Sunday, September 15, 2013

MIXTURE

• I’m not the kind to hang on to plastic grocery bags, but I’ve started to keep them balled up in my car. I do it so I can puke in them while I drive home from yoga. It seems to be my thing now. I work really hard, leave it all on the mat, and then get nauseous on my way home and, rather efficiently if I do say so myself, drive and vomit simultaneously.

• I did two yoga classes today and, no offense to my beloved teacher, I didn’t pay a lick of attention during the first one. I was busy writing in my head for the wedding ceremony. Now since this happened during yoga, I don’t remember a shred of what I "wrote," but I do remember being excited about the direction I was heading. So I guess I need to sneak in a pen and paper to class tomorrow so I can record my renegade flashes of brilliance when they happen. Sure that’s unacceptable Bikram behavior, but c’mon people, it’s in the name of love!

• Speaking of the wedding, I’ve been all over the map on what shoes to wear. I’ve spent more time on the Zappos app in the last week than sleeping and eating combined. I finally ordered what promised to be a darling pair of peep toe pumps that turned out to be liar faces and not at all what I was looking for. So back to the app I went. While refining results I thought, “What I really need is a pair like my black crocodile print peep toes. How can I find one of those?” And then it hit me. I can get up, go to my closet, take them off the shelf, and wear them without having to buy a new pair. It was an idea so revolutionary that I spent 30% of the day patting myself on the back for such genius.

• Before yoga class numero dos Jim and I gabbed with the teacher. His name is Eric, and he’s one of the prettiest people you’re likely to see in real life. I know you feel me, JBY yogis. In the throes of the convo Eric asked, “Hey, are you guys dating?” indicating yours truly and the silver fox in navy Hot Drop shorts next to me. It was later pointed out to me that I got crazy-eyes-excited when I replied, “Yes! Wait—do you not know how we get together!?” Our story, the good outcome of a Level 5 shitstorm on the Enhanced Fujita Scale, rocks my world, and I’m ever giddy to tell it.

• You see what I did there? I just slipped it in that my boyfriend does yoga. If you know me at all, you know what a dream that is. He tells me when he's going, and I ask if he'd like a date. I don't push him to get there! Honestly, I don't even suggest it. I've got 77 classes in 75 days so far (stocking up for when we head to Boston for el wedding), and Jim gets some credit for that success. Committing to exercise when you're with someone who doesn't ever work out is a chore and can be a fight, so it's a boon to have a partner that exercises without hounding. Jim bikes. He swims. He lifts. He hikes. He's down for anything that'll get him to break a sweat. And, you know, Bikram yoga can maybe kinda make you sweat a little here and there.

• This week Jim mowed my lawn for me. Since my lawn and porch doormat are the exact same size, it must have taken him three or so minutes, but it was a very sweet thing to do. However, I suspect he did it because he was curious to try my lawnmower. I use a reel mower, ‘cause if I’m gonna mow a lawn, I’m getting a workout from the task. I use good old fashioned human propulsion and a spinning blade to cut the grass. It’s so retro of me that I usually mow in a dress.

• This post is the reason my laundry still isn’t folded.

2 comments:

Tia said...

I love this. You have a way. :)

rabidrunner said...

I read "shitstorm" as "shitcom" and thought "that's exactly what your shit-chee-ation is... a shitcom."