To Thine Own Self, Be True

I’ve been out of work a lot. I’ve been fired a lot. Once, when I was a little kid, I was in the backseat of my dad’s car, and I saw a woman crying as she drove in the lane next to us. I was surprised, enthralled, and confused. I wanted to know why she was crying. At such a young age, I couldn’t imagine why a grownup was crying while driving.

Years later as I drove home crying from the job I’d just been fired from, I thought of that woman and understood.

Whether or not it was intended, what I have approached the world with is an attitude that I should take any job I get offered. “Work isn’t fun, that’s why it’s called ‘work’ and not ‘play’.” - Mr. Yogurt.

Ever since 1994, when I took my first college course, I’ve never considered what I’d like to do. I’ve only considered what I can do. Of course I didn’t grow up wanting to be a secretary; nobody does. Everything that I would want to do requires college. And my mind doesn’t really work that way. Just like K-12, in college I was given grades as gifts. I had almost no homework. My idea of studying for a test was cracking open the book and reading through it on my lunch hour the day of the test. College was a joke to me. I’m not, and never have been, impressed with my diploma. Some people frame theirs and hang it in their office. I gave mine to my mother two moves ago – I’m not even sure if she has it. If it’s been thrown out, I don’t really care. If I ever have to prove that I did graduate, I can get that proof from the college. Perhaps if I’d had to work harder at college, or had learned more there, I’d have more respect for my diploma. But I didn’t, so I don’t.

Sometimes being a legal secretary is hard. But it’s never rocket science. Ever. Could a high school kid do my job? Yes, a smart one with excellent social skills. There are days where all I’m doing is typing what I’m reading, for hours on end. For so long that the muscles in my wrists are twitching. Really. Not rocket science.

I’ve had, and been fired from, enough jobs that I know how I work best. I know what helps me to avoid getting fired. There’s a lot to hide when you have learning disabilities. So I need any law firm I work at to have a solid IT Department. A word processing department is helpful too. Despite the fact that I use computers all day, I’m not a computer person. And the truth is, I don’t give a shit. I am uninterested in learning.

I know, great attitude. But it’s the truth. Not something to advertise in an interview, but my own personal truth. I just don’t care about computers. Some people would love the opportunity to take a computer apart and see how it works and why it works the way it does. I would love the opportunity to take apart a person’s mind, explore their background and life, and see why they work the way they do.

Last week I accepted a temp-to-perm job at a law firm. Everything was rushed, and I had a few hesitations about it, but went anyway. One of the hardest things for me to deal with was the hours – having to be at work at 8:30 a.m.

Never mind that high school started at 7:30 a.m. Never mind that when I worked in Manhattan I had to leave the house at 6:50 a.m. This is now, and now I’m not good at being out of the house by 8 a.m. I simply can’t move fast in the early morning. There were a lot of other problems at the firm I worked at last week, and on Thursday night, after talking to a friend, I decided I couldn’t stay there. And that’s the whole point of temping – for the company to see if they like you and for you to see if you’d like to work with them permanently.

Except, I always just considered the first part. Because my goal was always to try to get them to hire me. Screw whether or not I liked them – I’ve never felt I was in the position to choose. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that. I have always just taken whatever I could scrounge up for myself. But I’m tired of living that way. Because what always happens is that I eventually get fired. I could have taken this temp job. But with the years of experience that I have behind me, I could see what would eventually happen. Either I’d get fired, or quit. This firm is not organized, and they do patchwork, rather than preventative medicine (i.e., only fixing problems when attorneys scream, rather than spot-checking and making sure everything works). Even when problems are pointed out, the firm still doesn’t fix them. On Thursday I spent four hours unable to work because the IT Department decided to reinstall a program on my computer (during the workday!). On Friday my computer was no better than it had been Thursday morning.

And that’s not what I want. It’s not how I like to work. This was a very difficult decision for me – to walk away from a job. It seems crazy. I’m not one of those people who have great luck, who people fall all over themselves to be around, who has some amazing skill that not many others have. Any asshole can do what I do. So I’m scared. And hoping to hell I’ve made the right decision.

