Death by Yoga

Today in yoga, I had a little scare.  I should say that on Thursdays, I always run then go into the class right afterwards and look at it as a 45 minute cool down.  So today, I finished my run and went into class.  I was perfectly fine until the last, like, 3 minutes of class.  Our instructor has us do this stretch where we place our left hand on our chest, then reach forward with the right and bring it all the way back behind us so that you're looking over your right shoulder.  Then you reverse it and we do that 2 or 3 times on each side.  On the first stretch, as I'm looking over my shoulder, I'm overcome with VIOLENT nausea.  Honestly, I thought the lady behind me was 20 seconds away from having puke in her hair.  Then I suddenly got so dizzy I was having a hard time keeping my balance while just standing straight.  I don't want to toot my own horn here (even though I deserve it), but I've got pretty good balance.  I've got better balance than everyone in that class put together, regardless of the fact that I'm younger than their grandchildren (NO it's not the Silver Sneakers class-I take that on Wednesday).  Anyways, my balance was way off and I was pretty sure I was going to fall face forward into the mirror and simultaneously break my nose on the ballet bar.  As the rest of the class continued on into the final stretch, I completely and totally lost my sight.  Everything got sort of pixilated, then went black.  I knew it would ruin the zen moment in class to yell "HELP ME, YOU IDIOTS, I'VE GONE BLIND!!" so instead, I just started bending over, violently shaking my head to get my sight back.  I must have looked like I was at a Pearl Jam concert in 1994.  I could hear people putting their mats away, so class was over, and I just crumpled onto my mat and thankfully my vision came back within a few seconds.  My instructor came over to check on me and told me I was way dehydrated from running before yoga.  I think the people leaving class thought I was some kinda wuss for nearly passing out during yoga.  "Boy that upward dog really gets me every time." Snicker, snicker, snicker.  I thought about yelling "Say it to my face, granny!" because obviously I could later blame it on the lack of blood flow to my brain.  All in all, I'm fine now.  I've had a pretty wicked headache all day, and I almost tossed my cookies onto a mail lady, but that's not unusual.

Jacob leaves for Vegas tomorrow for his boy weekend.  You know what that means for me....GIRLS WEEKEND!!!!!  hah. Just kidding, I don't have friends here (upside: I only have one enemy!)  The haggard lady at Walmart's deli counter was looking out for me when she over-sliced my meat and cheese, so I'll be consumed by the plethora of sandwiches I'll be making.  Cold-cuts are suitable substitutes for friendship, right?  Otherwise, I'm not sure what I'm going to do while Jacob is gone.  Ideas? Suggestions?  I'm thinking the boys and I might treat ourselves to some Saturday morning donuts from The Donut Hole.  Which, coincidentally doesn't sell donut holes- Bait & switch? False Advertising??

Jacob volunteered to make dinner tonight so I could go to my pilates class (which was much less eventful than yoga this morning), and that made me very nervous.  I realized I've got a lot of Monica Geller in me.  Side note: I have been watching entirely too much FRIENDS lately.  The tv situation here is.....not good.  Anyways, we were going to have a baked spaghetti dish, but I could not give up control, so I was boiling the pasta and browning the meat when he got home from work.  All he really had to do was layer the pasta, meat and cheeses, and stick it in the oven but the thought of that was giving me sweaty palms while driving to the gym.  I even called him when I got there to see if everything was going fine.  Even thinking about it now is kind of giving me hives.  It's not that Jacob can't cook, it's that the role reversal of him cooking while I just sit around totally freaks me out.  It feels like that episode of 30 Rock where Kenneth the page asks one of the actors what he should go get him for lunch only to have the actor say he'll get his own lunch, and could he get something for Kenneth while he's out.  With panic and horror in his eyes, Kenneth says:

Even though I hate cooking, it makes me very anxious when I don't do it.  Unless we're going out to eat.  And in that case:  PIZZA RANCH!  PIZZA RANCH! PIZZA RANCH!!

A Day of Shopping

Busy, busy day today.  Thrift Store, Wal-Mart, Thrift Store (again), HERBERGERS, and some sporting goods store.  FYI, those are basically all the stores in Dickinson.  Although I did notice a store today that I had never seen before.  It's called Dakota Woman, and I have a feeling it's even worse than it sounds.  I'm imagining a blander, older version of Dress Barn, which I have serious issues with.  And actually....no.  I won't get into it about Dress Barn. 

The reason behind all the shopping today is that Jacob wanted to find something to wear to Vegas this weekend.  All the guys are bringing suits, but Jacob didn't put his in our temporary living stuff, so he needed to find something to wear.  Since David had already purchased what I believe is a demin(ish) leisure suit, Jacob and I agreed that he needed something with panache.  We were hoping for a plaid sports jacket and some white pants (think Reuben in Ocean's Eleven).  Since we don't have any of the well known thrift stores in town, like Goodwill or Salvation Army, I was a little nervous for my first adventure into Arc Aid by myself.  I realized once inside that the people working there were even scuzzier than what you might expect to see working or even shopping in such a store.  I took a quick look around and was horrified when one of the workers, who I can only describe as being a gremlin, was lunging towards me.  Now here's the thing.  In no way am I making fun of the disability she probably had.  HOWEVER.  When you look like Riff Raff from Rocky Horror Picture Show--

(with the greasy hair to match), and you come lurching at someone, nearly knocking them into a wall full of thousands of glass menageries (costing 25 cents or less!), you're gonna freak them out!  And she didn't even say anything to me-- just lunged, grunted, and went on with her business.  I ended up finding some pretty sweet suits for Jacob, but couldn't get any because I didn't know about the sizing, so I had to leave empty handed. 

