tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42250500731672607692024-03-05T18:38:20.791-05:00Sassy StylingsA collection of witty observations and other random acts of violence.Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.comBlogger384125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-70534032531865120742022-01-16T12:30:00.000-05:002022-01-16T12:30:54.272-05:00A Plague of Wokeusts<p>As I wrapped up my morning worship service at the altar I set up for Chris Harrison, in the hope he'll one day return to the Bachelor franchise, I wondered: Will Black Friday be changed to "Day you can trample your neighbour to buy useless shit that's on sale"; will the Indian Ocean be changed to "Indigenous Persons' Ocean"; will anyone ever again understand what someone means when using the word "they"; will Shotgun Wedding now be known as "Pre-matrimony pregnancy ceremony"?</p><p>Should humans born as biologically female ever bother again with competitive swimming? Since "she" competitors may have been a former he who's now a she and claiming to be two spirited. Or is that too spirited? I get confused.</p><p>I figured while public discourse in the West was raging over whether Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head should have a gender, I'd learn Mandarin. </p><p>Aren't the homeless visible enough to be considered a "visible minority"? </p><p>If there's Metis blood in my European family tree, is that cultural appropriation? </p><p>I was blindsided by the interdiction of the word "blind". </p><p>Should "competitive pricing" now be "participation pricing"?</p><p>Should He-Man and She-ra now be referred to as "They-man" and "They-ra"? Will it matter when Putin takes Ukraine?</p><p>As a white, Gen X, cisgender, heterosexual female pondering the sins of others that have somehow become my own, I wonder: "If I enter the confessional, can a pedophile in a dress absolve me"?</p><p>If you're into BDSM, can you still use the word "slave"?</p><p>Richard Nixon brought in the EPA. Al Gore sits on Apple Inc.'s Board of Directors. Don't judge a book by its glossy cover. </p><p>If I'm spooked by a savage lack of veracity in one's discourse, am I consciously referring to a racial slur from World War II and using centuries-old European colonizers' language or am I simply saying: "That makes no sense." <span class="ILfuVd"><span class="hgKElc"></span></span></p><p><span class="ILfuVd"><span class="hgKElc">I would stop using the term "first-world problem" except that would deny the fact that there is indeed a global class system, and I doubt that a poor African villager's worst problem is that Uber Eats is late with their Thai food delivery. It's a first-world problem. </span></span></p><p><span class="ILfuVd"><span class="hgKElc">My spirit animal is the sloth. I can say that because I have Metis blood in my family, and I'm lazy.</span></span></p><p><span class="ILfuVd"><span class="hgKElc">Elvis Presley sang about the "ghetto" so I guess we should cancel him. Oh wait, he's already dead, and ghettos still exist.</span></span></p>Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-15341515096848636782020-08-29T12:54:00.004-04:002020-08-29T18:12:46.752-04:00Post Apocalyptic Diatribes of a Non-Politically Correct Nature<p>Sooo... There I was, a few months ago, internally dialoguing with my naïve self, saying: "Yeah, this crummy pandemic should be done soon and I'll be back at work." Oh Ye of little knowledge. As a yoga teacher, it has now sunk in that I won't be "back at work" anywhere near my pre-pandemic capacity for like, eternity. To say I've been "watching" Netflix and Prime is like saying an alcoholic had one drink. I've been gorging on television like a starving Hollywood starlet set free in a Krispy Kreme donut shop. </p><p>In the meantime, the world has turned from total shit to "I think it might be better to be dead". Disease, riots, Trump, the fall of Hong Kong to Chinese rule, Putin's Poison Patrol and the left's adept answer to all this: the Politically Correct Gestapo. I've always considered myself to be a left-leaning Liberal but lately, I'm embarrassed to admit I have any "left" leanings at all. There has been a groundswell of rabid woke folk who somehow have deemed themselves of the purest moral fabric and pronounce their judgements on all others who do not comply with their wokeful edicts.