This weekend I spent time on the phone with the recruiter who placed me at this firm. Numerous times I had to tell her, “This is just not the right environment for me.” You could tell I was ruining her weekend. She kept telling me she was just concerned because I’d already been out of work for so long. Umm… it hasn’t been two months yet. I’ve been out of work in the past for almost a year. That’s “so long.” This? This is just … nothing. Of course I say that with the safety of unemployment and months worth of savings.

This morning I interviewed at a different place, one that had a dungeon-esque quality to it. Local counsel at an insurance company. Can you say DULL? There were two people aside from me at the interview, and I was the least socially awkward of the group. There were a lot of long silences. One of those two people is leaving, and maybe she’ll take the awkwardness with her when she goes, but maybe not. They offered me a job, which I’m not taking. Being true to yourself is hard when it means turning down money.

The Night the Dancing Died

This is going to be a quick one, because at any moment, my connection may die. Things are wacky all over the city today, and I'm not pleased. It took me two hours of trying to stay online long enough to send my friend an e-card.

I care more about sending an e-mail to check on a friend in a health crisis, than I do about keeping up with my stupid mySpace page.

Despite huge efforts to be home by 8p.m. for SYTYCD, I didn't get to watch it. Why? Because my shitty cable company didn't give me that channel tonight. Instead I was able to watch Dr. Phil (I couldn't make it through the full hour). If somebody wants to tell me what's going on, I'd greatly appreciate it.

Now I want a peach...

Not My Birthday

I've been 30 for almost nine months now. Birthdays are not my thing, and haven't been for many, many years.

Part of it is that I absolutely hate concentrated attention on me. A room full of people looking at me? No thank you. (Maybe that's why hostessing is so draining for me - I feel like I get too much attention, and that's not even really about me.)

Part of it is that I don't think it's impressive to arrive at yet another birthday. So I managed not to die for one more year. This is not impressive, nor is it appreciated, since it's not what I want.
And another part of it is that birthdays are supposed to be special and wonderful and a day all about you, that's happy from the time you wake up until the time you go to sleep. Since I was a single-digit age, that's not how my birthdays have rolled.

When I was about three or four, I recall playing with a stuffed dog in the living room near the steps while my brother and mother tried to convince me it was my birthday that was coming up, not my birthday party. My mother really wanted me to understand the distinction between the two. I just wanted some fucking presents.

For years all I wanted was a slumber party for my birthday. Never happened. The night after my older brother's bar mitzvah, three girls slept over, but two were family friends in from out of town, who were older than me and allowed to do things that left me behind. That's the closest I ever came to a slumber party.

I also wanted a surprise party. In elementary school I was often running late in the mornings. Mostly I was dancing around my room, or reading. But sometimes I was practicing being surprised and perfecting the, "For me?! I had NO idea! Oh, but you shouldn't have!" poses in the mirror.

When I was sixteen, all I wanted was a name ring. They were outrageously popular on Long Island then, and I loved them. My parents got me some other jewelry that was both not a name ring, and not jewelry I liked (what a spoiled brat). But I was totally crushed to realize I didn't get the name ring. When my grandparents called me that night around dinnertime to sing happy birthday to me from different phone extensions within their Queens apartment, I burst into tears and cried so hard my mother had to take the phone out of my hand. I cannot adequately convey just how badly I wanted this name ring.

Ultimately my parents took me to the jewelry store and exchanged the stuff they got me for the name ring I wanted. I still have it - it's on my nighttable right now, and still fits. My mother told me she'd just wanted to get me "grown-up jewelry" - for when I was an adult. But I wasn't an adult then. I was sixteen. I wish she'd saved it and given it to me when I actually WAS an adult - I'd have liked it then.

