In honor of Back to School, I decided to drop some fun teaching truth bombs (Also, I’m swamped this week and list posts are the easiest #sorrynotsorry). Even if you’re not a teacher, you’ll likely relate. If your job is high stress, but also high reward, you’ll for sure relate. Because I really should be labeling all the things instead of writing a blog post, let’s just begin:
1. Unless you’re crazily devoted to a fitness plan or you have a superhero’s will and control, you will eat every carb in your house after a bad day.
2. Forget about the college “Freshmen Fifteen”. There’s such as a thing as the “Teacher Twenty”. Or, sometimes, the “Educator Eighty”. Also, this can happen during year one or year ten.
3. You will eat your weight in mini-size chocolate candy. Sometimes in one day.
4. If the day after Valentine’s/Christmas/Easter clearance candy has been cleaned out, you can thank a teacher.
5. You will get fat. So fat.
6. If food isn’t your happy place (congratulations on not being “pregnant” every year), you will drink copious amounts of wine and at some point in your career, consider rehab, but only the facilities that are more like spas and only because it would be the best sanity-saving vacation ever.
7. If it comes down to toilet paper or a shiny new pack of Expo markers at the end of the month, markers win-hands down.
8. You save straws, bits of fabric, tissue boxes, and one 3 inch piece of string, because it all just may come in handy at some point.
9. They never come in handy.
10. Your teacher cabinet/closet/cupboard is a portal to Narnia or another dimension, because it’s where all of your supplies go to never be found again.
11. No matter how poor you are, you always find a way to buy $80 worth of crap from the Target Dollar Spot.
12. No matter how frustrating your students can be sometimes, you’re fiercely protective of them when they’re criticized by another teacher who doesn’t know them as well as you.
13. Your students are your family. Your tribe. You love them. Every year, your heart opens up to allow for 20 more spaces.
14. You crop dust. It’s only fair.
15. If you weren’t an emotional person or crier before becoming an educator, you can kiss your shyness/pride goodbye.
16. You will cry over everything.
17. You will have to kindly remind your students that, “Maybe someone needs to go to the restroom” after toxic waste lunch bombs are dropped all afternoon.
18. If your student’s book order money is short, you pay what they’re missing without a second thought.
19. You only go to the bathroom during the day once a week, but during that exact time, admin will walk in. It’s basically a scientific fact.
20. Your teacher look is such a work of art that an eyebrow raise, lip purse, and nose wrinkle can mean 875 different things and no matter the day, the kid, or the teacher friend, the message is always received loud and clear.
We’ve all heard the quote: “Comparison is the thief of joy” by Theodore Roosevelt. If you’ve never heard this one before, you’re welcome.
Ever since coming across this six word, seemingly inconspicuous sentence, my view on comparison has been utterly transformed. I think I’ve always known, we all know, that comparison kills the joy you possess for what you have in life.
But, it’s just a subconscious understanding, only nibbling at your consciousness when you feel like poop after comparing your cracking pleather Target purse with your friend’s (still nice) pleather Coach bag.
So, I’ve always known on a deeper level that comparing myself with others never ends well, but it wasn’t until reading that quote did it marinate and sink in.
But, because I’m me, it was not a quick fix. I still compare myself, despite knowing it’s not helpful. This is akin to eating a donut everyday for breakfast. I know it’s not good for me, yet I still have chocolate cake donut in the corners of my mouth on a daily basis.
I’m about to be real with ya’ll.
(I think by now you’ve probably gleaned that this isn’t my usual satire post. I hope I haven’t lost any of you from forehead-on-keyboard boredom.)
Lately, despite considering that quote on a regular basis, I’ve been comparing hardcore where I’m at in life, and with my blog with literally everything and everyone I deem “better” than me.
Here are some examples:
So and so (x 10) bought a house, so now I feel like I’m failing at adulting. Some of my friends and acquaintances own more than one bed and the latest front-loading washer and dryer. The largest appliance I own is a fucking microwave. It’s easy to get down when you aren’t there yet, despite trying really hard to be. It’s especially fucky when you’re in your mid-30s and you’re still not quite sure how to become a real adult.
