Introducing ... TRIXIE

The New and Improved Steamroller - thanks to Golden Boy's inability to remember her name, she will forever be known on this blog from now on as Trixie.

Let's talk about her for a moment, shall we? She is the best roommate I've ever had, even surpassing LeeMarie, my old roommate in Florida. LeeMarie was just as neat and quiet as she promised me she'd be, and the only reason Trixie is a better roommate is because we're not just roommates, we're friends. We'll pause now while everyone dabs at the tears in their eyes.

Trixie is an attorney. Trixie is divorced - she was married for four years, and her husband cheated on her for three, so when she found out she dumped his sorry ass. Her ex-husband has not told his family (in India, have I mentioned Trixie is Indian?) that he is divorced. Trixie is an extrovert, but sensitive to my introvert-ness and has told me to let her know when she's being over-bearing (I never have the heart to though). Trixie has a car. Trixie is Indian, and has lots of Indian friends, who have names I have a hard time remembering. She does not mind when I get their names wrong at all. Trixie took me to Ikea for the very first time in my entire life (I didn't buy anything). Trixie and I go to brunch on the weekends and sit around talking on weeknights. It is lovely to have such a wonderful roommate and friend. We pause now for you to roll your eyes while you puke.

Trixie has told me I should start a blog (heh). She thinks I'm funny, and should write a book or have a tv show. When people come over, we try to get them to sit in my papasan chair to see if they'll fall over. We want to take a picture of each person who falls and put it up on the wall behind the chair. You can see why I like Trixie. She's cool like the other side of the pillow.

Every Saturday night one of her best friends comes over and the three of us spend hours talking about nothing. Tonight I wandered over to Trixie's bedroom while cooking dinner. "Do you smell ... cigarette smoke when you stand outside the kitchen (near our front door)?" She does. It's disgusting. We all have balconies - why aren't people smoking there, instead of in the hallways? I told Trixie, "If I could keep you as a roommate, I'd move when this lease is up without another thought." Her head jerked up. "Where do you want to go?" I shrugged. "Anywhere that's less than a half hour from work and allows dogs," I said. Trixie nodded. She's not entirely happy here either. So it's agreed - we're going to start looking for a new place around Thanksgiving. A new place that allows dogs, with more closets, and a parking spot. Good luck to us. I didn't really want to move again just a year after moving here, but this place simply sucks. The size is great, the location is good, but nothing is taken care of the way we want.

Tonight, with So You Think You Can Dance in the background, Trixie and I played volleyball in the living room while we watched tv and talked. Our next place will be a loft, and we will get a basketball net, and have a total bachelor pad. With flowers. And dainty decorative bowls filled with jelly beans, like we have now.

It's Fun To Play With Ladybugs

Great time-waster. You'll figure it out by the second round.

So You Think You Can Dance

I have so many things to tell you about, but those will have to wait for some other time. One of my favorite shows has come back for another season, and we need to discuss it. But first, let me just explain something: I do not believe in spoilers. Oh, I know other people feel very passionately about them, and I respect that, and never spoil endings for them if I know they're excited to see how something ends for themselves. But just understand, this is my blog, and on it, I'm going to talk about shit I've seen recently. If that upsets you, consider the fact that it could be worse - I could be posting on the East Coast. Moving on then.

Let's talk about Mary Murphy. Let's talk about the fact that she laughs too much. Let's talk about the fact that she has an annoying laugh. Let's consider that you've REALLY got to love dancing to stick it out despite Mary's constant laughter throughout each episode. Somebody should tell her to take it down a notch. When you laugh that often, it becomes disingenuous.

Everyone in show business whitens their teeth. But you guys, did you ever see that episode of Friends where Ross whitens his teeth too much and they glow in the dark? I guess Mary didn't.

Highlights from the show:

1. Hanna Lee - the chick who was in that terrible accident in Israel. Remember? There was a wedding, everyone was dancing in a hotel, and then the floor just gave out and everyone crashed three stories down. 24 people died. Hanna Lee was there. I didn't like her outfit, but hopefully somebody behind the scenes will tart her up properly for future shows.

2. The funny dumb fat black kid who may have only been pretending he was dumb. Technically he's not a great dancer, but his moves are so fluid and he's fun to watch that I hope they keep him around for a while. Each time he was featured I missed his name, but I'll get it next time.

3. Joel from Manhattan, dancing with his ex-girlfriend Carmen. Joel tries to be fancy by pronouncing his name "Joelle." Yeah, enough said. Except it's not, so let's talk about his dancing skills. Of which he has none. It was sad. He claimed to really love to dance, and said he dances all the time, but I saw absolutely no passion at all. Yes, in fact I could do better.

