I’m no shrinking violet, but…

20 Apr

Yesterday when I finished my swim, I was the only person in my section of the women’s locker room. That doesn’t mean I was alone. On the contrary, it was clear there was another person in there with me on the other side of the lockers, because I could clearly hear her cell phone conversation.

“Dat Joe is a playa. His sh*t really makes me mad. He gotta stop f*ckin’ with me like dis. His dick is…”

It was a long, angry and foul stream of language that made me instinctively hide my iPhone and car keys because I worried that I was sharing the locker room with a bonafide gang member. Just as I was in the process of sliding the cash from my wallet into my pocket, I heard another voice interrupt her with a pissy, “Shh. Please?!”

“Oh, sorry,” she responded.

I wanted to step around the lockers and get a look at the woman who shushed her. Because I’ve always wondered exactly what “balls the size of Texas” look like.

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A Letter: to the woman next to me in yoga today…

19 Apr

Dear Lady:

(And I use the word “lady” loosely for reasons that will soon become evident.)

If you decide to hit a yoga class, how about you show up on time? Because the idea is to get relaxed and centered. And none of that is possible if a woman who is shaped like Sponge Bob comes to class ten minutes late, walking as if she has bricks strapped to her feet, and then proceeds to roll out her mat RIGHT NEXT TO ME, as if there’s not 200 sf of other real estate available in the room.

Further, if you ARE going to show up late (thereby calling attention to yourself and interrupting the channeling of my loving kindness) to nestle in close to me, then please, for the love of God and small puppies, SHAVE YOUR LEGS. Because the last thing I need to see, when I’m in a supine twist (my legs going one way and my head aimed in your direction) is a Hobbit-like leg, three inches from my face. It makes me want to find a grill lighter and start singeing your shin. Not very zen of me, but neither is your hairy drumstick.

I know, I should be all “I love Earth Mothers” and that – especially since I’m into yoga. But come on. If I can find the time to shave my legs (which are SIGNIFICANTLY less hairy than yours), you should be able to find the time to either a) shave, or b) don a pair of long pants so I don’t have to throw-up in my mouth repeatedly while trying to practice ujjai breathing.

Speaking of ujjai breathing – did you hear the song that was playing when you arrived? I think it was supposed to be “ujjai” that they were chanting, but by the time they mixed in the beats and repeated it quickly, it just sounded like “vaginavaginavagina” to me. Did you think so too? If you agree, I might be willing to cut you a pass on the hairy legs for one more session. I just want to know I wasn’t going crazy there on my mat.

Anyway. I’m sure you’ll be more punctual (and better groomed) next time. (See how yoga makes me more positive?)

Namaste,

Alison

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Let’s talk about bangs for a moment, shall we?

18 Apr

My hair has resembled both of the above within the past 24 hours. I'm serious.

I’m not a typical girl when it comes to my hair. I can’t be. I mean, while I would like it to look good, in reality I’ve quietly accepted that I will never toss thick flowing locks over my shoulder.

No, I was born with a shitty hair gene: it’s thin and fine and 30% grey (in my 30s) and I fully expect to be one of those old ladies with a comb-over, who inspires other women to purse their lips and whisper, “Well bless her heart…” (Hell, maybe they already do, for all I know?)

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Project Brief: Getting a grip on my personal budget

18 Apr

[WARNING: This post is boring. There’s nothing pithy about it. If you’re looking for humor, check out the Melons post below. Otherwise, if you keep reading, do so knowing that you’re witnessing a financial experiment. You’ve been warned.]

This year I didn’t really make any New Year’s resolutions, other than to start (and maintain) a blog. Well, it seems like I’m pace with this resolution, so it’s time to scrutinize another area of my life that could stand for a bit of attention. The most obvious categories are fitness, diet and finance, so I’ve decided to choose the one that (seemingly) requires the least amount of work: finance.

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When is a melon just a melon?

17 Apr

Today I saw a bumper sticker that said, “stop to squeeze the melons of life,” and I wondered if by melons it meant breasts.

And then, because “stop” wasn’t capitalized, I got worried that part of the sticker was missing, and it originally said, “I stop to squeeze the melons of life.” The reason I was worried was because maybe it was actually a warning, like “I brake for children” or “I make wide left turns” and it was possible that if I let my mind wander, I might rear-end this guy, because there were a lot of breasts ahead of us walking along the sidewalk.

But then we drove past them, and I didn’t rear-end him, so I figured he either actually meant melons, or that there never was an “I” on the sticker. Even so, I’m glad today wasn’t the farmer’s market. No need to bait the guy with produce stands.

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