So and so goes on luxurious vacations twice a year and I’m just over here like, “I went to IKEA in Sacramento…” It’s too easy to feel anxious and stir-crazy jealous when you witness endless world traveling on Facebook while you sit on your couch with a pint of ice cream and your only door, at the moment, to the rest of the world-Karl Pilkington and An Idiot Abroad.
So and so can wear a tank top without fear of knocking over someone with their swinging turkey wings. This ones rough, because nice arms can be obtained, but it’s harder than all the effort needed to achieve everything else in this post combined.
So and so has thousands of followers after less than a year and gets hundreds of likes on their posts in less than 24 hours. When I come across crazy successful bloggers, I wonder what I’m doing wrong. Why have my posts never gone viral? Why have I never been Freshly Pressed on WordPress (and what is that even)? It’s almost scary how easy it is to compare yourself with other bloggers. When I do this (all the fucking time), I instantly feel less than or worry I’ll be completely irrelevant tomorrow*.
After many discussions with my blogging buddy, An Historian, I’ve decided enough is enough.
Not only is comparing myself to others depressing, it’s killing my inspiration to be creative in my own unique way.
It’s time I re-read, more than usual, if necessary, my favorite quote. Here are some truths I’ve learned since my comparison-quote-awakening:
1. Apartment-living ain’t half bad. Not only do I never have to pull a single weed or replace window screens with my own money, when I plug up the toilet beyond basic plunger repair with my abundant toilet paper use, I can call the landlord, instead of the plumber. Also, some people live in squalor. I have granite counter tops in my bathroom. Basically, appreciate the shit you have. Also, if I’m ever destined to own my own house, it’ll happen when it’s meant to happen.
2. So many other less fortunate people in the world would kill to have my TJ Maxx special, but they’d use it to carry food home to their starving family. Buck the fuck up, baby!
3. Further, it’s not about the material. When you’re dead and gone, your more-than-my-rent-expensive handbag might find its way to a thrift store where some meth head might steal it to store their meth. Or, some careless person who gets pen marks all inside might own it after you. Shit, maybe it’ll find its way onto the giant ocean garbage mountain and some Humpback Anglerfish might use it as its home. Did your bag really matter that much in the grand scheme of things? The answer is “no”**.
4. Travel is one of the most sought after things in life. It’s worth it to skip the Starbucks to save a few bucks that can quickly turn into a few hundred bucks. All of that can be used to go somewhere that can mean more than any material object (even an Ombré Pink Drink).
5. My body isn’t perfect and never will be. Other than a few freak alien exceptions (Candice Swanepoel anyone?), we all have imperfect bodies. We all have body parts we wish were firmer, smaller, bigger, flatter, etc. Whenever I get to feeling really self-conscious around taught-skinned gorgeous women, I pretend they are hiding a huge skin flap on their butthole (I saw that on an episode of Embarassing Bodies, so that’s a thing now). Also, we can’t all be hilarious and gorgeous.
6. Comparing myself with other writers, especially those in my same genre is the most detrimental comparing I do. I’ve decided that just because someone else is an exceptional writer and is genuinely funny, doesn’t negate the fact that I can be too. I have my own style and so does the next funny guy. We can all be funny. We can all support each other. Kumbaya and all that shit.
7. Finally, there will always be someone who has better, looks better, and seems to always have all the luck. On the flip side, someone is probably looking at me, thinking, “Why, oh why, can’t I be like that magestic beast?”
OK, that last one made me choke on my oatmeal cookie Halo Top.
But, you never know.
Life is mysterious. Live your life in a way that makes your heart sing, your creativity blossom, and your belly feel happy and full without worrying about anyone else.
Fuck yo couch.
*This in no way denotes that I do not appreciate the massive recognition my blog gets from my amazing supporters. I love you all times one million cupcakes. *muah*
**If you love material things, don’t be offended. I love the shit out of material things. Why else am I at Target every weekend scrounging through the discount bins for my 1,453rd cute pencil/magazine/flower/makeup/whatever holder? I feel you.
