Likes This Status

Hello, my name is Bligh and I am addicted to likes. It's been...36 seconds since I last liked something. I think about liking things all the time. Like, I* like everything mostly. There's much to like. The things I want to like the most usually include, but are not limited to are the following: babies, anything related to Chipotle, anytime anyone mentions Beyonce, pictures of babies wearing sunglasses, love, witty comments, and any documentation of babies wearing sunglasses eating in a Chipotle while saying something witty and executing that lil handshake bit from Beyonce's "Single Ladies" video.

I'm trying to like less as I'm aware it's just a manifestation of the bigger addiction to social media. But the LIKES man! I need to click the like. It feels so good. It makes me feel like I've done something worthwhile with my day, regardless of the fact I'm still in pajamas youtubing "how to cornrow" ad nauseum. I've liked shit. I'm spreading love, one like at a time! And mayhaps, I'm like, the Buddha of Likes. I'm an Enlightened Liker! (This is now a thing. You should probably like it.)

And there's the word like. It's completely perfect. So many different, distinct meanings and phrases wrapped into such a wee, overused, generational trend of a word! Sometimes a like is all, "thank you." And then you see a friend's funny quip and you want them to know, "good one" so you LIKE all up on it! Another friend is with child? Fantastic! I LIKE that so much for you! Not for me. I'm good. But YOU. Namaste to you and your babe in the womb! Sometimes, a like simply means, "I saw that." I'm trying to avoid these likes...but...the temptation to make sure I catch every single thing every single person I've met once at a Wicked ECC says/documents/does is just...too much for this addict.

I know I like too much. In order to work on this little problem of mine, I've devised a plan of action. For each impetus I have to "like" something on social media a friend of mine has posted, I take a deep breath, and if applicable, I call their number. The first victim? My younger brother and Draco Malfoy impersonator, Eamon Wall Voth. Our interaction went something like this:

ME: HEY! Eamon! What's going on in your life today? How're things? How's that girl you met on OkCupid who manages that froyo store at home I like?

EAMON: ...that's over...

ME: But it just started?

EAMON: Yeah, she wasn't the one.

ME: ...Okay. And ALSO, I want you to know that I really like  your new profile picture.

EAMON: Thanks, it was taken on a rooftop.

ME: I LIKE THAT. I LOVE roofs! Awesome Eamon, really great.

EAMON: Are you doing alright? Go get a Dunkin, you'll feel better...

Based on the above interaction, I think it's time to find a different way to combat the addiction to like. I can't like it all. No one can. That's just silly. And there are things outside to do! And air to breathe! And books to read! And hair to cornrow! And human beans* to truly interact and connect with. I know this might not change overnight. Addiction is a strong and rude biddie that will vomit on your favorite pair of shoes and not even apologize. But we keep trying, every day, a little bit more. And the dream? The dream is we'll all "like" ourselves enough to not feel obligated to like or be liked by anyone else. That's the dream. I fuckin' love it.

*"human beans" is a reference from the awesome awesome book The Borrowers which I read at least three times while part of my Catholic school's elite (read: dorky) Battle of the Books Club right around the tender age of 11, and I think you should take a minute and read it, too, if you haven't already. Boom.


Rule Number One: Never Tell the Spin Instructor Your Name

I made a not so luxury choice. I signed up for quite possibly the bougiest of spin/yoga studios (they had a month deal, I'm my mother's daughter) and now I can't feel my who-hah. No, seriously. People should tell you that. Spinning hurts your who-hah. But don't get me wrong, the high after a class is BRILLIANT! A post spin class Bligh feels like she could hammer out an entire book, let alone a lil entry! Post spin class Bligh wants to go on a run! And not just to the Dunkin and back! A real run! That all being said there seems to be this sub-culture of spin that ties the class itself to goals and personal intentions. I love this shit. BUT honestly while other forms of exercise pull a more retrospective and zen side out of me, spin does no such thing. In spin class my whole body is screaming, "WHY ARE MY THIGHS ON FIRE? IS THAT LADY IN FRONT SPINNING AT DOUBLE SPEED? IS SHE LIKE, FIFTY? I HATE HER!" Spin does not make a kind, Christian woman out of me. But I continue to go because this month was only $90 for unlimited classes. And because I'm trying to be more goal oriented. And because it was $90...I felt the need to mention that twice.

