Impulse Buys and Broken Dreams

On any given day I can see something on TV or the Internet and realize in that very moment I can’t live with out that item.  How I’m not addicted to infomercials is still a mystery.  Because I really need those hot rollers that use steam and that crazy twirling curling iron that makes beach waves, oh and that little grill that will stay lit on 5 pieces of newspaper and twisty tie.   And it can be the most random of things that for whatever reason the dear lord shined his heavenly light down on and I decided that the world as we know it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t own it.  My vision came yesterday in a dear friend’s Facebook post.  The bible of the internet.    It was a Tiffany Blue cooler.  Oh where have you been all my life?   That was it, I literally went to bed thinking about all the things I could do with this cooler.  And none of these things involved anything you would naturally do with a cooler.  I’m not going to go “yak’n”, or have a picnic, or take it to the beach, or fish, or well, really do anything at all outdoors.  It’s going on my back porch.  Because you see the Tiffany Blue cooler would match my new Umbrella for my picnic table.  The thin blue stripe in the umbrella would be most accented with the blue cooler.  I mean don’t get me wrong, I can fill the cooler with drinks while I’m swimming in the pool, but lets be real…I’m decorating with it.   AND then it came to me….I could have the man free hand a white bow and ribbon on it.  Now the wheels are turning.   How many pictures could I take of Baby Girl with this?  How many pictures could I take of me with this?  Or I could just roll up at the next mandatory Army fun time party with my super cute cooler!!!!  YES!!!

I may have a sickness!

I found out where this magical wonder could be found and set out today to go get one.  Man oh man was I excited.  I couldn’t wait.  I got my pool supplies and there it was…sitting there waiting one me.  Right there, the angels were singing and I was giddy.  And then I saw the price tag.   Sweet Audrey Hepburn, what was thing made out of?  I mean seriously, is this the going rate for coolers now?  The square box we fill to the brim with ice and Busch Lite?  My heart sank.  I just couldn’t do it.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, this girl has no problem dropping some cash, but I just couldn’t tell myself enough how it was worth it.   I realized right then and there that the Army just wasn’t fulfilling my needs.  Apparently what the Army is telling me is that, Deana Rae, buy an igloo and paint that sucker! 

Those Styrofoam coolers could be easily painted and you could have a dozen Tiffany Blue coolers stacked like jewelry boxes.  No, I couldn’t.   Somehow the sparkle was gone.  And just like that I bought my chlorine for the pool and left disappointed and my dreams shattered.   I never knew my heart could ache so over a cooler. 

I got in the car to head home and on the radio we were discussing Reese Witherspoon and her life shattering decision to no longer wear cut off shorts.  Gone, out the window, not gonna do it.  She’s decided since she’s 40 now that she will no longer wear them because they’re just not appropriate for women of said age.  My age.  Well, my age in 2 months ( lets face it girls I'm holding on to 39 to the last minute on the clock).  She wants to be more polished, with nice shorts with a clean look.  That’s swell.   So I’ve lost a cooler today and looking at myself in the mirror, wearing my new cut off boy jean shorts from ShopBop and my muscle shirt that says, “Fun Fact, I don’t care”.   Apparently Reese would be mortified of my attire today.  I feel ashamed.   I also copied a Khloe Kardashian type hairstyle that I was wearing in 4^th grade.  Today is a complete failure. 

Bye Bye cut offs, tan legs and summer memories, I hate you Reese!

I’m pretty sure that the only person would be excited by any of my decisions is Dave Ramsay….for my ability to walk away from the cooler I didn’t really need but really wanted, the fact that I paid cash for my inappropriate ensemble and because in my moment of depression I didn’t buy the Valentino with Jesse’s credit card.  Well, there’s always tomorrow.

Ciao Little Mexico….Viva La Bama!!!

By the purchase of 2 big Macho Ferns and a few hey ya’lls I’m back in the south!  Big Chief got orders and like any good military family we loaded up a U-Haul with our most prized belongings (My Louis Vuitton and Kate Spade collection), the dog, one fish in a cup, 2 kids and the TVs to get out of Little Mexico and head towards to Ft. Rucker, Alabama.  Mother Rucker to the locals, or good ole fashioned America.  I’m not saying I hated Texas and all of Texas is bad, I’m just saying that when I rolled into my new quiet neighborhood with helicopters buzzing the house I may have gotten out of the car and fell to my knees and kissed the driveway.  Maybe.

