Friday, September 14, 2012

Bad theatre drove us to drink

So I'm in a fitting room trying on a couple pairs of pants when I overhear a couple next to me. The female of the couple is also trying stuff on. The boyfriend is waiting outside the door. Her: "Do you want to see?" Him: "Not really. I mean, yes." True story.

Apparently, Alison Pill, an actress on The Newsroom, "accidentally" tweeted a naked photo of herself. She gained 6,000 followers. I know what I'm tweeting to my 13 Twitter followers... brace yourselves.

But I digress. The boyfriend and I went to see a play last night. This was a professional production, so we expected a certain, umm, quality. Turns out it was a raging piece of shit and we left at intermission.

The night before, we were also at another theatrical show and left at intermission. However, in this case, the show was actually good but by the time intermission rolled around, we'd already been there about an hour and a half, and knew it would end late, and we didn't have the fortitude to keep going. It was like eating at a buffet. You know you've had enough, you're tempted to go back for that second helping but choose to be pleasantly satiated instead of stuffed like a hog at a pig roast.

However, there was just no excuse for last night's production. My boyfriend, who is a theatre director, was so dismayed, he decided we had to track down a liquor store that was still open and erase the memory of said awful play via alcohol consumption. Bad theatre drove us to drink. Luckily, the big, fancy liquor store downtown closed late so we got some wine, headed home and drowned our sorrows while watching Family Guy reruns and Airplane during commercials.

By the time we finished the bottle, it was pretty late, for a school night. So I headed to bed, planning to read for a bit, then go to sleep. It was inching towards 2 am when I finally put the book down. You see, I'm almost done the second book of the Fifty Shades trilogy. I'm so enraptured with these awful novels, it's embarrassing.

(SPOILER ALERT) Christian's helicopter was missing. Anastasia was devastated because she didn't know where he was. I mean, he could be dead for all she knew. I had to know they were going to be ok before I stopped reading. I just had to. Turns out, Christian had to make an emergency landing in the middle of nowhere because his engines caught fire, and it took him hours to get back. But he returned home, alive and well, and he and Ana had sex in the shower. All was right with the world.

Except that one who works a 9 to 5 gig should not be going to bed around 2 am. That shit cray. F*cking Fifty Shades. You own me.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Lattés can be life-threatening. Just sayin'.

So, I realized the other day that drinking a latté immediately before spinning class is perhaps not such a good idea. I hadn't given it much thought until I was warming up on my stationary bike, and my heart rate was already spiking. Then it dawned on me - there is fresh caffeine pulsing through my veins. My heart may blow up in my chest.

Luckily, it didn't but I had a strange, fluttery sensation when we got to the juicy cardio segments and felt somewhat lightheaded and winded. Then I thought I had read somewhere that caffeine before exercise helps to burn calories or something but it's dehydrating. What to believe?

I concluded that, yes, my heart was working overtime but the workout probably burned off the fatty bits of the latté, so, mission accomplished. I would not, however, recommend this practice. I was on the edge, people, dangling precariously between life and... well, life, albeit in a compromised state.

I went to a wedding last weekend and wore my Fergalicious black pumps. Now I have blisters on both sides of both ankles. I wore these very same shoes to my office Christmas party last December and seriously cut the rug with them all night long, sans injury.

However, it would seem that wearing these same shoes in the summer is a different story. The heat, swollen feet, sticky skin. Ouch. I had to dance barefoot. It was strangely liberating.

Leftover birthday cake is an excellent breakfast. Sure, I could go for a nutritious meal or I could eat something fun and packed with sugar. Life is short. Eat cake.

The irony of being a yoga teacher is that you have less time to do yoga which means you're probably less grounded and less relaxed than your students. Basically, you're a basket case putting on a brave face 'cause you haven't had time to get your Sun Salutations on. Does that make me a hypocrite? Should I tell my students I eat birthday cake for breakfast?

If it were up to me, I'd only wash my bed sheets maybe once every three... four... six months. This deeply disturbs my boyfriend.

I went to the dentist recently for a routine cleaning and found out I needed a night guard. Not of the human variety. Apparently, I clench my jaw in my sleep and it's wearing my teeth down so this oral apparatus gives them something soft and protective to clamp down on instead of other teeth. The hygienist asked me if I was an anxious person. Is there any other kind? I mean, really.


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