Yoga School Drop-Out

I heard the class at the downtown Y was loose and friendly and so I thought I would give yoga what is becoming my Biannual Attempt at Flexibility.

I walk into the room and it is dark. In fact, the light is never turned on. This is good, I like this.

I take a place at the far back of the room and for the next 45 minutes, proceed to pretzel myself into oblivion. But as difficult as the moves were, I kinda start to get into the swing of things. I could’ve have done without the country music playing during the cool down, but whatever. I am sore like you wouldn’t believe the next day.

The next time, I make the mistake of not spitting out my chewing gum before class. The progress I made previously was completely gone. Apparently my flow, Chi, foreign fiscal policy, whathaveyou, was totally out of whack. I think I might actually be able to blame it on the gum.

Third class: No gum, still the country music, and an enormously pregnant woman the next mat over performing poses I am convinced no pregnant woman ought do less she wants to give birth to a Rubiks Cube. Whoa! Sister! Put that leg back where it belongs! I move my mat to the back of class just to be on safe side. One wrong move and I could have a baby shooting out at me like a cannon ball.

Fast forward:

Twelfth Class: I am no more flexible than the day I walked in. I am still sore and miserable upon leaving class. I feel no peace. No serenity befalls me. I don’t feel like one with anything except maybe the floor since I constantly fall upon it in my numerous failed attempts as trying to twist into poses I can’t master.

Meanwhile. Next door. In the weight room. I hear the radio. Normal music. Non-country music. I hear the guys joking. I hear the clanking of the weights. I hear the ribbing of a last repetition not completed…

And like a child following the Pied Piper-

I get up off my mat-

Drift out of the yoga studio-

Float across the hallway like a soft and gentle breeze-

Re-merge into the dense and smelly room of free-weight activity-

Some guys call out greetings-

I am immediately asked to spot someone-

I feel peace.

Serenity befalls me.

I am one with my bench press.

I am home.

And more importantly, I am not doing yoga…

Oh, Joy, Michelle Duggars Uterus Still Works…

Rising food costs, ridiculous energy fees, foreclosed homes, tragedy in Burma (you’ll not catch me saying the “M” word), and more misery than a planet can bear and yet my favorite family of whack-job, over-populating breeders is back to their usual hijinks! And it isn’t even Giftmas!!

Okay, I’m going to skip the rant this time on how utterly vile, repugnant, and useless I find this woman and go straight for the money:

Let’s start a pool, right now, on which one her “J’s”, ooops, sorry, her her precious children, flips out and climbs a bell tower with an AK-47…

And really, I don’t what is worse, this Jim Bob and Michelle, or the Today Show for rewarding their ever imploding carbon footprint.

Making Lemonade

I think we can all agree that the economy basically sucks, but instead of looking around and asking “Where am I going and what am I doing in this hand basket?”, I have been oddly noticing small changes occurring around me and have been feeling strangely hopeful.

For my own part, I hadn’t really noticed a rise in groceries until my favorite yogurt shot up .20 in the course of a week. I am devoured by school at the moment, and I have been neglecting to shop. So when I come home very late in the evening and am too tired to shop, I poke around in the cupboards and pull together something from whatever is present. This has led me to have finally finished off numerous boxes of pasta, unknown number boxes of rice, and four boxes of couscous. According to my father, he has been forcing my mother to cut the grocery bill and do the same. Of course, she has 32 boxes of cake mix to get through (I know this because I counted last time I was home to prove a point), so that should take a while. Add to that the canned fruits and veggies, the frozen pints of creamer that were on sale, the frozen bread and who the hell knows what else, and Mom shouldn’t need to shop for a year.

A woman whom I regularly encounter at the store has been scaling back as well. Normally, she has at least 8 large bags of chips, and 6 six-packs of soda hanging off the cart-every week-yikes! I’ve noticed those are gone now and can guess that that is probably not a bad thing. I’m sure her dentist would agree.

I’ve heard countless stories of people driving less and I myself am riding my bike to school, the store, or the gym when the weather is decent. In fact, I’ve noticed more bikes at the racks as people kvetch more and more about the price of gas. When I do drive to school I notice there’s actually spaces available because I see more students walking.

