Hi. You're Fat.

So this new lawyer woman started at work a couple of weeks ago. She's this tall, divorced, Indian woman. She has a teenage son. She seems to have previously lived in the Bay Area, though recently moved (back?) from the deep South.

I feel a little bad for her; she's the fourth woman at the firm, and the office manager, WASP and I are all pretty friendly. We talk books and friends and bitch about Turkey of course, and all kinds of things. I hope she doesn't feel too left out.

The other day I arrived at work having been up since 3am. The new lawyer told me it looked like I was tired, and I admitted yes, she was right. She told me the key was to train myself to ignore noises that might wake me, and that's how one can sleep through the night. Today she asked if I got more sleep, and after thinking back, I happily reported that yes, I didn't wake up until 5am this morning.

"Did you know if you get six or less hours of sleep it make you gain weight?" She then asked, "Have you ever tried yoga? You should try yoga." Oh, believe me, lady. I've fucking tried it all right.

So basically, I'm fat, all my problems are due to my fatness, and I should do things to be less fat. Well thanks, it's lovely to work with you as well.

Fucking Yoga: Thinking Ahead

Dear Self,

I just wanted to remind you that although yoga costs almost $400 for three months of unlimited classes, you should do it anyway, when this three-month period is over. Yes, even though it's a lot of money. Three months is a long time.

Plus, this whole yoga thing is making you lose weight like a mofo, and giving you muscles. And you dropped a clothing size.

Think of it this way: you spend almost $400 each month paying for COBRA. Paying for yoga will feel WAY more beneficial and it's significantly less money. Your goal is to be off COBRA by the time this yoga stint runs out. That's why tomorrow you're headed to a new law firm. Again. Yes, I know you're bitter but you have no choice so shut the fuck up; we're tired of stressing and bitching about not having a real job.

To recap, while yes, $400 is a lot of money, three months is a very long time. It's a quarter of a year. And, you are making a LOT of progress with this whole stupid yoga program you've put yourself on. Funny, since you seem to hate yoga, but it works, so run with it, pay for it.

Okay? Okay. Thanks, bye.
Love,
Me

P.S. You looked really good yesterday. And on Thursday.

Fucking Yoga: What Ifs During Naps

Last night's yoga class got off to a rough start. Before I tell you why though, I must remind you that my mind races, I get bored easily, and I'm a little bit on the creative side. This might explain why I have come up with what each yoga teacher used to do before they became ... yogans. (That's right - we make words up left and right here. Keep up!)

Anyway. I was all excited for last night's class - it was going to be taught by my favorite former construction worker (whose asthma spiraled out of control breathing in all that dust). Not to be confused with the former roofer (he fell off the roof and almost broke his back, poor thing).

But when I arrived at yoga, the last class was running late, there were a lot of people in the lobby, and I got a little flustered. I sat down to wait for my class to start, when the Yogu I'd cried at told me the class running late WAS in fact my class, and it was the teacher running it who was running early. So I thanked him and rushed in - luckily there was a spot open in the part of the room I like (right side, second or third from the door).

During naptime, I don't remember what made me think of it, but I started imagining what if the Little House people did yoga? Where would they meet? In the middle of a field? In someone's barn? Would the men and women yoga separately? Would it make Nellie a nicer person?

Interview Series Marches On

A while back I interviewed Nicole. Now she's turning the tables.

Is there a moment in your life you'd like to take back or do over? What about it would you change? So, so many of them. It's wrong to say "all of them," right? I became friends with a girl who has the same name I do at ballet, and invited her over to my house eventually. We were in my bedroom, laying on the floor playing while my mom was downstairs in the kitchen. I think we were about nine or 10, and she wanted to play with these cut-out doll things she found in my bookcase. For several years I'd been over the whole doll thing, but in trying to be a nice hostess I let her pick what we played.

She was fat. Not just a little overweight, but fat. And when she looked at the doll in her hand and said, "She's fat," I accidentally blurted out, "You shouldn't talk." I gasped. I don't think I've ever been more horrified at my own actions. She immediately put her head down in her arms and I didn't know what to do. So I left my bedroom and ran downstairs to tell my mother what I'd done. Of course, she told me I had to go back and apologize and to think before speaking in the future, so I did. The girl nodded and we went on playing.

We stayed friends for a year or two after that - as long as we were taking ballet together I think. It was one of those moments that made me think that maybe I was really a horrible person deep down, and I was just unable to hide it all the time.

Is there anyone in your past you wish you could say something to? Who would it be and why? You know, I got teased and bullied and made fun of so much growing up. And I've seen those Maury shows where a former loser confronts their bully after they've gotten implants and a short dress. I'd never do that. Not because I already have big boobs, but because the truth is, I don't think any of the kids who teased me feel all that badly about it. I think a third of them wouldn't remember it, a third would say I deserved it, and a third would say I should be over it.