I get into class and immediately look around lost and confused until someone comes over and readjusts the bike seat and height for me. I do not understand the bike. I respect the bike, but as far as the mechanics go I am a bewildered biddie. So naturally this points me out to the teacher as a newbie to her class. She asks me my name and here is where I make the first mistake. "Bligh," three diet cokes in me exclaims! See, now she knows. She knows me by name and therefore I am now the focal point of her class questions/announcements/goal coaching. I am her example. She is my nemesis and I am the brunt of her torture.

"Bligh! turn up your resistance I need everyone in this room at 85/90!'

"Bligh did you fake turn your resistance up? I saw that girlfriend!"

"Bligh! Remember your goal!"

....Okay so here's this whole goal thing. A bunch of women in a room on bikes spend the first few seconds of class being told to visualize a goal/personal dream so that you have something seemingly tangible to spin for or towards. I dig it. But what I don't so much prefer is that in this class the goals moment was not so much a personal intention but a declaration to the entire room. That seems excessive. I am all about a personal moment to give your workout a bigger meaning, but must it be shared as a family? When I spin, all I am spinning towards is the goal that one day my thighs will be smaller. And that my butt will be a bit perkier. And that I can get away with a few faux resistance dial turns in the next 45 minutes to an hour. These are my paltry goals, no need to share.

Mid-way through class the drill sergeant or "instructor" starts to scream over the club mix of Gavin DeGraw's "Best I Never Had" that it's goal time. I'm half-listening because it's the first moment she hasn't singled me out by name as a slacker. My legs hurt. My arms hurt. My who-hah has officially fallen off, I can no long feel it. I'm sweaty. How many more minutes is this class? Will I have time after to get Chipotle? I'm in this frame of mind when I realize the spin-nazi is asking us all to go around one by one and yell out the goal/intention we set at the beginning of class. "That's rather personal," I think to myself while trying to decide if I'll be honest and say I'm spinning towards a smaller ass or if I have time to up the stakes and come up with something more eloquent. At this moment the VERY hard working woman next to me is asked her goal and she yells, "I'm spinning towards my unborn baby!" WHOAH! That is beautiful and forthright and inspiring and also, A LOT. I'm feeling this for her! So much so that, by sincere accident, when the instructor next yells for my goal I respond with, "ME TOOOO!!!"...WAIT. Did i just steal that nice, hardworking woman's spin goal? Am I now spinning towards HER unborn baby? OR MY OWN? Wait, no no no no no babies in 2013/2014. No no no. May I take that back? Is it too late? She's staring at me and so is the instructor. I can't tell if their physical expressions read as disbelief that I, too, would be spinning towards a future babes or if they're impressed or disappointed. But the moment to fix has passed. I shall now spin towards a baby...for whomever so needs or wants one. Goal proclaimed. Baby, I spin for you.

After class, I'm trying to leave as fast as possible (mostly to avoid the teacher but also because I have definitely earned a burritio and have to book it to Chipotle and back in time for work) when she catches me. Not the teacher, but the lady working out for her baby. "Thanks for the support," she says quickly before sprinting up the stairs. I think two things:

1.) Ok so maybe it wasn't exactly MY personal goal for class, but I think it made this woman feel less alone, that I was also spinning for her to get that baby. That's cool as shit. People supporting other people is cool. I feel good about that. Maybe spin isn't so horrid after all.

2.) I really can no longer feel my vagina.

What I choose to take away from this: don't tell the spin instructor your name. She'll remember it. And she will single you out. But maybe that's alright because someone in that class might be spinning for a baby and you faux turning up the resistance and getting caught might make them laugh. Maybe the'll be a little less stressed. Keep spinning biddies. We got this.