New home sales are down. There is a glut of new homes on the market and not a lot of new home construction. All I can say for that is it is about damn time. I was at the point that if I saw one more field, patch of woods, or sliver of grass torn up and planted with a ugly planned community or building-and for no other reason than that the builder could- well, let’s just say I’m sure the grass, field, or woods are feeling mighty grateful for the reprieve.

So let’s see: eating less, exercising more, driving less, and preserving green space…and this in a society with nearly 30% obesity…

I’m not trying to make light of the situation. I understand that is affecting people’s livelihoods, retirement savings, and homes, but just think about this: if you perform a new act for a certain period of time, it becomes habit forming.

The economy will eventually return to some semblance of normal, but I like to think of this time as a case of “forced sanity”, where we all have to do some things we should have been doing all along: eating less, exercising more, driving less, and preserving the green.

Here’s hoping we all get through it in the meantime.

Last blog entry for a while, of course, I’ve been a bad blogger for a few weeks now, but between papers and final exams, this next week is going to be ugly…

Spring Revival

In the immortal words of Sailor Man’s grandfather:

“Horay! Horay! It’s the First of May! Outdoor sex begins today!”

I have received countless phone messages and emails from the Sailor-Man-Clan to this effect. Can you believe this is what I married into?

…yeah, me too.

Dating the “Other Team”

It hasn’t happened for awhile so I was a little taken aback when I got the call.

“You have to talk my friend’s little sister! She’s dating this guy and everyone knows he’s gay except her!”

You have no idea how many times I’ve received a call like this. And no, I am not Dr. Ruth, I am your average schmo who has managed, no less than four times in her single life, to date a gay man. To my friends, this makes me an expert on the subject, hence the phone calls. And since I have yet to meet another person who has beaten my record, I tend to agree with them.

And it’s not just that I dated a guy who later then came out of the closet, it was that I was the last woman they dated before coming out of the closet. So after years of reflection, jokes, and analysis-with said men as they are the only men I have remained friends with after the demise of a relationship, I feel uniquely qualified to list some “indicators” that you might be dating a gay man.

Mind you, this is in no way to disparage my gay male exes. The simple fact that I am still friends with all four of them (except maybe you, “S”, you talked me into chemically straightening my hair which resulted in a nuclear explosion I have yet to recover from, and don’t deny it, you know you did), should lend a certain amount of credibility. And my exes and I are all in agreement that while women should always be friends with gay men, it’s generally best not to date them.

I realize times have changed in the last 8 years since I was out swimming in the dating pool, but dating, as always, is still tricky stuff. Discovering who you are as a person looking for a life partner is trickier still. Coming out of the closet, well, that has to be the hardest damn thing ever. So I offer these little tidbits as lesson in efficient and economical dating for the single girl. Obviously, these rules aren’t hard and fast, just something to think about if you have other suspicions percolating:

Gay Boy Lesson #1:

I was a tender, teen-aged, tomboy and in my freshman year of high school I dated a guy from my neighborhood. “C” was this super cute soccer player who lived a few blocks over. I was awkward and just learning how to wear dresses, so the fact that he was interested in me was a shock. But we dated and everything was bliss except for the fact that he never seemed to want to kiss me. No braces at the time and I was meticulous about my dental care, so I wasn’t sure what the problem was.

Well, he eventually did make his move, in the darkest corner of my parents’ front porch, which is exactly where all the action stayed. If there was even the slightest sliver of light, then any chance of making out was a no-go. This of course leads me to:

Indicator #1 That You May Be Dating a Gay Man: What happens in the dark never strays from the dark. Unless you have some seriously devoted and honest friends who can tell you to your bean that you are one butt-ugly hag, if the guy you are dating has to be in complete and utter darkness to lock lips (like say, in a closet?), then you need to move one to greener pastures.

