Saturday, March 9, 2013


• Here’s something they don’t tell you about during your first Bikram class—or maybe ever: the callouses. One on each of my hipbones. One on the underside of my chin. And now I’m finding them on my knees. Given that you spend the whole class on a towel, I guess they’re technically rug burns. Bikram yoga gives me doorgasms and rug burns. That’s hot.

• It makes me uncomfortable to see that Guy Fieri wears flip flops in the kitchens he visits on Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. (And it annoys me that the show title doesn't use the Oxford comma.)

• I have this black pencil skirt that I shouldn’t ever wear. I shouldn’t even own it. I didn’t try it on before purchasing, and I must not have known that H&M’s sizes run small. I can’t take a deep breath in that thing. I can barely breathe at all. Every morning when I leave for work I’m always rushed, always late, so I throw on clothes and dash out the door. When I wear that skirt, it’s not until I’m driving out of my neighborhood that I realize it was a bad idea. But I’m late, so I don’t turn around to change. Instead I spend the whole day flexing my abdominal muscles and sucking in. So I guess if nothing else, that too-small skirt makes for a good, long workout. 

• Biscuits and gravy are disgusting. White gravy? So ew.

• Something you may not know: being a vegetarian doesn’t actually mean that a person eats vegetables. In fact, in my case, it means that I replace pretty much any meal with candy. (Should I just have finished off that bag of Jelly Bellies instead of eating, say, real food? Oh, probably not. Will it happen again? Oh, it certainly will.) Hey wait a minute—do you think if I ate vegetables I wouldn’t have to suck in all day when I mistakenly wear that pencil skirt?

• I’m in the kitchen, and as I write I can hear my tiny dog running back and forth upstairs. She killed the new squeaker in her bear toy, and once she’s silenced her victims she likes to blind them. But before that she buries them briefly. Not outside. She’s an indoor dog, so she’s running from my bed to the couch to the guest bed to the laundry room, trying to figure out what pile of throw pillows or clothes will best hide her prey.

• Today so far I’ve baked Snickerdoodles, made Thai noodles, and typed Jim’s blood. I asked Jim his blood type. He didn’t know. (What!?) So I ordered a kit. He lanced his finger. I smeared the blood. And—wait for it—Jim’s blood type is O positive, the most common among white folk. Mine? AB negative, the least common. (Of course. Naturally. Duh.) Is this information useful or necessary? Oh, nope. But I get off on knowing stuff like that about myself, and I thought Jim should know too.

• The Thai noodles gave me onion breath. I find my own breath offensive. 


Sue said...

That wasn't a pencil skirt you bought, it was a black sock. That's what you get for shopping online.

tom lindsey said...

Just say No! to the Oxford Comma