I would really like to talk to my grandma again though. She died two months after I turned 18, while I was away at college. It was sudden, and the last time I'd spoken to her I'd felt like she was angry at me. It's not that there's something specific I'd like to say to her; I'd just like us to talk again. She was a true example of pure unconditional love, and it would be nice to thank her for that. While I was at it, I'd also thank her for keeping that shimmery unicorn sticker I gave her on her purse for two years, and for letting us watch cartoons in the morning before school. And for always having Pine Brothers cough drops in her purse.

And I'd ask her for her recipe for booze cake, because that was really good.

What blogs do you read regularly and why? You can see by the sidebars which blogs I read. The only ones I don't list are the ones that are password protected, because ... what's the point? Whoever you are, I am secretly fascinated by you, and I always have been. I want to know if you really like your job, look in your closet, meet your friends, look at your books, everything. As a little kid we used to take a lot of hellishly long car trips. I hated it. Spent a lot of time telling my dad the speed limit as it flashed by while my mom and brother slept. I'd also look at the people in the cars around us and wonder where they were going. If they liked the people in the car with them. If they were happy about where they were going.

I've never stopped thinking that way. I am interested in everybody. Reading people's blogs is a great way to people-watch.

What television show do you watch that you won't admit to your friends? Is there any lower low than The Hills (season finale tonight!)? I've been known to flip over to Oprah sometimes if I'm home for it. I've never been one of those people who tapes their soap opera or anything. Also, when Trixie lived here, she got the Oprah magazine, and I'd read that too.

If you're a blogger, what is the best post you think you've ever written? Can't answer this. The ones that got the most hits where when my family found out about my blog. Everyone's fascinated by a trainwreck, huh? But that wasn't great writing - that was numb writing. Some of the Loose Earlobe Lady posts were a lot of fun to write, as are some of the fucking yoga ones. This one was fun.

Fucking Yoga: Topless

No, I was not topless at yoga last night. It was a small class, which is what I like best, and a male yogi. Not the one I cried at, or the nice one, but a different guy. A guy who looks like he used to be a construction worker. Maybe he fell off a roof and hurt his back, which is why he turned to yoga after it helped him recover. Or maybe he directed traffic and got hit by a car, and then someone else who was also waiting for an MRI recommended yoga for the pain. But he definitely looks like he'd look damn good in some Timberlands and dusty jeans. While it's raining out... Oh. Excuse me.

Anyway. So we're starting the class, people are moving their mat an inch to the left, taking a last sip of whatever, shoving their hair into ponytails. And the Construction Yogi throws down a mat right across from me.

This is different. The other yogis don't use a mat, and don't get in line with the rest of the class. They do yoga poses in the middle of the room and walk around. I was confused by Construction Yogi's position. Was this class going to be run differently? Did I accidentally come to the wrong class? That's the moment when Construction Yogi whipped off his t-shirt, exposing the full intensity of his hotness to us all.

Sixty minutes later I picked my jaw up off the floor as he put his shirt back on. I wanted to close my eyes for the walk home, lest any other images get banked into my memory, and go promptly to sleep to have wonderful dreams about topless yoga.

But since it wasn't even 8pm I stayed awake a few more hours.

Fucking Yoga: Anti Boobloaf

Just last week while in downward dog, I was thinking maybe it's time I got a sports bra. As my big-boobied sisters know, it is not easy to find good bras. And when you find them, it's rare they come in colors other than white, off-white, beige, and pale pink.

I looked at Title Nine and Nike and Champion. Apparently they think only small-boobied women work out. Because if you work out, you're thin, and your boobs are somewhat small, I guess.

In my semi-realistic utopia (since in my unrealistic utopia, everyone would already be whatever size they want), at my Yoga For Fatties Class, they would also sell workout clothes for fat people. Including big-boobied sports bras.

Recently I went to a store and asked the saleswoman if they sell sports bras. Here's how well the conversation went:

SW (that's for saleswoman): Can I help you?
GY: Hi, actually, yes. Do you sell sports bras?
SW: What we have are these.
We walk over and both stare at ... the exact type of bra I'm wearing right at that moment (and at this moment right now too) that is most definitely NOT a sports bra.
GY: *blink*blink* Yes, but do you have sports bras?
SW: These are like sports bras....
GY: Okay....
SW: Regular bras have underwire. These don't, so they're just like sports bras.
GY: Thank you; I'll keep looking.

She should be fired. JUST SAY NO!
Now, last night, I went out with my friend Marlo. Ages and ages ago, Marlo suggested a blog, and I read it, and was immediately hooked. This morning, I was thinking about something Marlo said, and it reminded me of that blog. And when I went to that blog, I found Kristy writing all about bras.