Gay Boy Lesson #2:

“D1″ happened along a few years later. I was junior in high school at this point and I was introduced to “D” via some friends who attended another school. “D1″ was tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious. He totally rocked out the tortured, teen-aged, artist persona and I fell for it faster than you can say “Morissey”. My first hint really should have been that he taught me how to apply liquid eyeliner in a perfect cat-eye swoop and how to straighten my hair with a curling iron, but hey, I admit it, I’ve always been a little slow on the uptake. But the second hint was that “D1″ had a friend “K” that always seem to hang around. We go on a date and “K” was there. We go to the coffee shop (the thing to do in Detroit during the late 80’s when you are too young to go to bars) and hey! There’s “K”! Try to make out during the movie and my boyfriend is staring at “K” who is staring right back.

Indicator # 2 That You May Be Dating a Gay Man: He is waaaaaaay more into his “guy friends” than he could ever be into you. Now an adendum to this would also be that if your guy friend needs stimulus to kiss you, like say, the presence of another guy, then refer to the advice offered a the end of Indicator #1.

Gay Boy Lesson #3:

Oooooo, this brings us to “S”. “S” was a tricky case. I was in college and finally thinking that I had developed a sense of gaydar when “S” evolved onto the scene. I say “evolved” because I had known “S” for since junior high. He was baaaaad. He dated every female friend I had and with horrific results yet, they still loved him and wanted him back. It is no mean feat at the age of 22 to love ‘em and leave ‘em and have them begging for more, but “S” was that guy. He brought out the evil in women. All my female friends who had fallen for his line of crap would lie, cheat, and steal to get him back and thought nothing backstabbing any close female friend in the process.

I only remained friends with “S” for one simple reason: although he left, abruptly, every female he ever dated, the fact was, he really liked women. I mean, he treated them very well. He really and truly enjoyed their company. His only crime was that he was a man-whore and I could hardly fault him for that if I wasn’t dating him, now could I? That, and he was really fun to go shopping with which he would do, at a moment’s notice. 24/7.

So, of course, I make the mistake, eventually, of hooking with “S”. And it was all fun and games until the sex. That and the fact that he talked me into cutting off all my hair and really loved the fact that I was into body building at the time.

Indicator #3 That You May Be Dating a Gay Man: He has lots of relationships with women but finds no satisfaction in having sex with any of them. I’m invoking the “China Rule” on this one. If a billion Chinese say noodles are good to eat, then statistically speaking, it’s hard to argue otherwise. So, if “S” has had sex with over 20 females, and I’m convinced there’s more, and he hasn’t enjoyed a single instance…well…then…

Indicator #3 Adendum: If he also talks you into cutting off all your hair and really loves the fact that you are into body building, in short, if your boyfriend finds you more attractive when you look more like a dude and less like a girl (and I admit, I was heading down that road), then Ricki’s gots sum splainin’ to do…

Gay Boy Lesson #4.

This leads us to “D2″, whom I thought was gay from the start. A really successful musician who was only doing the music gigs until he could become and arts and drama teacher in Canada. He dressed like a prince and had more “product” than Liberace. We met after a performance at a charity event and after hours of revealing ourselves as movie fanatics, he asked me out to see a film. Since I was convinced from the start of his orientation, I felt no compulsion to refuse. I thought we’d go as friends. We had a fabulous evening of dinner, drinks, movie, and window shopping and it wasn’t until he walked me to my door and planted one on me that I had any inkling of anything being remiss.

Of course, when he kissed me, I thought: “WTF!? You’re gay!”. But this was also 1996 and the emergence of the Metrosexual Culture (although this is before the actual term “Metrosexual”), so I thought maybe I just read the situation wrong. But everything screamed that he was gay, so I dated him until I could find out what was really going on.

And what went on was Indicator #1, #2, and #3 (plus the adendum). So add to this #4:

Indicator #4 You May Be Dating a Gay Man: His apartment. Palatial with a water view, white walls, wall to wall white shag carpeting, and broken plaster reliefs of male anatomy everywhere. Seriously, it was Greecian shrine to the male body. That’s innocuous if you are Samantha on SATC, but not so much if you are a guy.

**Side Note: D2, who is contributing editor to this entry, denies that the carpet was white and wishes to point out that it was “ecru”. I would like to point out that he is only serving to further my initial argument.