Next came grocery shopping at Wal-Mart (do they still have the hyphen in there? For simplicity's sake, let's say no).  Anyways, Walmart was unusually gypsy-free when I went this afternoon.  I only saw about 3 RVs in the parking lot, whereas normally there are around 15.  It was a typical trip, pretty uneventful, really.  Got my toes runover by some old lady pushing her cart, saw some guy pick his nose while reading the nutrional content of Nutri-grain bars, and listened to the infighting among the deli workers regarding the meat left on the ground (not what you want to hear when they're slicing up your turkey breast).  I also was shopping alongside a young (14ish) Mennonite girl and her brother (15?).  Let me give you a visual:  brother looks like he just jumped off the pages of a Kohl's add: heelies, cell phone, obnoxious smirk and all.  Sister, however, was wearing a floor length denim skirt and colonial type long-sleeved shirt.  She may have even been wearing a bonnet for all I know.  What stuck out to me the most was that she was wearing these awful SAS shoes that my grandmother (RIP) would never have even worn.  Honey, any society that lets your brother out of the house looking like Justin Bieber, while you're wearing geriatric orthopedic shoes does not have your best interests at heart.  Fashion and religion are not mutually exclusive.

When Jacob got home from work, we went back to the thrift store to see if any of the suits/sport coats would work for him.  He ended up getting a really sweet blue plaid sport coat and actually a really nice Michael Kors button down shirt to go under it.  Cost: $9.06.  There was a t-shirt there that I didn't get because Jacob was in a hurry to leave, but I'm totally regretting passing it up.  On the front, it said "Watch out Jamestown" and on the back" We're gonna HAWK BLOCK ur jimmies"  Gold.  Solid gold.  Jacob said the neck was stretched out and it was too wide for how short it was, but he doesn't understand fashion.  Looks like I'll be headed back to Arc Aid soon!

On a related note (high fashion, of course), New York Fashion week is coming up, which means I will be drooling over some crazy expensive gowns, wishing I had the money and/or occasion to wear them.  So...prepare yourself for that.

Hey Dana!

Well, here it is, first post.  Not sure exactly what to talk about, considering most likely only Dana and maybe Aimee (hey boogs!) will read this.  Let me start with the most important stuff: the juice I'm drinking.  I like to buy a different kind of fruit juice every week when I go to the store, normally some kind of cranberry mix (you can never be too proactive in fighting urinary tract infections), but this week I went too crazy.  I bought the Wal-Mart brand "Light Blueberry Pomegrante Cocktail".  I was worried when I opened it and there were black dots all over the top of the juice.  Naturally, I proceeded to pour myself a drink only to realize that it tastes like a mixture of socks and tree bark.  Anyways, I'm on my third glass now and still a little bit worried about what that black stuff is that's growing on the lid. 

Jacob's birthday is coming up.  I always have the hardest time buying him presents because he just never really wants much.  It should be a really endearing quality, but it isn't.  I decided to give him one of his presents early-- I splurged and got him a great pair of Ray Ban's.  He has NEVER worn sunglasses and drives a lot for his new job, plus he's going to Vegas this coming weekend, so he'll definitely need them.  Here's one thing I LOVE about Jacob: he's very easy going and easy to please.  Here's one thing I don't love about Jacob: he's a diva about sunglasses.  For whatever reason, he is very picky about these glasses and did not like them when he opened his present.  We got into a couple little tiffs over it, because I kept insisting that I could return them if he didn't like them and he would say in frustration "I'm going to hate any pair of sunglasses, so if these are good, I might as well keep them." And what gift-giver wouldn't want to hear such a grateful statement?  I should say, that once during the middle of one of these arguments, I accidentally started laughing in his face because I couldn't believe that he was being so particular.  I tried to play it off like frustrated laughter, but I think he's on to me.... So today I went out to see if I could find another pair of glasses for him to compare the Ray Bans to, so NATURALLY I went to Herbergers.  You know, every time I go in there, I have to eat my words about that place because they had the Fossil glasses that I was looking for.  AAAAAAAAAND the lady in front of me at the checkout counter (who I think might be a gypsy living at Walmart) farted, only to have her "daughter", who was easily ten years older than her, say "awww come on mom! That stinks!!"  I think the cashier was unsure as to how to proceed, so she asked them if they liked Clinique and told them about the bonus sale they were having.  I promise you this, unless that Clinique counter only sells navy eyeliner and hot pink blush, they will not be making any sales to these women.  Also, after she swiped her credit card and the cashier asked for her zip code to verify the card, the lady (let's call her...Patsy), spent two minutes trying to remember her zip code.  Finally she says "Oh yeah!  My driver's License! You should always carry your driver's license so you know where you live!".  Now, okay, I'm not sure if you don't need a driver's license to drive a pop-up camper, but I'm pretty sure if you're 40 years old and only carrying your license as a way to remember your address, you probably have dementia.  Poor Patsy, she probably doesn't even remember that the 50 year old wearing jorts and a velvet scrunchie standing next to her isn't her daughter.  Although it's occurring to me at this very moment that perhaps she didn't know the zip code because it wasn't her credit card....it was the card belonging to the person whose wallet she stole! PATSY'S A THIEF, Y'ALL! Holy smokes.  Okay, looks like I'll be watching the local news for the next few weeks. The good news is that I could identify Patsy, her daughter, and her stinky fart in a heartbeat.