Monthly Archives: May 2010

Downward Dog

Yoga can be truly amazing if you could just relax enough to submit to the process and let go of those things that keep you mentally confined.  That said, someone forgot to send me the memo that I’m no longer as flexible as I thought I was. 

In my super supple teen years and early twenties, I fondly remember being able to comfortably sit with my legs crossed and twisted at the ankles or sitting on my bed cross-legged for hours of fun-filled, titillating gossip sessions while on the phone or having the ability to pull my legs behind my head just for kicks and giggles.  To even dream of trying some of those death-defying moves now would be sheer madness and you may need to call 911, STAT, because I’m not getting back up without medical attention. Yoga can be wonderful for the mind, body and soul but lately my body cares nothing for the experience. 

For instance, I was really excited recently about my first Yoga class. For those of you who know me, it is of no surprise that I was completely accessorized for the occasion.  New Yoga pants, diva top, pink Yoga mat and a great scrunchy to complete the outfit.  I had the fab look and I was ready to stretch it out with the pros.  Well, not so fast little Yogi. Back up the limo because no sooner did I get into the Downward Dog position when I got a downward cramp.  I let out the most horrifying ear-piercing yelp you’ve ever heard. The pain quickly ran down one butt cheek and ambushed my thigh.  It was so excruciating that I couldn’t move without the humiliating assistance of some of the more spritely (READ: annoying) 20-somethings in the group. Heaven, I just wanted to disappear.  Where was there a black hole when you needed one?  Needless to say, after that fiasco, this chica has been very careful about what she twists or bends. This aging thing really sucks!!

As for returning to the class…Hmmm…I wonder what else I can use this Yoga mat for?

The End of My Affair with Jimmy Choo (Shoes)

Dear Choo: (You know you love it when I call you by your pet name)

The Husband is on to us.  I can no longer parade you around town or meet you in clandestine boutiques.  I no longer care how many incentives you throw my way.  The Husband is no longer buying into my “oh, this old thing?” routine.

You barely ever go on sale and let’s not discuss how you’re cutting into my slush fund.  Yes, I know that we looked good together.  You, on my feet, were all splendid and fabulous but I can’t afford to take you to all those lavish affairs anymore.  You’re high maintenance and require too many accoutrements.  It’s almost impossible to dress you down without looking like I tried too hard.  Your demands on my time and money are bordering on the absurd and frankly, my interest now lay in another, less costly, pair of designers.  

I know. Sigh.  My love for you has lasted over a decade but all delicious things must come to an end.  I’ve decided to start dating another name brand.   I only tell you because I don’t want you to see me around town, pairing up with another sexy set of stilettos without informing you first.  So, for now, I’m calling it quits.  No, no…I don’t need your new flyer to yet another flagship store.  You no longer hold the same allure for me.   When the economy improves, perhaps, mon ami, we can date again.  But, until then lover, back in the box you go.



Do You Mind? You’re in My Personal Space.

Out of all the available seating in this place, you decide to choose the seat next to mine?  Whatever happened to personal space?  It seems that as a society, we are forgetting more and more about what it means to be civilized.  We are not a commune of baboons, which migrate around in packs and are constantly grooming each other, searching for bugs. We are human beings with an indelible right to our own personal space and when you ignore those boundaries, well… “Houston, we have a problem”. 

As Sofia, on Golden Girls, would say “Picture it”.  You go to the Ladies Restroom and there are a vast number of empty stalls.  “Perfect”, you say aloud.  Since the restroom is empty, you go into the last stall, assuming that if anyone comes in, they assuredly will not take the stall next to yours because they will desire their own personal space as much as you do.  Not to mention that you would also be mortified if anyone overheard you taking care of your personal business. But you spoke too quickly because no sooner do you make yourself comfortable on the porcelain god and in walks someone, making a beeline for the stall next to yours.  For the love of everything that is holy, are they serious?  What of the other open stalls? What is wrong with this person?

You quietly seethe and wonder who was inconsiderate enough to commit this transgression. You look down and across to see if you recognize their shoes.  Ugh!!!  Who else would accessorize their feet with such heinous foot wear?  Just what you needed!  So now you wait, hoping that the other person doesn’t do anything too horrifying and that they finish up their business quickly.  In an ideal world, that would have been great but no, this is not your day.  You both decide to wait the other out and thus ensues a silent nerve-racking game of chicken.  No one wants to go first.  What now? Well, your body reminds you of all the stimulants you had during lunch (READ large amounts of fiber) and you know that you will not be able to hold out for much longer if this keeps up.  The uncomfortable silence is unbearable.  Beads of sweat break out on your forehead from the strain of holding on and your nether region is going numb from sitting on a hard surface.  Oh, if only your seat were made out of gel.  You would surely be gellin’.   

Finally, your body decides that it waits for no one and you let yourself go.  As this is happening, you quickly take action and do a ‘mercy flush’, hoping that the noise of the flush will disguise any unpleasantries.   As quickly as you can, you dash out of there like a bat out of hell, wash your hands for as long as it takes you to mentally sing the Happy Birthday song, and scamper out of the restroom as though your butt were on fire.  You are grateful that the wench had the good grace to not show her face until you were done but all of this could have been avoided if the woman had enough sense to cop a squat in another stall further down.  Why do people do this? It’s truly exasperating.  I don’t know how men do it. Poor things have to expose themselves to the masses.  As for Women…sometimes we can be the absolute worst!!!

When Life Becomes too Loud

When work gets out of hand, traveling becomes too much, the phone never stops ringing and the problems never stop, I run to the beach.  When one is never enough, the negative talk never ceases, the pressure from a few selfish friends’ mount, and good is never good enough, I run to the beach.  

When the weight won’t come off, the mirror will not lie, my favorite Prada shoes break, and there’s nowhere to hide, I run to the beach.  When the roar in my ears will not subside, demands on my time are presumed a given, encouragement and support are at a minimum, and no one around to lift my spirits, I run to the beach. 

When life becomes too loud, the beach is my peacemaker, spirit lifter, fun saver, joy giver.  The ocean gives back to me and takes away that which I do not need.  When life becomes too loud…I run.