We’ve been here a month.  We’ve almost settled in.  The one thing that has made this transition the success it has become is the frequent stops to LaBamba for white queso, or fake Mexican cheese as we call it.  No one in Texas knows of this delightful indulgent cheesy gooey goodness.  They are almost offended when you ask for it.  Trust me folks, they have heated up Tostitos dip and it has nothing on the white queso.  And if you’ve never had it, you should find a place right now or as my awesome mother in law would do…have it shipped to you on dry ice!  When you’re a frequent mover we have to start all over from scratch every time we move.  I’ve managed to find a hair salon on the first try, God must have felt sorry for me that day and knew I needed some good luck.   I was elated that we finally had the good grocery store, Publix.  Because if you weren’t a bread addict before you shopped there, you’re a full out bread crack head once you have.  I sneak in when they think I’m tanning to get my own box of French bread and fresh oatmeal raisin cookies.   Sure I look a little funny ending up at the check out with an empty bread bag and cookie box but one day those kids will have their own kids and know the struggle of just wanting it ALL for yourself, just once!  

When in Alabama there are two things we cherish here almost as much as the bible….Alabama Football that should always be followed by ROLL TIDE in the loudest voice you have and pork bbq.  In 4 weeks we’ve ate at 7 different bbq joints.  What?  I have to weigh my options you know.   Its also come to my attention that I may be failing in the Southern belle category because as I’ve noticed this week, I have nothing monogrammed and I’m not wearing maxi skirts.  Now, the maxi skirt probably isn’t going to happen, I realize it’s a staple here but seriously ladies, if your under 5’3” the only thing that does is chop us off at the knees and when you’re already the size of a garden gnome, you don’t need your knees chopped off.  But the monogram seems to be almost unforgivable here.  It’s everywhere.  Ladies monogram their purses, totes, shoes, jewelry and even their car windows.  I have one necklace with a “D” initial that is very monogramesque, I fear I won’t be accepted into the club.  They will know I’m an outsider. 

Baseball hats seem to be a big thing here in the south too.  Boys and girls are wearing their hats everywhere.  Of course the girl hats are monogrammed and being worn with their maxi skirts and Tory Burch sandals.  Clearly I’m being sent a message.  But the best part of moving back to the south is being welcomed.  Everyone here has been so nice.  They introduced themselves and brought wine.  Lots of wine.  I was shocked the glasses weren’t monogrammed, but that gives me an idea for when I need to return the favor.   We are almost settled in and planning our festivities.  I just hope I am able to find a monogrammed serving platter and napkins for the shrimp boil.   Maybe I’ll give away monogrammed koozies!!!  Look at me becoming one with my surroundings!!!!!!

Haymarket Koozies

TOWANDA!!!

When I was in high school I went and saw the movie Fried Green Tomatoes with my ultra cool Aunt.  Its what we did, we saw lots of movies, and most of the time we laughed so hard we probably missed half of what we watched.  This was one of my favorites.  When she has the infamous parking lot scene I couldn’t imagine that really happening.  Until today.  Today I had that moment.  It’s amazing me to me that people today will insert themselves into any situation with all their knowledge, input, and criticisms.  Everyone has an opinion.  Well, you know what they say about opinions.  

Sometimes we just find ourselves having a stressful time.  The Dark Twisty Place Meredith is always in.  I don’t have my Yang here to do the 30-second dance party with so I find myself moping.  And I cleaned out the fridge this weekend and there was nothing in a box with spout for me so the struggle was real, YO!!!  I actually thought I was getting out early this morning and was doing decent.  Here in the world of the Navy we play the National Anthem every morning precisely at 8:00 am on the dot.  Every day.  Even Sunday, probably so the Lord can be patriotic too.   One comes to a complete stop when out doors and you salute or put your hand over the heart and do your patriotic thing.  If driving, you stop and put the hazards on; you don’t have to salute inside the car.  No need to get crazy with your patriotism

