Not Your Average Yoga Class

Me today at work:

Pull out chair at desk . . . ow
Sit down . . . ow
Roll forward to reach my desk . . . double ow
Turn on computer . . . little ow
Realize I have a meeting in 10 minutes that is upstairs and in a different wing . . . oh shit ow

No I am not "hitting the gym" extra hard to get my bod summer/swimsuit/cruise ready (feel free to laugh). No, no. I am doing something more challenging. I am bringing my spirit and my physical wellness to a whole new level by melding the two together in the form of downward dog and other various animal poses (including fire hydrant (and no I am not lying, and it IS ok to laugh)).

I joined Sunstone Yoga recently, and for 60 or 90 minutes (depending on if you want the strenuous "stretching and alignment" to be super intense, but for a shorter period of time, or not as intense, but for a kick-ass period of time), you work your way through various yoga poses in a room heated to 98.6 F with 60% humidity. Basically, you are paying $$ to work out in conditions similar to the average early July-ish summer day in Texas. HOT!

Old yoga, for me, used to conjure up images of light stretching and maybe some humming for good measure. In the few classes that I took, I would easily get bored, thinking that I would rather be spending time doing cardio or that I should be doing something more productive like cleaning my house instead of pretending to enjoy touching my toes. However, with classes called Fire 90 and Metal, Sunstone Yoga isn't your average yoga class. It's intense. The poses are designed to stretch your body and crank up your heart rate, giving you an all over toning workout without having to deal with all the skin-fried boys grunting with satisfaction at themselves at the local gym. At the end of class, a powerful exhaustion comes over me as I lay in savasana, and I have to say that it is the most wonderful sense of completeness and serenity that I can comprehend. Words cannot describe it, but I imagine it is similar to a runner's high.

Yesterday I took a particularly difficult Wood class which has more pilates (read ab strengthening exercises) than the average yoga class. It was fantastic! I slept like a baby last night. And today I am feeling the pain pretty much everywhere (but in such a good way!)

I plan on getting everyone I know hooked on hot yoga becaue it is just that awesome!

I Helped Save Someone's Life on Friday

So last weekend, I decided to head south to H-town for my mom's best friend's 60th birthday party (don't judge . . . because those ladies can drink and make fools of themselves with the best of them). Anyway, since I was in town, I decided that a meet up with two of my girlfriends from college was in order. Originally, we were going to hit up a Greek or pizza place for dinner, then head to a bar around Rice Village, but due to me just being plain lazy and tired from driving from Dallas, I convinced them to come to me instead in the suburbs. And good thing I did!

Because . . .

Oh, first let me tell you that I got to Lupe Tortilla's Mexican restaurant early to put our names on the list and promptly headed to the bar for a pre-fajita margarita. There I encountered some veeerrry friendly bartenders who insisted on giving me the "tequila special" which consisted of extra shots of tequila in my 'rita followed by bottomless frozen margaritas-no salt. Once my friends arrived, I introduced them to my bartender favorito, who was an equal opportunity flirt, and he made sure we were all taken care of. Soon after, our table was ready and we spent the next couple of hours gossiping, eating, and drinking (c/o Julian the bartender). All of a sudden, we heard a commotion behind us . . . (and this is where the "because" leaves off).

We turned around, and saw a father attempting to give his son the Heimlich maneuver over and over. The son was obviously choking on something. Being the helpful person that I am, I immediately turned to my friend Laura, aka, Nurse Margarita, and said, "you're a nurse! (duh), go help him!" Then I turned to the mother and said "my friend's a nurse!" Anyway, Nurse Margarita shooed everyone away and began giving this kid, who was about a foot taller than she was, the Heimlich maneuver. Now, unlike TV, this wasn't just once or twice boom it's over, this was over and over, to the point where I was like, "wow, maybe I should call 911 because this kid is not going cough up whatever he is choking on." But, my Florence Nightingale made it happen and eventually a red and white dinner mint shot out of the boy's throat, and he was ok. I was very proud of my friend for doing all of the hard work and saving the kid's life, but I was also equally proud of myself for being too lazy to drive into Houston and for insisting that we stay local and go to THIS restaurant. I mean, what if I had decided on sushi instead? I guess we will never know.

Anyway, after that, Julian came over once more for a complementary refill and said that we had earned all of our extra drinks. Heck yeah we did!

I Am More Ghetto Than You Think

Last night, a few friends and I got together to celebrate my friend Mike's birthday (happy birthday Mike!). We basically sat around eating pizza and cake, drinking wine, and chatting about the most random things ever, including the evolution of ghetto speak. I don't know exactly how this subject was brought up. But I do know that I am more ghetto than you think.