When I turned 18 I was away at college in upstate New York. I was miserable there; to the point that I seriously considered hitching a ride anywhere else but where I was. Again, my grandparents called and sang happy birthday to me. Except I wasn't in my dorm when they called. No no, don't be silly - I wasn't out partying. I did not (and do not) party. Most likely I was just too depressed to get off my bed to answer the phone, or at the library reading. I kept meaning to call my grandparents back to thank them, but never quite made it. Less than two months later my grandma was suddenly dead, and I hadn't talked to her since August.

I don't remember my 21st birthday, but I know from looking at my resume that I was working at a law firm then.

When I turned 30, my parents had come all the way across the country to California, but were in LA visiting my brother, not in San Francisco. I said that I don't want birthday celebrations, and it's true. But to come so close and miss? I wish they would have just stayed on the East Coast, rather than come that close.

I've never thrown myself a birthday party, never wanted to. My friend and I extracted promises from each other that we will NEVER tell waitstaff at a restaurant when it's the other's birthday. Really, if my birthday were just never acknowledged, that would be ideal. I could stop cringing when people ask when my birthday is, and stop cringing each year ON my birthday.

I used to work with a girl who absolutely hated her birthday with a passion I've never seen. If anyone gave her a gift, she sent it back unopened and never spoke to that person again. She's hardcore. I'll take the presents. Though I'm not the type to buy myself a present on my birthday, I love good presents.

Yesterday, I bought myself a present. Even though I'm not 31 yet (or, thirty fun, as some might say), I'll just go ahead and consider this an early birthday present for myself. For a couple of years now, I've been looking for a more professional coat. This is the most expensive piece of clothing I've ever bought in my entire life. I was so nervous about it, I called my brother and asked him to meet me at the department store to look at me in it. Who else but your big brother can you trust to tell you when you look like shit? The salespeople who earn commission? Right. Aside from the pattern giving him a headache, he thought it looked nice on me. So did I. So I bought it, and have smiled as I've looked at it, hanging in my closet.

If somebody wants to buy me a present for my birthday in three months, they can get me a scarf that matches my new coat. But please don't say "happy birthday" when you give me the scarf. Thank you. And happy birthday to you. I'm happy to celebrate anyone's birthday but my own. And I buy really good presents.

How I Came To Be Eating Cake

Normally there's no cake in my house. There's a Mrs. Smith's apple crumb cake in the freezer in case there's any company-related surprise incident, but I don't count that. Because it's for guests.

Today sucked. I didn't get a job that I went on a THIRD interview for on Tuesday. Granted, I walked out of the interview feeling like the attorney didn't like me and I even SAID I didn't think he'd want to hire me. But today that was confirmed, and I'm bummed.

I found that out after leaving a hellish interview that came about in a weird way. When I deal with recruiters, I'm very aware of all the player's roles in the game. Their clients are the law firms. I am a tool they use to make their clients happy. I know this, and am okay with this. Since recruiters want me to get the job (so they'll get a percentage of whatever salary the law firm will pay me), they normally set me up to do as well as possible at interviews.

They send me to the law firm's website, give me the name of the attorney I'll be interviewing with, etc. I walk in prepared.

This morning at 10 a.m., a recruiter called to say she had almost no information but a firm wanted her to fax resumes in the morning and set up interviews for the afternoon. Decent recruiters will NEVER send a resume until I've said yes, I'm interested in that law firm. I didn't have enough information to know whether or not I was interested, so I said sure.

At 1 p.m., the recruiter called to say the law firm wanted to interview me at 4 p.m. Okay that just shot my whole day to hell. At 3:50 p.m., I was in the elevator and on the way to the office.

When I got there, the receptionist showed me to a conference room and handed me an application to fill out. She walked away, I flipped the application to the first page, and ... read all about the applicant who had already filled out that application. The receptionist and I got that sorted out, and right after I started filling in all the same fucking crap that's on my mother fucking resume that they had TWO copies of, Person Number One came in to interview me.

She was the attorney I'd be working for. She was bubbly and friendly and had a loud laugh (that I tried to not cringe at) and I liked her instantly. We clicked, we could work well together, I could tell. Sign me up.