This morning I was in my own world.  I had thoughts of what my day would hold, how much more could I add to Baby Girl’s school poster board project just so I can hear Jesse say…quit dreaming up shit for me to do.  I was thinking about how I can’t wait to get out of Little Mexico and also crying profusely about my twisty place.  I spilled my drink down the front of my dress and all I could think of was my mom was right, sex is bad, and kids will kill you!  Well during the blubbering and hating life I completely tune out that the Patriotism is happening.  As I pull out onto the street I see off to the side the soccer mom van with a arm being flung out and some scary lady screaming and pointing.  I’m half way down the street before it dawns on me that I’ve committed the cardinal sin so I stop, still crying.  Only now my crying has turned to….Oh no she didn’t, not today, not today!! 

So as soon as the brave had went home I rolled my window down, thru that pony in reverse backed all the way up to block her in and then commenced to let her know CAV wife style exactly what I thought about her and her soccer mom mobile as I cursed her, her kids, her kids that haven’t been born yet, cursed her husband, cursed the day she’d put on a set of anchors she didn’t earn and her finger!  And then I cried again.   All I could think of when I drove off was that I hoped that Kathy Bates would be proud of me and I need pancakes but I’m fat cause I went to back to gluten because gluten tastes so good and how am I going to fix pancakes at work and there’s no McDonalds here to get pancakes, and this is why I’m fat and I hate it here!!!!  Sometimes my depression has multiple personalities of its own.  Don’t Judge Me.

As mothers we are faced with the world on our shoulders.  No one tells you when you have kids how hard it’s going to be.  All we talk about is their sweet little sleeping faces and how good they smell.  No one tells you that they go from sweet kids for about 4 years in between the terrible 2’s, 3’s and 4’s sometimes a 5 then you hit 12.  Not quite a teen, not really a kid, pretty sure Satan has managed to reinvent himself into your child.   That sweet smile is gone and demon spawn has taken over.  Moody Judy in the form of teenager.  My mom always said, you reap what you sow, you’re gonna have a kid that turns out just like you.  I’m sorry Mom.  

According to the Cosby Show I’m supposed to be able to settle all my family disputes with witty one-liners and within 30 minutes.  Just enough time to roofie the husband!   Bill wouldn’t let me down?  Even Elyse Keaton could talk to Alex in her hippie Berkeley ways and help him through a problem, then he’d kiss his Regan poster good night and we all felt good about solving another family problem.  I’m starting to think I watched too much TV as a kid.  Ok, maybe I still do, but come on, reality TV is REAL!  My kids are plotting how to get me in the home.  I haven’t managed to get my own mom in the home, and I’m pretty sure my kids have a leg up on me.   Little do they know, I’m one step ahead of them, I’m faking Alzheimer’s and spending all my money so at least I have to have a real home to live in and will be just crazy enough to mess with them and watch them suffer.  It’s really quite brilliant, and by the time I’m living with them, I’ll be able to mold their kids.  Payback is a comin sport!

I think as women we have a right to snap sometimes.  To just let the crazy out.  I mean, when we carry this much genetic DNA that predisposes us to this many emotions I think we’re actually doing the rest of the world a service.  Can you imagine if we kept that all bottled up?   And maybe those short bursts are what keeps everything in sync.  Think of it this way, so we have a little outburst and line up your entire liquor collection from your fancy bar and then hit it with your brand new Driver and send glass all over the driveway….I didn’t hit you with my Driver!! Ok, honey, I put sour cream in the mashed potatoes once, did I poison you, like kill you?  No, see, I obviously still have some love for you.  

What I’ve learned today is that its hard to be a woman, its harder to take the high road.  But sometimes you have the best friends who will let you have your crazy and then show up and leave you rewards of wine and cookies to show their support and silently say…we feel you sister!