Seriously! I was thinking about it, and I throw out more random rap song words in my every day vocabulary than you would imagine for a blonde, white, young professional. I mean, I call my mom "Shortie". She used to look at me blankly when I called her that, but now she understands that most likely, her name will be followed by "want a drank." As in, "Shortie want a drank?" And we usually follow this up with a couple of flutes of champagne topped with OJ. For money, I almost always prefer the use of "bone." As in, this cost me "ten bone." For something more expensive or for a bigger purchase, I may refer to money in "Gs" (even if "G" in my mind only stands for a couple of George Washingtons, or G Dubs, not actual "thousands of dollars" (which I most likely don't have). Example, "so, I went to Macy's this weekend and spent some Gs on a couple of new dresses." Oh and my day is totally made if I can incorporate the word "fitty" into it. As in "fitty cent" or "fitty bone." My car is sometimes referred to as my "ride." The gun I don't own, but would love to is always referred to as my 9, even if if it's not an actual Nine Mil.
The funny part is that these words are incorporated into my daily conversation as if they are normal conversation and are well understood by all the middle-age people that I work with. In fact, this lady at work told me that she was traveling to Detroit for work later than afternoon to meet with our customers. I immediately asked if she was packin'. She said, well yeah I'm packed. The plane leaves at 1pm! I was like, "No no. You misunderstand. Are you packin' as in bang bang, not 'I brought my nice work slacks'? Haven't you ever seen 8 Mile?" She laughed, but did I really need to explain myself for her to get it? A regular Gangster Joe would have got it the first time.

And speaking of Gangster Joe, the most legit way I know that I am more ghetto than you think is because for a while, a real life gangster/drug runner/man looking for love in the all the wrong places was text messaging me on a weekly basis. He called me Sydney and had met me in "da club." Houston I am guessing, just because he had an 832 number, as do I. He had a penchant for texting me details about his illegal activities and other ahem things. I tried to tell him I was not Sydney, but he didn't believe me and responded with a "Nawwwww." Poor sap didn't want to accept that his true luv from da club gave him a random person's phone number. Like my friend James said, he probably thought I was just playing hard to get. Eventually my lil' Thug realized I was playing impossible to get and quit texting me, but in my heart I know I'm legit and can pull off the discourse of street-seasoned ghetto heiress.

Yeah . . .Hi

So yeah . . . hi. Remember me? Nope. That's ok. I barely remembered I had this blog. And then when I did remember it, I held my head down in shame that I had not an interesting thing to write about. But, people kept bugging me to write about anything, so here I am.

Question for you: Do you know how long a foreign object can stay inside the stomach of a dog before finally coming out one end or the other?

Before answering, first, a little background. My dog Jackson, now almost two, has a taste for the finer fabrics in life . . . cotton, terry cloth, high-end wash rags, etc. So, last year, after $1K in tummy surgery, I banned cloth dog toys because Jackson enjoyed not only chewing these items up, but ingesting them as well. He has gotten by since then on tennis balls, ham bones, and large rubber toys.

Then, over Christmas this past year, he stayed at my aunt and uncle's house while I was shacked up at a hotel. Now, my aunt spoils her dog like a grandmother spoils a grandchild. Jackson received royal star treatment complete with sleep-overs on the bed (head on pillow I am sure), a bounty of toys, and a fellow cat and dog to run around with.

Things were going wonderfully when on Christmas Day, my cousin met me at the door to the house with, "So, ok, don't be mad, but (insert long pause) . . . Jackson ate one of Blue's craw fish toys (insert long pause) . . . but it wasn't really that big of a piece and I got most of it away from him. . . I really think he's going to be ok."

At that point visions of $ signs were dancing in my head, but I poured myself a mimosa and put on my mellow hat and said that I guess we'd just have to wait and see. Well, things actually turned out well because I had totally forgotten about it when a few weeks ago (yes, as in like 30 days after the incident), I woke up to find something gross on the rug by my front door. Like any good Mama, I got out the plastic gloves and unravelled the thing that had been hacked onto my carpet and discovered something red, cloth, and eerily crawfish-esque in appearance.

I looked at my dog in disbelief. Jackson had been harboring a hostage in his little tummy for a whole month. A WHOLE MONTH people!!! How does this happen? What was it doing all that time? And what the hell is that shit made of? I would have thought stomach acid or something would have broken it down, but no! I could have popped it in the wash and regifted for Xmas 2010! Of course, I'm not going to. . . but you get the picture.

