Signed up for the gym

Two-thousand and thirteen. The year I became a Mrs. Left my job, friends and small-town life in good-'ol Rochester-almost-Canada-New York (it is a small town for me considering I'm originally from Miami). Cheap rent, 7 minute commute to work and the best grocery store EVER, Wegmans, is just a distant memory. We're living in a 917 sq ft, high-ceiling 5th floor apartment in Jersey City, NJ with great views of the Capital One bank, the farm and fruit market, and the diner across the street. Despite the change in rhythm- the tri-state concrete jungle is growing on me. I walk everywhere - and most importantly I signed up for the Bally's Gym that's down the street.

View from 5th floor, Jersey City.

Now that I established the plot, I have to come clean. This blog is not intended to be a nostalgic dairy. It's about transition. See, change seems to be a recurring theme in my personal, professional and political life. I work in the advertising business (currently working for <>Employed Inc.)where reaching customers has become more of a science than a business. I was working in the digital advertising space for a large publishing company, so change was our mantra if the company is to survive the next couple of years. And during my job hunt, I also realized that throwing the word "digital" around is not enough. What does it mean to be digital? Walking back home from the gym, a government employee sweeping the streets, paused what we was doing, leaned on his broom, and starting talking on his pristine Android smart phone. The clerks at the DMV (or MVC how NJ refers to them)were talking about their kids extreme data usage. Facebook is where I keep in touch with my mom and my husbands grandmother, and Twitter is where my teenage brother, Justin Beiber and Miley Cyrus plot to take over the world...and I'm only 24.

Twenty-four. I'm told these are the golden years. A time when you're supposed to have a good balance of disposable income and money to travel the world, make-out with the Rockefellers, and ride elephants in Dubai. In fact, these are the glorious years of paying off school loans, improving your credit score and saving for a house -- after you have a job, of course. Unlike my mom and husband, I'm not the most meticulous financial planner. Credit card companies must have a hallway named after me for all the late fees and interest I donate to their charity. Needless to say, changing my frivolous-care-free-and-rely-on-automatic-payments to check-reciepts-and-know-how-much-money-you-have-in-your-account is not an easy feat.

There might have been a time in this country where, at 24, I could still have a bit of financial-frivolosity in me and still be OK. A time when an entry level position for an advertising agency didn't require 5 years of previous work experience. The next change, is a painful transition we all know too well. I believe historians will refer to this time period as the "We're absolutely fucked," age. From crippling economy, bank bailouts, and Rolls-Royce health care we're pulled in so many different directions we're all sinking under the poverty line. Mother nature doesn't seem to be comforting us either. We've screwed her over so much shes's hitting us back with aggressive tornados, hurricane curve balls, and unforgiving earthquakes. And let's not forget gun massacres are totally normal .I think we know how screwed we currently are -- and the forecasts just keep getting peachier.

At least gym rates are lower than before, or at least I'd like to believe they are. My husband and I just signed up for the 32-week challenge where we will be visiting the gym 32 times, or 3X a week within a 32-week period to get the next 3 months for free. *winning*