Historically, I have never been the one who is known for her athletic ability, nor have I ever been loved for my adventurous outdoorsmen spirit. Because I do not possess either of those. Never in my life have I been asked, “Hey, want to snowshoe across Siberia with me this winter?” (Who fucking does that anyway?)
Despite this, I have really been wanting to get into walking local trails for exercise. Well, if we are being completely honest, I just really want to marvel at the beauty of nature while I sit my fat ass on a comfortable rock. Doing this while eating something, like a dripping slice of watermelon heaven would really just be the cherry on top.
Because getting anyone I know to just sit in nature with me, without sounding like a total lazy loser, is a hard sell, I have been trying to be adventurous by engaging in hiking.
Well, I can most assuredly say that hiking don’t want my fat ass. Hiking wants me to just stay at home with my Halo Top ice cream and Netflix. Hiking does not play.
I’m going to detail three times I failed on the trails recently. Really, this could also qualify as a “This Is Why I’m Fat” post, because almost anyone would have given up after the first failed attempt. So, I hope the Trail Gods are listening. Ya’ll have some work to do…
A week or so ago (I’m a teacher on summer break, so I have no idea what day it is), a friend and I went on a much-needed girl getaway to the Point Reyes Seashore in California.
It was gorgeous, but strenuous. We did a lot of walking, trailing, and huffing and puffing.
1. The Stair Climb of Doom
Our first order of business was almost dying on the stairs to and from the Point Reyes Lighthouse. The climb is equivalent to 30.flights.of.stairs.
30 flights, ya’ll.
I just thought I’d reiterate in case you missed it the first time.
I’m 1000% sure my friend didn’t let on to that fact beforehand, because she knew for certain that it’d be a hard pass from me.
Despite the fact that an elderly man passed me on the hike up the stairs (do you see him in the picture?), and I had to stop at every rest point, it was actually totally worth the sweat-drenched pits and rat’s nest hair (it was so windy, that my phone almost blew away several times).
2. Cataract Fall-Down-The-Hill-Trail
The day after almost needing to be airlifted from the lighthouse steps, we did some more adventurous trailing. I figured, “Why not? Might as well work on another bunion!”
The first few trails were quite easy, as there was no elevation or climb whatsoever. It was absolutely grand. Because we didn’t have to expend energy on moving our bodies up a steep hill, we had energy to climb trees and crawl into reproductions of Native American dwellings. I felt like an obese kid again (I was actually not obese as a child, strangely enough).
It wasn’t until we thought it would be a good idea to try to find the Cataract Falls did we have problems. This is also the part in my story where I’m going to be putting All Trails on blast.
Not only was the following hike not “easy” as it was mistakenly rated, one of the lengths of the “loop” was not a trail at all. It was a grassy hill, and we almost broke our asses more times than I’d like to admit as we stepped/slid at a snail’s pace the whole entire way down.
(I was also insanely afraid a mountain lion was going to come up behind me. Do you think that was irrational?)
When we made it to the bottom of the hill and the actual trail, we found that our pants, socks, and shoes were positively filled with foxtails and these terrible poky stickers that were absolute bitches to get off of our clothes and shoelaces.
If this wasn’t bad enough, when we got to our first trail marker, nowhere did it say “This way to the waterfall”, and the names of the available trails had nothing to do with the trail we thought we were on. We went the wrong way for 30 minutes before we got service on our phones and could see where we were on the trail.
When we finally found the waterfall, after a huge descent into what looked like middle earth, it was stunning and worth the trials we went through to get there. Well, it was a beautiful experience until I realized that’d I’d have to climb back to the car at some point.
Honestly, at one point during the hot, sweaty, and ugly hike back, I questioned how much it would cost for Search and Rescue to retrieve me from the trail.
It was so bad. And hard.
3. Jones Creek Loop Trail AKA Call For Help
After being back home for a week or so, I decided that I would try hiking again (Why? Maybe I am a masochist, or I feel I deserve punishment for past transgressions?). So, the boyfriend and I looked up easy trails in the trees. Shade FTW!