A whole month! Gotta be some sort of record.

Turkey Day

I cannot believe it is already Thanksgiving week. My mind is stuck in summer and my body has jumped ahead to its annual post-holiday winter weight. The last part is mainly due to a terrific "extended" summer of BBQs, beer, and finding something to celebrate every week. Current goal? Eat a light, yet satisfying meal on Thursday. Wish me luck.

This Thanksgiving will be spent at my parents with 12 other family members. My mom usually prepares the entire meal, but this year I kindly asked if we could have a side dish or two that was slightly healthier than her usual menu. If it's not soaking in butter or sugar, my mom doesn't find it worth eating. Mind you she's 122 pounds and clearly does not understand the restrictions of a slow metabolism or the concept of Weight Watchers (something that I have to follow to a T). While she won't give up her menu, she is letting me make three dishes. Cranberry sauce, mashed sweet potatoes, and a surprise dish. I tested Bourbon Pecan Sweet Potato Mash tonight and it was bland at best, so now I am on a desperate search for a good sweet potato recipe. My surprise recipe? Brussels Sprouts with Crisp Prosciutto. Don't hate. I tested these tonight as well and they are DELICIOUS. If anyone knows of a great sweet potato recipe, please share! My mom is already making the traditional yams, brown sugar, butter, and marshmallow casserole, so that's out.

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I would like to leave you with a few things I am thankful for:
1. Family
2. Having a job
3. Our Troops

Things I am not thankful for include co-workers clipping their fingernails at their desk (or on airplanes) and whoever it is that insists on heating up fish in the open kitchen area that is by my desk. Come on people, let's practice some common courtesy.

The End of an eHarmony Era

So, the countdown has begun . . . I officially have only four more days left on my eHarmony subscription before it expires. A large part of me says good riddance to this money sucking, hope-draining total letdown of a service. Let me provide you with some statistics: I have been an eHarmony subscriber since April or so. In that time, eHarmony has matched me with over 200 guys. Out of those 200 guys, I have met three of them, gone on four dates, and had one almost date with a weird guy who my intuition told me to call and cancel with.

Is the problem me? In many ways yes. I tend to agonize over small details like, why doesn't this guy understand the difference between 'to' and 'too'? and why is this guy afraid to upload a decent picture of himself?, which in turn leads me to either close the match or ignore his profile.

Of course, there are other things too that are not in anybody's control such as where a person lives. The truth is, you can both live in the Dallas area, but it still might take an hour to meet that person, depending on where they live. One hour is practically long-distance, and nobody is looking for that sort of relationship.

No, in the spirit of the "it's not my fault" mentality, I blame my failure on eHarmony itself. I used to think online dating was the most wonderful concept. If you think about it, with online dating, it is presumed that all others on the service are single, unlike at a bar (or a dog park, in my case) where you see a really hot guy, even talk to him, but he may have a GF and you are out of luck. A person is also free to assume that for a paying service such as eHarmony, and also for a service that markets itself on matching people based on their personality characteristics, that one is getting access to quality people who all have the same goal: to find someone they are compatible with, that they have chemistry with, and that they can see themselves with in the long term.

I was wrong. The concept itself is counter to the way humans are programmed to make connections. The fact is that having access to all of these single guys while being forced to form an initial impression based only on their profiles is nothing short of an impossibility masked as opportunity. You can't win that game. Since a person is unable to use normal senses of sight, sound, and feeling, they must therefore make a judgment about the other person based solely on the words and pictures that the person has provided. With all the time in the world to peruse profiles, evaluate the meaning and undertones of a description, and then finally conduct and respond to questions and emails with as much time as one wishes, of course, a person becomes picky and lazy at the same time.

The truth is that NOTHING can replace human contact as a first impression. I am quite certain that many of the guys whose profiles I chose to ignore or not email, I might have had a connection with in real life, but for whatever reason, due to their picture or the way they described themselves, I had to make an assumption about that person, whether wrong or right, that we were probably not compatible. When two people meet in real life, they converse and react based on visual and audio queues which help guide the conversation and prevent word vomit or TMI. However, sentences in a profile can easily be misinterpreted because there is no other way to understand the words on a computer other than to take them at face value.

It kills me that I paid for a service for which I had no return on investment. The only good thing to come out of it was the realization that I am not the only one in the "still single and 26" boat, and I am not the only one who fell for that deceptively optimistic eHarmony commercial featuring "real subscribers" who are now happily coupled.