</p><p>One is no longer allowed to have a differing opinion or ask difficult questions when it comes to issues of race, gender, sexual harassment, climate, or any other classically left-leaning subject. Take for example, climate change. The PC Gestapo claims that carbon is enemy numero uno and we must focus on reducing our carbon emissions at all costs because THIS IS THE ONLY PROBLEM THAT EXISTS AND DON'T ANYONE DARE QUESTION IT. I choose to question it. I'm not a climate denier. I've loved the environment, recycled and hugged trees for as long as I can remember. But no one seems to be talking about the issue of plastics pollution which may kill us before carbon does, or the sustained availability of potable water, which we literally can't live without or, gee, pandemic preparedness BEFORE a pandemic hits. <br /></p><p>There is scientific research (and researchers) stating that yes, the climate does change but we humans have little to do with it. Don't believe me? Feel free to read <a href="https://nationalpost.com/opinion/conrad-black-the-ipcc-isnt-quite-as-apocalyptic-as-greta-thunberg" target="_blank">this</a>; <a href="https://www.friendsofscience.org/assets/documents/Heartland_Jay_Lehr.pdf" target="_blank">this</a>; <a href="https://www.aei.org/carpe-diem/there-is-no-climate-emergency-say-500-experts-in-letter-to-the-united-nations/" target="_blank">this</a>, <a href="https://lethbridgeherald.com/commentary/opinions/2019/08/01/climate-emergency-hysteria/" target="_blank">this</a> and <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/george-will-climate-changes-instructive-past/2015/01/07/2ae70ee6-95d2-11e4-aabd-d0b93ff613d5_story.html" target="_blank">this</a>. I simply feel that it's ok for me to not believe everything I'm told and to do a little research of my own to understand the full breadth and complexity of important questions. Call me crazy but I think a rational, considered response to things seems to be the best route to follow instead of listening to a whiny teenage girl tell me I'm a bad person for merely having existed on this earth longer than she has. </p><p>The PC Gestapo has also lost sight of differing degrees of actions when it comes to things like sexual harassment. The advent of the #metoo movement was an important development and dangerous predators were stopped. I fully agree that this was a good thing. But in the midst of this karmic wave, accusations are being thrown about like yesterday's dirty underwear and people like Al Franken are put in the same category as Harvey Weinstein. With this, I do disagree. Al Franken may have behaved badly, had a momentary lapse of reason, but he's not a predator, à la Jeffrey Epstein. Human behaviour is complex and nuanced. Good people do bad things and bad people do good things. The Left's insistence on categorizing human actions and words to fit into neat little black and white boxes is ridiculous and shows very little understanding of human nature. </p><p>"Cancel culture" in which we essentially deny opinions we don't agree with and the "Twitter Mob" which, to my understanding, is a group of reactionary puritans with a lot of time on their hands whose mission it is to destroy the lives of those who dare to think independently, are both alive and well and thriving in our crisis-riddled, pandemic-plagued present. We don't know how to have a healthy, respectful debate anymore. We don't know how to talk to each other anymore. Hurling insults on social media is not debate, it's bullying of the most cowardly kind. </p><p>When we discuss climate, my partner jokingly refers to me as a right-wing Republican when I start questioning the current climate zeitgeist. I know it's meant in jest, and I laugh because it's funny and I still have a sense of humour, but it is indicative of our current need to categorize and pick sides. Why can't I stand in the middle and share my popcorn with everyone? Oh right, because there's a PANDEMIC.<br /></p>Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-12915862629409883322020-03-22T10:43:00.000-04:002020-03-22T18:56:25.475-04:00Pre-Apocalyptic Musings of Post-Democratic ProportionsSo... the biggest problem I had on New Year's Day 2020 was the prospect of <i>Friends</i> disappearing from Netflix. Oh Universe, you have a dark sense of humour. Turns out <i>Friends</i> is still on Netflix but the Apocalypse is nigh which would make <i>Friends</i> being on Netflix a moot point. COVID-19 is basically creating a new reality most of us have never experienced: thinking of others before ourselves. This may require actions we are not inclined to do: cancelling travel and cool shit you were going to do (think of all those lost opportunities to post your awesome picks on social media - you'll need to find alternate means to sate your hunger for attention and validation); staying at home (for an introvert like me, it's like winning the lottery); keeping your outings to essential trips only (pretty much what daily life used to be like for me - who's laughing now extrovert bitches).<br />