Dear Missy Park at Title Nine,
Please make bras for bigger-boobed women than you do now. While the women in your "three barbell" category are bigger than the average model, I do not believe they represent the big boobage I and my big-boobied sisters are dealing with. That way we can work out more comfortably, and eventually will lose enough weight to fit into your clothes.
Thank you,
Green Yogurt, on behalf of the big-boobed women.

Fucking Yoga: How PMS Works To My Advantage

*This will be a long one; go get a snack first before settling in.

When I became a teenager, any time I got passionately upset about anything, my mother would infuriate me by asking if I was about to get my period. I think that's an outrageously rude question, because it discounts the validity of someone's feelings. In second grade when Geraldine Ferraro was running for .... something (VP?), I recall a class discussion about whether or not a woman should be president, because, what if she got PMS and because of that, decided to bomb a country? It offended me then, and still does.

Last week, when I had PMS, I cursed at one person, screamed in the house when nobody else was home, cried three times, and confronted three people about things they were doing that upset me or were wrong. I can't say I welcome PMS with open arms, but I do appreciate that it .... encourages me to speak my mind about situations where I'm either being taken advantage of or not getting all that I want.

I cried at work because I was trying to do something difficult which had been dumped on me at the last minute after someone else had specifically come to me, asking that she do it. Then, when trying to concentrate and sort out all the details, I was continuously interrupted by people reminding me of our deadline and asking if I needed help. I needed to be left the fuck alone so I could concentrate, and I ultimately said just that to the secretary who'd dumped the project in my lap. The next day I confronted her about doing that, and apologized for cursing. We agreed to start over and all that shit, but since then she has dumped other things in my lap, and I think that's just her M.O.

I screamed and cried alone at home in frustration with 9am's continual inability to clean up kitchen counters. It is not right that when I walk into the kitchen I have to throw out his napkins, move his fruit, his water, and then clean off bread crumbs, all before I can start using counters. That night I confronted him and told him I would like to keep the kitchen cleaner than we have been, and asked him to help me with that. His eyes got wide in surprise, but he assured me he would certainly do his part, promptly emptied the garbage, and apparently considered his part finished. We will be having another talk.

If I were going to rate myself at yoga, it would be as either an advanced beginner or a beginning intermediate. But the class I'm in, which is the easiest one they offer, is one where people are often balancing on one hand. The yogi I have most often caters to these advanced people, leaving people like me in the dust. Generally you're supposed to give a modified option to those who can't do a yoga move, which he wasn't doing. At one point, he even waived his hand and said, "If you need to modify ... you know how." Umm.... judging from all the other people who sat back on their knees and waited, I don't think so.

It was really frustrating me. I was spending so much time throughout the class waiting for him to call out a move I could do. Easily 50% of the class, which is ridiculous. I was wasting my time. I wasn't getting all I felt I should out of the classes he was leading. And then I cried all through naptime. I just laid there with tears pouring down my cheeks, unable to stop. It took every ounce of self control to not get up and walk out. When class was over, I went up to the yogi and asked if he had a minute. When he said he did, I borrowed a line from Rachel on Friends, and apologized in advance if I cried. And then I proceeded to cry all the way through our talk.

He started with, "I know what you're going to say." Oh really. "What?" I asked him. "You're going to say I don't adjust you enough," he told me. "Actually you don't, but that wasn't what I was going to say." He seemed surprised, and got a little defensive when I listed my grievances. He told me that he takes a long time to warm up to people, and appreciates that I spoke with him. That in the past he's had women in his class who are older or overweight and when he's gone to adjust them, they get upset, which is why he hasn't come to me. That's right, he just called me fat. I looked him straight in the eye, and stopped blubbering enough to tell him, "I'm not like that. I want you to help me do it perfectly. I feel like I'm completely floundering and not getting all I should be out of the classes when I'm not getting any direction at all." He agreed to do that. We hugged it out, because it's yoga, and that's how we roll in yoga.

Last night was the first time I went back to one of his classes since our talk. I was nervous because I (wrongly) equate crying with complete failure. When he saw me, he smiled apprehensively. I'm sure he worried I'd cry on him again. But I knew I wouldn't. And I didn't. He kept his word by giving more direction, and I sweated more than usual. He gets annoyed when I don't remember every single little thing he's ever told me in previous classes, but if he teaches long enough, he'll learn that students simply don't learn everything they're taught. After class I thanked him, and said I felt like I got a lot more out of this class than the past ones. Walking home I felt like pure liquid (this is a good thing), and I'm psyched to go back tonight.

Fucking Yoga: When Fatties Collide

*Even if you're not into yoga, read through to the bottom to see what happened to me on the way home.

Last night I was *not* the only fat person at yoga. I'd meant to go on Tuesday but there was a technical problem and I couldn't make it, so I went yesterday instead. There were two huge dogs in the lobby and I was tempted to just hang out there and play with the dogs instead of yogging, but that would leave me with little to blog about, so yes, I yogged for you!

