I went to my yoga class this morning. It's a good hurt. Anyway, we had to pick partners for some grueling stretches and poses. My partner was perfect. She and I are both strong and flexible. A perfect match.
We were getting along fine and actually smiling and laughing when the pain was too intense. Talking each other through the pain. We were facing each other for all of the poses. Twisting and pulling. Really great.
I went to the locker room in good spirits with a bounce in my step. Passing by the mirror, I glanced over to admire myself when I saw the most horrible humiliating thing. In my right nostril was a visible booger. The kind that looks like a thread. You know the kind. The ones that move in and out with every breath? That's the one.
I went from that happy bouncy girl to that drooping posture full of shame girl. A bit of a panic set in when I thought that this girl had been subjected to my booger the entire time we were partnering. And then I thought, well maybe she didn't see it. And with this lie, my bounce came back and I happily went on with my day.
To be fair to Ian, we were all screaming! But when I heard Ian screaming above all of us, I laughed till I just about urinated on myself. Luckily, he wrote about it on blawg, so I'm in the clear to make fun.
On the screaming front, I lost my voice from screaming on the rollercoasters and such. I sound like Debra Winger. I keep walking around quoting Urban Cowboy. It's so much fun. I'll be sad when my regular voice comes back. No more, "Mama. My legs er sweat'n." Or, "You're a real cowboy, ain't choo?" Oh, Sissy and Bud! I love you guys.
My only complaint about Disney Land and California Adventure was, and I'll go straight to hell for this one, the number of fucking fatty fat people. Where do they come from? At one point, I felt like I was in a pin ball game bouncing from fat person to fat person trying to squeeze through the crowd. I'm surprised they could fit their fat asses in the rides!
I've decided that the reason everyone is so fat is the "dip" option at every restaurant. No matter what you buy the helpful wait person says, "What kind of dippin' sauce you want with that?" It's just too easy. Of course, they all choose the flavored mayonnaise dipping sauce. The more fat the more alluring, not to mention more tasty. It's called willpower, look into it.
Aye Caramba!! I'm hooked on crap television. A guilty pleasure? I don't know. I'm talking about American Idol. What the rest of the world is talking about. As if there aren't any WARS or anything to be concerned about. I am a bad human, I know.
It's just that I love to feed off the humiliation of others. Secretly, quietly in my own home. Laughing with every awful mean thing that Simon blurts out to the contestants. Freaking out at the delusions of the truly heinous singers that think they are all that. The ones that were arguing with the judges last night, were really really bad! I can't believe that they don't know that. But then I worry for Simon. People are crazy. Somebody could come back and try to do harm to him. He is brutal and people leave feeling hurt and perhaps homicidal. I'm just sayn'.
Then I go to bed and I'm trying to go to sleep, but to no avail. At 3 AM I turned on the TV and the only thing on was an Oprah repeat. This is how tired and fragile I was. I lay there and cried through the whole Oprah episode. They were helping people realize their dreams and it was strangely touching. How embarrassing. I am such a LOSER!
Ok, I've confessed some pretty ugly shit to you guys this morning. What are you ashamed of?
Monday was so much fun. I didn't have to work. That always rules. But instead of lounging about the house, I did stuff all day.
First I went to a Yoga class. I had never been to this studio before. The teacher was an ex-dancer and so am I which made me kind of trust her more. Sound strange? Well that's because it is. The class was rigorous and wonderful. I kicked ass and felt strong and centered and "on my leg." There was a strange incident, however.
There's this whole partnering thing that sometimes happens in Yoga. Pushing people into difficult poses. Putting your smelly feet on that persons back or holding someone in a handstand. You know, stuff like that. I don't really mind it but yesterday I had a moment where I wanted to run screaming.