Then Person Number Two came in to talk with me. Person Number Two is actually Person Number One's current secretary, who will be going to work in a different location at the same firm on Monday. I was the third interview they were doing this afternoon, and Person Number Two was over it. She was polite, but slightly distant. Fine.

Then Person Number Three came in to interview me. She was H.R. for the firm, and works out of a different office normally. She hated me on site. No really, I'm sure of it. Totally sure of it. We talked, she nodded, we talked, she asked more questions, I smiled, answered more questions, and had I been bleeding she'd just have looked at me and said, "You'd BETTER not get any blood on my white pin-striped suit, bitch!" because that's just how much she hated me.

What with all these people interviewing me, I hadn't finished the application, so Person Number Three said I should just finish it up and then leave. I finished, but the receptionist had already left for the day. I didn't see anyone around. At all. So I left it on the receptionist's desk and walked out.

When I got home, the muscles in my back were spasming horridly. Turns out I was sitting in an awkward position at the interview. For too long. And of course, because I'm a good girl whose mother taught her right, you know I was sitting up straight at the interview. For an hour and ten minutes.

It was on the way home that I found out the job I wanted is not going to be mine. Oh, and I couldn't find a cab and had to walk all the way home, in heels.

And that's why after dinner I felt a need for cake. Sweet Trixie offered me some Vicodin, but after thanking her, I declined. Advil should be able to fix this. It better.

It's Baaaaaaa-aaaaaaaack!

You know what I hate? When people don't RSVP to parties. So fucking rude.

You know what else I hate? When people call me at 2:20 a.m. We've discussed this before. You know this. Most people should know better than to call someone at that sort of ridiculous time.

Guess who doesn't? That's right, Steamroller! She called me at 2:20 a.m. I didn't know it was her at first, just saw 00019... and knew it was coming from out of the country. As wildly popular as I am, I have nobody out of this country who should be calling me. So I didn't answer. Two minutes later my phone rang again, this time with an unlisted number. Stupid me, I answered it. Only to hear Steamroller.

Her: Green?
Me: What?
Her: Hi, it's Steamroller.
Me: It's 2:20 in the morning - is this an emergency?
Her: Oh, sorry, hee hee hee, I didn't realize; I'm in Hong Kong.
Me: Well now that you've woken me up, why are you calling?
Her: Oh, well I realized that I never got back my security deposit...?
Me: It's seven months after the fact and you just realized this now?
Her: ...
Me: E-mail me an address within the U.S. that you want it sent to.
Her: Okay. Blah blah blah...

I don't know what she was saying, because I hung up. I really wish there was some legal loophole that said I didn't have to give Steamroller the security deposit. I wish there were a statutue of limitations for this. But there's nothing, so I have to send it to her. However, being that it took seven months for her to ask for it, I'm in no rush to send her any money. When I get a job, I'll send money out.

Why I Smell Like a Cookie

It all started yesterday afternoon, when I was rushing to be on time to meet a friend at a fountain in the city. It wasn't until I left the house that I realized I'd forgotten to put on deodorant. Of course upon realizing that I immediately started sweating at the thought that ... I might start sweating.

Ducking into a drugstore, I quickly grabbed a deodorant off the shelf, already wondering where I could apply it before meeting up with my friend. Only in San Francisco would you actually consider simply ducking down in an empty aisle to do it.

Yeah, I haven't lived here long enough for that. I paid and asked if there was a restroom I could use. There was and I did, arriving at the meeting place exactly on time. One minute later, my friend called saying she was running a bit late, and would be there in fifteen minutes.

About fifteen minutes later my friend called again, saying, "Are there two fountains?" Whoopsie. Luckily the two fountains were only three minutes away from each other. As I hurried over to her fountain, I smelled cookies. I wasn't walking past a bakery. I opened my bag to look at the deodorant I'd bought. Fuck. In my hurry, I'd grabbed the wrong one.

So that's why I smell like a cookie.

