Hanging on the Telephone

Last night, I got a phone call from Steve at the expensive gym.

"Hey, Erika, I just wanted to know if you'd made a decision yet and if you're ready to come on in and sign up."

My first inclination was to be annoyed, but then I realized it would make a funny blog entry. It's been a long time since a man has pursued me this heavily, even for money.

Still, I knew I had to be firm.

"As I told you before, I can't afford your monthly fee." I was on my way out the door when the phone rang, so I probably sounded more annoyed than I actually was. Which probably worked in my favor, because rather than tell me it would only cost me $8 for the rest of the month if I signed up today, Steve simply told me to call him if I changed my mind.

I'm not likely to change my mind. But ten bucks says that Steve will call again, just to check.

The When

Tommy and I don't know each other very well, but we've never really gotten along.

Just to clarify, this Tommy isn't a person. I'm talking about the musical, based on The Who's 1969 album.

Yeah, didn't see that one coming, did you?

See, it all started when I graduated college and moved to Pittsburgh in May of 2000. I was the only one in my tight-knit group to graduate that semester, and when I moved away, my loneliness was made worse by the fact that all my friends were still together up at school.

It was a bad summer. I had a job and a few friends in Pittsburgh, but things didn't really come together for me there like I'd hoped they would. Meanwhile, most of my friends were spending their summer on a production of Tommy. Two hours away and lonely, I was very jealous that my friends were having such a good time working on a show. Whenever "Pinball Wizard" was played on the radio, I would scowl and change the station.

Funny how things can change in ten years. But we'll get to that in a minute.

It's been a long time since I've done any theatre, for various reasons. But as someone who used to do show after show after show and love it, I've felt the acting bug come back to bite me more than once. There is a theatre near me that puts on great shows, and every time they have auditions, I think about going but always think of some excuse to back out.

The other day, though, when I learned about auditions for this theatre's summer musical, for some reason, I knew I had to go. Despite the fact that I only had a few hours to prepare. Despite the fact that doing a musical is a huge time commitment. Despite the fact that I wasn't sure if I'd get stuck with a role I didn't want.

Despite the fact that the show is Tommy.

Alright, so the fact that the show is Tommy wouldn't really have deterred me. I mean, it's been ten years, and I've experienced worse things in life than a lonely summer. But I did think it was pretty funny that I was auditioning for a show I was once very bitter about missing out on.

Even funnier, I managed to score a lead role.

I'm actually really excited to get back into theatre. And after my first rehearsal yesterday, I think this will be a great show. It's been too long since I've done a great show.

I guess it's all in the timing.

Gonna Make You Sweat Till You Gag

Confession time: Blogging isn't the only thing I've been slacking on for the past year plus.

I haven't been to a gym in nearly as long. And while I'd like to believe my jaunts around the neighborhood with my dog are enough, I probably burn more calories going to Target. I tried to go running once, but I hate running. Absent of opportunities for fun physical activity, like hiking, I need a gym. And I can't find a suitable one where I live now.

When we lived in our condo, my husband and I belonged to a gym that was a five minute drive away. It had all of the amenities we wanted (good classes, a pool, the place didn't smell like feet), and it was affordable. When we moved into our house a year ago, I was excited to learn that the gym had not one, but two, locations close to us.

The excitement was short-lived. The locations were close, yes, but not really convenient. Thanks to traffic, either one was at least a 20-minute drive each way. That was enough for me never to use the pool or take a class, and enough for my husband never to step foot in either location. Once our yearly commitment was up, we cancelled our membership.

Lately, though, I've been wanting to get back into a workout routine. I feel better when I exercise -- if not physically, at least morally. (I don't want to be the last straw in the obesity epidemic, after all.) I tried to do some of the free workouts on Comcast, but I couldn't find too many that I liked. And the gyms that are close enough to my house are either bare bones or way too expensive.

Then, last week, my friend JG sent me an e-mail saying that her gym -- the way too expensive one -- was having a sign-up special. No registration fee, no "convenience fee," or whatever they call the thing they slap on you for extra money. And it's a month-to-month commitment. Hoping maybe they'd cut their monthly fees a little too (bad economy and all), I dropped in the other day.

