May 10, 2013

I do more yoga than you

I did yoga today and it reminded me of this sucker.  A little ditty I did for RECOVERING YOGI a while back….Happy Friday ya’ll.

 

Good morning, Dear Friend,
Have you heard what I did?
I woke up at four, jumped right out of bed!
What’s that you say; you couldn’t get up?
Lord Shiva and Shakti, you must feel like a schmuck!
You see, I do more yoga than you.

Today I feel great,
Three classes before eight!
What about you? This past month just a few?
How sorry, how sad. Bet you wish what I had.
It’s just, I do more yoga than you.

Lululemon and Prana,
I’m the fucking Pre-Madonna.
My abs sure do look great,
I can’t choose who to date.
It’s so tough being me…
And I do more yoga than you.

Paxil, Prozac and Zoloft,
I accidentally took four days off.
My shrink says distance from yoga, for me, may be healthy,
But how else will I learn to be spiritually wealthy?
See, I do more yoga than you (and him, combined).

I’m off centered, out of balance, and all out of whack,
For the past twenty years I’ve used yoga as crack.
In missing a class, I’ve fallen behind,
To my inner-most goddess, I’m becoming so blind.
At least I still do more yoga than you.

What’s that you say? You made it to a class?
Excuse me for sounding incredibly crass:
You phony, you fake, you raving-terrible bitch!
The only reason you went was to be like me just a titch.
I do more yoga than you.

Oops, forgive me, my gosh! What’s gotten into me?
What I meant was I’m so happy! I hope it sets you free!
But please let me make myself incredibly clear:
I do more yoga than you do, My Dear.

Posted by |Filed Under: Boulder-isms | Buddhism | poems | Reader Favorites | Recovering Yogi | Leave a Comment
February 3, 2011

Farewell Vagina – A Poem


Farewell, goodbye, Vajay-jay my friend,

It looks like our time together has come to an end.

My tummy, it’s a growin’, a mountain so strong,

You should see how my booty now swallows a thong.

**

‘Bout two years I paid you so much attention, you know?

Alas, waxing and grooming and laser hair removal no mo’.

**

Out of sight out of mind, or so they say,

It seems I didn’t shave for yet another day.

I’ll see you in full length mirrors, and post-baby, perhaps.

Our dear, poor, sweet Luker, that unlucky chap.

**

It isn’t my fault, I promise, I swear,

I’ve got a wee-human that’s living in there.

So Dear Husband, if you can, forgive me please,

if it appears you can no longer see the forest through the trees.

**

Posted by |Filed Under: baby | hair | Luker | peckers | poems | Reader Favorites | 2 Comments
October 27, 2010

Getting a Handle on the Whole “Hipster” Thing

Having spent some time in Brooklyn, I’ve been trying to get a handle on the whole hipster thing.  Like what does it even really mean?  There seems to be a negative connotation that goes with the word “hipster.”  What’s that about?  It sounds cool to me.  And as our cousin so poignantly asks: how do you even know if you are one? My younger brother has been trying to help me gain understanding.  But truthfully, the whole thing just baffles me.

This thing kind of helped me out a bit.  Nevertheless…

Okay, so here’s what I know about myself:

  • On most days you’ll find me wearing sweat pants-maybe I’m a sweatster.
  • When I go out, I like to dress like a ho-maybe I’m a slutster.
  • I have a kid-momster.
  • Until recently, I thought that Indie bands were bands that played Indian music, which truthfully made me really happy.  I mean, how cool that so many people could share my love for Indian culture? -maybe I’m just an idiot.
Posted by |Filed Under: fashion | Reader Favorites | stuff that's dumb | 7 Comments
October 11, 2010

Animated Version..

A little collaborative effort by Luker and myself..

Posted by |Filed Under: at my finest | cool videos | Cussing | peckers | Reader Favorites | 9 Comments
October 5, 2010

On Vaginas

I’ve been trying to get Cora hip to different body parts.  She’s nailed ears, mouth, nose, feet, hair, tummy and a few other essential spots.  The other day, when changing her diaper, she grazed her business.  To which I responded: “vagina.”