<br />
It's hard to complain about a forced vacation where I can catch up on all sorts of shit I usually wouldn't have time to do; boredom is not a problem I foresee encountering. Sure, the economy is turning to shit, my investments may be evaporating before my eyes and I have no gainful employment at the moment, seeing as teaching yoga in person is currently considered a biohazard. But I get to sleep in every morning, eat corn dogs and chips without guilt (I consider these emotional support foods since my emotional support animal has her own preoccupations at the moment, like my partner and I being home all the time, disrupting her daily napping routine).<br />
<br />
If I don't watch the news too much, I can keep my stress levels at a manageable level. If I start binge watching CBC News Network and CNN, I usually find myself curled up in a ball, rocking myself gently, self-soothing to the dulcet tones of Kenny G., and that's on a good day. But hey, I can't really complain. There are folks out there working their asses off so the rest of us losers can stay home and not spread this virus: front-line medical staff; grocery and pharmacy staff; truck drivers. The supply chain is relatively intact, and if it weren't for a few freaks stocking up on toilet paper (WTF?), we may not have felt much of a disruption at all.<br />
<br />
My mother actually made an interesting remark regarding all this pandemonium - she said that maybe it was time we were shaken up since our respective societies are rotting from self-interest, corruption, greed and a lust for ever-expanding growth. Sometimes, we need the shit kicked out of us; a pressing of the "reset" button, if you will, to perhaps reframe how we live, how we treat others and the planet, how corporations are basically running the world and we need to address this. But will anything change once this pandemic has passed? I doubt it. We're creatures of habit. We've normalized the moronic and deceitful words of despots; we've turned a blind eye to the murder of a journalist by a brutal regime because, hey, it would mean breaking a contract worth billions.<br />
<br />
Kenny G.'s not sounding so bad right now, is he? I want to believe that the human race learns from its mistakes but with the advent of an era of stupid and mean (Trump, Johnson, Putin, Jinping, Bolsonaro, etc...), we seem to be stepping backwards towards intolerance, ignorance and totalitarianism. At the time of writing this, there are still some spring-breakers in Georgia who refuse to cut short their vacation because "you know, we've always lived with viruses, what's the big deal"? With this specter of sheer idiocy, being forced to stay at home and not deal with people seems like a blessing.<br />
<br />
Think of it this way: we were already living Armageddon before COVID-19, it was just happening in small increments. So maybe buy a couple extra bags of Miss Vickie's (why not try a new flavour?), pour yourself a glass of your favourite numbing alcohol, spark up Netflix, and ponder how to save the world once you're out of quarantine. <br />
Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-26384271626398544372020-01-01T11:57:00.000-05:002020-01-01T12:17:36.701-05:00Generation X Sobriety Triggered Non-OffensivenessSo yeah... it's been a while since I've posted here, and I can't guarantee I'll be writing with any regularity but I'd like to try (first New Year's resolution that will probably be broken). The boyfriend and I are going to try something called "Dry January" meaning no drinking in January which I foolishly agreed to. Not that I'm a heavy drinker (most weekends and the occasional weeknight include wine, and/or a beer, and/or a snifter of some yummy liqueur with egg nog) but going dry, that's big. I also agreed to this before I found out that <i>Friends</i> would no longer be available on Netflix as of TODAY, to which I say, WTF Netflix? and why did I agree to toss my liquid crutch out the window at such a vulnerable time?<br />
