Friday, January 2, 2015


• I live in a fireworks household. If you root around enough you can always find some something that spews colored flames and sparks. But last night I decided that I hate them. Around 11PM some neighbor set off a green-hued mega bomb whatchamacallit and scared the eff out of our dogs. Soph buried herself under the comforter, smooshed her body against my back and shook for 10 minutes. Gus dove under the bed and whined. I think he slept there all night. Stop scaring my beasties with your pyrotechnic tomfoolery, you hoodlums. 

• On NYE Jim and I went to my friends Dana and Norma—Dorma’s—last class in their 365-day Bikram yoga challenge. I am a sucker for unique yoga goals and experiences. Glow yoga. Music-themed classes. Weirdo poses. Workshops. Challenges. It takes a significant schedule conflict for me to bail on some singular yoga event. There were 48 people in class, and only half of us were around for the post-class photo (and one of us—Jim—had already put on his shoes and didn't want to take them off to go back into the yoga room), but here you go—some of my people. (In the purple shirt standing next to me is Marilynne. We are yoga twins.)

(Nice capture, Kaitlin.)
• Carpet and upholstery cleaning and protecting: costly. I’m a fantastic mark. When the cleaning techs note my wide-eyed fervency for spotlessness they see dollar signs. Upsell! Upsell! And because I don’t know a damn thing I’m like, “Uh, okay, here’s my debit card. Do as you will.” They see on my account that my last bill was huge. They think, “Great, she’s used to giving us all the money.” And then because I can’t do math I overtip them.

• Yesterday when I was in the hot yoga room waiting for my 6:30 class to start I thought, Wait a minute—when this day is done I will have spent about four and a half hours doing some kind of yoga something. That was not my plan. While I felt bamboozled I've never been accused of moderation. I took a power class in the morning. I was then at Juice Box to take a Bikram class. And then after the hot one I would teach the Warm & Mellow class. It's getting absurd. I decided then that I would take off Friday. No yoga class for me today. Cameron and I have to review some stuff for training tomorrow, but I’m not going to class. I’m not. I mean it. 

• It’s the samples Sephora sends that sell me. Oh, I need something I can get at Ulta while I’m out and about. Ah, but they won’t send me samples of shit I don’t need. And I want those samples. I’ll say this though, when there is something I need or want, samples do the trick. There are so many products I like in my in my medicine cabinet that came by way of me trying a sample, digging it, and buying the potion.

• When Jim was cutting holes in the sheetrock above the sinks in our bathroom he discovered that because of some pipes he wasn’t going to be able to install the medicine cabinets as low as we wanted. (His wife is short.) I told him not worry. I am accustomed to having to stand on my toes or scramble onto the counters reach stuff. That is the life of a below-average[-height] human.

• I am never more popular with the dogs than when I have a bag of Skinny Pop popcorn.

My brain is just yoga mush. Mostly Sanksrit mush. Parivrtta Surya Yantrasana. Ardha Chandrasana Chopasana. Svarga Dvidasana. Baddha Utthita Parsvakonasana. Marichyasana. Apanasana. Ganda Bherundasana. Devaduuta Panna Asana. Deviasana. Mandukasana. Please tell me you stopped reading by this point.

• I showed Josie Eka Pada Galavasana. She’s her sights on it. The girl’ll have her own flying pigeon before you know it. What I love is that she cares about form. When we play with the posture she pays attention to alignment direction. It gets my safety-oriented heart singing.

• For Christmas Jim got me some more of those Kermit’s key lime pies from Florida. Three actually. (Three!? What am I going to do with three pies?) Good thing they freeze for later. And my parents got me a Godiva chocolate of the month club membership. The people who love me well and know me best know what has my heart. Sugar. 

No comments: