let me first explain how this blog came to be:
i have been urged to start a blog for some time by friends who have have inflated my self esteem, saying my "writing voice" is funny enough to share (writing voice? is like like a face for radio? they did say it after i was done working out, and i do sweat a lot. i took it as a compliment.) and have received hundreds of "hahahahahaha" (and sometimes "HAHAHAH" in caps when they hit that amount of "ha"s that autocorrects into caps) texts as replies to something genius i've shared, but it was not until today, when i walked into a yoga class in the middle of shavasana, or what non-yogis call the "nap at the end of class", did i realize that getting myself into weird situations is not uncommon for me and must be finally be shared.
before i explain my fabulous mishap of the day i want to set ground rules that may or may not be directed to a good friend of mine. any and all grammar, punctuation, and spelling errors are my own right in this space. if you feel the overwhelming compulsion to correct me, then write the correction on a piece of paper, and then burn the paper. or of course just tell me later over gchat, since i know you will anyway.
another great rule when dealing with me is: don't take anything i say too seriously. i joke about everything even when it's not appropriate.
ok i know the shavasana story is tantalizing but last little bit about me to lay the ground work for this incredible adventure you're about to partake with me:
i'm in my early 20s, living in brooklyn with my amazeballs roomie and her cat Taz (important because taz will inevitably make numerous appearances, especially if i decide to write a special taz-photo-shoot post, which wouldn't be that hard since i'm already logging at least a photo a day of her sweet little face). back to me. i'm a yoga teacher and teach at a swaggy fitness studio that i couldn't even afford to go to if i wanted and i'm in graduate school getting my masters in social work and working as a therapist with children (also important so there's some background for when i detail the chilling truths about how incompetent student therapists really are). i love parentheses (a lot). i'm from california. i ride a bike. i follow celebrities on instagram and just admitted that for the first time ever (whew glad my instagram friendship with tswift can be out in the open now. feels good)
ALRIGHT ALRIGHT
(too much build up now, it won't even be funny)
so i went to the ritz-carlton of yoga studios today (to remain unnamed because i honestly would teach there if i had the opportunity). it was like walking into a 5 start resort. their shoe cubbies alone were nicer than my entire bedroom! of course tho instead of soaking in the luxury, i have a visceral disgust overcome me. ew, who needs free lotion in the bathroom. yuck these people are so fucking rich, dripping with lululemon gear. how could they even let me in here with my forever 21 yoga pants, massimo top and converse sneakers. whatever, i tell myself, they're all probably good people. they're all PROBABLY good people. they're all P R O B A B L Y good people. i stopped trying to talk myself into that when i walk passed these offices, like literally 8 of them, with a sign on the door saying "yoga advisor". so my smart ass self asks the chick at the front who looked down on me when i asked to rent a mat and she had to inform me mats are included.....sorry chick.. i'm here on a COUPON, i don't know the rules of the paying folk. anyway "yoga advisors" apparently help people find the right class for them. finding this beyond ridiculous i puff out air between my sealed lips to laugh as if i were an actor on your favorite sitcom spraying out the big gulp of water i just took when i found out surprising news. oops.
thinking i couldn't possibly embarrass myself anymore. and by embarrass i mean just flaunt my lack of affluence, i decide to get into to that yoga room and chill out. so i walk in and, of course, have my purse even though there are lockers cuz i'm paranoid or something. like these people could really use my Aldo bag that's cracked on the handles, or my crazy expensive Target sunglasses. no, maybe they want my iphone, to give to their 3 year old or something. ok ok, so i have my bag and walk into this class. there are about 5 people on mats sitting cross legged and the teacher is talking. whoops! i think, i'm late! i creep in, set my bag down and take a mat. the second i sit down i hear "namaste" the universal closing word of class.
look around.
what the fuck?
people get up. class is over
what the fuck
i just walked into the end of the other class.
ok so i survived that, and the class that was held at the appropriate time, taught by a guy that sounded like he was narrating an old spice commercial only to leave the studio with a voicemail from none other than who.. my very own yoga advisor.
