[Edit: I am unprofessional. There's really no need for snarky air-quotes and smart-ass italics. I'm currently playing Snood and blogging. I think it might be official.]
Last night's hot yoga class was HORRIBLE. Absolutely horrible. And normally when I have a bad yoga class, I'm totally willing to accept full responsibility. Usually it means I haven't gotten enough sleep or have been skipping the gym or haven't been drinking enough water and have definitely been drinking too much Jäger, but this time, I refuse to shoulder the blame. Instead, I place the blame on Allan: The World's Worst Yoga Instructor.
My sister had been warning me about Allan since I joined her studio. She couldn't quite put her finger on what's so annoying about Allan, but after taking his class last night, I can: Allan talks like Pauly Shore. There it is. Nail on head. And do you know how difficult it is to hold a back bend in 105-degrees when there's a Pauly Shore facsimile barking at you to clench your butt? Impossible. Every time he said the word "bone" I thought I was going to lose it and shit my pants. When I should have been clearing my mind and laying in Savasana, I was running through my favorite lines from Son-in-Law and desperately trying to remember the words to Crawl's "Buff the Wood" square-dancing song. (Thank you Internets: "Now grab a nug whose cones are busty, Weiz her gig and make her crusty! Grab your dude, Don't use roughness, Move in close and groove his buffness! Buff the wood! Buff the wood!)
Not to mention the incredible amount of energy it took to refrain from prancing around the studio doing the Steven Tyler PJ's dance:
And it really didn't help that my sister's name is Rebecca. Bec-kahhhhhhh...Chowin' down and muchin' on some grindageeee... (Yes, I own Son-In-Law on DVD.) (No, I don't want to talk about it.)
Besides it perpetually being a 1993 frat boy movie in my head, I also had an extreme fat kid moment. Perhaps the fattest of them all. It happened when I started to feel a little woozy and decided to lie down and sit a pose out. Allan saw that a few people were losing energy, so he stepped out of the room and came back carrying a hand full of plastic yellow and blue packets. He offered me one. "Oh, sweet!" I thought, "Kraft Singles!" My eyes lit up and I eagerly grabbed the packet, ready to re-charge my batteries with some good old-fashioned American cheese. Upon further inspection, I realized Allan had not given me a Kraft Single. No. He gave me a packet of Emergen-C Vitamin C powder to put in my water.
[NOT:
]What in the sweet name of Christ is wrong with me that I thought our yoga instructor would pass out Kraft Singles in the middle of a hot yoga session?! And more importantly, why was I so excited about it?? I felt this overpowering rush of disappointment when I realized it was actually Vitamin C powder. I hate that shit. But I love Kraft Singles. Even though it was a babillion degrees in there and I felt like I was about to pass out and throw up at any second (not necessarily in that order,) I was genuinely excited to eat a delicious slice of American cheese. It made complete sense to me that this would be an option. Cheese has calcium. Calcium gives you strong bones. Strong bones are needed to support your body in yoga. Thus, it's completely normal to take a mid-yoga cheese break. It just made sense. But to quote my sister, "It was hot in there, dude. A lot of things made sense." Truer words were never spoken. What's even more embarrassing is that Allan came up to me after class and asked why I didn't use my Vitamin C packet. I could barely get words out. I was like, "OH. Yea. Well. I couldn't open it and I thought maybe I'd save it for later and maybe I'll put it in some tea tonight and I was really concentrating on the yoga and yeah. Just. Yeah." When what I really wanted to say was, "I accepted this Vitamin C pack under the assumption that it was cheese. It is not. I don't have to pay for it, do I?" Fat. Jewish. Humbling. Moment. 2009.
Given the events of this week, I was tempted to make today's drinking game be Pauly Shore or perhaps Jäger themed, but instead I'd like to celebrate another hero of mine—you. 2b1b won 3rd place for the Washington Post Express' Best Local Blog 2009! And while I don't really consider this a "local" blog, I am more than honored to take the bronze! What's even more exciting is that we weren't even nominated. You guys wrote us in and we ended up being in the top 3! And if you ask me, that's pretty impressive. It really shows how loyal you all are and I can't tell you how much the entire 2birds1blog family appreciates it. Ugh. Now I'm feeling all of these "emotions." My "heart" is all "warmed" and I'm crying like a lousy dame. WHATEVER! Let's man-up and take a shot! So, 2birds1blog reader, there's no game this week. I simply raise this shot of delicious, ice-cold Jägermeister (available at all fine drinking establishments and a liquor store near you) and dedicate it to you. Here's to being broke, bored and aimless!
Thank you!
Stay tuned for a big 2birds1blog announcement coming later in the day. Have a great weekend and we'll see you back here Monday morning! <3
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