Wimp

Dusting off the old blog. It’s been a while. My last couple of entries feel weak. Maybe it’s because nothing weird has happened to me recently. I suppose that’s a good thing, right? I think so. But for the blog? Well, that could mean demise. ☹

Anywho, let’s talk about the massage. Just the other week, I was the first time recipient of a hot stone massage. The male masseuse was incredibly soft-spoken. No, really. I couldn’t hear this gentle, New Age dude at all. Come to find out, he was telling me to be honest with him about the temperature of the rocks. Yeah, in one ear and out the other. Got scalded.

“Iceland’s volcano. Those rocks must have been hot, too,” was all I could think of. I winced as the skin on the back of my legs melted off the bone like lamb’s meat. The masseuse, although a kind fellow, (I sensed this through his smile and sincere eyes) could not manage to mutter an audible apology. So I took it upon myself to fill the room with sounds one might associate with an injured horse. Or perhaps a llama. A chorus of weird neighs and high-pitched ninnies.

Turns out, I just couldn’t take the heat.

(Not me.)

City of Embalms

Ft. Myers, aka "The City of Palms," is where the Red Sox Spring training is held each year. It coincided with a school break so I agreed to go with my Mom, Dad and Grandmother. We then met up with my Grandmother's brother and brother-in-law, ages 92 and 80-something, respectively. In fact, the mean age of the fan base in the baseball stadium was give-or-take 1,358 years old. I got strange looks for not having a walker. Or maybe they just couldn't see me at all.

My great-uncle (age 92) jokingly asked me during the 7 inning stretch, "So when are you getting married? I'm running out of time here." I then left my seat to eat some bad sushi.

Also, the city of Ft. Myers shuts down around 8pm. There were no signs of life on the streets. Like Emily Dickinson, I went stir-crazy until the last night when my Mom suggested I go downstairs to the hotel bar and have a drink. Fine.

As I pulled up a stool, I kid you not, the Red Sox minor-league baseball team strolled in. Young, hot and sweaty after practice. I tried not to look like an alcoholic, sitting at the bar by myself.

I lost my breath when the Australian pitcher pulled up a stool next to me. He was a young Heath Ledger and I'm not just saying that because he was from down under. I fell in love with this 19 year-old after just one drink. We talked for hours and then he walked me up to my room...

At this point, I'm just going to say FML, because a) I met this hottie on my last night in Ft. Myers (wtf?) and b) I was sharing a room with my 82-year-old Grandmother.

Strike 50.

Dank duffel

I bought a used duffel bag off Amazon.com but it smells like its previous owner. Sorry, if you're reading this, previous owner. I'm also guessing you're a blond from the long strands of hair in the wallet accompanying the bag. I've washed the bag numerous times but the fragrance prevails. So there it sits in the corner of my closet and there it shall stay. It's a shame too, because I love the print.



(I just can't do it. It smells like lavender dryer sheets and old cat.)

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.