Relax

I was without Internet for the entire day today, and if you thought that this meant that I would be more productive, as I did, then oh, you would be so very wrong. I felt creepily paralyzed, like someone had lopped off my fingers at the knuckle, and I suddenly had to learn to type with nubs. (HA. I said NUB.) Possible, yes; easy, not so much. Generally speaking, although I can get sucked into the Internet Vortex of Nowhere, I am not wretchedly addicted or neglecting my normal life — or so I thought — and there I was, all PANICKED. PANICKED. RED ALERT! LASERS! PEW! PEW! PEW!

I meant to add yesterday, before getting ass-juice splayed all over me, that there should be a giant sign in TJ Maxx to politely request customers to please, DO NOT BRING THEIR CART into the narrow aisles. Must you bring the cart into the eighteen inch space of Misses Tops? Can you not CHOOSE a Misses Top without bringing your cart through and blocking the rest of us out of the Michael Kors past seasons and irregulars so that you can pick up your crocheted Tahari poncho? Or worse, you trap us between two carts with nothing to do but peruse blouses that contain far too many strings and idly wondering, where would I tie that? Do I WANT to tie that? WHY ALL THE STRINGS? (No, seriously, why the strings at the waist? Why?). Park the cart, yes, PARK the cart and THEN shop. Yes, see how easy it is! Easy!

We’re off to Boston this weekend for In-Law Fest ’08, and though I am looking forward to seeing our Newton and Needham relatives, I am most looking forward to the Chinese food. Do you know Boston Chinese food? It is an entirely different BREED of Chinese food, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted. You think you’ve had Chinese food! I know! We’ve ALL had Chinese food! But until you’ve had a pu pu platter from South Pacific in Newton, then you haven’t had delicious, greasy Boston-style Chinese. Well, there are others that will do as well, but South Pacific is my personal favorite. Get a scorpion bowl while you’re there, too, which is something that I’d like to partake in, during I-L Fest (or, you know, TWENTY), but won’t.

(I kid, for they are really lovely people.)

And finally, a friend and I went to yoga this afternoon and in addition to vast amounts of Yoga Brain, wherein I was entirely unable to know my right from left or even that hey, if I put my mat underneath a giant half-wall WINDOW, then I won’t be able to use the wall like the teacher ASKED ME TO. But most importantly, I finally had a witness to the insanity that is my yoga studio, with chanting and overgrown armpits and passive-aggressive yogic-ness (“Everyone, please go deeper into your hip stretch. Especially if your name is say … Jonna!” No kidding. She said that.)

But the real coup de grace in our tenuous yogic sobriety was when the teacher’s six-year-old daughter came launching in during our final .. shivasa? Shibasa? Whatever: CORPSE POSE PLUS CHANTING SHIT, and went to the bathroom, wherein we oh’med our way through a solid three minutes of this poor girl’s resounding pee — seriously, it went on FOREVER — while her mother, clearly distracted, as we all were (BY THE FOREVER PEE, seriously was she a CAMEL?), tried to chant about the light in her bowing to the light in me and then there was the TOILET FLUSH that was honestly the loudest thing I have ever heard, and let’s just say I wasn’t particularly relaxed. Like, at all.

And I. Lost. It. I lost it! The chanting! The peeing! The flushing! The fact that while all this was happening, I was strapped in, yet again, to the most ridiculous pose that involved my knees and elbows intertwined in this purple strap-like thing with blocks and blankets and bears, oh my! I honestly broke out in that kind of nasal horking laughter that comes through your nose like you’ve inhaled too much chlorine — when you’re trying to hold it in but can’t — until I snotted all over myself, which only made me laugh harder, I’m sorry to say. And also slightly slimy and unable to give it a proper swipe due to the strappiness of the whole strappy contraption.

It’s possible I might not be allowed back. I’m not sure. I mean, considering I surreptitiously horked and snickered my way through the yoga teacher’s daughter’s pee, I can’t say I blame her. (Note: the daughter did not see any of this, and I have to say, that naturally, it wasn’t her fault, for who knew it would ECHO so? It was just … well, you try relaxing and oh’ming while someone is basically peeing in your ear. Also, why didn’t the teacher tell her to wait? She had to know its echoey properties!)

And with that, I hope you have a wonderful weekend. If you’re in Newton tomorrow night, and you see a (totally fake) redhead in South Pacific, it’s probably me, unless she’s clearly got a wash ‘n set, in which case it is Adam’s Auntie Izzy.

(Also, dude, Lost: WTF? WTFFFFFFEEEECCCKKK?)

*Frankie Goes to Hollywood, of COURSE

18 comments April 24th, 2008