<br />
You see, <i>Friends</i> is like a safety blanket, something I could turn to when people piss me off (which is pretty much always), when I feel unmotivated and just want to procrastinate and not move forward with my life or when I yearn for some wholesome, family entertainment. Now what? I thought the blow would be softened with <i>The Office</i> remaining on Netflix, but, as I found out, that's disappearing as well in 2021. Again, I say, WTF Netflix? If alcohol is bad for you, how are we expected to quit when our emotional support shows are yanked off our streaming service?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9iXdXh1AIiOKklLaZERnOV6UIpmHXnRuzIfSffR5G9-GA9LZVGkxOWP1yZDppYI3MESB2kHPWaaIMJswc-1gLyvjJQ3vaEEdjm-OKSyKmf7BcBlGFlScwlWDMCwrGVWXajhPNdOCECVK8/s1600/IMG_3725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9iXdXh1AIiOKklLaZERnOV6UIpmHXnRuzIfSffR5G9-GA9LZVGkxOWP1yZDppYI3MESB2kHPWaaIMJswc-1gLyvjJQ3vaEEdjm-OKSyKmf7BcBlGFlScwlWDMCwrGVWXajhPNdOCECVK8/s640/IMG_3725.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wine: nothing but a fond memory now.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
You'd think being a yoga teacher and all, I would have learned how to cope without alcohol, but, as I say to <strike>no one</strike> anyone who asks: "It's a process, and I haven't evolved past the fetus stage yet, in spiritual terms". Being a Gen X'er and a yoga teacher is kind of an oxymoron, isn't it? None of that soft, mushy "safe space, respect my triggers" Millenial marshmallow soup tainted our generation. No, we were the "stick it to the Man, grunge music-listening, apathetic, everyone sucks, I don't care if you're offended" generation who also may have invented the Internet, so go figure.<br />
<br />
I mean, I love what I do, but I also understand why we're mercilessly ridiculed in mainstream media, and I haven't completely sloughed off my Gen X'er cynicism and hard edge. I mourn the loss of our sense of humour, and the pendulum swinging way too far in the direction of political correctness, with what I call the "PC Gestapo" monitoring every word said, typed, tweeted and shared for potential "offensiveness". To which I say: learn how to be offended. Not everyone will share your views, and multiple truths can co-exist at the same time. Also, humour is one of the most effective tools at pointing out things like racism, sexism, bullying, harassment and discrimination through the use of jokes, sarcasm and ridicule.<br />
<br />
I think people are so easily offended because, with the advent of social media, everyone thinks their opinion matters. Newsflash: it doesn't. The world doesn't need our opinions to move forward. What the world needs is for us to read books, stay informed, be actively engaged in our communities, and learn how to gracefully accept someone else's differing view even if we're feeling "triggered". Also, maybe we could re-learn in-person communication, you know, how to talk to an actual human being sitting in front of us. Whoa! What a concept. I'm hopeful that social media will eventually lead us to a "back-to-basics" movement of actually talking to and listening to each other, once we get sick of the endless comment wars, attention seeking and cowardly bullying (yeah, it's easy online, but try saying that to someone's face).<br />
<br />
No amount of online attention can replace authentic human connections, and this is coming from a Gen X'er who generally hates people. So you can imagine the desperation I'm beginning to feel if I'm encouraging touchy-feely "let's talk" shit. Sobriety is making me soft.<br />
<br />
Happy F*cking New Year.<br />
<br />Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-55418149626797374662018-11-12T09:27:00.000-05:002018-11-12T09:27:07.811-05:00Ottawa Yoga Teacher Profile - Janice TokarykBack in 06/07, I used to start my Saturday mornings off with Janice's Ashtanga class at Santosha Westboro on Richmond Rd. When I started my Ashtanga practice, I was sweating like I'd been in a heated room and usually needed a two-hour nap following class to recover. I loved the discipline and simplicity of Ashtanga, simplicity not to be confused with ease - it was a challenging practice, one we see much less of on the Ottawa yoga scene today. It was the original "flow" practice: no frills, no music - just you, your breath and your body.<br />