It was after “D2″ that I decided on an about face in my dating choices which led to a terrific series of a-hole, jock, jackasses. Luckily, after an intervention from both “C” and “D2″, who were dating I might add (seriously, only in my life could this have happened, and don’t either of you try to deny it! You know you were!!!), I was led back down the road of sane and normal dating.

Of course, this leads to Sailor Man and it’s been happily ever after…relatively speaking.

So there you have it. That’s my story. I’ve said it before, dating is tricky. If you have your doubts about your guy’s true intentions, then address them quickly so you can get on with being best pals. And they are. The exes that is. They are some of the best pals a girl could have and I love them all dearly.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get my weekly fix of Neil Patrick Harris in HIMYM. “C”, “D1″, and I are totally obsessed with him…of course.

D.C. Occupation

I was in Washington DC this weekend and, per usual, I was reminded how much I adore that town.

For whatever one thinks about the district and whomever happens to reside in the big house at the center of it, you can not deny that this city has a life of it’s own. DC is so much more than the cold museums and imposing political superstructure.

Funky, vibrant, urban dwellers from all walks of life live, and I mean really live, in this town. Sandwiched in between the Starbucks and Cosi cafes, are fantastic historical structures where families abound, dogs are everywhere, and suits are plenty. Liberal or conservative, rich or poor, white or otherwise, there is a ruling and dominant spirit in DC that transcends whatever the current political administration.

Savannah, Georgia escaped the burn and purge of the Civil War by putting its best foot forward and wooing the North into preserving its Southern Charm. I dare say, DC survives the political whims of this country by doing just the same.

If you have never been to Washington DC. you are missing out. Sure, there are all the amazing museums to see and the history is everywhere. But get out of the museum district. Hit Dupont Circle, flip a coin to choose a street and start walking away from downtown. Go see what living with taxation without representation gets you.

See the Washington DC that exists outside of CSPAN, and remember: the rat-bastard politicians infesting the place are just visiting.

Waiting for Rain

All day waiting for the deluge promised by the weather report.

Walked the dog and then bathed the dog in anticipation of it.

Raked the yard and and picked up pine cones figuring it was a task better done in dry conditions.

Frantically ran errands before I saw clouds moving in.

Went to a dollar show in anticipation of the leaving the theatre with a storm brewing.

Took the freshly bathed dog for yet another walk around the school campus, maybe in thought of provoking the rain that was supposed to already be here.

Went to the comic book store.

Did homework on the front porch and then watched the sunset.

All the time, waiting for rain that never showed.

All in all, not a bad day.

The Duct Tape Groom

An old friend of mine called this afternoon to thank me, tearfully, for the tool kit I gave her as a wedding present 12 years ago.

I was a little taken aback at first, because one, it took me a minute to remember I had given to her, and two, because I remember the look on her face when she unwrapped the gift and saw I had her given her a deluxe-tool box that weighed about 50 pounds and comprised of all tools made for female hands. She was confused, she was embarassed, and clearly, not happy with the gift.

Okay, back story: She was 23 years old and instead of drifting into a career upon graduation from college, she drifted in marriage. She was doing it because she couldn’t figure out anything better to do. He was doing it because she fit in nicely with this idea he had about the “right wife aiding him greatly” in his career. Yes, that is a direct quote.

As any of my friends can attest, if I think you’re making a bonehead move that will ruin your life, I am pretty keen to tell you so. This is why I have few friends. However, my friend really, really, really, wanted me to be happy for her and I wasn’t nor could I be. She had her life before her and he was a frat-boy-schmuck on an endless summer beer bong. I told her I hoped I was wrong, but I didn’t think I was.

Anyhoo-the year prior to the nuptials, I did everything possible to talk her out of marriage. And yet, that didn’t manage to get me kicked of the wedding party unfortunately, but she got me back with the really ugly bridesmaid dress.

I threw her a bridal shower for just friends where she received self-help books, airplane tickets for one, a metal file, a length of lead pipe, a collapsible escape ladder, and a Rolodex that contained no less than 50 cards for divorce attorneys (as you can see, I wasn’t the only one who thought this was a really bad idea).

