On Yoga and B.O.

I’ve been kinda quiet lately for a reason. I’ve been so filled with inner harmony and serenity after discovering Hot Yoga last month, I haven’t been irritated enough to rant about anything. Here’s what’s great about Hot Yoga:
1) At $79 a month for unlimited Hot Yoga sessions, it is far cheaper than therapy and/or Prozac!
2) The 105+ degree, quiet, dark yoga studio is not only calming and peaceful to be in, the profuse sweating and exercise combinations have eliminated those little flappy arm “wave” wings in under a month. My rear end has returned to it’s previous elevation. My thighs are like rocks. And you’ll just have to believe me when I tell you my abs, yes MY ABS, have re-appeared after spending years going incognito as “baby fat!”
3) The feeling of deep relaxation one enjoys during and after class cannot be beat – legally.
SO, what’s the downside? (There’s only one!)
As of three days ago, there’s a large buffoon in WAY TOO SHORT shorts (more like a thong) with really bad B.O. who insists on setting up his mat near mine for some reason. The smell is bad enough. Talk about distracting one from peaceful thoughts! Add in the constant tugging and “re-arranging” of man parts that are being squeezed into wedgie shorts that would snugly fit, well, me; it’s enough to put the cabash on all possibility of relaxation. Did I mention that he envisions himself a yoga master and feels no compunction to follow the teacher in the positions the rest of the class is practicing? Aaaaargh.
So, we’ve got B.O., miniscule shorts that must be adjusted ad nauseum to return testicles and what-not to a somewhat covered state, and, the topper, practicing his own shaky and off-balance yoga positions when the teacher is instructing us in the correct positions!
One month of pure calm and joy has been ruined by three straight days of this lunkhead who does not wear enough deodorant or clothing.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Not to worry. I will alter my yoga schedule to accomodate his! We won’t be practicing at the same times from here on out. I will simply change my behavior – with a smile. If you know me, you will know that a miracle has occured here! But with the daily practice of Hot Yoga, remaining pleasant in the face of B.O., dangling testicles, and boorish behavior is now no sweat.

Ya’ got it???

Ya got it? That’s the question I heard from THREE helpful male employees of Ollie’s while struggling to carry an 8-foot carpet through the aisles, up to the cash register, and finally out to my car last week. The dog had peed on the front hall carpet once again. So, off to Ollie’s Discount Store I drove to just replace the thing rather than scrub and attempt to deodorize it as usual.
I found the perfect 8′ round, wool, traditional Wilton – under no less than a dozen other choices. I pressed the “Get Assistance in the Carpet Department” button and waited. And waited. And waited. Yep, you guessed it. Me, myself, and I rolled and heaved the other carpets off the stack until we finally got to the right one. As I’m hoisting my choice onto my 5′3″ inch, slender frame’s shoulder, a 20-something, 6′ + tall male employee arrives and asks me, “Ya’ got it?” “Yes, thank you,” I manage to wheeze out. (Well, yeah, I’ve got it NOW; I’ve done all the heavy lifting.) I make my way to the check-out line, panting and puffing along the narrow aisles barely avoiding multiple collisions with lighted Christmas Tree, Reindeer and North Pole displays. Another male employee – a bagger mind you – not anyone minding the cash register calls to me, “Ya got it?” Again, same question to the short, small-boned woman lugging an 8-ft carpet through the store. I nod my head yes; didn’t have the energy to whisper out a “Yes, thanks.” The third employee, the MANAGER of the store (easily 300 lbs and well over 6′ tall – a burly, beefy, linebacker sort) who has watched me struggle through the check-out process yells over to me, “Ya GOT it?” He, like the other two men, made NO attempt to actually remove the weighty burden from my shoulder. Their “effort” on my behalf was purely vocal! Calling out “Ya’ got it?” to a woman lugging a large roll of carpet is not being a gentleman in any way. It is simply more proof that good manners in this country have been, well, irretrievably trampled.

Zombies Not Allowed To Eat At Mall!

That’s it. I’ve had it. I have HAAAAADDDDDD it! This is what my sister-in-law Joan says when she’s ticked off. You can tell she’s boiling by the drawn out “haaaaddd.” And you’d best get out of the way; she’s a thrower! Well, today, I’ve had it. I’ve haaaaaaadddddddddd it. Here’s why:
In this morning’s paper, there’s a small article about the Dress Like A Zombie Contest held yesterday at the local mall’s Barnes and Noble store. Families were encouraged to participate in hopes of winning tickets to “Evil Dead: The Musical!
So, the family of four pictured above (Please note that the children I’m talking about in this post are ages 7 and 9 – not the big, tall, scary teenager on the left!) comes dressed as zombies. The look can only be described as preppy-ghoulish. Blood. Goo. “Latex” facial skin falling off! Dark circles under the eyes. And brightly colored clothes that would be perfectly appropriate at any of the private schools in town. They were the clear winners. Of course, that was before little Caleigh wanted to go to the food court to get something to eat. Nope. No can do.
Way too risky. Mall security would not let the family leave the Barnes and Noble store to enter into the mall. Apparently, they were worried that other mall patrons might be terrified by the zombie characters’ “moaning, groaning or walking like a zombie.” To me though, the real topper comes when the mall manager is asked to explain why the family cannot go to the food court. He said, and I quote syllable for syllable, “How would we identify them if they were to commit a crime?” It’s thinking like this that I find truly scary.