The Five People You Meet in Yoga - And Wish You Hadn't

He must be The Show-off

Ah yoga: The pinnacle of relaxation, fitness and meditation. I’ve become a yoga monster lately and the studio I go to is pretty keen on sticking to true yoga traditions; every pose is called out in the Sanskrit term rather than the translation, we Om at the end of class, she teaches us about yoga philosophies as we practice asanas, and she explains the stories we tell with our poses.

I love it. I feel completely relaxed, I’ve shed pounds (welcome back, high school weight!), but I can tell I’m doing something that means much more than getting healthy. Shit if monks do it, I must be on some path to enlightenment right?

I call it my hippy yoga and it’s helping me ward off bridezilla as we enter the final weeks of wedding planning. I promised I wouldn’t turn into her, but I’m finding I have to battle her often so I don’t lose my shit. Bridezilla is a mad god like Lilith in True Blood, for any fellow truebies out there.

However calming yoga may be, in my practice I’ve encountered personalities of all types, many of which are completely obnoxious to practice with, taking out the whole relaxation aspect. Before you yogis out there start bitching, I know that yoga is supposed to be all about non-judgment; non-judgment of others and non-judgment of yourself. But this is Sticks and Stones and not a yoga blog, so you’re going to let me have my bitch sesh and deal. I accept that this blog post in and of itself is not very yogic.

With that said, I discovered the worst yoga personality of them all in last night’s yoga class. It was so bad, that it actually inspired me to carve time out of my insane schedule to update my blog and tell you all about it. So, I’ve compiled my shit list of yoga personality profiles in order of least to worst offenders. Last night’s personality takes the cake, so he’s the last on the list. Enjoy.

The “Don’t Look at Me I’m New” Person

Every class has one. And I’ve been that person. The beginner, new-to-the-studio gal is in a ball in the corner, dying of heat exhaustion, ready to pass out, questioning why the hell she came and why the fuck didn’t she drink more water beforehand. Not every beginner has this experience, but it’s not uncommon either. It gets better. Trust me. Don’t let this one experience ruin it. Prepare better next time.

The Show-off

This classmate shows up at least 20 minutes before class starts, and will start flowing the second the mat’s unrolled. Hand stands are flying, limbs and spines are being contorted, all to prove that he can do it. The teacher will never go into these complicated poses with the group, so he needs some kind of audience. Once class begins, he stands right next to the teacher. It’s the yoga version of teacher’s pet. I can’t say I’m not jealous of these abilities, but the arrogance just kills.

The Loud Om-er

Now we’re getting to the good stuff. And this one is weird. I’ve only encountered it twice, so I imagine it’s a rare breed of yogi. This person will breathe very loudly during the duration of class. And when I mean loud, I mean he's competing with Beats by Dre. Every inhale seems to suck up all oxygen from the room and every exhale makes the entire room smell of their carbon dioxide excretion. They make fun sounds as they get in and out of poses. At the end of class, when we’re closing our practice, this person, forgetting that yoga is supposed to be about relaxing, yells Om at the top of their lungs, rather than letting it gently vibrate out of their mouths. Forgetting they’re in a yoga studio and not a Slip Knot concert, their Om is not only louder than the teacher’s, it’s off-key, screeching and lasts longer than anyone else’s. It’s a perfect way to end yoga on a sour note.

The Schweaty Guy

Let’s face it- everyone sweats buckets in hot yoga. But you contain it to your own mat and area. That’s why yogitoes were invented. I’d rather be next to the loud Om-er than the Schweaty Guy. This person (which every class has) manages to flick their sweat in every direction their limbs point. With sweat, comes stench. The entire room starts filling with the sharp odor of one brand of B.O. They leave a puddle in their wake after class has ended. I’m not exaggerating this at all. The worst is when there are back-to-back classes, and you accidentally roll your mat out in a puddle from the previous class’s Schweaty Guy (speaking from experience). God forbid if you end up next to this one in a crowded class, and manage to accidentally touch a foot or hand. Shower with acid immediately.

The Farting/Humming Guy

Practicing next to this guy makes yoga impossible to enjoy. It will start off with the loud breathing, but when the music starts, he also thinks he’s a yoga singer and starts trying to emulate the sounds and spastic note range in the song and fails. Hard. That alone eliminates all chances for relaxation. You’re supposed to focus on what you’re doing and nothing else. But if you have some Yoga Idol wannabe next to you, it’s hard to let your mind go when you’re eardrums are being actively assaulted.

But please take note: If you dine at a taco truck, or consume a Costco hot dog before doing yoga, do not come to class. This guy farted at least seven times in class last night, one of which was when his ass was near my face and I was ready to turn the yoga class into Tae Kwon Do. I was so mad! If you can’t control your bowels, you need to do a yoga DVD at home, near your bathroom so you can handle emergencies as they arise.