We settled on the Jones Creek Loop Trail because it was rated as easy and only 1.5 miles.
We used the All Trails’ directions app, and it took us right to the trail head.
After a little trek that was almost all uphill, we came upon a sign. It said, “Jones Creek Loop”, and it had two arrows pointing to the right and to the left. Considering it was a loop, we figured it didn’t matter which way we went, as it would just bring us right back to where we started.
We seemed to be hiking quite awhile when the boyfriend remarked, “I think 1.5 miles seems longer when we are on a trail, because it’s not just a straight stretch?”
At this point, we were getting a little apprehensive. We also realized that our “loop” did not seem to be looping back to where we started whatsoever-we just kept heading further and further away.
We saw a man coming off of another trail (I will get to the myriad off shoots of unmarked trails in a minute…) and we asked him how to get back to the parking lot. He said we needed to go in the direction we were headed in, but for three or four more miles.
Somehow we got onto the wrong trail, but we had not taken any of the unmarked trails that veered off of the main trail.
At this point, my stress began causing my asthma to flare up, and I saw images of us, emaciated and half-eaten by mountain lions, in front of my eyes, like a mirage.
We decided to just keep walking and hope the guy didn’t know what he was talking about.
Ten minutes and almost all of our water later, we saw another guy coming off some other trail. I tried to stay calm when I asked him how we could get back to our car. While I was asking him, the boyfriend was off admiring some bark, pretending he didn’t belong to the sweaty girl who was in a near panic.
The guy said he was headed to the parking lot, and we could follow him.
A half mile later, we saw what looked like civilization and our spirits rose. We came upon a parking lot, but we quickly realized, stomachs sinking, it was not our parking lot.
As we were looking at the posted map and trying to look cool, like, “We meant that”, the guy waved us over.
He realized that he had led us to the wrong parking lot. He offered us a ride back to our car, three miles away.
We had somehow ended up on the 9 mile trail called the same damn thing as the 1.5 mile trail.
So, we ended that trail fail crammed into the cab of a tiny truck belonging to a very kind man. The whole way back to our car, I was trying not to reek of sweat and defeat.
We massively failed on the trails again only yesterday, and I was going to write about that fail too, but I have already gone on long enough.
I will say, though, that the most recent fail is not entirely our fault. What in the actual eff is up with All Trails and their “easy” loop trails? Not only are they not easy, whoever is creating trails that feed off of the loop ought to be taken out back and given a stern talking to. In my mind, a loop is just that, A LOOP. Yet, every single trail we have tried is not really a loop, but a maze of deviating trails that go off in every fucking direction.
Really, it is no small miracle that more people do not get horribly lost in the woods on “easy” trails.
We are just utter idiots, and we need to take a “Trails For Dummies” course.
Tell me: Have you ever gotten lost on trails? Is it just me who can’t seem to find my way on “easy” trails? Help a fatty out! Let me know in the comments.
Well, I did it. I sent the email declining the job offer. Before anyone tells me I just lost an incredible opportunity, let me first be clear about a few things:
1. I’ve learned throughout this process that I need to stop taking to heart how others feel when what I really need to be doing is listening more intently to my own beat.
2. It’s really fucking expensive to move to another country, and until you know my finances intimately, you don’t really know. You know?
I don’t mean to sound rude, but it’s really, really hard to make such a huge decision when left and right you’re told that money doesn’t matter, or that you’re wussing out because you don’t want to be going down the road to bankruptcy town. All of my young adult years I went about my business as if money didn’t matter and it led to serious problems. I cannot continue down that path.
Hello All! It is me again. I have some exciting news! The pictures I took for the magazine have finally been edited and sent to me to use on my blog! This was way back in November, and I thought the day that I would get to share these on my blog would never come!
These pictures are the ones I wanted to be featured in the magazine. They were not the ones chosen, but, oh well, because even more importantly, I get to share them with my lovely readers!
I believe I shared already that modeling ain’t for no punk bitch. Let me reiterate, I give massive props to models. They are incredibly resilient and strong. I was exhausted after 4 hours of shooting in the same position!