<br />
Janice was the teacher who, after weeks of practicing my headstand with the help of a wall, ever so casually walked by me in class one day and said, without any kind of aggression or force, "You're ready." I knew exactly what she meant. I stepped away from the wall. And did my very first unassisted headstand successfully. I was indeed ready but I didn't know it or was too afraid to try. To me, that's the mark of a great teacher. Observant, kind and ready to gently push you forward past your fears and show you your true potential.<br />
<br />
Luckily for the Ottawa yoga community, Janice is still teaching. What's important to her? She loves teaching at different places and helping students of different capabilities, levels and needs, whether they are a beginner, intermediate or advanced yogi. She derives great satisfaction as a teacher and in watching students progress. She's also a lead trainer for <a href="http://www.adishesha.com/s6/teacher-training" target="_blank">Adi Shesha Yoga Zone's 200-hour Hatha Yoga teacher training</a> courses, along with Basia Going, and has been for about 10 years. She finds this facet of her teaching extremely rewarding.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcfCYJ0Getta1fGDvC96mje8d6hONsAiI8QZ8ixhccMVEU9BCqaAiIOsrXtDPZbN3__Wo8jbw78vp5mhifpGmoDFfSdQu4E1knbiLqeBgoeMb5I5ojfnEfkpXmdqxEMMz4SHoilnQ39JvV/s1600/Janice+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1025" data-original-width="681" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcfCYJ0Getta1fGDvC96mje8d6hONsAiI8QZ8ixhccMVEU9BCqaAiIOsrXtDPZbN3__Wo8jbw78vp5mhifpGmoDFfSdQu4E1knbiLqeBgoeMb5I5ojfnEfkpXmdqxEMMz4SHoilnQ39JvV/s400/Janice+1.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
<br />
As a teacher, she feels what's most important is being who you are and sharing what you have to offer. Her first love was Ashtanga Yoga and her classes are Ashtanga-based so they tend to be more on the strong side. That being said, she also likes meditation and incorporates this aspect into her workshops. She started taking yoga classes at the age of 16, and according to her mother, had a fascination with India as a young child. Janice has been practicing for about 25 years and teaching for 20 years.<br />
<br />
Her first teacher training was an intensive with Bryan Kest in California. She then studied with David Swenson and completed five teacher trainings with Richard Freeman so it goes without saying that her classes are heavily influenced by Freeman's approach to yoga. <br />
<br />
As mentioned in previous profiles, I'm asking my interviewees how they feel the Ottawa yoga scene has changed over the last decade. In Janice's view, there are more studios opening up but she's not sure what we're currently teaching is yoga. She suspects we're a little too busy "entertaining" our students with marketing gimmicks and music. Are we yoga teachers or entertainers? Are we stripping yoga of its rituals and discipline to appeal to a mass market? Just as the introduction of the 24-hour news cycle blurred the lines between news and entertainment, are we blurring the lines between this ancient science we call yoga and a perceived need to coddle or impress our students? <br />
<br />
A traditional yoga practice is now viewed as something foreign or "un-hip" and a certain depth of knowledge is quickly eroding. There is more "copying" than experiencing and learning. What have we given up in the name of yoga's newfound popularity?<br />
<br />
After my conversation with Janice, I felt compelled to re-examine my own approach to teaching, and for the past few months, I've adopted a "back to basics" attitude, reintroducing certain key aspects of a traditional yoga practice in my classes. What have I learned so far? We underestimate our students when we pander to them, and we do them a disservice by withholding certain teachings and techniques for fear of not appearing "trendy". Thank you, Janice, for teaching me some very important lessons off the mat.<br />
<br />
I certainly consider Janice a senior teacher in the Ottawa yoga community and anyone looking for a truly authentic and knowledgeable approach to yoga will find it with her. Janice teaches two weekly classes at <a href="http://www.adishesha.com/" target="_blank">Adi Shesha Yoga Zone</a> (99 Fourth Ave. in