4. Carmen (see #4), who danced so poorly that I wondered if she was trying to sabatage Joel's opportunity.

5. Lastly, the guy who calls himself Sex, because like Puck, he doesn't appreciate his given name David. Who EVERYONE would agree, can not dance to save his life. These people have 60 seconds to perform for the judges. One minute of dancing is completely average. This guy had multiple moments when he stood still on stage, clearly trying to think of something to do. Nigel, one of the judges, tried to explain to Sex/David that he was insulting the other dancers there to audition, but Sex/David didn't want to understand that.

Can we expand on this for a moment? Because it seems to be a theme when people audition on reality shows. I think it's great to have confidence. I think there's something to be said for faking it sometimes. But you've also got to have some amount of actual talent. You simply can't audition to be a dancer among other people who've studied dance for over a decade, and claim you should get the golden ticket because your confidence tells you to announce to the judges that you ARE a dancer. Although Nigel was cruel in shooting down Sex/David, he was completely correct. The guy could not dance. At all. His mother was there (Mrs. Sex) and although it's nice that she went to support her son, I think the kinder move would have been to tell him she'd pay for dance lessons and let him dance around the living room or something.

There's your recap. There'll probably be more of them.

Fucking Yoga: Conquering Boat Posture

See that on the left? When I started doing yoga, I could sit on my ass with my knees bent and my feet in front of me. Then, after about a month, I could do what that chick is doing except I had to hold my legs under my knees. As of tonight? I look Just! Like! Her! Except much prettier. Well, and, my shoulders are back.

Tonight there were 11 guys (12 including the yogi) and only me and one other girl. The guy next to me was new, and kept looking at me to see how to do things. The guy across from me is really good, and totally the type of kid who had his books smacked out of his hands as he walked down the halls in high school. Still looks like a dork, but now he's a strong dork who can do yoga very well.

I don't know if the Wednesday chick I hated was fired because lots of other people hated her or what, but she's not there on Wednesdays anymore.

If you ever did any sport for many years, you'll instantly know what I'm talking about here. You know how when you start out, the instructor just gives you enough personal direction so you're not hurting yourself? And eventually when you're cruising along, you get almost no direction. But. Then you get to the point where you start getting a tiny bit good, and the instructor starts noticing you again and giving you more personal direction, to push you a little harder? That's where I'm getting in yoga with some things.

There are things that I flat-out can not do at all. But then there are other things, like the boat posture, that I've steadily gotten better at doing. Sometimes, I even find myself breathing deeply through my nose when I'm not paying attention. It scares me. It worries me that one day, I may be hanging up the phone with you and instead of saying "Goodbye!" a little "Namaste" will slip out instead. I apologize in advance.

Don't worry though. I still hate nap-time.

Dear AOL, You Suck

I know, I know, you're thinking I deserve their suckitude for using them. It's not 1995 anymore, I should use Gmail. I *DO* have a Gmail account. You're right, I should use it. And I would, if I could just figure out my damn password. (I should get cracking on that.)

However. AOL. I pay money for you, therefore you should work. It's just that simple. Stop upgrading. I don't need your fancy, new, cool templates. They're not worth it. I never look at that shit anyway. You have ads on the sides of the e-mails I open? News to me. I have trained myself to not see that shit. Yes, I know, I'm "special" and not everyone is like this. But it's still not okay for your fancy extras to get in the way of your basic services.

This morning I couldn't respond to an e-mail I got three days ago! Lately, when I send a friend e-mails, she doesn't get them. Why would Earthlink not be compatible with AOL when it always has been in the past? That's ridiculous.

AOL? I have a side job, that I do from home. I need to get the e-mails about it, and know that my boss is getting my e-mails. This is not acceptable. Fix your shit, and fix it fast. My boss is out of the office for trial for the next two weeks, and I have nothing better to do than call you and demand six months of free service. Don't tempt me.

P.S. My boss is out of the office for trial for the next two weeks. Anyone want to take a two hour lunch with me? (Shit, Gay HR Guy just walked by while I was writing that.)

No! Sleep! Till ... 2 a.m.??

I have been in bed all day today. One PG&E bill was paid. Breakfast was consumed at 5 p.m., comprised of bing cherries and Triscuit. It's Sunday though, and some people might say that's what Sundays are for - laying around, doing nothing at all.

Normally I'm not like that. Since moving to San Francisco, I like to go out and frolick in the, well, in the all-the-seasons mist (and fog). I like to go exploring, or to fucking yoga, or for a walk, or to stock up at Trader Joe's, or something. Anything. Spending time outside makes me feel better, and being productive makes me feel better too.