Luke was upstairs and heard me.  “Ewww!”  He hollered from upstairs, “don’t call it that!”

“Well what, My Dear, shall I call it?”  I asked from her room.

“Call it privates or something like that.”

Okay.  Point taken.  Maybe she’s not ready for vagina.  Hell, I’m hardly mature enough to use the word.  But my mind went back to all the teaching courses I took on health, and how certain buzz words (penis, vagina) need to be desensitized for young people.

I mean what would she think if she grew up thinking her vaj was called “private?”  Consider the following (sub vaj where appropriate):

  • She’s at school on career day and Joey’s dad is discussing what it’s like to be a private investigator..
  • A door is locked shut with a sign that reads private property..
  • She meets a nice young man who happens to be a private in the military..
  • After a few long discussions, Luker and I decide to send her to private school..
  • After working with troubled kids, her mother decides to open a private practice..

Just imagine it.

As for now, I think I’ll stick with vagina with an occasional use of “business” or as my friend Kylie says, “va-jay-jay.”

All I can say is thank goodness we don’t have a boy.  I have a whole slew of nicknames for those parts…maybe this post should be titled “On Maturity.”

Posted by |Filed Under: baby | Daddy | Luker | Reader Favorites | that's what he said | , , 6 Comments
September 20, 2010

This One Time When I Ate Poop.

So, there was this one time when I ate poop.  It wasn’t on purpose.  It happened completely by accident.

I was in the middle of a meditation retreat in Bodhgaya, India.  I was on my second week of silence and was definitely going a bit crazy.  From the heat.  From the silence.  From the boredom.

I shared a bathroom with the other American at the Vihar named Reid.  That’s right, I shared a bathroom with a boy.  Gross.  But thankfully, having brothers and being married now, I am used to what kinds of things dudes can pull when in the bathroom (or push).  Sick.

Anywho..

It was 5 in the morning and I was getting ready to start my first meditation sesh.  But first, I had to pee.  Blurry eyed and tired, I stumbled into the bathroom and assumed my squatted position.  Reid and I, we were lucky.  Our toilet could flush.  No, there was no rim to speak of for sitting, but this sucker could definitely flush.

Which is why it didn’t make sense to me that he hadn’t.  Of course, I didn’t realize this until his poo was hanging from my lower lip.  You see, as I started to pee, his gnarly India excrement splattered up from the force of my pee.  Its only option was to cling to the lowest point possible: my lower yawning lip.

Yes, I am a Buddhist.  Yes, I was at a meditation retreat working on kindness and compassion and all of that hullaballo.  But at that point I wanted to cut that fucker’s head off.  How dare he?  All boys know about the second flush, don’t they?

Reid, if you are out there, I hope you one day stumble across my blog.  Maybe you could shoot me an email.  To which I would only respond: Thanks a lot asshole, I know what your poop tastes like.

Posted by |Filed Under: at my finest | Buddhism | Reader Favorites | stuff that's dumb | travel | , , 4 Comments
July 1, 2010

Guy Walks into a Pharmaca

So, the other day Cora and I went by Pharmaca to pick up some wholesome Boulder crap.  I love it there, so we stayed a while.  They have this amazing fish tank in the back and Cora is super into fish lately.  It is the one word she can say on command.  Sort of.  “ish, ish,” she says while pointing to this blow up fish we have.  Anywho..

So we are sitting there, in Pharmaca, eating cheese puffs and watching fish, when in walks this man.  He looks somewhat normal, by Boulder standards.  You know, zip off khaki pants, hiking boots, shaggy hair and a tight tank-top.  He’s in his 50′s maybe.

He sits down right near us in this circle of chairs.  “You look like you might be a tired stressed out mom, would you like a ten minute massage for ten dollars?”

I explain that we need to get going soon but thank you anyway.  He then offers his free sample for two minutes and suggests that maybe I’ll change my mind.

Whatever, I think to myself.  It’s free.