The photographer actually took my crazy venture seriously, and he took some 400 pictures. He spent an hour just setting things up to look ‘just right’. I am eternally grateful.
Because, obviously, I am no model, I assumed he would snap a couple pictures and then move on to more serious projects. No, he was incredibly professional and kind.
Without further ado, I present to you the fruits of my “modeling” labor.
I am happy to announce that I’m certifiably insane. Methinks, to some of you, that might not come as much of a surprise. With a ton of feedback from all of you (wow, I am beyond grateful), add in some advice from close friends, together with my gut instinct, I’ve decided to do it all! I am Fatty McCupcakes! Hear me roar (well, it’s probably more of a groan, coming from the kitchen floor, where I’m sprawled out, comatose, surrounded by really sweet, half-gone bad decisions. Any way, moving on…)!
Many of the people who lent me their good advice said that no matter what decision I go with, there will likely be regret for whatever I choose to put on the back burner.
I don’t handle regret well.
Right now, I’m riding a really good blogging wave, and I don’t wanna get off. It’s too fun! No, you can’t make me!
Right now also happens to be the time that I can take advantage of a discounted tuition rate, a grant for teachers at Title 1 schools, and a fast-paced program that will result in a masters degree in a year.
How can I dismissively say, “No thanks” to any of that?
On top of it all, while in school, my mammoth student loan will go into “In School Deferment”. This means that I will save close to $400 a month for a year. That’s a lot of paying off debt.
Additionally, one of my top favorites, also my blogging bestie, Katie, suggested that with all the dough I’ll be saving, I can pay someone to clean my house. With that time saved, I can blog! And there we have it, folks!
The sweet release of knowing my decision has been made is making me feel almost euphoric. Just be warned: in a month, I’ll likely be cursing myself and everyone who suggested this was a good idea. Don’t be offended, it will just be my exhaustion talking.
Here we go!
As an aside, my best friend (from age 2 to when we decided we hated each other for 2 years) has decided to join the dark side, and become a teacher. She will be going through the teacher credential masters program with the same college I’ll be attending. In honor of our being in school together again, I’m planning a blog post about the hilarity, and subsequent idiocy that was our friendship.
One of my all-time favorite bloggers, babysteps22 nominated me for the Future Challenge. I feel I must take a moment to profess my adoration for this fabulous fellow woman and writer. She was the first person I connected with on WordPress. I instantly fell in love with her wit and spunk. I saw a little of myself in her words, and I was intrigued by the stories of her life in India. When I realized how effortless it was to connect and relate to someone from a different country and culture, I knew my decision to blog and network with other writers from all over the world was the right one. I feel honored to be able to write from my heart, and that expression of who I am is felt in someone else, thousands of miles away. Really, honored is putting it mildly. Thank you, beautiful human, for being the catalyst and my inspiration to write and touch so many lives. Also, sorry it took me so long to complete this challenge *sheepishly, shamefully hoping for your forgiveness*
So, now that I’ve been thoroughly creepy and sickly sweet, I will move on to the actual challenge.
Thank the blogger who nominated you. I think I over-thanked *check*. Next, link back to the original creator of the challenge, Dreams and Movie Screens, so they can see how far their challenge has spread *check*.
Then, share 5 things about your future, because obviously you’re a fortune-teller. Actually, in all seriousness, it’s like a dream board. The concept is, anyway. It’s pretty much a known fact that if you write down your goals, you’re like 90% more likely to accomplish them (or something like that).
Finally, nominate 5 bloggers to share their own future. My nominees are:
I guess it’s now time to Windex my crystal ball, it gets pretty smudged with all the peering into the future that I do. I swear, I spend more time looking into the future than I do living in the present. It’s a problem, I know.
Also, I’ll have you all know, I’ve had to knock on my coffee table, end table, entry table, and every kitchen cabinet because OCD. One does not simply tell their own future without superstitions rearing their ugly heads. So, with that I’ll jinx it all and tell my future:
I will finally have a damn dog. At the ripe-old-age of 32, I’ve never had to care for more than a ficus (and I promptly killed it). I know I’m ready to keep something other than myself alive. It’s time.