But last night I was talking with my roommate and her Weekly Saturday Night Friend until 2 a.m. And when I woke up to the sounds of the Bay to Breakers running by, it was cold outside my blanket. And I was still kind of tired. And nobody was expecting me anywhere. So under my blanket I stayed.

Staying in bed all day is something I'm normally very careful about doing. Sometimes I don't realize I'm depressed until I'm fully entrenched in it, and am struggling to remember the last time I showered and changed my clothes. Luckily, that hasn't happened since December, but there can be little slips here and there. I have to constantly analyze my actions - why am I in bed? Why am I still not dressed yet? Today, it's okay. I normally don't stay up chatting with people until two in the morning. Even if I'm awake then, I'm snuggled into bed and partially resting.

Last night there was fun stuff going on - and I stayed up to be involved in it. Even though by the time my hand drifted back down to my lap it was always time to pick it up again to cover the next yawn.

Now I am awake, and ready to go do the day. At 7:22 p.m. at night.

Green Down

So for the last month or so, my right heel has been hurting. I barely noticed at first, because I'm so used to being in pain. Arthritis, fucking yoga, it doesn't matter what causes the pain - I just ignore it, and eventually it goes away.

But this didn't. And then it spread to my left heel. Still, I ignored it. I limped around, trying to pretend I wasn't limping. Then, a few days ago, I felt like my right ankle was sprained. So I paid a little attention, and realized what was going on. I was hurting my ankle by walking differently, to compensate for the heel pain. I decided I needed medical help. If this were a friend, I'd tell them to go to the doctor, and quick, before it turned into something worse. Before foot problems turned into ankle problems turned into knee problems. You know I hate doctors.

Today, I grew a set of balls and went to the doctor despite my fears. I brought a book, and arrived a half hour before my appointment. Promptly at 6:45 p.m., my name was called. By 7 p.m., I was standing outside in the cold, waiting for my bus.

I did not cry. While talking to the doctor I only almost cried once, but even people who know me well would have missed the tremble in my voice.

You may wonder why, when I have health insurance, I go to a walk-in clinic. Here's why.

1. I know how to get there (this is a big deal - I get lost easily and often, you'll see).
2. They have a good reputation, and are attached to a good medical school.
3. They have evening and weekend hours (a big deal for me, who has a hard time taking off from work).

The doctor called my name, welcomed me into the little room, and looked me in the eyes as we spoke. He did not interrupt me ever. He did not look at his watch. The two times I searched for the right words, he waited patiently. He asked lifestyle questions, like what I do for a living, if I drink, smoke, work out. How much walking I do at work. That shit means a LOT to me. It made me feel like I was really being listened to, and my overall lifestyle was being considered in relation to my health. It was almost an hour before this place closed for the night, and this doctor was still giving it his all. I'm tempted to write a letter.

The doctor then asked me to take off my shoes and sit on The Table. Strangely, he excused himself from the room. I don't know why. For privacy as I kicked off my kicks? Three or four minutes later, he knocked on the door, waited a few seconds, then came back in. Okay... He pressed my heels and the bottoms of my feet, asking if it hurt. It did not hurt. It felt good, but I didn't tell him that. He diagnosed me. He wrote me a prescription for a pain killer. He referred me to a podiatrist.

As is my way, I then asked a slew of questions.

Is this better than having heel spurs? Yes, it's what comes before them.
Does that mean I'm definitely going to get them? No.
I have severe learning disabilities, and am wary of taking pain killers and dulling my mind, since I'm already working at a deficit - is this just to make me comfortable, or will the pain killers help this heal, in which case, I'll find a way to take them? They're just for your comfort. Try taking one at night, see what it does to you. (I will. Friday night.)
Since you are covered by my health insurance, does that mean the people you're referring me to are covered by my health insurance also? Yes.
I am being laid off and will not have health insurance after May 31st - do you think they can have me on the road to recovery by then? Yes, but you should call tomorrow morning and tell them that.
Am I supposed to do anything differently than how I do it now? Don't do any recreational walking. Wear comfortable shoes. I guess Manolo's are out for now...
Do I need orthotics? Yes, probably.
Will that stop the problem? It can.
Will you write down what you said I had? Sure.
Are there any other questions you can think of that I should be asking that I haven't asked? No.

After thanking him, I went to the front desk to pay a co-pay. Once the doctor sees you, you can leave. Oh. Well ... okay. I'd be a fool to argue with them. Besides, they have my address - they can track me down if they realize they forgot to make me pay the co-pay.