So I go and sit in one of his chairs and he starts massaging me.  I look around and a few granola-y shoppers are looking at us.  I smile awkwardly back.  It is normal for massage people to be at health stores here.  What the heck are they looking at?

The massage guy tells me he is going to massage my calves if I could just put them up on his leg.  I suddenly realize that this guy has no name tag, that this is no massage chair, and that he is in no way affiliated with Pharmaca.  He is some random bystander rubbin’ on me in public.  My God.

In shock at my brilliant realization, I tell him I have to go.  He gets up quickly and walks out of the store.  What the-?  Just like that.  Out of the store.

Being the sucker for health stuff that I am, I’m just damn glad he wasn’t some poser acupuncturist.

Posted by |Filed Under: at my finest | Reader Favorites | , 6 Comments
June 21, 2010

The Value of Getting Hit On by a Teenager

It’s been a good day so far.  I got hit on by a teenager.  I must be on top of my game.  Here’s how it went down…

He looked kind of like this minus the muscles, the abs, the height and the tan. His shorts were a bit lamer as well.

  • Went to the pool to swim some laps
  • Decided I didn’t want to swim, I’d rather be lazy, catch rays
  • Pool Boy was doing random crap (I seriously wasn’t paying attention)
  • Came over to put in some umbrellas and pulled up a chair
  • I was like WTF?  Who is this five year old?
  • He asked how long I planned to stay
  • Again, my response: WTF? (in my head)
  • I said “Not long”
  • He said “Why, because you wouldn’t want that pretty fair skin to burn?”

End Scene. What the?

All ye 30 something (man, it blows to write that) women can understand the value of this interaction.  Yes, the small child had pimples on his face.  Yes, it is still hard for him to grow facial hair.  But the most important part of this entire escapade: the knowledge that maybe I still got it.

Posted by |Filed Under: at my finest | happiness | Reader Favorites | , 7 Comments
April 26, 2010

Bringing My Breast Pump to India..A Poem

I’m bringing my breast pump to India
Indeed it is true.
You may think I’m an idiot,
Well, I think I’m one too.

Pumping on and Indian train and at the Taj Mahal,
It seems no matter where I pump, I’ll be hot as balls.

And when my milk is all dried up
despite my best attempt,
My pump will look me in the eyes and say:
“I’m just so glad we went.”


Posted by |Filed Under: motherhood | poems | Reader Favorites | ta-tas | travel | , , 3 Comments
April 21, 2010

Container Man

Being married to the COO of Eco Products has its benefits.  For instance, when throwing a party, we have all the biodegradable supplies we’d ever need.  (So if we ever get around to having one, we’ll be good).

Also, when recycling things, I often come across one that I’m not sure I can recycle.  Not to worry.  Just ask Container Man, he’ll definitely have the answer.  Along with a detailed description as to why, of course.

However, there are moments when his passion for biodegradable containers is a bit over the top…

I am ECO-MAN, close friend to Container-man. (They wear the same clothes. Different letter, though).

We will have just enjoyed a nice dinner out, and as the waitress walks over to to ask about dessert, Luke drops it:

“No thanks on dessert, but what I would like is one of your to-go containers.”  The sweet girl stands there, baffled at his query, looking at our empty plates.  Moments later and still confused, she walks the container over and hands it to him.  She watches as he examines it in front of her.

“Hmmm.  Styrofoam.  Too bad you guys are a bit behind the times.”  He giggles to himself, leaving her slightly mortified.

Having been a waitress myself, this is when I feel compelled to interject what he does for a living and why he cares so much about a damn container.  Poor thing.

At this point, our house is overflowing with every kind of cutlery, to-go box and container possible.  They are literally busting out of every closet and drawer in our house.  All so he can “check out the design.”

While I admire his commitment, I kind of want to throw them all out on the lawn to clean this place up a bit.  I mean hell, they’d eventually biodegrade anyway, right?

Posted by |Filed Under: Luker | Reader Favorites | that's what he said | , 4 Comments
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