Monthly Archives: February 2013

Om Ow Om- Yoga for Dummies

So I had nothing better to do on Valentine’s day than try a free yoga class. Now when someone says “FREE”, I’m very likely to try something.

That’s how I ended up folding myself into various pastry forms.

I had called to reserve my spot in a morning class and I arrived in sweats and a tshirt. When I walked into the studio, I was surrounded by limber pretty people all wearing stylish yoga clothes. Yoga pants make everyone’s butt look great so my ass was feeling extra nervous. The walls were lined with posters and colored a very soothing color, totally with the intention of being soothing. It was super effective.

The employees at the studio were so welcoming and nice. They didn’t seem too phased when I mentioned the only yoga ‘class’ I was ever in was in the middle of a field during a fire festival weekend with people in various states of sobriety. I also had signed up for just a “yoga hour” class and not the beginner’s class because I wanted to have free time. Since they reacted so well to me, I was excited to begin class.
And then the doors to the yoga room opened.

Now as a rubenesque woman (google it), I am very familiar with not always being in the same temperature climate as others. Some days I don’t need a jacket when it’s cold out and during the summer my red cheeks aren’t always from the sun. But as oblivious as I can be, I knew this room was hot. Not HOT, but the type of warmth that would make you stick to a cheap plastic chair.
I was lead to a spot in the back middle of the room where the other ‘new students’ were located. We chatted a bit and although they said they had never taken a class before, they had cute yoga clothes on. The overhead speaker died down and class began.

Apparently one of the main Yoga things deals with focusing on only you and not paying attention to people around you.
Oops.
No one gave me the 411 and I didn’t bother to Wiki yoga ahead of time.

So as the instructor listed out sequences of movements, I tried to see what other people were doing. I tried to only focus on myself, but all I could think of were things along the lines of “red foot yellow” or “left hand green”. These things were extremely frustrating because my yoga mat was purple and you never put a body part on a purple circle in Twister.

I thought I had things under control until the last bit of time. I don’t remember exactly what the instructor said to the class, but my mind translated it as “Now we go to hyper speed!” Sun salutation sequences, which I totally knew about before the class, can be tricky if you are tired or sore. If you are tired, sore, and sweating like a whore in church; they are really tricky! I tried my best to breath and OM where it seemed appropriate, but I do need to apologize to my mat neighbors for cursing under my breath at every set.

I try to be a class and articulate woman, but sometimes you just need to say “Fuck” while saluting the sun.
Multiple times.

So yeah… Yoga may not be my bag.

VDay D day.

Tomorrow is an artificial holiday perpetuated by the chocolate industry. So I have plans? Yes, to model tomorrow night. My big treat to is buying the leftover  chocolate on Friday.

It’s not that I dislike this holiday per say, it’s just why spend your energy just on one day. If you care about someone, let them know every day that you care about them. I’m not saying text them every single day, I don’t talk to anyone every single day and that’s the way I like it. In a world filled with up to the second communication, when we are technologically connected to the entire planet, it amazes me when people forget to communicate.

When I say communicate, I mean talk to each other. Get off your phone with the texting and the tweeting and sit down with the people you love. This also, and especially, applies to family. I had tea and lunch with my mom yesterday and it was lovely. We can and do talk almost every day because she is one of my best friends. But even though we are up to the minute updated, it means something more to sit down and talk.

I was getting nostalgic earlier this week and missing my college friends. I miss walking down the hall with a bottle of wine just to chat. No appointments needed.

I think a bad thing about becoming an adult is that you need to schedule fun and schedule hanging out with your friends. Long gone are the days of meeting after the bus and playing until the streetlights came on.

As we grow up, our time is measured in Hours per Week. With most people working more than 40 a week, we need to remember time to play.

Play.
Talk.
Love.

What’s so complicated?

This episode brought to you by the letter Rum and the number 6.

After a few drinks last night, I decided to look up an old photo of myself taken by my father.

My father perished in the great Moose Attack of 2010 clutching the “World’s Best Daddy” mug I made him in the 1st grade. His last words were to a young German boy who was picking apples in the field that day. He said “Tell my daughter I’m proud of her”.

Actually he’s an asshole who is court ordered not to contact me, but I like my story better.