The bus came and I hopped on. Later, I heard something about J-Church, but I was reading, so didn't pay attention. All of a sudden I looked around me - I was in the Castro! I was not headed home! I GOT ON THE WRONG FUCKING BUS! God damn it. I can't take myself anywhere.

I quickly hopped off the bus before it went any further away from where I was trying to go, and walked back towards Market Street. Fuckity fuck. And I *just* got told not to do recreational walking!

After walking a block, I went into Sparky's to grab dinner and digest what had just happened. Essentially, I got told to be lazy. Don't walk. This will be interesting.

Fucking Yoga: Somebody Farted

And it wasn't me.

Tonight I was able to talk to my yogi about only having a little over a month left at yoga. It seems he's impressed with ... well, I don't know what exactly. My determination to do yoga despite being the fattest person in every class? Whatever it is, it inspired him to tell me that we'll work something out when my 90 days for $90 is over. So yay. Another yay is that I talked with him about how my hands slide from sweat when downward dogging. He said it's the yoga mat - I need to use higher quality mats, and they'll absorb the sweat better. OH! So you're NOT supposed to pick a mat based on which one is the prettiest color then? Uhh, no Peg. Learn something new every day (that you go to yoga).

Know who else learned new things today? The two student teacher yogi chicks at yoga tonight. One was young and smiley and perfectly nice and encouraging. The other, I hated on sight. Aren't you glad to see how open I am to giving people chances? She was old (as old as your mom) and was wearing pants that had embroidery on them. This alone is not why I disliked her. I disliked her because she was aggressive in her reaching out and trying to connect with everyone in the class. To be fair, her behavior probably seemed more aggressive than it really was, because yogiis are always so zen and calming. I liked the guy who taught tonight, even though I didn't like tonight's class. There were three or four brand new people there, so he went much slower than usual, to explain everything. I can't go slowly. I need everything to move at a nice, even pace. Many yoga moves I can do, but I can't hold for five breathes like they want.

The annoying student teacher yogi breathed so loud that she distracted me from the poses. She also did things the wrong way - he'd say to put arms out, but she'd have her arms in prayer position. She also kept trying to get people to look at her and copy the way she was doing things. That wasn't annoying just because she was doing things wrong, but also because she invaded people's space. In yoga, it's all about the fucking breathing. When you invade someone's personal space, you're cutting in on their air, making it hard to do the breathing. Not that I do it, don't get me wrong. But if I wanted to, I'm saying. Whatever. Point is, she rubbed me the wrong way, and I'll be happy when she goes back to wherever she came from.

The fart. I know you're dying to know. Let me just start off by saying, I didn't want to do yoga at first. You know I'm super-quick to laugh at people. Can you imagine how much I'd be dying with laughter if somebody farted at every yoga class? Up until tonight, nobody had ever farted in any yoga class I'd ever taken. You know who it was, don't you? That's right - the student teacher yogi I didn't like. We were doing the move that's not a move at all - sit with your legs crossed, wrists on knees, pointer fingers touching thumbs (pointer represents yourself and the thumb represents the universe, OMMM), and breathe. That's it. You wouldn't think that'd make somebody fart. Repeatedly. But she did.

Somebody (not me) actually tittered - there is simply no other word for it. For the entire time we were supposed to sit like that, each time we breathed out, she did too. And so did her ass. The inside of my lip started bleeding because I was biting it so hard in my attempt to keep from laughing. Shockingly, at the end of class she scurried on out of there pretty quickly. Surprising really, since she struck me as the type to try to drum up conversations with people to impress them with her yoledge.

Since I know you're wondering: during tonight's naptime, I thought about the following:

this class is DEFINITELY running late
when I get home it'll be too late to make dinner
you'd think she'd fart during streches that work the stomach muscles if any
is it part of the yoga final when becoming a teacher to learn not to laugh when somebody farts?

And Then I Cried

I may have mildly touched on this before, or not – I can’t remember. But, I have a huge doctor phobia.

Not for other people, just for myself. I’m fascinated by medicine, believe in its healing powers, ask great medical questions, and can be an excellent source of support to others facing their own medical crisis. If you’re considering surgery, I’m the person you want in the surgeon’s office with you holding your hand. But when it comes to me? Fuck no. This will be my first doctor's visit this year. In 2006, I went to an eye doctor, and a clinic connected with a medical school when I was having trouble breathing. In 2005, I also went to an eye doctor, who fired me (because I asked too many questions, not understanding the health insurance).

I come from a background of logic, psychology and analyzing, so of course I’ve wondered where this comes from. The answer is, a combination of places.