ADULTING

Remember when we were kids and we couldn’t wait for that call that school was closed due to snow!  We waited with anticipation and held off on our homework as long as possible, said prayers crossed our fingers and wished on every star.  When you come from the Midwest, getting a snow day is rare.  It damn near has to be over the roof of your house before they would call a day off.  Things have changed a lot since then.  Now, we have to be self aware of every danger and minor incident that could conceivably happen and if there’s a 2% chance you die of an icicle hanging off the gutter, they shut it down.  Ahh the good ole days.  My kids will never know the pleasure of going to the JC Penny parking lot on a snowy Friday night and doing donuts and then hearing that one yell…HEY MAN I bet my Bronco can climb that snow mountain up the light pole.  COOL!!  It’s amazing we’re all still alive.  It’s probably all the gluten we had.  And Jack Daniels.

But then we grow up.  And we don’t get summer breaks anymore or holidays and mom doesn’t come eat lunch with me or send me with a note to my boss when I have the sniffles.  Nope, we have to do what is called “adulting” now.   It used to be called being a grown up, but the Millennials are never happy with anything prior to 2005, ever, so we’re adulting now.  Yay ADULTING!   I’ve had 2 sick days this week.   My husband actually offered to call in for me.  That was sweet, not sure the boss would have cared or found that amusing, but it was sweet nonetheless.  And they say chivalry is dead?!   I used to love going into the office.  I loved the dressing up, I loved our clients, and I loved the people.  I’m finding that well, I was obviously stupid.  Because there’s nothing remotely fun about people anymore.  I’ve found that just the mere sound of their whiney “give me more for nothing” attitudes makes me want to throw my very expensive Manolo Mary Janes at their heads.  Why isn’t my life as glamorous as Carrie Bradshaw’s??? I mean, I dress way better than her anyways and yet I sit an stare at a computer all day and wish my clients would fall out of a 20-story building.  I’m pretty sure I need therapy for that.  From what I hear, Adulting means I can get Xanax and wine in a coffee mug at my request!  Ok, so there’s one benefit of Adulting.

Sick days are nowhere near as fun when we’re Adulting as it was during our carefree days.  I still had to do laundry.  I can’t watch old reruns of Miami Vice in dirty clothes.   My dog requires me to feed her and still get up and let her in and out.  Then I start thinking, what is everyone going to want to eat for supper, should I cook since I’m home?  Wait, it’s a sick day I’m not supposed to cook.    Peanut butter cheese crackers count as a meal right?  Then I start to realize that I really hate Dr. Phil.   He likes to remind us that it’s not his 1^st rodeo while making me feel like it’s my fault that his guests are screwed up beyond anyone’s control.  Why am I feeling guilty?   I’m also having a very in-depth conversation with Phil and his guests as though anything I said really matters or more importantly they can “hear me”.    I also spend no less than 2 hours on his message boards in a back and forth with Jane in Cleveland because I need her to know that once a cheater always a cheater and Sam is just going to continue to sleep with her Sister and that baby she’s caring will bring her years of pain and agony reminding her of those times Sam shared with Jane.   I’m already verclemped again.  I do enjoy Robin, she is very stylish in her designer sweaters and big skirts.  But I wish she would stop with teeth whitening, its starting to just get, well, creepy.  

Adulting means I’m supposed to support my kids too.  As in, I’m supposed to go to work 40+ hours a week, be a kick ass Paralegal and then make sure they are enrolled in no less than 2 extra curricular activities a piece and provide snacks for the activities because some one… a Millennial no doubt, decided that kids need “healthy snacks” at every event and practice.  I sent cheetos and Gatorade.  I’m the cool mom.   At these events you will come across the other moms.  I thank the good Lord above that I have such a wonderful husband who took over the soccer mom duties for the last couple of years for me.  He has been phenomenal at this.   Because after one day of cheer season with these women and I made the 1^st coach cry and quit.  What can I say I have a gift.  But seriously, if your main issue with parents is “I don’t like to talk to people” you may have picked the wrong activity to participate in as a Coach.  I forget we all have feelings while we’re adulting.  

I’m also supposed to make sure that the house is well put together and the kids have clean clothes.  I decided that’s what the 13 year old was for.  Genius really, teach him life skills, get an early start on Adulting for the young lad.  One day he’ll thank me.   You also have to show up at school for lunches and parent teacher conferences.  This is where you find out if your kid is going to make it in college one day or if you need to make sure the basement is big enough for him and his life long collection of commemorative Dr. Who collectibles and Yughi Oh cards.   I’m not gonna lie, this terrifies me.  Let’s just hope that the light bulb goes off and the girlfriend he gets pregnant in 12^th grade comes from a wealthy family and is one of the those new age parents who believes in helicopter parenting, and adopts him.   When Adulting we should always try to find the silver lining. 