By the way, at my yoga place, there is a tiny little room where they store mats for the people (who are too cheap to buy their own) like me who need to borrow one for class. When I started to go into that room, which does not have a door by the way, there was a very old man with very saggy skin standing there naked, changing his clothes. I promptly turned and walked out. Why he couldn't just wait for one of the three bathrooms where everyone else changes I don't know. People have bathroom emergencies, not clothing-changing emergencies (unless they're also having a bathroom emergency in which case he'd need a bathroom).

Right across from me was another fat girl, and she had her shirt tucked into her pants. I kept having visions of the two of us falling off balance, colliding into each other, and banging into other people, creating a domino effect. I'm so silly - we weren't even close enough for that to happen. I love how the yogis always make a big point of asking if anyone is new to yoga when there's more than one fat person in the class (rare, usually I'm the lone representative). Why do they not realize that not everyone who does yoga is skinny? I bet there are a lot of fatties yogging in the privacy of their own home because it's too intimidating to go to a class full of skinny girls. I bet if they ran a Yoga For Fatties class it would fill up. Wonder how they'd advertise that in a politically correct way....

I did not recognize the yogi teaching last night but he had a middle eastern accent that was pleasant to listen to, and he was hot, which always helps things along. Well, I guess it does nothing for the straight guys, but whatever. I wound up next to a yoginator; he had tattoos on his stomach, arm and leg, and did deep breathing like it was a contest. He also had this weird jazz hands thing going on and although he struck me as straight, got way into flaboyantly flinging his fingers all around.

Ever notice how when someone is not that good looking, but they're really nice, it makes them look better? And conversely, when someone is hot but then they act like an idiot, they stop seeming so hot? Yeah, this yogi SUCKED. The class I go to actually has the word "beginner" in it. Yoga is one of those "everybody is always welcome" things - kind of like a temple, I guess - so there's normally a wide range of abilities in my class. There are people who can balance on one hand upside down, and other people who can't do vinyasa.

The yogi TOTALLY catered to the one-handed upside downers like the yoginator next to me, completely ignoring those of us who sat there unable to even figure out what a modified version would be. The dogs stayed in the lobby through the class, sometimes playing with each other, sometimes barking, and I had to restrain myself from going out to them, especially since I spent so much class time waiting for a pose I could do.

Also, what's up with nap time? I am wondering if the yogi house got slapped with a sexual harrassment suit. Normally during nap time the yogis come around and adjust your body (for maximum napping?), but last night that wasn't done. Actually now that I think of it, they normally adjust people during the class too, as everyone goes through the poses, and the yogi did not do that.

*In New York, on Z100, when you see or interact with someone famous, it's referred to as "a brush with greatness." On my walk home from yoga, one of the streets I cross was closed down, from the Embarcadero up to Market Street. There were cops at each intersection. I was standing on the corner with an Asian guy in a suit. After several minutes, he yelled to the cop, "Who's coming through, Sir?" The response was immediate. "HILLARY!" Yep, I saw Hillary drive by - guess she's in town today. While you might think she'd be in a black SUV, she wasn't. It was a white mom-style minivan. Whudda thunk it?

Fucking Yoga: It's Like Buttah

You knew this day would come. Tonight was my first time in (over six months I think) ages back at yoga. I've been psyching myself up for it all month. Two weeks ago when I realized I could finally blow out a candle in one try (rather than the five or six it had been taking me while I'd been sick the last four months), I got excited. And re-lit the candle just so I could blow it out again. A week ago I started trying to walk up huge flights of stairs. On Thursday I signed up for a huge chunk of yoga classes.

And tonight I went to the first one. I hoped it wouldn't be one of those classes where everyone else can balance on the ball of one foot and I'm the fattie gasping for air and holding onto the wall for balance.

Dude, I can not adequately express just how much of a natural athlete I am, but I will try. The people on either side of me kept checking what I was doing so they could copy me when they weren't sure what the yogi had said to do. For each pose, I remembered all the corrections I was given back in '07, and before the yogi could get to me, I'd have undone my (ballet) turn-out to yogify the poses. I can still do the pushups (that's not what they're called in yogaland, but you know what I mean, whether or not you do yoga) and boat posture (the yoga word starts with an 'N' but I can't remember what it is), which uses crazy stomach muscles.

Seriously, it's almost like I never took any time off at all. It was a small class (which made me happy) and the instructor was pretty impersonal which sounds bad, but it worked for me tonight. The only thing that kind of went wrong was when out of nowhere, I could not breathe at all. I actually had to go stand against the wall and sip some water for about two minutes. It kind of slammed into me with no warning - one minute I was sweaty but fine, and the next, there was a distant rushing sound (one of the signs I'm going to pass out) and I noticed I couldn't catch my breathe. I pressed the backs of my arms against the wall; it felt cool. The rushing sound went away, and I hopped back on the mat as if I'd never left.