1. You know how when you’re little, and about to get a shot and a doctor tells you it will barely hurt? Yeah those doctors are fucking liars – it hurts a LOT. I think I combined the emotional hurt of having been lied to with the physical pain.

2. Different people have different levels of tolerance and I think I used to have a low pain tolerance. These days? I’d whip off my shirt for a spinal tap if you offered me $1,000 and a highly skilled neurologist.

3. When I was 18 and couldn’t walk, one of the many tests done on me was an EMG. It was the most painful thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life. The whole experience was awful. Want to hear why? Okay!

The doctor was over an hour late for the appointment. Busy tending to a medical emergency? Nope, just late coming back from a leisurely lunch. Bitch. This was a very big deal, being an hour late. Because I was in constant, excruciating pain, I lived and died by my heavy pain killers, taken religiously every four hours. Being an hour behind schedule meant that I might not get my pain killer on time. Considering the fact that sometimes my pain killers didn’t even TOUCH my pain, let alone push it away for four hours, you can see why I would be anxious about missing them.

Okay so she’s late. Whatever. I’ve never met this woman before in my life, and my dad takes me into the exam room. The doctor tells me to get on the exam table. Okay lady? I CAN’T WALK. Not only can’t I walk (hence the stretcher I rolled in on), I can’t stand. She didn’t believe me.”Stand her up,” she told my dad. Even HE told her I couldn’t do that. We knew this – my father had tried to hold me upright, and not only did I scream uncontrollably in pain, but I also crumbled to the floor, partially because I’d lost all muscle tone, and partially from the pain.

My father got me on the exam table somehow. And then, I’m not sure how it came to be, but I was alone in the room with the doctor. She was talking to me, and I got a bad feeling. I didn’t really know exactly what an EMG was – when my other doctor said he was going to send me for one and I asked, he brushed me off, saying she’d explain it to me. So I asked her, and she brushed me off too.

In that moment, had I been able to walk, I’d have run out of there. Hell, had I been able to get off the table I’d have army-crawled out of there. I immediately asked her to get my father. I used the word “please.” AND SHE SAID NO. She told me not to be difficult, and that, “You seem like a good, god-fearing child.” Okay bitch, I’m JEWISH. I was not raised to fear God. And can’t “good, god-fearing children” get scared and want support? For those of you wondering, the doctor was Indian.

An EMG is so painful, that I equate it with Nazi torture (on a lower level). It hurt me so badly, that when the doctor asked me to confirm that it was just one leg I was having a problem with, I LIED AND SAID YES. I will never have an EMG again, unless I am knocked out for it. It’s so painful that even after it’s over, there are aftershocks. Literally, shocks.

Speaking of shock, I am shocked to find this site, which basically says that it's not as bad as people think it will be. It was so much worse than the spinal tap. However, in all fairness I will say that the neurologist who performed the spinal explained it to me in such great detail that to this day I think if I watched one, I'd feel ready to do one on somebody else. If you ask my parents, they'll tell you that I kept saying after it was over, "It was exactly like she said it would be!"

I have been told the procedure for an EMG has been changed since 1995. I don’t trust that. Anyway.

So yesterday I decided that since I’ll be health insuranceless soon, I should get my health in order. With Nice Partner out of town for depositions, it was the perfect time to spend an afternoon making phone calls. There are some things that my learning disabilities don’t touch. The issue just doesn’t arise. Doctors and health insurance unfortunately don’t fall into that category.

Ever since I got slammed with a huge medical bill in Florida, for going to a cardiologist who wasn’t covered by insurance, I’m always very careful about who I’ll go to. Aside from my doctor phobias, there's another reason I seldom go to the doctor - I get lost easily. Just this afternoon my roommate gave me an address with the cross-streets. I looked it up on the map, hopped on the bus, and proceeded to get so lost that I ultimately had to take a cab, only to find out the place was around the corner from the hair salon I use.

You might think I should just take a cab any time I'm going somewhere, but I spend $45 on a fast pass dammit, and I want to get my money's worth! Plus, if I don't try, I'll never learn (my mother is beaming right now, because I wrote that).

I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that I had to ask the health insurance representative if she’d mind if I conferenced in my brother to help us, because she couldn’t help me, and I needed help. My brother found two doctors that sounded good. I wound up with an appointment for next Monday with a doctor in Union Square who went to Stanford undergrad and to medical school at UCLA. This is new for me. Has anyone else been able to get a first appointment so quickly? I assumed that they’d have no openings before July 4th.

