It's been an hour and I'm still wet

Here's my afterglow.  It's been an hour.  I dried off, changed clothes, drove for 20 minutes and ate a sandwich.  I'm still wet.  I keep reliving the moments of hot pleasure/pain and I can't wait to do it again.  I'm hooked.

Bikram  will make you better at any sport.  It will also make you nicer, taller, more balanced, more regular, and less prone to injury.  Soon, it could also get you a gold medal.

There's talk of making Yoga an Olympic sport.  There is much controversy however.  Making it competitive seems contrary to the essence of Yoga as non-judging, spiritual and compassionate.  Where the journey itself is the destination.  Where there are no boundaries, limitations, places to which we strive.  We don't arrive anywhere or qualify for anything.  WE ARE ALREADY THERE.  No measurements against which we push and push and push.  Just be.  Just breathe.   No  one could deny, however that it's HARD to sit still in a room that's hot and humid on purpose.  All Yoga is athletic and takes a hell of a lot of focus, strength, and determination.   Other athletes get rewarded for these remarkable traits, shouldn't we Yogis too?

Not really.  Not in my opinion.  We have our reward.  As Yoga practitioners, we are learning to recognize that ALL we want and need is within.  Each bead of sweat trailing to circle our neck with the ribbon of self-acceptance and pride and gratitude.    Each Aha! moment I experience in Yoga is a mini-gold medal placed around my neck by God.  The ultimate partnership.  And I get wet to boot!

Running 8 tomorrow.

Here is my suggestion for a new Olympic sport (I'd know I'd win gold):  Wine-tasting.  


What's yours? 

Are you dead?

You are if you don't know who General Larry Platt is.  I love this 62-year-old American Idol wannabe.  He moves like a man half his age and (almost) made me pee in my pants.  So I took them off.

Here's me with my pants on the ground.

A lyrical masterpiece...

Pants on the ground

Pants on the ground

Lookin' like a fool with yo' pants on the ground.

Gold in your mouth

Hat turned sideways, pants hit the ground

Call yourself a cool cat looking like a fool
Walking down town with yo pants on the ground
get it up!!

I have never been an AI follower until Ellen DeGeneres, my idol, became a judge.  All the Simon Cowell vs. Paula Abdul drama never thrilled me.  Paula did in the 80's but that's another matter.  (Who doesn't love tap shoes all jacked up on vicadin?)  Anyway, I think Randy Jackson is kind of cool - although his handlers need to have him stop wearing skinny jeans.  HE'S NOT SKINNY.  And they make him look sexually conflicted.  Which way you hangin' dawg?  That's one reason I love Ellen, she knows.  This is not an American Idol blog or post just a sassy prose about what we Americans are lucky enough to do.

Where else can you beat-box and breakdance your way into millions of living rooms and have the likes of BRETT FAVRE imitate YOU at 62?  Only in America.  

Ran 5 on Saturday in 45:10.  

Sweated off 3 pounds - no lie - yesterday at Bikram with my new yoga buddy, Laura.    

Taught IntroFit this morning to my homey's at the Goochland YMCA.  Considering Bikram this afternoon.

Continuing on my 'No Sweets for Lent' path and hope it sticks forever.  Feels like a 12-step program.  One day at at time and all that jazz.

My pants are still on the ground.  Where are your pants?  
Out.

I'm so great

Here I am:

I'm so great.  (Please, don't be jealous of my hair.)  Here are some phrases I've coined...

• "When God closes one door, He always opens a window."
• "When you are having a bad day, change your mind."
• "You can accomplish anything with 3 phone calls."  
• "Raise the roof."
• "When you don't like the way the room smells at 107 degrees , change your rubber." (mat)
• "If you want to run faster, Shut up and run! "
• "Ain't no holla back, girl."

And finally...

• "Wherever you are is a good place to be."

I want this for my next birthday...

I want you all to have one too.  This is how it should be.  It isn't conceited or off-color or offensive.  It's giving our creator the due credit.  I once told my sister many, many years ago that God must be really mad at her.  She didn't appreciate the wonderful gifts He had given her.   She did even acknowledge all the extra special work He put into her.  A work of art.  Looks, personality, talent, intellect, and an awesome family.  GOD WOULD LIKE IT if we all ran around in our skivvies  and this.  This is why I coined the phrase...

• "To whom much has been given, much is expected."  I'm brilliant.  (Sorry, Isaiah - or some other prophet, didn't mean to steal your work.) Dang, ain't it true?

Please, holla back.  Give me a shout out.  I want some love.  Talk to me.  I'm just sitting her waiting, waiting on the world to change.  (I made all these phrases up... I wrote the urban dictionary and set trends and say the coolest stuff.  Don't you agree?)  If if you don't...  talk to the hand.  (I started that little gesture.)

Actually, I only hope she thinks I'm great...

My nine-year-old gift.  Thank you, God.  

Running 17 miles tomorrow.  I'm so athletic too.   Actually 7 (miles). 

My new friend and 69

We should all know our strengths, right?  Maybe some of us are still figuring them out.  But polishing them and working through weaknesses is the name of the game.

Okay, not to bring up a sex addict, but Tiger Woods (who I will always love but have never worked at Denny's so I'm not his type) is the best golfer in the world.  Yet, he is ranked 69th in putting from distances farther than 12 feet.  He is not perfect at every aspect of his Game (we know this) but he is still the best golfer in the world. 

I am not a great runner.  But I am working on it and I love to move so not being the best is okay for now.  I am getting better and better and I still love it so, WHAT.

I've got the rhythm, baby.  I can dance and have congenital flexibility.  I am more limber than my 9-year-old.  I love to move.  Hence, my love of all things, Yoga - hot and not.  I am fascinated with the art of human movement so I do it a lot sometimes to the embarrassment of my family.  I can feel the dance behind my belly button usually and I simply must let it out so, WHAT.