One of my favorite poses is shavasana, or corpse pose, because it elicits the most relaxation and signals the end of class. By principle, you are to be silent during shavasana, breathe quietly and shallowly and did I mention be quiet? The Farting/Humming Guy starts humming and trying out for Yoga Idol again, during one of the most meditative and relaxing poses, and I just laid there holding my breath so I didn’t inhale his ass scent. I also couldn’t relax my face muscles since I was frowning so hard.

"It was the worst shavasana ever." - Witness

I had just begun to sort of relax when the teacher said, “Wiggle your toes and fingers and come back to earth.” What a waste. He also happened to be a loud Om-er. Go figure. He was the trifecta of bad yoga personalities and I promise to move if he tries to practice next to me again.

So now that I’ve convinced you never to do yoga, just know that as long as you don’t get stuck next to any of these, yoga really is a wonderful practice. I love it. I’ve just burned the faces of the above offenders into my memory so I know never to roll my mat out next to them again.

And now, I will forsake my typical sign off with a simple, Namaste.

Consumerism and the Wedding Registry

So cool. This was soo much better than sky diving.

Of the many struggles one encounters in wedding land, one of the toughest for me has been our wedding registry. By now you may have gathered that I have some issues with consumerism (if you haven’t been a reader all that long, see this post, and that post, and this one too).

Among the many pressures a couple faces during the planning process, it turns out, there's a whole other set of expectations for wedding registries too. Monogrammed china, five million thread count organic cotton hand towels imported from Borneo, silver china that will gather dust in the attic for like...ever, and all the expensive kitchen appliances that you'll use once and then retire as counter top decorations. No thanks. Like many wedding options Fiance and I are choosing, we’re not going a traditional route with our registry either.

Fiance and I have lived together for nearly three years, so we have what we need for the most part. I've also been a pretty mindful shopper after I got myself into a bit of a financial pickle from which I just crawled out.

For these reasons, we are not doing a traditional housewares registry. Sure, it’d be nice to upgrade all our towels, but I can’t shake the angel on my shoulder who keeps screaming about how wasteful it is. What happens to our perfectly good old towels? I don’t have space for everything, and I’ll be damned if I throw perfectly good items in a dumpster. Okay – maybe, another pair of sheets would be handy for our king bed and perhaps we could put a new pair of kitchen tongs to use. Aside from that, I am drawing a blank. The aforementioned items would make a pitiful registry, and they’re simple enough for us to buy on our own.

This article on apartment therapy (which is quickly becoming a fave blog of mine) expresses my struggle with the want/need aspect of a wedding registry to a T.

What our generation wants are experiences. I want to see the world. This NPR article explains so much about my values and what I want for my life, and I don’t think I’m out of line for expecting my registry to reflect that.

So, Fiance and I are opting for a honeymoon registry. Experiences are the best gifts and you always have a fond memory to look back on. For those that prefer to purchase a non-experience gift, we have a gift card registry. That way, we can save the gift card for when we actually need something, or for when we buy a house. No wasteful spending here!

But more than that, we’re not getting married to get gifts. I’m getting married because my fiance is the love of my life and I want to hang out with him until one of us dies (to put it frankly). If you’re invited, it’s because we want you to celebrate with us (and feed you and make you drink beer so somebody’s out there dancing with us).

However tacky or non-traditional you deem it, just know that every wedding is unique to the couple getting married. At the end of the day, what matters is that they are kicking off their marriage as happy as they can be. And history has proven that you don't need a Keurig to do it.

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but I’d rather go swim with some mother effing dolphins than stay at home watching my Kitchen Aid attachment make ground beef.

What's Up



One of three photos I took on my whole Vegas trip. We were too busy sinning.

I’m back, kids! I must apologize for my hiatus. This year has proven to be difficult in maintaining my blog, but rest assured, I’m not abandoning you. We’ve had something going on every weekend since I don’t know when, and we’re pretty much crazy busy until after our honeymoon. So bear with me – I promise after October I’ll have some juicy posts for you to enjoy.

Here’s an update on life:

VEGAS: We just got back from celebrating Fiance’s dirty 30 in Vegas! We had an awesome time and met seven other friends in Sin City to celebrate (two of which were also turning 30) so you can imagine that we had so much fun, that we would like to not return to Vegas ever again (okay maybe just for a few years). Oh – and I won Best Future Wife of the Year award by surprising Fiance with a Ferrari driving experience. I told him we were driving Go Karts so he wouldn’t get wasted beforehand ;) Seeing how happy he was after getting out of that Ferrari made me not feel so bad that I lost nearly $200 playing slots.

WEDDING PLANNING: Well, it’s mostly done. Now I’m starting to look at all the shitty details I don’t really want to contend with, like logistics. Okay I’m done thinking about this now. Next!

HOT YOGA: I’ve been getting my zen on. I’m in love! This has been keeping me balanced and sane, and in shape. I’ve been trying to slim down before my dress fitting next month. I’ve lost 15 lbs since the holidays and I’m nearly at the weight I was when I was running half marathons – granted I’m not as muscular or toned as I was, but I’m trying to get there one asana at a time ;)

5K: I signed up for a 5k! Don’t get so excited – I’m not running it. But I am walking it with my pups and fiance!