So You Think You Can Dance: So You Think I Spoil

It should have been Jaimie instead of Shauna. My guess is Hok will be gone next week since he squeaked through this week.

I was disappointed in Dan for retracting last night's statement about arrogance.

So You Think You Can Dance: Are We Dedicating Blogposts Now?

Because if we are, then I'm dedicating this one to Nicole. Other than being Jewish and living on the left coast, she and I pretty much have nothing in common. However. One of the sayings in AA is, "It works if you work it, so work it, you're worth it." It's a good saying, a true saying (okay it's a little corny). But it's true for any type of therapy. Therapy is hard work, even if you're therapizing yourself. And you do have to work really hard at it. Many of us use blogs as our form of therapy. If you want to see change, or maintain change, you really do have to examine your thoughts and actions, and that's a hard thing to tap into if you weren't raised to do it (like I was). And Nicole* really does work hard at being the person she wants to be, and figuring out who she is. She repeatedly throws herself out there into the blogosphere examining both her actions and her motivations for her actions. Nicole, you impress me, and I'm rooting for you. So this one's for you.

Was anyone else reminded of rainbow fish when they saw Cat Deely's dress tonight? No? Just me? Oh. Well moving on.





Kameron and Lacey - I really felt like Lacey's weird facial expressions distracted me from her dancing. Was anybody else reminded of those facial expressions the girls do at cheer competitions? I did like their ending though.

Cedric and Shauna - I started out really disliking Shauna, but she's grown on me a lot. However I felt like tonight's performance was too Dirty Dancing, and Cedric was no Johnny Castle. Shauna was clearly carrying Cedric in this performance.

Danny and Anya - As always, Danny had great extension in his performance. Anya is an easy person to partner with, and she made Danny look great. The only problem was, Danny didn't make Anya look great, which made him look bad. I agreed with the Dan (the gay judge) about Danny's arrogance. Un-gentlemanly, if you will. Am I the only one who noticed Anya having turn-in, rather than turn-out?

Sara and Pasha - It was a slow start, but really picked up towards the middle, and I absolutely loved it.


Sabra and Dominic - Remember Wilson Cruz, who played Ricky Vasquez on My So-Called Life? Dominic reminds me of him. Sabra's right earring flew off in the middle of their performance and they did a good job of not noticably avoiding slipping on it, which impressed me. I thought Dominic made an ass of himself by saying Cat is from France. He's known her for HOW many months now, and STILL doesn't know where she's from? There's a huge difference between a French accent and a British one. Anyway, I think they'll be in the bottom three.

Jaimie and Hok - Here were my thoughts in the order I had had them: This ain't no waltz. Eh. He'll be in the bottom three. I thought it was cute when Dan (the judge) was encouraging a fight between Mary and Nigel.

Lauren and Neil - They started out a bit too blah for me, but after they hit the stairs, the performance exploded. I loved it.

*In case you're slow, you should in no way take away from this that I called Nicole an alcoholic. I didn't, and as far as I know, she's not. I just liked the saying and think it can apply to more than AA.

Stuff We All Get - Operative Word Being ALL

There are some bloggers who get free shit. I am not one of them. Until now. If you've always wondered how to be one of those people who get swag, you are not alone. As far as I can tell, you don't really have to do anything special, and they'll just come to you. At least, that's how it seems to be working for me.

Back at the end of May, someone from MTV e-mailed me, asking if I was interested in mentioning some stuff in order to get some stuff. (I think she found me because I've written about The Hills, but I'm just guessing.) Does a fat kid like candy? Of course I was interested in free shit, and I wrote her back saying so. And then I never heard from her again.

Until last week, when she e-mailed me a second time to ask if I was still interested. Now I know you guys don't want to read this if I'm just randomly plugging stuff. What do you get out of it? The answer is, you can get free shit too, and that's why I'm happy to plug away. And so, here's me, fulfilling my end of the bargain:

You can now buy The Hills (Season Two) on DVD! The first hundred people to pre-order (that means ordering it before you order it) get a bag of free stuff (different free shit than I'll be getting). It's totally worth buying just to see Whitney fall down the stairs. Remember that? Good times, good times.

