Miss Adventures

“You know, when you told me that you had your epiphany the other day, I didn’t give you any shit about it, right?” He asked, as I could hear the mischievous tone in his voice. But, before I could interject, he continued, “Because as much as you love to try and live your life by spreadsheets and schedules and all of the other bullshit your control freak ass so loves to do, you can’t. Your life is crazy. Somehow, even in the midst of calm, crazy shit happens to you and all around you. And your problem is that you don’t account for that. Take your damn schedule and pencil in some time for crazy. It’s the only way it will work.” 

After hearing this, I began laughing uncontrollably. He was right. My life really IS crazy. There is ALWAYS something happening to me or all around me, even in the midst of times when life should be calm, it never is. Not for me. And, as much as I do try and abide by schedules and spreadsheets and being accountable, it isn’t always as easy as it seems.

Truth be told, it’s NEVER easy. 

As I think back to days before this one, I can’t remember a single day in my entire life where “everything went according to plan.” 

And such is my biggest problem. I have all of these grand ideas and plots and schemes and they all work, both in practice and in theory. I just don’t pencil in enough time for crazy. 

So, why the 24/7 doses of crazy? 

Well, it’s like I always say, God gave me the talent to be a writer, so the big guy never leaves me short on material. 

Either do something worth writing about, or write something worth reading. 

I get a fair share of both. 

Let’s take my first stab at hot yoga, for instance. 

It all started with a Groupon, a grand plan and a day that went completely awry. 

I’d heard all the buzz about hot yoga, but I am also so cheap that I squeak when I walk so I wasn’t going to pay outlandish hot yoga fees. When I got a Groupon for it, I figured, “What the hell? I’ll give it a go.” 

I THOUGHT I could handle it. 

I mean, I had done TurboFire, Insanity, Insanity Asylum and done plenty of Yoga when I was doing P90X. 

Yeah. 

That was my FIRST mistake. 

Upon entering the studio, I opened the door to what could only be described as a room hotter than Satan’s asshole. Smells of sweat drenched the air. I was already less than amused. 

Have I mentioned I hate the heat? 

But I trudged over to an open spot, laid down my mat and immediately decided that the skinny ass perky instructor at the front of the room needed to die. 

Violently. 

No one should be that happy. 

Honestly, it should be illegal. 

But, I was determined. So I marched forward. 

As we began it was easy enough, albeit I felt like I was marching through an Iraqi prison camp at high noon in the middle of August, I wasn’t going to let this beat me. We did a few sun salutations and then moved to the balancing. 

Have I also mentioned I haven’t done any sort of Yoga in like a year? 

The mind was willing, but the flesh was out of fucking shape. 

So, here I am, trying to do tree pose (or whatever the fuck it was) and I fall. 

That was the first, “Fuck” to escape my lips during that session – it was assuredly not the last.

I tried again. 

I failed again. 

Rinse and repeat. 

More balancing. 

I am having visions of shanking the instructor. 

Downward facing dog. 

Okay. I got this. 

No. 

Not really. 

Shit. 

The woman in front of me farts. 

Are you FUCKING kidding me????

Now the entire room smells like sweat and stanky asshole. 

Dear God, I think I am going to die. 

More murderous visions. 

Now we are supposed to do Lotus something or another. I don’t know. I fall again. Hard. Right on the damn floor. 

I yelp, “Mother of holy hot FUCK!!!”

It hurt. 

Don’t judge me. 

The instructor glares at me and says, “This is a place of peace and serenity.”

I think, “Yeah, I got your fucking peace and serenity, you skinny little bitch.” 

More visions of murder. 

This trend continues for 60 more minutes. 

I want to kill someone. 

I think I might be dead already. 

I am having flashbacks of The Walking Dead as part of my arsenal of violent, murderous thoughts. 

Instructor: Headshot.

Great, I fell AGAIN. 

“Son of a….” (It almost came out, but I held it in as the instructor gave me a look of death, evil and some kind of crazy yogi trance of serenity bullshit).

Fantasize about gouging her eyes out….with a spork. 

Giggle to myself. 

More dirty looks. 

After losing count of how many times I have fallen, cursed everyone in the room and different ways to kill the yogi running the class, it’s over. 

THANK FUCKING GOD. 

As I limp over to my mat and roll it up, I can already feel my body wanting to crash. 

Driving home, I could smell MYSELF. 

It wasn’t good. 

It was like a skunk having sex with a turd. 

Get home. 

Manage to shower. 

Head to couch. 

Die. 

Which, naturally fucked up the plans I had made for myself for the rest of the day….because not dick got done. 

I blame the perky bitch in the yoga pants. 

The lesson here is that when you lead a completely crazy life, from start to finish and top to bottom, make sure you pencil in “crazy bullshit” into your schedule….for at least an hour a day. 

You’ll thank me later. 

And yes, I will be going again. Just probably not to the same place. I’m pretty sure I’m banned -- peacefully and full of serenity of course. 

Bitch. 

Hugs and Hot, Stinky, Sweaty, Unbalanced Yoga Kisses,
Miss Adventures