Movin' on up...

Five years ago, I was a could-have-been-bankrupt senior editor with a penchant for Gap clothes and drinking binges. I hadn't invested in my 401k yet; didn't own property and put vacations on my Amex.

Enter my now-husband.

We met in August 2003. He was in the middle of a divorce and was making less money than he felt comfortable with. I was used to spending every cent I had so not having savings didn't mean much to me.

My husband, on the otherhand, grew up with frugal parents. He spent his entire first marriage trying to keep a handle on debt that seem to climb each year. When he divorced and met me, he was ready, willing and welcoming a change.

The first couple of years of our relationship were tulmultous. Aaron paid a divorce settlement as well as kicked off five years of Alimony payments and 14+ years of Child Support; we financed a wedding, three moves and bought a house.

Three and a half years have gone by and I sit in amazement of how different I am than the Erin of 5 years ago. Thanks to the Aaron Erickson approach to family finance (the tech-consultant salary doesn't hurt), we've gone from worried about paying rent to preparing to retire at 45. I've never been in that position before -- having enough money to not have to work in 15 years.

My parents, coworkers and most of my circle of friends all operate on the old-Erin principle: buying and indulging and then worrying where the money will come from to pay for everything. Aaron's friends, on the otherhand, are all in the tech field. They married doctors, directors and business owners and all live in posh digs in places like Naperville, Wicker Park and Hawthorn Woods. Visiting my friends and then visiting Aaron's friends is like being in two different worlds.

When I visit my family and my friends I feel like a bit of an outcast. Sure I can afford to go shopping with my mom or friends, but I choose to not spend money. When visiting Aaron's friends, I look at their professionally-designed houses and think "nah, I'd rather spend my money on my future rather than accessories that my children will rip down or apart."

It's almost like living in a well-to-do purgatory.

Momma's got a brand new bag

My friend Sara, like most kids our age, writes a blog. Formerly a dating blog, Rough Draft as it is aptly named, is a hodgepodge of thoughts, ruminations, observations and questions.

Her latest post/question got me thinking.

She writes:

Bagless: Everyone's Got Their Thing, So What's Mine?
My favorite essayist, Meghan Daum, once wrote a piece called "Music Is My Bag," in which she declared music to be her thing -- her bag. Everyone's got one, she said. Psychotic University of Michigan or Ohio State fans could relate to this: their bag would be college. All you Sci-Fi-Is-My-Bag people know who you are!

To read the whole thing, click here

Sara and I bantered over e-mail about our "bags."

Neither of us is devout about anything. She writes, she edits, she socializes. She's not an overzealous videogamer, a musician, a reading extraordinaire. Same with me: I'm not overzealous about anything, except maybe cleaning.

Conversations like the one we had really make me think about perception. I've had conversations where I consider myself one thing and have heard the opposite from someone I'm close to.

I don't sit around contemplating life day in and day out, but it sort of makes me think....

Stubbed

This week has been a testament to my refound positive momentum when it comes to fitness.

Picture it: Wednesday. I've had killer cramps all day and other bodily issues I dare not discuss. I feel like shit to say the least. I made it to dance class on Tuesday night and am still feeling the positive momentum-like glow and I want to keep it going. So, despite cramps and extreme fatigue, I keep on trucking to my Romeoville Lifetime Fitness.

As I'm walking in the windy, rainy night, I go to grab the door as a lady about my age is walking out. My shoes were no match for her obvious post-benchpress strength because she pushed the door right into my TOE!

I hobbled into the lobby, took my shoe off and found my big toe on right foot throbbing. I couldn't move the damn thing so of course my first drama queen thought was that it was broken. I sat there for 5-6 more minutes until I noticed my toe was bleeding. A little at first and then a bit of a gush. Since no one at the front desk appeared to care, I got up, bleeding toe and all, found out about where a girl could get a band-aid and moved on to the next phase of my evening. After 10 minutes of assessing my toe and the origin of the blood, I got the poor little thing wrapped up and still proceeded to workout, albeit I did the bike and not the eliptical training I had planned.

Score 1 for me.

Shake that ass for me

Great job on keeping up with the posting Erin....I can see why you're so successful with this promotion thing at work.

that said...My husband Aaron and I finally hit the fat-ass wall and decided to do something about it. Through his work, he was able to get a good deal on a membership to Lifetime Fitness, which he has used nearly every day for three weeks. He sucks. He's losing weight left and right while I stand back with my buddha belly hanging over my not-as-sexy-as-they-used-to-be workout pants.

Enter me a couple of weeks ago. Desperate to get back in shape and to have fun doing it, I discovered Lifetime Fitness' Hip Hop dance classes. I used to do dance before I met Aaron and I LOVED it. I've signed up for my own membership and have since started the hip hop classes.

I love them so much my ass hurts.

I've been to two classes taught by two different instructors and they couldn't be more different. One felt like Fame; one felt like Pole Dancing 101. Either way, I loved them.

I did come to a realization though: I can't shake my ass. I look like a cow giving birth - HA! Guess my stripper life is down the tubes.

So far I haven't noticed any change, but then again, I've only been back at the gym for 10 days and I've worked out 4 of them (not bad, but definitely should be better)