one in Sargent once told you that you were a great storyteller, does not mean it's true. If you keep telling your friends boring stories about your senior year A.P. Euro class , they will eventually smother you with your own sweatpants collection. Just shut up already, you sound like a drunk uncle at Christmas. 

2. You do not look like Hayden Panettiere. Stop saying that. She has way better eyebrows than you and she can pull off spaghetti straps. No one agrees when you suggest you look like her. And if they do, they're lying. I get that she often plays a cheerleader and has a large forehead. Your similarities end there. She has movie star good looks, you do not. Get over yourself psychopath.

3. I've met 4th grade girls with a better developed taste in music. "Legally Blonde: The Musical" is not an appropriate answer for the question, "What is your favorite band?" You constantly say that you don't enjoy concerts, but that's because you never listen to any good music. Unfortunately for you, "The Little Mermaid" soundtrack does not go on tour. It honestly wouldn't  kill to explore some music that isn't featured on iTunes Top Songs list or sung by animated crabs.

4. You are ridiculously horrible at math. How do you expect to make it through life like that? You stopped taking math at Algebra II ? How did you even get into college? I don't think you even understand the latent hatred all your friends probably have for you. They are the only reason you passed your pathetic three years of high school math. You could at least learn how to calculate tip or figure out how much you owe at group meals. You just end up throwing wads of singles at innocent friends, and dangerously under-tipping waiters at Eggsperience.

5. Being from Joliet does not make you that good of a dancer . Just because years of age inappropriate grinding at the St. Joe's grade school dance has taught you how get somewhat low, and years of cheerleading has allowed you a mediocre sense of rhythm, does not mean you are Beyonce. You were not considered a good dancer at your high school, so you're having a field day in college. All those white, nerdy, uncoordinated Wildcats are boosting your self- confidence to unhealthy levels. Stop dougie-ing at family events, and please don't attempt complicated footwork on a slippery dance floor again.