That's when I met Steve.

Steve isn't his real name, by the way; I just call him that because he looked a little like Steve Buscemy. And to be perfectly frank, that's kind of an insult to the actor. He was this little, weaselly looking guy in his 20s, wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt, unbuttoned far enough that the white wife beater was clearly visible underneath. He had intentionally greasy hair and uneven facial whiskers...and he reeked.

I don't know if this particular gym has a corporate partnership with Axe body spray or what, but by Steve's look and demeanor, I was pretty sure he had doused himself in something awful in the hopes of capturing the attention of some of the ladies.

Note: I actually have no idea what Axe body spray smells like. But I'm pretty sure a product that advertises with the phrase "double pits to chesty" can't smell good.

Anyway, Steve told me about the pricing, scribbling it illegibly on a piece of paper for me to take home. He explained that if I signed up that day, I would be charged a pro-rated price of $36 for the rest of the month, then the full amount ($60) starting on the first of next month. There was a discount if my husband signed up too, but for me, it really wasn't enough to justify the steep monthly fee. It's a super nice gym, with a spa and juicebar and everything. But as an underemployed freelance writer, I just can't afford it right now.

I knew Steve wouldn't let me say "no thanks" and leave, so I tried to use my husband as a scapegoat.

"Alright, well, let me talk to my husband and see if he's interested, and I'll let you know," I said.

"You can sign up today without him," Steve said, his desperation reeking as much as his cologne. "You can still get the couple rate if he signs up within two weeks. And it's only $36 for you for the rest of this month, so really, that's your best deal."

I wasn't sure how that was my "best deal" unless I had taken workout gear with me that very day (I hadn't), but I wasn't about to argue semantics with him.

"Sixty a month is really more than I can really pay right now," I told Steve, picking up my purse. "Thanks anyway."

"Alright, then, I'll call you Thursday and see what you've decided."

Again, it wasn't worth my time to argue. My husband had pork chops on the grill; I wanted to get home.

So today, Steve gave me a call, asking what I had decided, helpfully letting me know that my pro-rated charge for the remainder of this month would now only be $32 if I signed up today. I told him again that it was just too expensive.

"Thirty-two dollars is too expensive?" Steve asked, and I was pretty sure I could detect a slight sneer, even over the phone.

"That's only for the next two weeks," I told him, as if this was new information to him. "It goes up to $60 on the first. That's not money I have to spend right now."

He told me to call him if I changed my mind. I rolled my eyes and hung up.

Tomorrow, I just might go sign up at the crappy gym down the road. Even if it smells like feet, it would be an improvement over the stench of Steve.

Baby Don't Mow...Pretty Baby Please Don't Mow

Spring has sprung; my flower bed is proof of it. And unfortunately, so is my lawn.

Until last year, I had never had the opportunity to mow. The yard at the house where I grew up is hilly, so my dad always took care of it with his riding mower. Believe it or not though, last year, I was pretty excited to cut the grass at my new house for the first time. There was something satisfying about the idea of cutting nice little lines in the yard. The novelty wore off quickly, but I still kind of enjoyed the chance to get outside.

Last week, I noticed that all the rain and sunshine we've been having has the grass getting longer. I commented to my husband that we would have to start mowing again soon, and yesterday, the grass in the back yard was almost high enough to tickle my little dog's belly.

When I told my husband that it was definitely time to fire up the mower, he resisted. It wasn't that he didn't want to do the work; I'm generally the one who does the mowing. He just didn't want to be that guy, the first one on the block to cut the grass, he said. This must be a part of mowing culture that no one ever told me about; I didn't know people paid attention to that.

When I mentioned this to my mom, she had an idea for us both to get our way.

"Maybe you two should get one of those manual lawnmowers," she said. "It'll be hard work, but you can go out after it's dark. He can mow, and you can hold the flashlight. Then no one will know."

Somehow, this wasn't the kind of compromise I envisioned when I got married.

In any case, the Gas Gods decided for us. We didn't have any fuel on hand for the lawnmower, and what was in there already wasn't quite enough to do the whole yard. So I just did the part where the grass had gotten really long and then stopped.

I don't think anyone saw.