After hanging up the phone with my brother to tell him that his hard work (okay hard for me, not so hard for other people) resulted in an appointment, I really wanted to cry. And take a nap. I know I’ll cry the morning of my doctor’s appointment. And possibly while I’m meeting with the doctor. And then, one last time, with relief when it’s all over. When I got back to my desk (I had gone into an empty office to privately deal with this doctor shit, knowing my tendency to cry) and resumed working, my left hand was actually shaking.

I’m never jealous of my friends who are in relationships. Except when I realize they always have somebody who would hold their hand at the doctor’s office if they needed it.

Honestly, if I didn’t know that I could get through a spinal tap so gracefully, I’d really hate myself over this fear of doctors crap. Umm ... anyone free Monday to hold my hand?

The End of An Era: LEL Says Goodbye (Not To Me Though)

May 9, 2007

As I type this, LEL is packing her desk. She keeps looking over at me, glaring, and then slamming her drawers closed.

LEL is leaving for a two-week vacation tomorrow, to celebrate the birth of her granddaughter. (Whose name is Rachel Ray. I KNOW!) First I heard that the Gay HR Guy told LEL not to bother coming back after her trip. Then I was told she wasn't coming back because she had a new job. Then I was told the new job fell through, and LEL WAS coming back. After that, I was told LEL was coming back because since she didn't have a new job, if she didn't come back she wouldn't be able to get unemployment. This morning I was told she's not welcome back. And LEL's cleaning out her desk. So I guess she's not coming back.

Any time somebody leaves a company, everyone always blames everything they find wrong on the person who has just left. I am not sure why. Maybe it's because they're not there to defend themselves? Maybe it's to shift blame away from the person who really screwed up? Whatever the reason, I hate the practice. I hate LEL, but I still like to be fair to people. And from what I can tell, she did a damn good job of filing. Never mind that she was a Filing Nazi, not wanting anyone else to touch her files.

Cowboy is practically floating on air this morning, happy to finally be rid of LEL. Yes, even though he traded me to get her. I can't think of anyone who is sad to see LEL leaving. Sure, people are sad that she won't be providing candy anymore, but they'll sacrifice that for the quiet we'll now have.

May 13, 2007

We've had a few days to get used to LEL being gone. We've had a few days to steal leftover office supplies from her desk, too. Cowboy hasn't asked me for much, which is good for me, since I'm so busy surfing the 'net, I barely have time for work at work.

Part of me feels sad - that nobody was really sad to see LEL go. I haven't forgotten what it's like to have everybody hate you, and even if you do things to drive people away, you either can't see it, can't help it, or both.

Fucking Yoga: I'm Back, Baby

For pretty much no good reason, I stopped going to Fucking Yoga for about two weeks. I was going to go last night, but got an offer I couldn't refuse, so yoga was pushed to tonight. Wednesday. I hate the Wednesday yogi. Then I almost didn't go tonight. There was a back-up getting on to the bridge which left my bus in terrible traffic, and I got home twenty minutes later than usual. I was tired. I wasn't ready to leave for yoga on time; and I hate being late for anything (except work, apparently, where I can't seem to arrive on time for the life of me). Yet somehow, I managed to pull my shit together, and arrive at yoga on time. Prepared for the annoying Wednesday teacher.

But for some reason, tonight there was a different yogi! A hot, male yogi! I was worried that after not yogging for two weeks, I'd be back to warrior pose one but no. I was downward dogging with the best of them. Okay the moderate of them. Regardless, I have a question about it: for those of you who do yoga, when downward dogging, how do you keep your hands from sliding out of place from the sweat?

At the end of class (may I just say, Mr. Hot Yoga Man, I really liked the pace you kept the class at tonight), we were doing a lot of "sit indian style and inhale" shit, and we did so much inhaling and exhaling that I thought there wasn't going to be any time for nap time. I was very excited. Before I give in to the foreshadowing provided above, I just want to shift topics slightly for a moment.

Hey Old Lady Yogger: You were NOT breathing right! I know you thought you were special with your oldness, your silver hair, your smiling at the people younger than you (a.k.a. Everyone Else), and your fancy mat. However. While I do not partake in the breathing, at least I keep quiet and don't distract anyone, while you were doing short I-am-breathing-through-contractions breathing, which was WRONG. Mr. Hot Yoga Man had said to breathe in for six counts, then out for six. That is NOT what you were doing, and you were fucking up my fantasies about Mr. Hot Yoga Man. That is NOT cool.

Ahem, so where was I? Oh yes, nap time. Mr. Hot Yoga Man announced nap time and just made it shorter than most Yogii do. Mr. Hot Yoga Man also said that when a thought comes into your head during nap time, you are to acknowledge it, and then send it on its way, clearing your mind completely. And because Mr. Hot Yoga Man was hot, I tried. I really, really did.

