It's hard to pick my favorite thing about the Bally's in Yonkers.
* circling the parking lot for 20 minutes, waiting for a spot
* the vivacious and often vulgar comments made by the kick boxing instructor
* the English, but sometimes Spanish, yet often spanglish direction given of kick boxing moves
* the perverted men drooling all over the observation glass, placed strategically behind the kick boxing class
* the inability to break your contract with the gym unless you move
*the inability to jump up and down in the kick boxing class without suddenly needing to cross my legs (thanks post-partum mommy malfunction, that's a fun one!)
* the hoochie clothing they try to sell at a discount price by the front desk that I always sort through as if there will ever be a time it will not be hoochie clothing
* the guy who always sits forever on the one piece of machinery I need before I can go home
* the total babes in gold chains, hairy chests, thick accents, and too much cologne
* the raver version of an eminem song, cut into the raver version of Master and Servant by Depeche Mode, of which I am the only one in the building who knows of Depeche Mode
* the odor of the bathroom, which has not been renovated since its original construction in 1903; along with the parking lot