I will break down and buy a new car. I’ve spent my entire driving life not having to pay an expensive car payment each month. I also drive a car that has no emergency brake, has a cardboard sun visor, a broken, disintegrating seat, and has to go through major repairs just to pass smog each year. It’s more than time I finally drive a car that doesn’t have parts falling off it as it speeds down the freeway. For everyone’s safety.
I’ll be living in England. Somewhere lush, green, and homely. I’ll be so engrained in the British culture, I’ll be wearing wool sweaters, which I’ll properly refer to as jumpers, in July. I’ll not be able to go a day without my afternoon cuppa, and I’ll go on holiday to Italy, like it’s no big deal. I can already see myself walking along an old cobblestoned street in the drizzling rain, wearing plaid wellies.
I will be a published writer. Maybe I’ll write a lighthearted, fictional chick lit story about a lovable heroine, or maybe my big break will come in the form of a gritty, controversial autobiography that shocks my loved ones and friends. It’s a crapshoot.
I’ll finally be able to wear those expensive size 12 jeans that are collecting dust in the back of my closet. They’re circa 2009, and they have rinestones on the ass, in the shape of a fleur de lis, but they will fit like a second skin without leaving permanent indentations in my gut. A girl can dream.
So, what do you see in your future? Play along, so I’m not the only one who has horribly jinxed myself. It won’t feel quite so lonely if I’m not the only one who actually ends up being the crazy cat lady whose only trip to real life is my weekly cat food and Popov vodka run. Please play. Please.
The other night, my boyfriend and I loafed on the couch, watched 5 episodes of Naked and Afraid, and ate an entire pineapple. Let me tell you something about pineapple…that tasty, deceptive shit expands in your stomach. After it expands and bloats your stomach to the point where you look like you’re carrying twins, it gives you horrific acid reflux. All night long, I really regretted not just eating a stupid candy bar, because candy bars just give me the shits.
I consider myself a fairly intelligent person, I will give you a run for your money on Trivia Crack, and I know the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re. Yet, I cannot seem to learn that eating an entire pint of Chunky Monkey will make me feel like dog poop for 3 days. I seriously never learn.
I do know some things. I know that I can’t be trusted with anything remotely tasty in my house. Like a crack addict, if it’s around, it’s going down in a big way. When I go to my parents’ house, I riffle around in the cabinets looking for what I know is always there. I usually end up eating a couple Little Debbie’s and a Tasty Kake, if I’m lucky. I try not to frequent my parents’ house. For shame…
This is why, at any time, I have a can of garbanzo beans and some stale tortilla chips in my cupboard. That’s it. I know I won’t be desperate enough to crack open an 8 year-old can of beans, so…
Last night, I was pinning healthy recipe after healthy recipe on my “Healthy Yummies” board on my Pinterest. I don’t know why I spend my time pinning healthy crap, I almost never make any of it…Well, I found one that looked so good, and super easy. It consisted of skim milk, light cool whip, ice and…one Oreo.
It sounded so light, and not too gluttonous. I felt an immense longing for a “diet” Oreo shake. Then, a depressing realization set in. These healthy shakes, will never, ever remain ‘healthy’ so long as I have to buy an entire package of Oreos to make them. The recipe calls for just one Oreo, but I know a couple more will fall into the blender, accidentally. Then, I know for a fact that the rest of those Oreos will last maybe a day in my house. I will have to eat them all in one, shameful, sweaty sitting, because I can’t just have Oreos laying around to tempt me.
Unless it’s acceptable to knock on your neighbor’s door for one Oreo, I won’t be making these fabulous sounding “diet” shakes.
Am I the only one whose mind wanders during yoga? Please tell me I’m not the only person incapable of thinking solely of their rounded and backward breathing (I didn’t even know there were other types of breathing. Am I the only one who simply breathes in and out??) I just worry I’m crazy, or I will never learn the art of not thinking, constantly, obsessively.
This morning, I got up early and attended Yin Yoga. Let me repeat that: I got up early. To do fitness. I really felt a tiara, or a certificate of achievement was deserved, but no one seemed impressed my happy ass was there bright and early, with my unwashed hair.