This week I’m really going to try and dig deep and hope that I can find my inner peace and see the world with new eyes.  A kinder gentler Deana Rae if you will.   Maybe the Yoga will help.  Maybe I wont want to tell my clients that they wouldn’t need a lawyer if they could just dig deep and find some act right and not think smoking crack and hanging off a pole would get their kids back??  I’ll grab a $5 cup of Starbucks and read the Nordstrom Spring Line and imagine myself being the bigger person.  Wearing Stuart Weitzman.  Summer is coming, Adulting means summer drinks by the pool.  Maybe Adulting isn’t so bad.

Girls, Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

When you have a daughter and look into those beautiful blue eyes you know that there are certain milestones you will hit along the way.  You get to hear her say Mama for the first time, she learns to walk, you buy the first bow 5 times the size of her head that’s been bedazzled and glittered so bright it can be seen in Russia from Sarah Palin’s front porch!   Everything that little precious wonder does and says is probably the smartest and most wittiest things you will ever hear and start thinking to yourself its time to start filling out those apps to MIT or daddy’s favorite, the Air Force Academy for jet pilot training.  

They start school and off they go with their backpack that has her name perfectly hand stitched on the front pocket and the perfect zipper accessory of Minnie Ears hanging off the front.  All while matching the perfect 1^st day of school outfit with the perfect backpack and making sure daddy is ok and no one is seeing the mountain of tears and dreams he’s shedding hiding in the garage caressing his Harley and Baby Girl’s leaf blanket.   Sometimes grown men cry over their baby girls.   You get used to this anomaly, and just don’t look in their direction and discreetly hand them a beer and go about your business, nothing to see here.  I married a man who was hard like woodpecker lips and then I became the life pod for a baby girl.  The day the doctor told us it was a girl and we saw the picture of her sucking her thumb and blowing little bubbles in the womb he hasn’t stopped crying.  We’ve just learned how to let him have his moment and then of course bring it up again during the holidays around the entire family.  It’s a Fun Fest for all. 

Once they get to school they start making friends.   Unless you’re one of the lucky kids who grow up as an Army Brat.  That’s a whole new level of friend making that the civies don’t go through.  It’s truly a different world and not the kind Lisa Bonet was dealing with at Hillman College.  In regular civilian world when you grow up in a small town that’s only life support is who works at the GM Plant and who works at the Ford plant your friends depend on which factory daddy works at and oh by the way what’s his job.  Remember when life was so simpler and divided by class warfare?   If you’re an Army brat it’s not even the kids, it’s the parents.  It breaks down to 3 different class warfare sections…Enlisted, Officer, and we don’t know what you are? Not really a “real” Officer definitely not Enlisted-Warrant Officers.  Just to clear this up, Warrants are still Officers.   They’re just cooler than the rest.  (Don’t tell anyone I said that last part, I’ve been reminded on many different occasions how us officer wives are pretty snobby)

This becomes very important when Baby Girl starts getting invited to the 315 birthdays she’s going to be invited to living on a military base.  Its been said that Army wives like to have litters cause them suckers are free.  Not saying I said it, it’s just that its been said.   So when you are invited to one of these great character themed parties you have to decide the gift.  When everyone knows everyone’s rank the pressure is really on.   Its one of the few jobs in the country where all your counterparts know exactly what your take home pay is and remind you on a daily basis where you sit on the scale.  Your present will reflect this or you get the look of shame.   He’s an officer with 3 vehicles and a Harley Davidson and I know that Barbie was only $5 from Big Lots you cheap ass!!    Oh believe me, I’ve felt the judgment.    And if you’re one of the rare birds in the military where your spouse also works, you were just moved up on the ladder of snooty mcsnootness and you better leave that shit at home and remember who you’re dealing with.  Don’t no one need some mom showing up wearing anything other than the Dependaspouse uniform of yoga pants, husband’s unit tee shirt and a box of Twinkies. 