"That old lady is really annoying me." Oh hello, you must be a thought. What a lovely outfit you're wearing. I'm sorry, but we're not accepting thoughts at this time; please form a line to the left. We'll get to you as soon as we're available. You know who else isn't available? United Airlines. They always take forever to fix my flight issues. And my cable company! I called them about... wait a minute. Am I thinking? Yes, I'm almost positive these are thoughts. Mr. Hottie (in my fantasy he said I could call him that) said not to think. Stop it.

Okay, okay, this is me pushing United Airlines away. This is me in grade nine, baby, this is me in grade nine. I haven't heard a Dave Matthews song in a long time. Who would even admit to wanting a fur coat these days? Even if it's not real because that's just cruel. GREEN! Are you thinking, or are you napping?! Well, what's everyone else doing? Let's look. I think this chick next to me is a kiss-ass. She looks outright asleep! Mr. Hottie isn't that gullible. He's not impressed by your napping skills. Skillz. Somebody should do a rap about yoga. I'll take Things That Don't Go Together for $600, Alex. I haven't watched Jeopardy in AGES.

And that's me when my mind is CALM. After class was over, while I was sitting in the lobby putting my shoes and socks on, Old Lady Yogger walked by me and said, "Nice class." Ummm... okay. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? Why was she saying that to me? Shouldn't she say that to Mr. Hot Yoga Man? Wait, was she saying it to me because I was part of what made the class nice for her? Probably, since my breathing is done quietly, thus not interfering with hers. "You too," is what I went with.

Wear Sunscreen

Everyone knows they should wear sunscreen. Even me. And yet yesterday, for no good reason, I sat outside for over an hour in the sun, slowly turning into the pictures you see here. I am so disappointed in myself. I am also in a lot of pain, so please don't touch my arms. Or face. Or the spot on my chest.

Tonight, as I slathered on yet another layer of aloe vera, I was thinking about all the advice we get but don't listen to. Most of the time, I do wear sunscreen. Here's some of the other good advice I've gotten over the years, along with random things I think everyone should know:

Trust people
Trust your own intuition (especially if it tells you to go home to put on sunscreen!)
Learn to accept a compliment gracefully (smile and say thank you)
Say please and thank you
Hold your head up
Look people in the eyes
Listen more than you talk
You belong anywhere you want to be
Try it; you might like it
The white lights on the back of the car mean it's going to back up
Accept invitations
Be open to accepting advice
Learn when people are not ready to listen to your advice
Learn to give constructive critisism
Learn to drive
Learn to parallel park
Walk on the right, pass on the left
Leave more space
Your pants should probably be longer, unless you're a guy and your underwear shows
Your underwear shouldn't show
Don't put anything about other people in writing
Put everything about money and business in writing
Don't sign anything without reading it
Always feel free to say you need more time
If you're wondering if you need a lawyer, you probably should have one
Learn to dance
Tip well, especially at places you want to frequent on a regular basis
Take the time to give compliments
Apologize if you were wrong
Brush your teeth. Every day
Keep your baby blanket
Know what makes you feel good when you're feeling bad
Make your bed - it goes a hell of a long way towards making your bedroom look neat
Don't be late
Call if you're going to be late
Don't get in a car accident because you were speeding to get there on time
Pay for the extra insurance
Rent a convertible at least once
Know basic first aid
Think before you speak
Throw out the garbage before you go on vacation
Buy a shredder (and use it)
When you go on a date, always bring money
Hold the door for the person behind you
Make your guests comfortable in your home
Only offer what you're truly happy to share
Buy flowers
Most people say yes when you ask if you can pet their dog, so ask
Don't make fun of people for what they like
Send a sympathy card
If someone offers you a mint, take it
Don't ask someone why they don't drink when you're drinking
Call your grandparents
Give a bamboo as a house-warming present - they're very hard to kill
Don't tell your kids to "Get a life" - they're doing the best they can, and you're insulting them horribly by saying that
Know who you can trust for which situations
In fancy restaurants, they serve "ladies first"
Read more
Learn to sew a button
Don't cry at work
If you screw up at work, apologize immediately, say how you're going to fix it, go fix it, and never bring up your mistake again
Take notes
Get more sleep
Lock the door (home and car)
Make sure your keys are in your hand BEFORE you get out of your car
Make sure you've turned off your headlights
Keep a towel and an extra pair of shoes in your trunk
When you're not sure what to wear, err on the side of too dressy
When writing an e-mail, the e-mail address should be the LAST thing you type before hitting "Send"
Let Spellcheck be your friend
Listen to more music
Don't live above your means
Don't put stamps on good furniture (that train stamp NEVER came off my desk chair)
Don't play ball in the house (sorry about that light in the upstairs hallway, Mom)
Don't let people treat you like shit
Think about whether winning the fight is worth losing the relationship
Look where you're going
Don't run with a lollipop in your mouth
Wash your hands ... with soap
When in doubt, never mind Jesus - think of what Brandon Walsh would have done
Don't put your hands into places you can't see (the mountain)
Learn to write sentences that don't end with prepositions
For the most part, you don't owe anyone an explanation except yourself

What's the best/funniest/most useful advice you ever got?