From then on everything was fine, and I managed not to laugh at all, not even when the redheaded girl across from me toppled over during tree poses. I am on such a high right now - I think it's because I've been pumped up for this since Thursday in an effort to not be too scared to go - that if I can walk when I wake up tomorrow, I may go back tomorrow night.

Too ambitious? Yeah, I was planning on going every other day this week, but shit, if I can do it, why not, right? Seriously, I'm so happy that tonight went well. I truly thought it might suck, especially since I twisted my ankle twice this afternoon while in Marin. But no, it was as smooth as buttah.

Okay so for those of you who do yoga, please comment if you have a mat that's not slippery, and let me know what brand it is. I always use the free ones the place has, but I never remember which one is less slippery and just grab whichever color appeals to me in the moment. The ones they sell there are, at minimum, $50, and I wouldn't want to spend that much money unless I was able to try it out during a class and see how "no-slip-grip" it truly is first. Thank you.

All I Want Is Time and Grammar Lessons

Most of the time people are surprised when they find out I don't have a bachelor's degree, and that pleases me. Except, then they expect me to know things. Like grammar. Unfortunately, they don't teach grammar in college. Well, actually they do sometimes, but I tested out of those non-credit classes when I took the college placement test.

I need third-grade grammar. Apparently, I was very busy in third grade - my worst grade of elementary school, made even worse due to it following my best year - and along with map skills and parts of the eye and ear, completely missed learning grammar and parts of speech. During a huge punishment in 7th grade, I managed to teach myself some very basic, elementary if you will, grammar. Like what verbs, nouns and adjectives are.

There was a tv show called the Adventures of Beans Baxter, and it's from that show that I learned what an adverb is. Prepositions and prepositional phrases are still iffy, and I can't stop ending sentences with prepositions.

I'd like to think it's just because I'm sick that I've made a lot of grammatical errors at work this week. But I know that's not the truth. I have no clue how to do those posessive apostophes and all that shit. The partner just told me yesterday that when a last name ends in a Z, you treat it like an S in terms of apostrophes. I did not know that. Do most people know that? How the hell do you learn these things?

Hanukah is a week away, and my family keeps asking what I want. I want to learn grammar - that's what I want. I don't want a book that teaches grammar, because I can't learn that way. I want someone to actually sit down and teach me the things I don't know in a way that I can learn them.

I know people like to give presents that don't require time and effort beyond buying something, or some things. But I have too many things as it is. I need fewer things. In fact, if someone gave me a present of helping me sell or give away some of my things, I'd love that. If I get another vase, I will cry. What I want, is what I need. And what I need, is help with various things. And yoga classes. It's time to bring back the fucking yoga.

And the Cycle Continues

For some reason, it doesn't feel real yet. The job. Even though I've pulled out clothes I hadn't worn since May. I ironed, set my alarm, made sure I had instant oatmeal to bring to work on the mornings I realize the yogurts have run out.

It feels tentative. Beause I don't have a building pass yet? The lack of voicemail? That I need to mapquest it each time I need to go someplace on my lunch hour?

What needs to happen for me to believe it's real, that I'm back to earning a paycheck? Withdrawal from Oprah? Buying something that I'd never have bought while out of work? Realizing I'm no longer going to the library twice a week? Today I handled a check that was over $200K. That's something that only ever happens at work.

Maybe it doesn't feel real yet beause I haven't blogged about it. So let's try that.

This office is much smaller than my last one. A lot less support, which means I have to do things I've never had to do before. Like calendaring, preparing my own mail, filing. It's a huge law firm, but their San Francisco office is tiny.

There are fewer than five attorneys, and only one other secretary. The receptionist started her third week of work today, so I'm not the only new person. Apparently the secretary I replaced cried often. The attorneys are tentative with me, and have encouraged me to come to them with anything that upsets me, before it upsets me.

I'm working for two attorneys, both men. One of whom we'll call Balls, because he adjusts his frequently. Maybe he needs different panties. He looks a little like a pedophile, but he's very nice. I wonder if there's some secret support group for men who look like pedophiles but aren't. The other attorney is younger, normal-looking, and preparing for the trial of his career so very stressed out.

The other secretary seems to have a very busy personal life. She's got a few of her own kids, some step-kids, a couple of grandkids (the grandmas are EVERYWHERE!), and a couple of exhusbands. Oh and she's in the midst of a divorce, and her husband is not paying any child support. Today she marched in twenty minutes late, with a young girl in tow. Apparently the kid's Catholic school was off today and had nowhere else to go.

This afternoon I had a closed door meeting with the younger attorney, who wanted to know how it's going for me. I explained that the IT guy didn't have time to finish training me, but the other secretary said she would. He told me not to let her teach me anything.

Okay why do companies do that? This woman's worked there for a year and a half. If she sucks, why have they kept her?