After the birthday parties and the trips to the neighborhood parks they make their BFFs.   And then they come to you for the ever dreaded and popular sleepover.  Its when the outsiders enter your home and it goes from a peaceful place of refuge to the ‘”HOLY SHIT IM AWAY FROM MY MOM AND GOING TO GO BAT SHIT CRAZY AT YOUR HOUSE” party.   The only thing missing from one of these delightful milestone events is a kid walking out of the kitchen with a bag of Cheetos and a bottle of Jager rolling a blunt.   And by the end of one of these you’ll be begging for that Jager and Blunt.    You learn a lot about how your parenting is completely different from the entire rest of the world.   Take child beatings.   You can beat your own, well; you can strongly threaten to beat your own, as long as you don’t yell too loud so as not to hurt the children’s feelings.  Where as with the outsider that has batted her pretty eyes and con’d you into thinking she’s one of the good ones shows up.   You can’t really beat the neighbor’s child.   Apparently there’s some law against that.  And believe me, at 7 years old, they know this.   They know they have the upper hand and there’s nothing you or your 3^rd glass of Moscato can do about that.

How do 2 little girls sound like wild buffalo running up there?  How do they get that much noise out of weighing 40 lbs?  And then nothing questions your abilities and choices to keep your kids alive like when you try to feed the tiny humans, especially the ones that aren’t yours.  This is when truths are told.   You learn a lot about people after you try to feed their kids.     I’ve learned that everything my mother ever did to keep me alive is all wrong and that I’m not sure how I made it to the ripe old age of 39 drinking Coca-Cola for breakfast and eating pancakes with peanut butter and syrup every day for 12 years of my academic life.   But here I am kicking.     My mom rocks!   I think there are 2 types of parents today.  Granola heads and Fuck it, as long you’re fed and alive I’ve done my job!    You probably guessed where I am on this sliding scale.   Let me just say this from my Kiehl’s soapbox, parents, if you want to eat the organic Kale smoothie for every meal that’s awesome, but if you send little Sally to my house, you should know, there will be pizza made from real yeast and 5 different greasy cheeses and Sprite.  Because they’re kids and kids need to be real kids before they’re pushed into the world of hurt and judgment.   Maybe just once we remember what it was like to be a kid.  Millennials and their new age thinking……sheeesh! 

After the guilt meals and snacks you’re all settled in for the night and all is going well and then you hear it.  Its the universal sound heard around the world that only dolphins can truly hear…the muffled sounds of baby girl cries.   BABY GIRL WONT LET ME HAVE THE REMOTE TO WATCH WHAT I WANT TO WATCH ON TV AND I WANT TO WATCH SPONGEBOB!!!!  You know it’s coming, you should brace yourselves.  There is and always will be at least one breakdown of hurt feelings and lost friendships for about an hour then all is forgiven.  It’s usually after my 2^nd Bottle of Moscato and I threatened to unplug the TV all together and turn the lights out for bedtime.  Lets see its 6pm, they’ve been playing for an hour and we lived through the gluten filled supper, sounds about right to me.   It’s amazing how they become instant BBFs again.   If only us grown-ups could take a lesson in problem solving resolutions.  These are the rare times it would be great to be a man.  To be able to tune it all out and not care and just throw a bag of Ruffles in the room and go to bed.   I admire men, sometimes.  

The Fabulous Life of Deana Rae: Namaste!

The Fabulous Life of Deana Rae: Namaste!: Happy New Friends!   I’m back!   After a little Holiday break and soul searching I’ve found my way back to land of blogs.   For a min...

Namaste!

Happy New Friends!  I’m back!  After a little Holiday break and soul searching I’ve found my way back to land of blogs.  For a minute there I thought I had lost my way a little bit, but I’ve kind of found a renewed spirit as of lately.  I decided this was the year I was going to rededicate myself to my Husband, as we become best friends again.   I want to take more time to enjoy the little things with my kids that I had taken for granted when I was a stay at home mom.  And really most of all, I just wanted to be “happy” again.  I think we all fall into that trap at some point where no matter what we do nothing makes us happy.   I fell deep in the dark twisty place.