Sing With Me

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Please join in welcoming me to the 21st century. I now have high speed wireless internet. As opposed to dial-up. Yes, I know, it's about time.

You may have some questions. I will now attempt to answer them, without you having even asked them.

Yes, this is why I never saw that video you e-mailed to me.
Yes, I lied about having seen it. Sorry.
No, I didn't really mind. Much.
Yes, it tied up the phone line, but that's what cell phones are for.
Right, I never downloaded anything.
Because, it made my whole system slow down, if not crash.
Yes, I love it.
Shit, I HOPE to never go back to dial-up.

Perhaps you're wondering how I came to have high-speed internet. If you're not, just skip this story.

My roommate, The New and Improved Steamroller, works from home sometimes. She said when she moved in that she needed high speed. I said I don't need it, but if she gets it all set up, I'd be happy to use it and pay half the monthly fees. She got it set up. It didn't work on my computer. TNIS has a lot of geeky friends. They come over and annoy me inside my home, in my quest to hide from the outside world, but sometimes amuse me. TNIS also dates frequently. One of the guys is somewhat of a geek. She convinced him to come over last night and fix up my laptop.

TNIS and I sat on the couch and watched Friends (okay, and her boy) while he worked. Then we watched Seinfeld while he worked some more. I told the boy I was sorry, I thought it was a two minute thing, and I'd had no idea it would take this long. We would have prepared to feed him dinner if we knew this would be a long project. He assured me it was supposed to be a two minute thing.

And then he got it. And then he took TNIS off to his house for dinner. And now I can watch YouTube to my heart's content.

Except. I get overwhelmed by new things. YouTube is new to me. So I can't quite figure it out. This is where you come in.

To welcome me to the world of high speed internet, please give me your favorite YouTube clip. They'll all be watched from home, so NSFW is a green light. And to those of you who have tried to send me videos of your cute kids doing equally cute things, please have your kids do new cute things and send me those videos, now that I can watch those too.

Thank you for having me, High Speed Land. It's beautiful here, and if it's okay, I think I'd like to stay.

Please Understand

It's not that I wish you are having a bad day. It's that I think maybe my bad day won't feel quite so bad if I know I'm not alone in the bad-day having.

Lowlight so far:

Yesterday I wasn't feeling well, and left work early. Today, Nice Partner saw me and said, "Feeling better? What was wrong? Rabies?"

Did my boss just call me a dog?! I mean damn, I know compared to his very thin, very blonde, very perfect wife I'm ugly, but it's really not cool to say that.

Hey Nice Partner! Not so nice. Sure, we joke around sometimes, but we are NOT on that level, got it? Let's not make me blog about this again.

Update: You're off the hook, guys. Moments after I posted, Paralegal Boy came to talk with Nice Partner about exhibits needed for trial. As they were talking outside Nice Partner's corner office, Kennedy came down the hallway and asked ParaBoy if he sent something to Court for him.

"Not yet, I just wanted to ask if I should redact..."

Kennedy grabs his head and tilts the top half of his body down towards the floor. "Now I'm in contempt of court! We just lost the whole trial. It HAD to be in by 9 a.m."

Nice Partner takes this opportunity to duck back into his office.

ParaBoy, "Nice Partner, I'll get right back to you!" He then turns to Kennedy. "Did you want me to include the graph with the rents ..."

"It doesn't matter. Just send it. Right away. I had 24 hours to get this in. Now I'm in contempt."

I guess having lost a trial and put a partner into contempt of court is worse than being called a dog by your boss.

OOH! And, AND! As if that wasn't enough!

I just told File Clerk this whole story, right as a black Baby Attorney came over to us. Someone else was nearby as File Clerk and I were talking, and when Baby Attorney left, they said, "Did he just take that file? I needed that! This is terrible!"

And without missing a beat, File Clerk responded, "Yeah, it IS terrible, we should lynch him." Immediately a horrified look spread across her face as she realized what she'd said.

Good grief. My bad day is not so bad after all.