Welcome to Brovo

Technically, the city I live in is called Provo. But sometimes, I think it should be called Brovo, because sometimes, I think it is being overrun by bros. Not always....just sometimes. Caitlin wrote a very enlightening and straightforward report of these fellas last year, which you can read here.

 

And now, I'd just like to add my own signs that you may be living in Brovo....

- Bros have become such an issue that some non-bros decide to throw a tool party where everyone has to dress up like tools in blatant mockery

- Your boy accuses you of checking yourself out in the reflective windows of a restaurant, when really, you were just trying to avoid making eye contact with the Bros who were all standing around by the exit of Maria Bonita's, taking turns making their pectorals dance

- The phone conversation you overhear at the pool goes like this: "Dude! Bro, what's up! Dude, come chill with me. Yeah man, it's sweet. Oh, my roommates are so sick. They're way tight guys. No dude, they're awesome, this summer's gonna be sick. BRO. No, dude, listen. We had a game night last night and they were all, 'We've never done anything like this before!' I was like, what? Are you guys for real? No, man, they were serious! But they're way cool. No, I actually broke up with my girlfriend last month. Dude, no, listen to this - I moved here, and she moved in after me! She like followed me here so she's in my ward and everything. Oh yeah, it's super awkward. I try to be nice and talk to her but she just hates my guts now." etc.

- The bro on the phone hangs up the phone and immediately starts looking for a way to strike up a conversation with the girls kind of close to him, who really just want to lay by the pool and not be bothered

- And the girls respond kind of like

 - Even though striking up a conversation might not be all that bro-ly, and could just be friendly, but in some cases, it probably isn't just friendly, since there was a definite attempt at swagger in his signature "notice me" walk from chair to poolside.

- While walking with your (admittedly really cute) friends one night, a random bro in a car rolls down his window while passing you to shout out "Oh heyyy ladies!"

- The gym is still crowded, but not as crowded as it usually is, because so many of the bros have left for the summer, now that their contract at The Village is up for the year.

- You and your best friend are both sitting around lonesome because both of you have recently been abandoned by your boyfriends. And this abandonment has left you with the (possibly inaccurate but still very persistent) feeling that the only boys left in this town are Bros.

Does that make sense, what I'm saying?? I don't actually think all the boys in Provo are Bros. I just think a lot of them are. And sometimes, when you get together with your best friend and throw pity parties for yourselves on account of your temporary singledom, all the boys start to look like Bros, because they are not who you really care about.

As in, I'm sorry, but Barney Stintson does not live in Provo. And actually he's gay in real life. And even if he weren't, we may love his bro-ness on TV, but I don't know if I would love it as much if he brought it here. So I guess I have to just keep saying No to Bros.

EXTREME

A lot of people, when they want to be bangin' like a speaker box, will resort to extreme measures. We are always hearing about extreme diets and extreme exercise routines and how dangerous they are. I am not an extremist. I stay FAR away from these extremes!

Here is my diet: I only eat food that I want to eat. I am okay with wasting food if it is disgusting. Why would I stuff myself full of nasty calories when I could just eat delicious calories?! I used to pick around around my food, eating the worst bites first and saving the best parts for last. But now, I start with the best bites and if I am still hungry by the time I get to the not-as-good bites, then I will eat them. Otherwise, I will throw them out. That's not too extreme, is it?

Here is my exercise routine: Occasionally do ab-strengthening, core-strengthening, and body-toning exercises for 20 mins with Aimee at home. Walk to campus every day. Walk home from campus every day. Walk up and down stairs. Um....yep, that's about it.

But this week, I did get a little extreme. Aimee, her fiance Rhett, and I - we all got a little extreme. We signed up for 7-day trial memberships at Gold's Gym. To get our ($0) money's worth, we are determined to go every day this week! After getting some marriage advice from a condescending, bald smoker named Otis who had been married 3 times, we were able to get started.

In Florida, there was a fitness center by my apartment, and I would sometimes go there and run on the treadmill. (I'm using the term "run" very loosely here.) Compared to that place that only had 3 treadmills, Gold's Gym in Provo is EXTREME! When I walked in, I was immediately intimidated by all the machines that resemble guillotines. I was less intimidated by all the super-serious worker-outers running on treadmills, so Aimee and I headed for the movie room.

The movie room is EXTREME! and kind of dangerous. There are a bunch of exercise bikes, treadmills, and stair-steppers all facing a big screen. The lights are turned so low that you can't read the buttons on the treadmill. Even worse, you can't always tell how close you are to the other machines until you almost get taken out by one of the stair-steppers.

But even with all these hazards, I like working out in the movie room, because I don't compare myself to as many people. When I'm in the main treadmill room, with normal lighting, I compare myself to everyone else in the room. I can't do that in the movie room because I can only see, like, three other people. Everyone else gets swallowed up in the darkness.

When I am running, my music has to be a little extreme. Just a lowercase kind of extreme. I also have to listen to happy music. Angry music doesn't motivate me as well as happy music does. I have to listen to my funnest, most upbeat songs. They have to make me want to run SO bad or else I'll just settle for a 3.5 mph speed-walk. That is not extreme.

Not only does my music have to make me want to run, but it also has to make me want to dance! I don't know if anyone notices in the dark abyss that is the movie room, but I zigzag across the treadmill as I run. I constantly change the speed so I can step in time with the beat. I almost fall off at least twice every workout. I find myself running into the handlebar in front of me. I accidentally step one foot off the treadmill and my hands fly to the bars on either side of me, clinging to them frantically as I regain my footing. It's an adventure, to say the least.

As I run, I like to set goals for myself. Setting goals is awesome! But it is not as awesome if your goals change every minute. My goals change every minute. I'll think, I just need to keep up this pace until I get to 15 minutes. Then I'll think, Actually. I don't have to run that long if I can reach 100 calories burned before then. Then I'll think, Okay. I'm not allowed to walk during the chorus of this song. Or, I'm almost to 1 mile! When I get to a mile, I'm allowed to take a little walk break. You get the idea.

Unfortunately, listening to so many extreme songs and working out in such an EXTREME environment with EXTREME lighting is only fun for a little bit. Aimee and I are tired of running. We are proud of Rhett and Jacob for having gym passes, but we will not be signing up. We'll just stick to Bikini Body for now, thanks.