So I had one New Year’s Resolution, make time and effort to be happier and healthier.  Well, I managed to stay away from cheese for about 3 days and then I dove off that bandwagon with a glass of wine and a vat of nacho cheese!!!  So I turned to Yoga.   Yoga means I’m getting healthier spiritually, mentally and physically.   I invited my husband to join with me.  Now we can knock off be closer, make time for just us, fall in love all over again…all that Dr. Phil jazz.

I’m officially 3 classes into the Yoga and I have to admit, it’s not at all what I thought this was going to be.   You should know that Jesse (the husband) calls me Doomsday.  I might be slightly negative from time to time, see the glass empty, dirty and another something I’m going to have to wash kind of girl.  So for someone like me to walk into the world of hippie oneness love is a little difficult.  And then he tells me, there will be touching.  Wait, what??? 

I have to say that our first 2 classes were actually quite pleasant.  I wasn’t twisted into a pretzel, I didn’t have to put my leg over my head and there was no downward dog?  I did have to perch like a cat though, and then I started stressing about my yoga pants and whether or not the guy behind me was judging.   What if he could “see something”??  That was a little hard to get out of mind.   And in case you’ve never been to Yoga, you clear your mind a lot.  Which is also hard for someone like me whose mind is on A.D.D. overload 100% of the time.  While everyone is taking his or her deep breaths and listening to the silence I’m over here thinking where are we going to eat when this is done? 

Tonight was our 3^rd night, restorative Yoga.  This is where you go and pay someone to let you take 15-minute naps for an hour on your mom’s blankets she bought in Cherokee from the little 100-year-old Indian lady.   It’s relaxing.  Until your normal teacher isn’t there and you have someone who you cant even pronounce their name fill in.  All comfort leaves my friend!   Now you should know, there are a couple of regulars we’ve come to notice.  And one of them, he doesn’t like his routine to be messed up.  He knows where he wants his mat and where he wants YOU!

We got stuck by him tonight.  He’s a heavy breather.  As in deep breaths in…and then a big moan of ARRRHHHH on the way out.   It’s hard to clear your mind when there’s loud snoring but I try.   The instructor decides we should reflect on Martin Luther King and find a soft place in our hearts and forgive.  Forgive our enemies.  Awesome, I just said less than 24 hours ago that I wanted to stab my true enemy of enemies in the back of the head with a serving fork.  This is going to be hard.  So as I sit there thinking about forgiveness I’m getting mad because my happy place has now been replaced of thoughts of Satan’s spawn.    This is the exact opposite of soft heart and forgiveness.  I try to think of anything that will relieve these feelings of premeditated murder…and then my eye catches something as I’m stretching and looking through my legs (which by the way I haven’t done since high school, YAY ME!).   Old man, heavy breather….has 6 toes on each foot.  6 MF’n TOES!  That’s it, feelings and now toes.  I hate toes.  HATE, me some toes and feet.  I’m trying not to hyperventilate but holy Mother of Deformities.  And not just 6 toes, but there a huge gap in between that separate 3 and 3 and the that extra toe in the middle is not really a real toe, its like a lil stub.  I’m DYING!  Literally feel the breath being pulled from my body.   I roll over and look at Jesse, and try to express my anxiety over the mutated feet behind me and he pretty much ignores me and goes back to his soft heart and happy place.  

I decided I needed to pull myself together and think of shiny things.  For the love of Coco Chanel why can’t I think of anything???  Finally the instructor pulls us back to our mats and we do a little chant and its over for the night.   I couldn’t even make eye contact because he would know, judging!   After we get back to the car and settle in to go eat, because you cant have a date without food, Jesse looks over at me with his pretty blue eyes and says:  “I tried to find forgiveness for the terrorists, but I couldn’t, I still hate the terrorists and want to kill them”.      And then I smiled.

Doomsday Deana has found that I really like Yoga.  When I leave I have these really strange feelings, I think most people call them happiness but seeing as I’m a pretty negative person unless I’m standing in a Louis Vuitton store draped in goodness I was slightly confused on what I was feeling.   I kinda liked it.  I hope this is something Jesse and me will continue to do.  I’m feeding my stony black heart and soul.   Now, if I could just find a way to make one date night to Tiffany & Co. I’d be on top of the world.