the Glebe) - Wednesdays and Fridays: 10-11:30 am, and at her own home studio (17 O'Meara St. in Hintonburg). Classes at her studio are set up in sessions of two or three months and pre-registration is required. She also offers workshops at her studio and pre-registration is also required for these. You can find more info on her <a href="https://yogaj.ca/" target="_blank">website</a> and you can also find her on <a href="http://facebook.com/yogajstudio/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/yogajstudio" target="_blank">@yogajstudio</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1BEltKHgjbAUDjC1TNaU_Ws4kK4oqoQYk7FRwGorOJxqkRhAbbUkrFvUxBLcImy9enAf0k8OpcndYjWhgXx-48z9_VZ4Bs9r4gy0l5zjmlxVuOP2H_Fex0g5t4H5VmftMC9fjcENxfQEt/s1600/Janice+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="266" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1BEltKHgjbAUDjC1TNaU_Ws4kK4oqoQYk7FRwGorOJxqkRhAbbUkrFvUxBLcImy9enAf0k8OpcndYjWhgXx-48z9_VZ4Bs9r4gy0l5zjmlxVuOP2H_Fex0g5t4H5VmftMC9fjcENxfQEt/s400/Janice+2.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-77727654655761504872018-09-13T12:18:00.000-04:002018-09-13T13:08:54.788-04:00Ottawa Yoga Teacher Profile - Joa KeurI first stepped into one of Joa's classes many moons ago when he was teaching at the Rama Lotus Yoga Centre. What I experienced was part yoga, dance party, empowerment patterning and quite possibly, one of the most profound spiritual revelations I've ever had. When I left, I wasn't quite sure what had happened, but I knew it was good. It was exactly what I needed at the time, although it didn't quite arrive in the package I expected.<br />
<br />
Taking a yoga class with Joa is guaranteed to be a unique experience. You'll probably have to step out of your comfort zone, but isn't that why we do yoga? To move past stagnation, blockage and rigidity to fully inhabit ourselves? Spend some time in Joa's classes, and you'll find where your self-imposed limitations lie. Joa's warm personality and truly authentic way of being are the perfect counter-balance and support for self-exploration that may feel a little uncomfortable or daunting at times.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibDux6xBCOFGoJ1wAknw6UY6YIl0JPZO8sufCQ-189Em82E0PyldVoeFCsaeT1IYnZFQoGbbp-81VFvRa7C5CdhpQHXTLQeNWm6cx5s1bFOVB39SsbsX6gXaxZb7tjqXGga4nCNHf8n7yg/s1600/20180721_184003%257E2-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="955" data-original-width="1600" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibDux6xBCOFGoJ1wAknw6UY6YIl0JPZO8sufCQ-189Em82E0PyldVoeFCsaeT1IYnZFQoGbbp-81VFvRa7C5CdhpQHXTLQeNWm6cx5s1bFOVB39SsbsX6gXaxZb7tjqXGga4nCNHf8n7yg/s400/20180721_184003%257E2-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Joa has been practicing yoga for 27 years and teaching for the past 14 years. For the past 7 years, he's been teaching at the PranaShanti Yoga Centre in Hintonburg. He started out doing yoga in a gym as a warm up to his weight training. Since then, he's completed training in Kundalini and Hatha Yoga, done four years of intensive Ashtanga Yoga practice, and done master classes in Yin and alignment-based practices. He also uses dance as his method of rejuvenation and mindful body transformation.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXM-kG8KVZPMb10WTV8GSmXCRttLTMfZAmgrJSs9DoDfahjhdBDsRhzUabhkSHlhHO_vhBZdVFdWlMZvWTTxk6I9s-ho0fuQmMZwMm3S6tABnxTml1l3NLyXtiYFdxsRUkJmL3VeVAyVCO/s1600/20180721_183641%257E3-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXM-kG8KVZPMb10WTV8GSmXCRttLTMfZAmgrJSs9DoDfahjhdBDsRhzUabhkSHlhHO_vhBZdVFdWlMZvWTTxk6I9s-ho0fuQmMZwMm3S6tABnxTml1l3NLyXtiYFdxsRUkJmL3VeVAyVCO/s400/20180721_183641%257E3-1.jpg" width="398" /></a></div>
<br />
In his classes, you can expect to dive deep into asana, pranayama and drishti (postures, breath and point of focus), allowing you to tap into your own deep resonance, stacking your bones, engaging your muscles for strength, but also for deep release. You'll learn how to use your breath in a variety of ways to be able to relax, and utilize it to flow into and out of various postures. You'll also learn about your core and the importance of its engagement in your practice, and about alignment, what it is and how to find a proper alignment that works for your body, so you're not forcing yourself into contortions that don't work for you and turn you off.<br />
<br />