I had never heard of Yin Yoga, but that’s really not surprising, as I know really nothing about any kind of yoga. All I cared to ask the instructor was, “Will this likely kill a newbie?” She laughed and said, “Get a blanket, two blocks, and a bolster. You will be fine. Oh, and we will be positioned in a circle”.
I am not fond of facing others during fitness, because it means they will look at me. They will have front row seats to my ineptness. Why a circle? I wanted to ask, “Can I just sit outside the classroom? It’ll be fine. I’ll hear your instructions and I’ll peek in a few times”. I knew it wouldn’t go over well, so I just placed my mat as far away as possible, while still being somewhat a part of the circle of shame.
Let me make it clear that I am 100% open to having a yoga mind. I want to be able to focus on my third eye (especially when my third eye isn’t being referred to as an especially nasty zit, which is what I thought a third eye was). I want to be able to connect to my breath, but it’s HARD.
My brain does not shut off. Ever. I’m usually thinking/worrying/planning several different things at the same time. I have incredibly vivid dreams. I have been known to “sleep plan” lessons. Obviously, I’m an over-thinker. The mental exercise of yoga is far harder than the physical element. I’m mentally weak. I’m struggling, friends. For your reading pleasure, I would like to share actual thoughts I had during yoga today. I’m weird. Beware.
I should have blown my nose before class.
OMG. I legit almost blew a booger out of my nostril. Mouth breathing it is.
She wants me to put my left leg behind my ass and then lay down? Is she seeing my body?
I wonder if the guy with the speedo on could breathe any louder. He’s brag breathing.
Why is it that the men are always almost naked and the women are practically wearing their entire closet. Why is that?
Thank GOD I’m the fattest one in here. Said no one ever.
Wow. I had no idea my heel would ever meet my belly button. I should introduce them to each other. Katie, you’re fucking mental.
When was the last time they washed the cover to this bolster? What if someone had their poorly-wiped ass on it right before this class? I’m laying my face on this thing. I’ll get pink eye! I might get E. coli! I might die!
Further, do they mop this floor? What if they don’t? What if? Should I ask?
Am I the only one who sneaks looks at the other people when our eyes are supposed to be closed?
That girl has a hole in the crotch of her pants. How embarrassing. Wait, so do I!! OMG, who saw??
Guys, I just discovered Restorative Yoga, and it is the best thing ever. EVER.
A few days ago, my aunt and I were discussing my new yoga journey. I was trying to express to her how hot and challenging my yoga sessions have been. How do you, in speaking words, explain a hot that is suffocating? How do you adequately explain to someone that during your yoga-ing, you wish you were never born? How do you do this, and at the same time express that you love it in a very masochistic way? I think that she is still worried for my safety and well-being. I guess I did not explain myself properly.
So, this was how she invited me to be a part of her yoga experience. Let me just quote her:
“It is all very calming. When I leave, I feel like I just had a massage. You lay down thewhole time and they cover you with blankets…”
All I heard was “blankets”.
I asked her, “Do you mean to tell me, when you do yoga you get to lay down the whole time? You get blankets?”
I truly thought she had to be lying. Who has ever heard of “Blanket Yoga”? I was intrigued, and thus, I attended with her yesterday.
I would like to make it clear, and to absolve my aunt of all assumptions made about her character, by saying, “BLANKETS”.
No shit, during restorative yoga, you practice your breath and lay down. The whole time. It was better than any exercise or health class I have ever taken. I did not expel one drip of sweat. I did not have to spray down my mat with a hose after, and I did not have to wash my hair. It was beautiful.
At one point, we made ourselves a makeshift lay-down chair with blankets, and enjoyed just relaxing for a good 20 minutes. During, the instructor came around and gently laid eye pillows, scented with lavender on our closed eyelids, and then she covered us with blankets. She tucked me in.
I cannot fully express my love of this yoga session thoroughly. I do not have the literary skill.
All I can say is that I will be attending “Blanket Yoga” from here on out, for all eternity.