Blog Catch Up: A Five-Parter

My life has actually been quite busy since I last posted, so I have broken up this post based on all the topics worth discussing.

1. Where the Wild Things Are (Not) Part 2:

Last week I wrote about an uninvited guest that was currently inhabiting my chimney. Of course, not two hours after Animal Control came to my house to assess the situation and determined the animal to be gone, I hear the damn thing rattling around my chimney once more. That was last Tuesday, and I am happy to say that it appears the animal has moved on to a more hospitable home. Lucky for me, it appears no death occurred which also means no awful smell invaded my walls, and also no GUILT on my part! I do feel sorry for the one reader that posted about her rat experience. I am glad my animal and I parted ways on amicable terms.

2. Eharmony Date with Jake:

Last Thursday I went on date #1 with Jake, a guy from Eharmony. I was super excited about meeting Jake because he exhibited all the good signals a girl can hope for: good profile pics, smart and funny email responses, taller than me when I'm wearing heels, etc. We met for drinks at Gordon Brewery (I know, what is it with that place that every guy wants to go there for date #1???) and talked for several hours. Again the question of chemistry comes up. Although I definitely would like to go on date #2 with Jake, I have to say that I thought I would feel that instant "click" with him. I felt like we had similar senses of humor when we were emailing, but in person, I may have fallen a little flat. I don't know whether it is because he was nervous or what. I mean, I sometimes forget that just because I don't get nervous before a first date, doesn't mean that others do not. Soooo, I haven't heard from him since Thursday, but if we go out again, I will definitely update to let you know whether there were more sparks.

3. I Met My Dream Boy

Last Friday (the day after my date with Jake), I needed to take Jackson to the dog park before my friend arrived from Houston for the weekend. Jackson was very hyper and needed the exercise, so I grabbed him and without a thought or a care about how greasy and scrubby I looked, we headed for the park. Of course, while we were there, I met my dream guy. Seriously. I. Met. Him. I will call him Dog Park Guy. DPG was way hot, super-nice (we talked for about 30 mins), had a great personality, a great sense of humor, a great dog, and our dogs got along really well! However, I didn't get his number because I am a big chicken and have naturally made the assumption that he has a GF, but if I see him again, I am going to go out on a limb and see if he would like to meet up sometime. Wish me luck.

But, going back to post #2 above, the date with Jake that seemed ok on Thursday, seemed blah compared to the chemistry I felt with the DPG on Friday. With Jake, although I would like to see him again, it's not going to break my heart if we don't. With DPG, I TOTALLY want to see him again, like now. Why can't for just once, the stars be aligned and help a girl out so that she goes out with a guy she is head over heels for after only knowing him for 30 minutes? That so does not happen to me very often!

4. Six Flags Baby!

On Saturday, I went to Six Flags Over Texas in Arlington with a few friends. Let me just say that my inner-kid comes out with the mention of roller coasters. I love those things. A lot. Like, so "a lot" that I rode the Titan three times in a row, and then one final time before leaving the park as a way to say goodbye until next year. That place is awesome, and it wasn't very crowded which allowed my friends and I to ride EVERY roller coaster multiple times if desired, with virtually no wait. I definitely had my hands up and my scream on. PS. They now sell beer at Six Flags, but it is too expensive to drink enough to get a decent buzz on.

5. Umm, is that my underwear?

So yeah, funny story. Before heading to Six Flags on Saturday, my friends and I dropped off our pooches at Paw Beach Resort in Plano, Tx for Doggie Day Care, so we wouldn't have to worry about them while we were living it up on the Titan. We walked in, and Jackson being a regular at day care was ready for play time, but my friend's dog Gabbie needed to check in for her first visit. While my friend was busy with the front desk guy, I was talking to the guy who watches the dogs in the back and playing with Jackson. All of a sudden something caught my eye. About two feet away from me, on the pristine floor of the lobby lay an object that looked familiar. Umm, is that my underwear? Yep. It sure was.

People, I CANNOT even begin to make this shit up. I was mortified, but also very confused because I normally do not feel the need to bring backup underwear with me when I go places. The only reasonable explanation for this occurrence was that due to the evil that is known as static cling, the undies were stuck to the inside of my jeans after drying them and gradually worked themselves down the pant leg and onto the floor. Now, I do not know why they chose that opportune moment to appear in public, and not while I was at home, but that is neither here nor there. The main thing is that Doggie Day Care boy now knows that I wear VS Boy Shorts with the Dog Pattern (fitting, I know), and now so do you. The only sense of pride I have in the whole ordeal, and my friend pointed this out, is that at least they were cute undies and not granny panties.