Don't worry - I'll come up with names for everyone and keep you informed. Oh, and as soon as I get a handle on how much overtime there'll be during trial season, fucking yoga will return. I should start practicing my downward dogs now in preparation.

Random Frustrations - Bulleted For Your Pleasure

• So far I have turned down two job offers, interviewed for two other jobs that would be perfect, been rejected for one, and am waiting to hear if I am being asked back for second interviews for the last. I am frustrated to not be working. I keep forgetting my plan to "do one fun and one productive thing each day" and that's pissing me off.
• Technical difficulties are difficult. My power cord falls out a lot. I spend more time than I should repositioning it just so. My laptop is in heart failure, and each time I turn it off, I'm not sure I'll be able to turn it on next time. There's an operation I could try that involves taking out the motherboard, but I don't have a small enough scalpel, nor did I do a rotation in this speciality. I'd buy a new laptop, but I'm trying to hold out until I have a steady paycheck.
• Starting today Trixie is driving cross-country for about a week, and left her smelly foods in the fridge.
• I am disappointed in the fact that not everyone seems to know what my parents spent years trying to drum into my thick skull - that not everything is black or white. I'm sure they didn't mean it, but I always got the impression from my parents when they were yelling at me that any asshole would know what they were saying. That I was way behind everyone else. Even though I'm 30, I still get surprised when I realize my peers don't seem to know what I thought were very basic lessons. I am disappointed at seeing people get dismissed in their entirety simply for having different opinions.
• People who don't e-mail me back. No, not you - you're good. But you, well, that's a different story*. When, in an effort to help you, people go out of their way to articulate their feelings about a subject that you've made clear is worrying you, it would be nice to respond. Just saying. Even just a quick, "Thanks, you've given me a lot to think about" would suffice.
• Shitty blogs. Yeah that's right - even though I may not be commenting, I'm reading. Between people having so much ad-shit on their blog that it takes MINUTES to load, people writing about crap that's uninteresting to me, and blog posts that make me sad at how cut-throat people are being, I think I should take a reading break. Maybe for a while I'll just stick to Newsweek and published authors with physical books.
• Speaking of Newsweek, I could have a gorilla live in my apartment, right? There's room for a family of them, isn't there? If I were a trillionnaire, I'd totally find some way to buy the land where those gorillas live and then protect it so they can live peacefully.
• Even though it seems to be a Vice President's job is to stay alive in case the President is unavailable to "serve" their country, I bet we could give the American people a different impression of what VP's do if Hillary were President and Barrack were VP. I am hesitant to vote for him for President now, but if he'd put in a tour as VP, then I'd definitely feel better about it.
• Lack of closet space. That's right, I'm frustrated by it. Surely I just need to rearrange and then I'll find space, but right now in the corner behind my bedroom door, three bath towels are piled on top of a box that a fan is in, and that's pissing me off.
• Know what else is pissing me off? That my list of Shit To Buy When I Have a Paycheck is growing so long.
• You know why all these things are pissing me off? I'll tell you.
  1. Because they're all being realized at the same time.
  2. Because some are out of my control.
  3. Probably not doing fucking yoga anymore contributes to my frustration aslo.
• Lack of Fucking Yoga. Why? Because my 90 days ended and I haven't gone in to ask what sort of deal they'll give me for more yoga. Why? No good reason, only lame excuses.
• You know what else annoys me? Cutesy spellings for random words for absolutely no reason other than to try to appear cute and Kre8ive. I hate reading blogs where people try to drop a cute version of a word in and I'm reading the sentence three times in a row trying to figure out what the fuck they're trying to say.
• My stupidity. I may be on a vacation from work, but my stupidity never takes a hike. It's always with me, like [insert some witty phrase here].

*Soon after posting this, I was e-mailed back. You don't need to worry it was you.

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.

Fucking Yoga: Back on the Scene, Crispy and Clean

Yes, I went back to yoga tonight, after not going for an inappropriate amount of time. I could tell you I didn't go because I had my period, but that doesn't account for the other two weeks. But in my quest to do one fun thing or one productive thing today, I went a little overboard on both, and that's how I found myself at fucking yoga. I felt awkward going there, after not having gone for so long, but they just smiled and said hi. Hi! So there I was at yoga.

Where I got a very nice surprise. A guy so hot it should be illegal was doing yogi teacher training tonight along with the regular guy. Hottie was from the Netherlands and had an awesome accent to go along with the body so gorgeous I wanted to lick it. Because he was just that beautiful. Excuse me while I take a personal moment...

Ahem. Yes, so yoga. There's this thing called your drishti that you're supposed to focus on while you're yogging. It's a place within yourself where you take your mind to focus. Or something like that. It goes in the category of Shit I Learn and Then Ignore At Yoga. Like breathing.