ANYWAY…
I had looked at the photo a few weeks ago when I hadn’t noticed any real improvement to my physical form , despite working out and being really healthy. At the time, it seemed like a reality I would never achieve. I was skinny. I’m not posting the picture here, in part because I’m on my phone and also because I don’t want to. I don’t like the “wow, you look skinny” because I was SKINNY.

I have Lyme disease and it was the worst at that point. I couldn’t swallow anything. Nothing.
You want the ultimate diet? Don’t eat anything or drink anything.
I was so weak that I had trouble holding a normal book or walking. I trapped in my own body.

If you have never had a serious medical issue, please understand how lucky you truly are.
You probably woke up this morning and decided what to wear without calculating how much energy it would take to button a shirt or zip a zipper. Maybe you had coffee and toast without ever wondering if you could stand the taste of it in a few hours if you got sick. You may have even gone outside and enjoyed a walk instead of only being able to see outside through windows because it would really take to much out of you to pretend to not be sick.

This was me and the only way to describe it would be to say it sucked. Period.

Lyme will always be in my system and at the end of August I couldn’t swallow for a full 24 hours. I live with this.

Now back to the photo.
I looked at it last night with the clarity you only find after a few stiff drinks. The same levelheadedness you also use to decide to text a long lost flame. So sudden and without a filter is what I’m saying.

“Gross!” I said looking at the picture.
I realized I could clearly see my collar bone and my arms looked heavy and gaunt. I had no curves, even where curves would be welcome. My ears looked to big and everything seemed to be the wrong proportion. It looked like me, but only if I had gone through a fun house mirror first.

The photo is on the internet and will be out there until Skynet overthrows humanity.

That’s who I was, but that’s not me.

Making mistakes in grand fashion.

The other day, I went grocery shopping. Already in the Dollar store, I decided to purchase some eggs.
Dollar store eggs are a mistake.
Not only did I almost get sick, but I think I saw hell in the small yellow yolk.

I once got so lost, I ended up in a completely different state.

While displaying a large auction item, I had a pretty bad ‘wardrobe malfunction’ in front of about 200 people.

In China, my ‘smart ideas’ almost got me kidnapped. Twice.

Hello, My name is Brigid and I make mistakes.
I’ve yet to make a huge mistake in the grand scheme of things. I prefer the smaller more interesting mistakes that happen on a daily basis. Sometimes I’ll forget to bring a jacket or I’ll take a new route to somewhere and get completely lost in the process. Mistakes lead to new things. I love new things.

But if everything went right 100% of the time and all of my plans worked out perfectly, I’d be very bored.

So here’s to the mistakes that stay with us like cheap mascara, always in the corner of our eyes. Let’s cherish them as much as making the perfect souffle. 

Still growing

I was always the tallest kid in class. When we had to line up to go anywhere, it was a catholic school, I’d stand at the back of the line a good six inches taller than the next person. None of the cute kid clothes fit me because I was bigger and taller than me peers.
I was kicked out of McDonalds playplaces when I was 7 years old because I was already bigger than the height requirements.
At theme parks, they tried to get my parents to pay adult prices when I was 9 because I was already so tall.

The phrase kids like me always heard was “one day you’ll grow into yourself.” This has always been the mantra of the gawky skinny kid and the ones whose ears grew faster than the rest of them. We take no solace in this phrase when we are a kid and we respond with “Yeah right”. We think the adults are full of themselves and have no idea what they are talking about.
As an adult, i know I’m full of shit sometimes but this phrase finally made sense.

It’s only very recently that I’ve accepted growing into myself. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always loved my body in my own special way. I’ve bared it all as an artist model since I was 18 years old and as a performer, modesty has never been one of my virtues. But loving yourself and feeling at home in your own skin are separate things.

I can’t think of a better analogy than shoes. I love my converse and I always have. When you get a pair of shoes, it takes a while to break them in. Each person will wear away the tread differently and tie the laces differently. What will seem like no support to one person will feel like walking on a cloud to another. The color of the shoe matters and the style is just as important.

It’s taken me 23 years to feel at home in the black high top All Star shoe that is my body. This journey I’m on is getting exciting now that I know I can do anything as long as I listen to my body to find my boundaries.

I know every shoe is different, even the ones that come in a set. So today I’m going to remember not to compare myself to a stiletto because they are totally different. Besides, I rock my converse.