Adventures of a Gay Yuppie
Last month I wrote that I was having trouble closing my Citibank online savings account.
I eventually sent an email to customer service, although when I had to choose a pre-written email subject, “Close My Account” wasn’t an option, naturally. A day or so later they emailed me back to say that the process was in motion.
And a few days after that I received a check with the remainder of my account balance in the mail.
For 8 cents. Holla.
I’m trying to close my Citibank online savings account in favor of my newer and easier-to-use ING Direct account.
Citibank seems to think they can prevent customers from closing their accounts by ignoring the issue. I can’t find a single help article mentioning the account closure process, and it’s not in their FAQs. In the end, I had to send an email.
In the web world, we call this “poor user experience.”
WTF mate?
I promised myself I was going to write a deep, insightful post about personal finance and career development this weekend, but I got sidetracked day dreaming about cars I can’t afford and going to the gym to work towards an ideal I’ll never attain.
So instead, here’s a video with two hot boys in their shorts doing some clever choreography to Daft Punk’s “Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger.”
The female version was incredibly popular on YouTube, but I think the guys do it better.
Hey, even us brazen careerist types need a break once in a while.
Back in early April, when I was a mere novice about the ways of the gym, I had my first ever session with a personal trainer.
Becky the trainer was decent. She outlined a perfectly acceptable training regimen. She answered the questions I asked, and she was pretty hot, too.
But we didn’t click, which is unusual for me with hot, (presumably) straight girls.
For my next session, I was paired with a dude in his late twenties. At first I was unimpressed. He was shorter than me and very muscular, but from what I could see, lacked definition. A beer guzzling frat boy all grown up.
But this guy, Ryan, surprised the hell out of me. He was everything Becky was not: warm, supportive, funny, motivating. I never thought I’d be the kind of guy who responds to, “Come on guy, it’s ALL MENTAL, push it out, push it out!” But it turns out, I am.
It’s been only six sessions so far, and I can already confidently say that I couldn’t have made the gains I’ve made without his help.
All in all, I consider this gym membership money well spent. And I’m not even buff (yet).
So is it for use at night? Or twice a day? Or twice at night?
I only need to use mouthwash once per night, twice is overkill.
Awkward. Sweaty. Uncomfortable. And it hurt a little bit when we were done.
I just signed up for a gym membership, and my first time with a personal trainer was not the experience I was expecting.
Her name was Becky, and she was 10 minutes late for our session. I didn’t know what to do until she showed, so I checked with the desk attendant who suggested I warm up with some cardio.
When the trainer arrived, she was apologetic. She was stuck in traffic. Traffic really does suck in the D.C. area, so I tried to be sympathetic.
She then asked me to fill out a waiver and complete a short goals assessment. It was lame. “Would you like to gain muscle mass? 0 not important, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 very important.” We didn’t really go over the assessment, though the trainer did want to know about my workout habits. I sheepishly admitted to not working out since I graduated college.
I thought I’d have a test of my percent body fat, and I definitely expected to be weighed on a scale, but nope! (This was probably good for my short-term self esteem, but I felt let down that this means no ‘Body fat percentage vs. Time’ spreadsheets on my laptop.)
Becky quickly introduced me to a clipboard with my name and lines for weight, sets, and reps, but then we were off for the weight machines. No free weights at first, she said, though I’m not sure why.
Over the next hour, I worked on my chest, back, legs, and abs. I had used all of the machines before, but the trainer was able to improve my posture and form. She was conservative with the weights since it was my first session. Mostly I was just embarrassed at how weak I was compared to the muscle gods in the free weights section.
In fact, I thought the workout was way too easy until the last exercise: hanging leg raises in the captain’s chair. During my second set, my ab muscles gave out. I had to stop. Immediately. Then for the next 10 minutes I felt like I might throw up. Luckily I didn’t.
Overall, I liked having a trainer. She taught me a few things, even though she didn’t fit my preconceived notion of a trainer. No saccharine words of encouragement or praise. No talk of goal setting.
She was a no-nonsense, matter-of-fact gal. For instance, I asked how I should schedule my workouts (because I loves me a plan), and she said, “Basically you’ll see results faster the more you work out.” Gee, thanks. Really?
But when pressed, she told me to aim for two weight sessions per week.
For now, I think I’m going to play the field and try to find a trainer that clicks. But I might go back to Becky.
After all, you can never forget your first.
Happy dreaded Valentine’s Day, or as I prefer to call it, Singles Awareness Day.
I personally hate Valentine’s. It’s just a few days before my birthday, which totally steals my thunder, and for some reason certain friends think it’s not-at-all tacky to buy clearance Valentine chocolates as a birthday gift. (Hint: It’s not. Especially Russell Stover, gross.)
But maybe the real reason I don’t like Valentine’s Day is because I’ve never had a Valentine.
Try not to be shocked, gentle readers. I know you’re sitting there thinking, But he’s so witty on his blog, and fiscally responsible, and surely he’s handsome, too, so how is this even possible?
I’m not bitter, not exactly. I don’t harbor ill will towards my happily coupled friends, gay or straight. I wish them all the best.
But no matter how hard I try to eliminate it, there’s that nagging voice in the back of my head telling me, “That should be you. You should have romantic plans with a fabulous boyfriend tonight. What’s wrong with you?”
Stupid holiday.
My plan for coping is to sleep late, bother Melissa on IM while she’s at work, and watch as much The L Word as my brain can handle while I knock items off my to-do list in preparation for my new job next week. (I’m pretty sure keeping busy is one of the best ways to stave off holiday-induced loneliness.)
Also, I’ll be sure to check out Broken Cupid. Mike will almost certainly have an interesting Valentine’s Day post.
How do you plan to trudge through?