Having not yogged in a while, I thought that today I'd be way behind where I left off, but happily, I wasn't. I picked a bad mat though, and my hands kept sliding when I was downward dogging. I didn't mind too much though, since I had the strength to support myself. Guess all those random push-ups I do every so often just to check if I can really are paying off. I should totally lose some weight. Beneath the fat I have the cutest little muscles from fucking yoga.

When it's naptime, you're supposed to lay on your back, close your eyes, and kind of ... let all the yoga stuff you just did set in. You're not even supposed to do the special yoga breathing. The girl next to me sneezed really loudly during naptime, and I had to resist the urge to shush her. Even though I don't zone out, I get irrationally pissed off when people make noise during naptime.

There's a specific way you're supposed to place your body during naptime that I don't do. Not really on purpose, it's just that it's so unnatural for me, and laying down is supposed to be relaxing. The Yogiis went around "fixing" everyone - I'm not the only one who has this issue. Luckily Hottie fixed me. His hands were very callused, and it made me wonder what he did before taking up yoga. Some Yogis just place my arms and legs where they're supposed to be, and some do a very mini-massage as they're doing their proper placement. Hottie did the massage, and it took all my self control to not yell, "MORE! I want MORE! STAYYYYY!" when he moved on to the sneezer.

After yoga I went straight home and shared a peach with Trixie while I convinced her she's got to get her ass to yoga tout de suite to check out Hottie before he goes back to the Netherlands. Or maybe it was a nectarine. I always confuse the two. Whatever it was, it was damn good.

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.

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?

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.

Fucking Yoga: You Are Your Own Best Friend

Aside from my private lesson, this was the first time I went to yoga on a weekend. I was running a little late, which means I got there right on time, and I was surprised that close to half a dozen people came in after me.

The teacher was somebody I'd never met before, but she has one of those faces that make you think you went to camp or college with her, and I liked her right away. I liked how she ran the class, although once again, I felt like I was going to pass out. I've felt that way in the last three classes I've gone to, since my time-out on Tuesday. Maybe I'm not drinking enough water beforehand? I don't know. Whatever the reason, it's very unsettling.

It's clear that I could never be a yoga guru - I'm the only participant in every class who never breathes or OMs.

Today was a monumental yoga day. No, I did not open up my heart center. But I was able to do the push-up thing and the sitting-while-balancing-on-the-tailbone thing, both of which are new for me. In the past when doing the balancing-on-the-tailbone thing, I couldn't do it at all, then I graduated to holding my knees while balancing. Today, I had stomach muscles. And I USED THEM. It took every ounce of restraint to not yell, "Hey guys! Look at me! I'm doing it!"

I was really pleased about these new abilities. On Thursday I noticed indentations under my cheekbones. For all my bitching and moaning, this yoga shit is paying off. Less than a month and it's paying off. I have more than two months left of my 90 days and I'm already worrying about what I'll do when that ends.

Today during nap-time the yogi came over, gently took my ankles, and kind of pulled my legs out. Normally I have a really hard time during nap-time, because laying on the floor hurts my lower back; I get muscles spasms. Not today.

Being at yoga makes me feel like I have ADD - my mind literally RACES and I can not for the life of me calm down and focus on breathing or heart centers or whatever I'm supposed to think about. I amused myself today by wondering what a class of ADD and ADHD grade-school boys would look like doing yoga. Which led me to think of the opposite extreme and made me wonder if autistic kids would dig yoga, because there's such an inward focus.

Here are the things I thought about while doing tree pose and nap-time:

1. I should re-polish my toenails.
2. Remember to put soap in the shower before getting IN the shower when you get home.
3. This guy next to me needs a longer jaw.
4. Hey! Is that Calvin, wearing a pimp coat?!
5. I am so excited for my dog-sitting to begin.
6. It IS! The guy next to me has a tattoo of Calvin as a pimp!
7. Who just coughed? There is no coughing during nap-time! BE QUIET! YOU ARE RUINING EVERYTHING!
8. Maybe I'll have matzah ball soup for lunch.
9. I should update my resume today.
10. Remember to add Workshare and DeltaView and whatever the hell else that new icon on my desk top is all about.

I Got a Time-Out at (Fucking) Yoga Tonight

No, not for inappropriate laughter. Before launching into the story, let me first just tell you that I hadn't been to yoga since last Tuesday. I meant to go on Thursday, but got invited to do something. Then over the weekend I meant to go to yoga, do laundry, and get together with a friend. All I managed to do was the third thing. Sometimes I have trouble forcing myself to do things. I don't know exactly why I didn't go to yoga last night, but I knew I was falling off the yoga track and had to get back on, so tonight it was.

In the past, I've chugged some water or had some fruit about an hour before class, and then chugged water upon arriving home from yoga. Tonight I ate some crackers beforehand and forgot about the water.

Upon arriving at yoga I was immediately complimented very enthusiastically on my scarf. By a guy. Smile and say thank you.