Her bachelorette party (which I didn’t organize) ended up being an intervention where even her Maid of Honor was offering to drive her anywhere she wanted if she would just not go through with the wedding.

Sadly, the wedding was had and the marriage commenced. It lasted 6 years and 8 1/2 months of her second pregnancy.

So my friend called me today while she was in the middle of a hellacious project of trying to put together a playset for her sons by herself. The massive tool box is still with her, a little worse for wear, and not only did the handle break today, but it threw a wheel which rolled down the driveway and into a storm drain.

She called to tell me that that tool kit had seen her through putting together furniture in her first home after the wedding when her husband was out all night with his beer buddies, through putting together the crib for her first son when her husband was always working late, through fixing the garbage disposal when her husband was off cheating on her, and countless other projects throughout the divorce and the subsequent years as a single mother. And now that the tool box was falling apart and needed to be replaced, she was much more upset at having to replace the toolbox than she ever was over leaving her husband. As she put it, that tool kit had seen her through a bad marriage, a horrible divorce, and some lonely years of trying to raise her sons by herself.

Damn. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have the heart too tell her that I only gave it as a joke although I’m glad it did more for her than its intended purpose, which was to serve as a a symbol of my undying snarkiness. It certainly has done more for her over the years than I have.

Damn.

Haiku on A Dog Walk, in 3 Parts

#1

Why, Dog, why the poo?

Two minutes out of the house

You don’t carry it!

#2

Don’t eat that shitzu

He is one-tenth your size and

He might not taste good

#3

What’s that you rolled in?

Oh, Dog! Can’t you smell the stink?!

You’re getting Febreezed!

The Presidential Grade

So it’s coming down to the nitty-gritty. The proverbial Talking Heads are all agog. Speeches are being thoroughly scoured for anything even smacking of the slightest controversy so that the media hounds can swoop in like the vultures they are and devour the carcass of the misspoken. All this talking and I still don’t feel like I have my most basic questions answered.

Have mentioned how much I love the political season?

Take that previous sentence however you wish…moving on: I was reading something about the education of the Founding Fathers of this grand country ours. Intensive study of the Classics, philosophy, history, political theory, Latin, amongst other languages, botany and other sciences…truly grand and impressive stuff and it got me thinking: what exactly have our presidential candidates studied?

Clinton and Obama have studied law and McCain has studied warfare (and this is not meant disparagingly because I think it is a very necessary skill to be able to organize, plan and execute strategy in all walks of life). But other than that? What political theory have they studied? What sciences? What foreign languages do they speak? What are their favorite philosophers? What are their favorite books?

This may sound strange, but this is what I want to know and I think this information is valid and important as anything else. You want to be president? Well, then you have to be citizen of the world. This is done by intensive study and by being well-traveled. The Founding Fathers were fantastically educated. Look what they created! I think it’s time that those who wish to play in the political arena start proving their intellectual mettle.

Here, I’ll kick off the discussion:

Political Theory(ist): Hands down, for me, Thomas Paine. Prove you have read “Common Sense” or “The Rights of Man” and I’ll be your political love-monkey.

Sciences: My personal favorite is physics. I think it is the most elegant of all sciences, but really, so long as you can show you have reasonably given thought to any of the majors (Chemistry, Biology, Botany, etc) AND you accept that the world is more than 6,000 years old, refer to the result of #1.

Foreign Languages: I speak some decent Russian, I dabble in some Arabic, I’ve learned some Icelandic phrases, and I can order food, beverages, and find the loo in French, Spanish, Italian, AND Latin (okay, really, I can only swear in Latin). I just want to know that you can converse in a language other than your own. You want to be leader of the free world? Prove you can navigate it past the airport.

Ooooo, here’s where it gets tricky: Philosophers. Which philosopher is preferred by a presidential candidate? More importantly, which philosopher is preferred by the voting public?

And favorite book: If anyone of them say Howard Zinn’s “The People’s History of the United States”, then, well, that of course, garners my undying devotion. Although I could also make a pretty good argument for “A Confederacy of Dunces”.

This may seem like a flippant entry, but really, it is not. Given the opportunity, these are the questions I would ask. Answer these questions for me and you have told me everything I need to know.