I am not great at completing tasks.  I am a dreamer.  Big ideas.  Great at creating opportunity BUT I LOSE MY STEAM sometimes.  I think I could have adult ADD but that's another post.  Honestly finishing simple household tasks takes extra focus for me because I start 4 new things before the most pressing thing is complete.  But my house is always neat so, WHAT.

I am a good conversationalist.  I used to want to be a talk show hostess.  Don't laugh.  I love Ellen DeGeneres and Oprah and lusted for their jobs.  Three lovely children got in the way so their jobs are secure for now.  But I can handle most social situations and I thrive in large groups.  I love people and getting to know them and at the end of the night, everyone is MY NEW FRIEND.  I have a little naivete around this but I'm going down with love in my heart even if people think me a bit much - so, WHAT.

And, the best part of all,  I bonded with a lady at Bikram Yoga yesterday who with just the right amount of finesse and perfect timing introduced me to her partner as her "new friend, Clair".  We had just spend the previous 90 minutes in 107 degree heat pressing our forehead to our knees and never said a word but I liked her and SHE LIKED ME TOO.  We all need reinforcement.  Just not from the waitress at Denny's. 

Heal, Tiger, heal.  You are still the best golfer in the world. 

Do you have a new best friend?

My new thing and weight loss

Bikram makes me hot and wet

Sweat gushing out of every square millimeter of my body.  And buckets of it.  They call it 90 minutes of torture so you can live to be 90.  I'm sold.  Bikram Yoga.  I Love it.  Clair's got a new thing.  Don't roll your eyes.  For all you 'been-there-done-thats' allow me this account for posterity.  

So it's 20 degrees in Va. on a Tuesday night -my children are on their 4th snow day and I'm feeling all independent and motivated to go do something new all by myself - praise God (that's a shout out to the righties in our midst).  I brave the elements and escape the compound that usually feels like a home.  Plus Beth recommended it and edgy and cool are my new aspirations.  

I walk in and for brief moment I fantasized I was in LA. Plus everyone there looks fierce.  Like they'd growl if you were ALLOWED TO SPEAK in the Yoga room that's heated to 107 degrees.  The website says the less you wear the better and they're not kidding.  We're all lined up in three rows between two lines of tape all OCD'ish (which I kind of like).  You aren't supposed to leave the room for the full 90 minutes even if you need to sit out for some the poses because there's a natural air conditioner that trips on inside your body after a certain amount of time.  I think you have to be soaked with sweat and reach around 3,000 internal degrees but IT DID HAPPEN FOR ME so I GET IT.  Why did I like it so?

• I get off on the mental focus required not to completely lose it.  I expect the panic feeling that kept knocking on the door of my personal space will subside over time.  I WILL HAVE ENOUGH AIR.  I WILL.  I WILL.  I WILL.
• I love to sweat.  My body doesn't do it much and with this, buckets poured out of my body.
• I like the freedom of being uninhibited.  There is no room for a big ego in that room.  Of course I wore lipstick (don't tell anybody) and wanted my hair to be all sassy and chose a cool work-out get-up for this.  But by the end I wish I had had only pasties and a thong on - only covering my essentials.  AND I DIDN'T CARE THAT MY ABS LOOK LIKE I'VE BIRTHED 3 BIG ASS BABIES.  Complete freedom.  Everyone else felt it too.  Lots of bare jiggly middles.  This is about survival, folks.  I still aspire for rock hard abs.  But for 90 minutes last Tuesday I was free from that and was just who I am NOW and it felt GOOD. 
  

Anyway, session two is today.  One thing I wasn't prepared for - and I am not even close to a prude - was the completely naked ladies in the locker room.  Of course you need to get down to nothin' to redress in dry clothes but some people brush their hair or talk on their cell phone or hold a conversation between strip and redress.   And, you - girl in the red thong - your stuff is all that, you are hot and gorgeous and you should be proud but could you bend over a little farther from my stuff?  Thanks.

My new weight loss technique...

All you dogs, keep your ass out of the pantry.

What's your new thing?

Pimpin'

What's a pimp?

Imagine my reaction when my 9-year-old daughter says to her sister:  "Oh, Jane.  You're my pimp." Jane said thank you and they hugged.  Cripes.  

I tell the children it's not a term of endearment or affection and not to go slinging it out there in public.  They are under the impression it means 'friend', 'homey', 'buddy', 'partner' - etc.  How on earth they got that idea I do not know, but I am then faced with the challenge of telling them what a pimp actually is...  

I take the high road and tell them I'll explain 'later' but  DO NOT EVER CALL ANYONE A PIMP.  They look at me weird and move on.

According to thefreedictionary a pimp is one who finds customers for prostitutes.  Or  the procurement of business for prostitutes.

I have heard expressions like... 

'pimp my ride' or 'my room's all pimped-out in cheetah prints'.  

  

Apparently pimp also means (verb) to push the limits of good taste and reason and (adjective) gaudy, tacky, flashy, too much.  In 1983 I was all pimped-out in my pink Gloria Vanderbilt jeans.  In 2010 I may as well have pimped Jack to the nearest bitch in heat.  Take a look at this...

For God's sake.  Has he no shame?  Have I no shame?  Can't a dog just take a nap around here? Here I am exploiting his privates for my own giggle.  I guess I am a pimp.

This pimp went to the gym in the aftermath of a major winter storm and rode 15 miles on the bike at level 15 and ran 4 at 6.6 pace (good for me).  I then came home to learn school's out again tomorrow.  Kathleen's pimp is happy.

Tomorrow I think I'll try Bikram Yoga where it's 107 degrees.  Thanks for idea, Beth.  You're my pimp.

Who's your pimp?