I Wanna GOOOOOOOOO!

The last few days have been a bit crazy. One of those days within a week would have been fine, but each one right after the other? A bit too much for this introvert. Trixie had a crazy weekend also. On Thursday I started preparing for Friday. On Friday, it started, and I was so busy that I forgot to eat lunch. My stomach reminded me of that around dinnertime.

On Saturday, I had several people over for brunch. Afterwards, I had to lay down and nap for an hour and a half.

Sunday morning, I was hosting two people in town for the weekend and meeting up with a friend. By the time I got home Sunday evening, I should have put a stop to it. But the machine was already in motion, and I didn't realize that I wasn't recharging, but instead just charging on to the next thing I had planned. Sunday night came and went, and I forgot to eat dinner.

Monday I had an interview, which went horribly wrong (it was basically a waste, and I will probably have to go back to do what should have happened yesterday). Then, in response to things that happened Sunday, I had important errands to run. Initially I thought 4 p.m. was my deadline, and made it a point to be finished by 3:30 p.m., only to find out I had more than two extra hours.

By the time I got home last night, and everyone was returned to their proper homes, I was exhausted. Mentally and physically. So when Trixie wandered by my door and asked how my interview went, I gave her a one-word answer.

Trixie and I have discussed her extroversion and my introversion. She was married to an introvert, and tries to be aware and respectful of the need for quiet and space. But Trixie had a lot of big thoughts this weekend while she was at a family wedding, and wanted to share them with me. Leaning against my doorway nodding to her, I noticed my mind screaming at her that "I want to go! Stop! Talking! I wanna gooooooooo!"

I finally found a way to tell Trixie how exhausted I was from all the socializing, despite it being with people I like and love, despite it being all my choice. Trying to be helpful, Trixie spent the next 15 minutes reminding me that she's out of town for most of the week, so I'll have the place to myself. Wrap it up, girlie. I've got solitude to enjoy here.

Before 10:30 p.m. I was asleep.

When I Grow Up, I Want To Marry Whole Foods

Usually when I buy plums or pluots, it's at the Farmer's Market.

This weekend was a busy one, and I didn't make it there. But this is plum season, and I want plums dammit. So I went to Whole Foods tonight to get some. Except ... I'm not that great at picking out good fruit.

There was a guy near the plums, stocking peaches who asked if he could help me. Sure, ya can! He showed me the five different varieties, and asked when I wanted the fruit to taste good. Then he whipped out a knife, sliced off a piece of plum and held it out to me. I tasted. He sliced a piece for himself. We agreed it was okay, but ...

Dude offered to cut up another one. "Oh no, you don't have to do that for me, if you just recommend one kind ..." He cut me off, insisting that not only didn't he mind, but it helps him be better at his job - this way when somebody asks about plums or pluots, he'll really know how each one tastes.

So the two of us stood around, talking about fruit, and buying organic, all while tasting each type of plum/pluot Whole Foods carries. When I said one particular type was very good, Dude cut off another, bigger piece and gave it to me. He ultimately picked out eight plums for me. I'm totally psyched. It's easy to make me happy.

Please Somehow Rescue Me From Entrances

Why is it that if I'm in my bedroom when my roommate comes home with friends/cousins/ random homeless chrackheads she met on the street, I feel stuck in my room until they leave again?

There are people who believe in making an entrance, in always arriving late. Walking into a crowded room, stopping to strike a pose, etc. They love the attention. I'm not one of those people. To me, arriving late is just rude. Less rude when it's a party rather than just one person who's waiting for you, but still.

I'm not a fan of the Attention. I just want to putter around, doing my thing. Four magazines are in the living room. A movie is on the coffee table waiting to be watched. Hopefully they'll leave for dinner soon.

Happy Fourth!

Drink some tea!