A few minutes into class, this guy takes off his shirt. He's not super fit yoga guy either. Kind of a thick torso with patches of hair on his back. I was behind him. I thought it was gross but I just didn't look at him. Oh, and he was super sweaty. So, the teacher brings a student to the front of the class to demonstrate a partnering stunt. The stunt was kind of intimate. Like you had to lay on the other person. Your back on their stomach in a sort of back bend. Suddenly I panicked. What if the fat sweaty naked torso guy tries to partner with me? I start to look to the girl next to me to ask her to be my partner when it happened. "Will you be my partner?" said the sweaty naked torso guy looking square at me. "Sure." I blurted out trying not to be obviously disgusted. I think my fake eagerness may have given me away.
So, I had to lie down on this guy. DUDE!!! It was gross. I pretended like it was ok. Then he had to lay on me, oh my god. It was a nightmare. Now, why do you think this guy wouldn't have put his shirt on before the partnering? What must he have been thinking? And WHY DID I SAY SURE? I've got to learn how to say no. Or at least I could have said, "Sure, but could you put your shirt on to absorb some of your gross sweat before I place my body on top of you? That'd be great."
Hi! How are you? I'm fine. I was just wondering why every day can't be followed with two days of leisure? Hmm? Why just you? And this time you are backed by your friends Saturday, Sunday, AND Monday. Three day weekends. Good times. And that means that I'll see you sooner next week. Or something.
I just wanted to write and let you know that I'm a big fan. Keep doing what you're doing.
Finally that blasted ad banner is GONE. Now, if only my archives would come back.
I had war dreams last night. I was at work talking to my Mom on the phone when someone came by my office and said, "Get off the phone. They're coming. The war is really close now." Bomb sounds in the background. "I have to go Mom, the war is coming. I love you. Please don't worry," I say and hang up the phone. I sort of slid from my chair to the floor into a fetal position and started to cry.
Then suddenly I was somewhere next to an ocean. Still in the school though. I was looking out the window and reporting to everyone that there was a convoy of moving trucks coming our way. Someone screamed, "They're gonna take everything." I thought that was really strange. What were they gonna take? Books? Paper supplies? File folders?
Then I looked outside and a plane crashed into the ocean. There were several big explosions. The school was blowing up around me. I thought, "Holy shit. This is it. I'm about to die."
Then I woke up. How's that for a pleasant how do ya do? My imagination just keeps on going even when my body is all tuckered out.
I hope you all enjoy the banner-free zone. And remember, sex not war.
So, the weekend was a total success. I had quality time with my wonderful husband. He installed the Replay TV and now we can record shows and rewind live TV and junk like that. Like last night? We were watching the Andy Richter Show, which by the way is hilarious. You must check it out. The funniest sitcom on network television since Seinfeld. So, there was this part that made Ian cough up a toenail, he laughed so hard. His laughter made it impossible to hear the next hilarious line, so we just hit rewind, laughed our asses off and continued on with the show. Freak'n brilliant.
I continued reading my book, Summerland by Michael Chabon. So so good.
I took down some mean shit that I wrote yesterday. I'm a-fraidy cat. My friend Lina said that she heard that someone got canned when her web site was discovered by her boss. That was sufficient to scare me into removing it immediately. I'm not going to remove the other one though about my rude co-worker.
So, I hope you all have a wonderful weekend. I will be spending quality hugfest time with Ian. I will try to nurse him back to health. My sick boy.
I will try to finish reading Summerland by Michael Chabon. It's magical and wonderful. A land of fairies and baseball. A killer combination.
Then on Monday I will get back to Yoga and start taking better care of myself. You all should come with me. That would be fun. We could laugh at all the funny things the yogi says and stifle our laughs when people surprise themselves with an audible fart. Comedy gold.
Do you remember when I told you guys about the woman at work who made fun of my outfit? When I was all cute and dressed up and she asked me if I was dressed for Halloween? Remember how we all wanted to kick her ass? She's just weird. She says mean shit and thinks she's being clever and funny. This pushes all of my "I hate my Dad" buttons. He is so like this. Now he just seems eccentric but growing up with this was unbearable.