Tuesday is my favorite night to go to yoga, because I like the person who teaches on Tuesdays best. I don't know her name - maybe it's Maria or Amy or something else, but she knows mine, and she's a warm person. (Monday is when my second-favorite teacher teaches, but I'm not up to going every day yet.)

So we're all yoga-ing, and I'm downward dogging or whatever, and I look out at the floor, and notice it's not flat. It's rippling as I look at it, like waves. I hear a noise in the back of my head. It's a rushing sound, like being underwater, but it's far away, as if I'm hearing my future that's steadily approaching. At the start of class Maria/Amy commented on the room being extra-warm tonight. Quick to overheat, I never trust my own feelings on this, because to me it's always too warm.

Now we're doing some hamstring stretches, and the rushing sound is coming closer. I'm sweating much more than is normal. If I have to put my head down one more time, I'm going to puke. I back up against the wall - it feels cold against my back and that feels good. At some point, I'm sitting down, but I don't remember making the decision to sit, or making myself sit. Maria/Amy appears in front of me. "Are you okay? Your face is very white."

"I think I may throw up or pass out." I'm embarrassed to have stopping yoga-ing; we're whispering to each other.

"Why don't you take a time-out? Go get a drink and get some air," Maria/Amy tells me. Somehow I come to be standing, and I stay still for a moment, to make sure I can walk without crashing into the wall. Maria/Amy follows me out to the lobby and asks another Yogi to give me some water. I chug half the bottle. The water is warm which I hate, but I know this will help me not pass out, so I keep drinking. Looking through the door into the classroom I focus on the floor - the ripples are gone and the floor is flat like it should be now.

I just walked out of a class. How do I walk back in? Nike knows, so I just do it. It's not as bad as I feared. I missed half of Tree Poses, my favorite part of the class, but jump back into it without a problem. During nap time, I wonder if not having yogged for a week is a contributing factor to my earlier overheating. I listen to the sirens outside and wonder why that sound calms me and makes me feel good. I keep peeking at the people around me, to see what everyone else looks like laying down (they look like people laying down).

Nothing was particularly funny at yoga tonight. I'll go back Thursday - hopefully something will be funny in two days.

Steady Hatred of Yoga

You may wonder why I continue to go if I hate yoga so much. Do not think yourself alone, young grasshopper, for I often wonder the same thing also. Let's review together. Yoga is supposed to be good for arthritis, which I have. It's also something that fits my unbending work schedule. Plus, it's the least expensive class I can take that's also closest to my home. Thus, yoga.

When I got home from work yesterday and checked my e-mail, I found my roommate's invitation/suggestion that we go to yoga together. The idea of going with her sounded terrible to me, and I managed to sneak out without her. Not that I don't like The New and Improved Steamroller*, because I do, very much. Having a good roommate is like having a fun friend sleep over every night! (What's that? That's how it's supposed to be? I had no idea. Anyway.) Yoga is not something I consider myself to be good at, and that's why I don't want company.

Although yoga's supposed to be a non-competitive thing, there was a guy across from me who kept checking what I was doing. You could see it as clearly as if it was stamped on his forehead: I MUST do better than the fat girl!

You know I'm a bitch (why do people think fatties are jolly?), but what you may not know is that I'm very competitive and (for a regular person, not a yoga person) pretty flexible, so you better believe I totally played his game. Because I had the disastrous first yoga class that took me over four days to recover from, I don't push my body as far as it can go these days in yoga. Well actually I do, because it's the only way I know. But then I relax and pull back anywhere from 2-4 inches.

So I'd watch the guy watch me, I'd stop 2-4 inches before I was killing myself, see him get comfortable going one inch further than I'd gone, and then put my hands flat on the floor AND bend my elbows. He didn't know how I was doing it and was very frustrated. It was one of the first times I was having fun at yoga.

I got a case of the giggles during the "tree" portion of the class last night - everyone is balacing on one leg, and I thought about how much fun it would be if somebody just ran up and body-slammed the first person, making everyone down the line fall over, like a row of dominoes.

Nap time was boring and I wanted to leave. No change there. Embracing the breathing doesn't seem like it's going to happen.

Last night's teacher was really nice and I liked her a lot. Super friendly, but not so hippy-dippy that I found her corny. She started the class by talking about American Idol, and insisted everyone keep up to date so that we could discuss in more detail next Tuesday. I'd meant to go on Monday because I like the Monday night teacher, but was too tired. Plus, that would have set me up to go back Wednesday, and not only don't I like the Wednesday teacher, but that would also mean missing Friday Night Lights.

By the way, for any guys reading who may be considering going to yoga but worrying it's too girly or whatever, I counted last night, and it was an even split of guys and girls.

*Coming soon: a more in-depth look at The New and Improved Steamroller, who will transition into her own name.