I Think Pranks Are Funny

On Friday Trixie and I were talking about radio stations as we sped to Ikea (where I finally bought furniture for the balcony! Umm... can somebody come over and help me put it together?). I told her that the choice of good radio stations is much better in New York than here and in Florida. That made me realize that I could be listening to Z100 even while living in San Francisco. Pretty cool, huh?

In general, I hate radio talk shows. If I want to hear people talk, I'll ask my friends questions. To me, radios are for music. Period. Okay, and pranks. I love when they do pranks. Have for years.

Many moons ago, back when I lived in New York (and by 'in New York' I mean 'still lived with my parents') I had a hard time with the whole "banking" thing. I think it was fear-based, and I'd get very flustered every time I had to do anything bank-related. Something about those tellers, with fake flowers in their lapels apparently intimidated me. The little deposit slip confused me, and I could never get the right number in the correct box (I can now, but I have to write from right to left to do it; fucking learning disabilities).

One night in the kitchen my dad confessed that he'd considered calling the radio station to have them do a prank on me - they'd call pretending they were my bank, I'd screwed up and now owed them money. He told me that he ultimately thought I might cry, and that's why he didn't do it. The funny thing was, I probably would have told them I'd need to call them back, hung up, and called my dad crying. In case you're worrying about that check I recently gave you, I haven't bounced a check in over eight years.

All this is a roundabout way of showing you the Pink Prank Project that I stumbled across this morning. Funny shit. This morning Golden Boy e-mailed me, asking if I can walk the dog for him. I have a key to his apartment. Hmmm...

Fucking Yoga: Daytime Drama

The place I take yoga offers classes throughout the day. When I was working, the only class I went to was the one at 7:30 p.m. There was one early in the morning, but I never would have made it to work on time, and I'm not THAT much of a morning person.

Night-time yoga is not the most convenient thing in the world, only because of dinner. I normally got home from work between 6 and 6:15 p.m. To get to yoga on time I had to leave at 7:15 p.m. Eating a heavy meal before yoga is not the way to go, so you can't eat dinner. Normally I eat some fruit and chug water, making sure I finish about 45 minutes before the class starts. I'd get home from yoga around 9 p.m., and who wants to first start making dinner then? But I realize nighttime yoga is the way itneeds to be.

Because now that I'm not working though, I've had the opportunity to take the mid-day yoga class.

Yeah, I hate it. First of all, who are all these people who don't have to work? The place was PACKED! Literally, I squeezed in between two people who had three feet between them, and then the three of us spent the next hour whispering apologies as we accidentally banged into each other. At one point, the hand belonging to the guy to my right was about two inches from my boobs. WAYYYYY too many people for my taste.

It didn't help that when I got there, the yogi (one I'd never seen before) said, "Young lady in the corner, have you ever done yoga before?" When Inodded, he raised his eyebrows, as if surely people who do yoga wouldn't be as fat as I am. What the fuck? I can downward dog with the best of them. I can do push-ups now - that's how strong I've gotten.

It made me think of how some labels only go up to a size 12 - the designers don't want people seeing their clothes on bigger bodies, because they feel it will make them look bad.

There were two yogi's-in-training when I was there, and because the place was so packed, they were kept very busy. One yogi-to-be looked like Moby, and at first I thought he was a bit snooty, but it turned out he was very nice and helpful.

You all know there was NO WAY IN HELL any napping would happen during naptime with all those people around me. As the yogii went around adjusting people to be in the proper napping positions, I urged time to hurry up. Finally Moby got to me, and I mildly freaked out when he put something (at first I thought it was his hand) over my eyes.

Then I smelled the lavender and realized it was an eye mask. This was new, and I wondered why I was given it - could Moby tell I needed extra relaxing? Naptime was very un-restful. Since there were so many people, somebody was always coughing or breathing or something noisy. And since it was daytime, sunlight poured through the skylights and the room was not dark.

When naptime was over, I saw other people had gotten the lavender eye mask treatment, not just me. Daytime yoga is not for me.