Anyway, this co-worker struck again this morning. The background is that Sunday night I slept for less than two hours. I have intermittent insomnia. So, Monday I was a wreck at work. Super tired and dragging my feet. Last night I slept like a baby intoxicated with breast milk and I feel fucking great today.
I'm in the hallway and our receptionist asked me if I slept last night. I was telling her all about my wonderful restful night in excited tones filled with hyperbole after hyperbole when I hear a voice shouting, "Big stories in little lives." It was the "I say mean shit but I'm really being funny" co-worker. She even repeated it again, laughing hysterically. So, I did what anyone would do. I walked into her office and made a loud raspberry while smacking my ass, "PPPPPPPPPPPPBBBBBBBBTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!" I think that was mature, don't you?
So, Ian says I have an incredibly vivid imagination. He's said this before and I laugh and say, "Really?" But today it struck me different. Perhaps because I'm sick and in turn sensitive. But the truth is that I DO have a very vivid imagination. But mostly about bad things happening to me. I think that says something about me that I'm not willing to look at right now. But what I will do is share at least one of my imaginative stories with you. In fact I will share the one that made Ian say, "Whoa, you have an incredibly vivid imagination."
So, I'm really sick, right? I was sneezing and coughing and blowing my nose all night. At one point I sneezed a couple of times in a row and was too weak to reach over to grab a tissue. I felt a drip of something fall onto my pillow from my nose. I reached for a tissue and this is where my imagination started to make up a story. It decided that the moistness dripping onto the pillow was blood. That I'd had a brain hemorrhage. Sometime in the night Ian would wake up and find me cold and gray with blood dripping from my nose. My mouth and eyes would be open but I would be incoherent. Still alive. Let me just break to say that when my imagination is talking to me, I am actually seeing all of this occur as if I'm in the middle of a dream.
Then Ian starts to panic and cry and starts praying that I will live. He packs me up in the car and cries all the way to the emergency room. The thing is that he doesn't know where to take me because we've just changed our insurance.
Then I reach for the tissue, blow my nose and fall asleep.
Weird, right? This could happen to me at any point in the day. While I'm crossing the street. While I'm in my car. In the middle of the night. I imagine terrible things that could happen. Like getting hit by a car and getting caught underneath the car and being dragged for blocks. Being in my car and driving under a semi. Being robbed in the middle of the night at gun point and then being shot. Am I alone here people? God, I hope not. I have decided to tell my self that this is completely normal. It's just that I'm a sensitive person and I have a very vivid imagination.
SO, vacation rules! Work sucks. This is my conclusion after having a bunch of days off. God, I loved sleeping in and I loved hanging out with Ian and enjoying our life together. But now I'm back at work rushing around trying to meet a stupid deadline. And to top it off, I'm sick.
The goddess of sick has swooped in and destroyed my nasal passages and put sleep in my eyes. So much sleep has settled in my eyes that I can barely keep my heavy lids atop my eyeballs.
Anyway, just wanted to say that we went to stay at the Madonna Inn for two nights and it was tacky and gaudy and fabulous! We stayed in the Tall and Short room. As you can see in the pic, it couldn't have been more pink. You've got to love that! And if you don't, you're high. Hey, I bet being high would have made it even more spectacular. But I cannot. It goes against the whole clean and sober trip.
We spent a whole day taking tours of the Hearst Castle. Holy COW!! What a huge and gold laden place. It's ridiculously flashy and jammed packed with expensive art, ceilings, and furniture. Two fabulous pools. You know, just cozy homey goodness. Some day. I wouldn't know what to do with a place like that, to be honest. It is just too lavish and rich for my blood.
I had friends over for my birthday and we had such a great time! Ian's new band, The Scheme, played their asses off on New Year's Eve. So so good. They rocked. I'm so excited about this band, people. They're gonna be huge. You heard it here first.
So, that happened. Hope you all had fun times too. posted by The Closet Shopper at 10:23 AM
Friday, January 31, 2003
