Yoga cult

First, I think you should read 'The Yoga Cult' article in the February issue of Rolling Stone (a well-tatted Lil Wayne is on the cover of the issue).

Unbeknownst to me, I got involved with Dahn yoga in New York City. I think a friend of a friend innocently handed me a pamphlet and said, "Here, take a class." At the time, I had been very curious about yoga. (Never have I had an interest in cults, however.)

After the first class, I bought a 3-month membership because I'm pretty open-minded (feel free to replace the word 'open-minded' with 'naive' or 'impulsive') and was looking for a break from the gym routine.

But yes, it's definitely a cult. The membership included a white martial arts uniform that made everyone in the class look like inmates. Another red flag went up when I saw other members stay after class to mop the bathroom floors in reverence to the Dahn Master, Ilchi Lee. I'm sorry, but no person in their right mind, nevermind a fucking New Yorker, would voluntarily do this. Unless they'd been brainwashed.

The classes were notably more expensive than most yoga classes and taking them 3x a week were never enough in the instructors' eyes. In order to reach enlightenment, you had to devote your entire life to the practice. They constantly pushed workshops and retreats down my throat. I politely declined them all, but could read the disappointment on their faces. In their struggle to control me, I left before I could spot the Kool-aid.

So the Rolling Stone article is absolutely right. Dahn Yoga is a fanatical group led by a Korean guru that's part Moonies, part New Age boot camp – and pure profit. Read the article, it's fucking frightening.

Weird shit happens to me. In retrospect, I thought I was signing up for some simple downward-dogging. Turns out it was anything but that.

Hot cross buns

My mom sat me on a curling iron when I was a baby. Obviously, she didn't mean to. I was naked and she was on the phone and the curling iron was on the bed. She plopped me down and, "Owww! Cry!!!!! Wail!!!!" I sat in a tub of ice for a few weeks and luckily my behind is scar-free. My mother however, received raised eyebrows and scrutinizing eyes from the doctor for the next several years.




Ouch

Better off in a dive bar.

I took my first job as a waitress in New York City so I could audition on my days off. I'm a horrible waitress, in fact I've always hated it, but the money was good because I worked at the "it" spot at the time. Big mistake. One of the managers I answered to lived on a diet of Reese's peanut butter cups and cocaine. For some reason, she had it out for me. Hated me. And I could never understand why. I mean, why not bully the homeless guy who fronted as a bus boy? I asked myself if she picked on me because I was new. Because at 5' and 100 lbs, I am seemingly frail? Maybe it's because I'm a good person and she's a high school dropout. Anyway, for months she breathed down my back, powdery nostrils flaring, and screamed at me for forgetting to drop steak knives on my tables. It's taken me years to realize that I'm too laid back a person for intense and particularly dumbass situations such as these. She desperately wanted me to care, but I just DIDN'T GIVE A SHIT.

Too young

I was friends with this boy in the 4th grade and his mother invited me over their house. Unwittingly, I went because I was new to the school. But his mother was pushy and before I knew it, I was her son's girlfriend. In retrospect, he was a nice kid. I was kind of mute and played a lot of board games in their basement. I don't even think we held hands, but his mother made us romantic, candlelit dinners whenever I went over. This went on from 4th grade til 6th grade. I guess I was so quiet that I just went along with things. Today he won't be my friend on Facebook. I want to ask him if he blames me or her.

One 't'

I dated a guy with one 't' at the end of his name. 99.9% of the time this name has two t's. But I'd rather not mention it because he might be reading this right now. If so, he knows I'm talking about him. Fml. We met in college. I was a sophomore and he was a senior. We read a love scene from a play called, 'The Woolgatherers.' Great play. He had a pet iguana that he walked on a leash. He was very kind and he drank 40's. That summer I drove to his house in the woods that his parents built in western MA. Everything made sense once I saw where he grew up. He grew up on a goat farm.

Forrest Gump

I was recently informed by my mother that I wore leg braces as an infant because the doctor was concerned my legs were turning outward. Thank goodness this was during infancy and not during prom, for instance.

Teacher's pet

Elementary school teachers loved me. I think it's because my mom still dressed me and everything matched; from my headband right down to my socks. I was also very quiet and aimed to please. I remember my third grade teacher, 'Ms. Devin,' making me do odd tasks. Like staying in from recess to help her clean. But she was so afraid I'd get dirty, that she'd put paper towels down on the floor for my pretty little knees. I found ashtrays full of her butts next to the yellow sponges in the steel school cabinets. Her voice was raspy and her makeup was thick. Years later she passed away in a bad car accident. She loved me like a daughter. I both feared and respected her. Other people called her, 'Devil-dog Devin.'