SHOWS: I’ve seen some pretty sweet shows since May – Radiohead (my absolute fave band!), Black Keys, and I’ll be seeing Fiona Apple next week! Speaking of Ms. Apple, what the hell is up with her new stuff? I absolutely love everything else she’s put out, but I don’t think I’m tortured enough to appreciate the wailing and screaming that assaults my ear drums on her new album. It has gotten rave reviews and I’m just listening to it with a confused look on my face. Maybe if I listen to it while slitting my wrists with a pink bic razor I would finally understand it. There are a handful of tracks I can get into, but I sure hope next week’s show delivers. I ruined the last Fiona Apple show I went to by getting so drunk that I almost got kicked out of the Chateau St. Michelle winery. Moving on… I’ve also seen Anjelah Johnson and Aziz Ansari live. I swear I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. It’s been an amazing year for entertainment so far!

BABY SHOWERS: This Sunday will mark my third shower this year and I know a few others who are preggers. Eerbody’s makin’ babies. I’ve been playing that celebrity baby name game so much that I will ban whoever throws my baby shower (if I decide to have kids – don’t excited, Mom) from playing it. (BTW, did you know Mike Myers named his kid Spike? And some actress I’ve never heard of named her baby Audio Science? And I thought I was screwed having to correct people on pronouncing my name.)

READING: I’ve been reading some amazing books lately. Right now, I’m enthralled with Animal, Vegetable, Miracle (or really anything by Barbara Kingsolver). She’s quickly becoming one of my favorite writers. This book has been getting me in touch with my inner hippy, and making me realize how disconnected we are from the source of our food. So I’ve been inspired to purchase organic, local, in-season foods, and eat healthier as well. I went to our local co-op with a new eye and appreciation for produce. My mom likes to tell people I once brought home a zucchini for her when she asked me to pick up a cucumber, and that I put cabbage on my sandwich instead of lettuce by accident. I’m learning, and this book is helping. And this is why Fiance does most of the cooking in our house. You can check out Barbara’s message by visiting the book’s website, although I highly encourage you to just read the book. The stories she tells are simply beautiful.

SAD NEWS: Poor Chika is getting spayed tomorrow :( I’m dreading it for her. Bowser was so miserable after he got neutered and was crying all night. I stayed up with him like a good mama and just cuddled with him. I hope Chika isn’t hurting that bad tomorrow. It makes me upset just thinking about it.

That's all for now. I have more blog posts pending...if I ever get around to editing them...

Home Repairs

Killer chinchilla is hiding in your shower drain.

Since we have illegal four-legged friends residing in our home (Really? Pet rent? We refuse to notify them based on principle), I try my darndest to fix things in our rental rather than call the maintenance guy. If the repair guy really needs to come, it involves having to find dog sitters, hide every dog-related item in the house, including the huge photos on our wall, or calling the vet to find out if our dogs have the right vaccines for a last-minute doggy day camp trip. It’s a hassle. It’s just easier not to bother the maintenance guy if I can do it myself.

So, our shower drain has been clogged for a good two weeks, and I couldn’t take it any longer. I’d been putting it off, and putting it off and finally I got a wild hair last night and declared, “I’m handling this problem once and for all!”

I triumphantly found a Phillips screw driver, some gloves and charged upstairs to tackle the drain. I felt all Rosie the Riveter and shit about doing what I consider plumbing. “We can do it!” I shouted in my head. I was only missing the red bandana.

Then I got to the drain.

I took out the screws, removed the drain cover and peered in. I saw something that resembled hair and attempted to pull it out. It just broke off. This wasn’t looking good.

“FIANCE!!!!” I had to scream fourteen times before he realized I was trying to get his attention. My Japanese heritage was tingling, so I asked for chopsticks to help with the plumbing issue. His dude brain heard BBQ skewers, which only broke off when I attempted to pull – it was foreshadowing of the mammoth substance I was dealing with. Once he realized that I seriously needed the girth of the chopstick, he obliged and brought me the tool that I’m sure most plumbers keep in their belts.

And then I dug a bit more. The chopstick started getting it out, and once I had it to a point where I could grab it with my gloved hands, I pulled. And then I gagged.

A Guinness World Record-sized wad of hair, covered in a year’s worth of soap scum emerged from the drain. It was about the size of a chinchilla (nearly a foot long, not including tail). And. It. Smelled. Like. Ass.

I immediately started gagging, and my eyes began watering. Even Fiance got grossed out.

I said, “We’ve been showering with water backed up from THAT! It touched us!”

It seriously took about an hour for the smell to leave our bathroom, and that was after I took the garbage out containing the beast. It smelled like raw sewage. I couldn’t believe something that behemoth was in our drain. Next time, the maintenance guy is totally getting called.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but some home repairs are best left to the pros.