One of the most memorable features of Joa's classes is his Savasana, when you're treated to a complete immersion in a healing "sound bath lullaby", as Joa puts it, so you can take the time to integrate the practice, relax, let go, and dream of good things to come. Or, you may have, as I once did, a spontaneous spiritual revelation about your true nature. Even though my rational mind quickly snapped shut like an angry clam after the experience, I've never forgotten it, or its significance, and it may take me the remainder of this lifetime, and quite possibly many more, to fully integrate the truth of that revelation. Joa continues to explore the healing power of sound and so far, has had a very positive response. <br />
<br />
Joa's classes are a safe space for people of different cultures, religions, spiritual beliefs and for the LGBTQ community to feel respected and treated with unconditional love. He teaches a weekly volunteer class (sponsored by the AIDS Committee of Ottawa) at the Centretown Health Community Centre for the LGBTQ community.<br />
<br />
Joa is also a gifted painter and photographer. My partner and I have two of his paintings in our home. He's recently finished two new pieces that took 8 years to complete, and continues to explore photography of various flowers.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnau5z7PHTFQ1LxB-miSnIdVfMBqEn3u8ps57CDkWuRgbGl86AxHIixdjBikqQ3PQAqFPQ02Yr_kOt5C0MDbWgSUh9lC3t4qW0jt3uQqQC1_4JIO93B_vfd2nbtsD9Q7-6pOAiGziz_Naa/s1600/IMG_3534.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnau5z7PHTFQ1LxB-miSnIdVfMBqEn3u8ps57CDkWuRgbGl86AxHIixdjBikqQ3PQAqFPQ02Yr_kOt5C0MDbWgSUh9lC3t4qW0jt3uQqQC1_4JIO93B_vfd2nbtsD9Q7-6pOAiGziz_Naa/s400/IMG_3534.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of Joa's paintings hangs over the fireplace mantel in our living room. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When I asked Joa how he feels yoga has changed over the past decade, he stated that students seem to be wanting more now than just an asana practice, that the superficiality of asana only is starting to fade as a hunger for something deeper and more meaningful emerges. <br />
<br />
Joa wants his students to know that, although he's a teacher, he continues to be a student as well, constantly learning and continuing to expand his knowledge of the practice. He takes it seriously but also likes to be light in his approach to it. Perfectionism is dangerous and futile. You have to be able to laugh at yourself too. I couldn't agree more.<br />
<br />
Joa teaches weekly classes at <a href="http://pranashanti.com/" target="_blank">PranaShanti Yoga Centre</a> (52 Armstrong St., Ottawa, ON) on Mondays and Wednesdays: 7:30-9:00 pm and on Saturdays: 3:30-5:00 pm. This fall and winter, Joa's classes will be focusing on the Yamas and Niyamas contained in the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, so if you'd like to integrate yogic philosophy and asana practice, now's your chance!<br />
<br />
You can also find Joa on Facebook (<a href="http://www.facebook.com/joakeur" target="_blank">Joa Keur</a>) and on Instagram @joakeur.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3J33xMh_lEbJnHKmf5XH3tomYTdK1Xxfvi_hX0JhXc5DAXZ2VNXd9JomFs40s0fve19Pn_wR0nR5q519cbKS3sFyyEXu39rXqjAmAHSIQ6uOWMNqEEHv521jiP38lxq66D4sPMTEpV6ri/s1600/20180721_184055%257E2-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1006" data-original-width="1600" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3J33xMh_lEbJnHKmf5XH3tomYTdK1Xxfvi_hX0JhXc5DAXZ2VNXd9JomFs40s0fve19Pn_wR0nR5q519cbKS3sFyyEXu39rXqjAmAHSIQ6uOWMNqEEHv521jiP38lxq66D4sPMTEpV6ri/s400/20180721_184055%257E2-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-42912690887268388482018-02-25T14:32:00.000-05:002018-02-25T14:32:19.631-05:00Lost Burberry playlist traffic meltdownI recently suffered an unexpected break up. It felt like I had lost a limb, it was so sudden... I ran to catch the bus one afternoon, and the next thing I knew, they were gone. My Burberry sunglasses had slipped out of my pocket, and probably landed somewhere along the sidewalk. By the time I noticed, it was too late.<br />
<br />
We'd been together for almost a decade, through much sunny weather, and those weirdly bright overcast days when wearing shades puts you in the category of annoying hipster trying too hard to be cool but you don't care because squinting causes wrinkles, or so you've heard. <br />
<br />
My Burberrys had been incessantly dropped, scratched and even forgotten overnight in a yoga studio, but we were always reunited, until recently. I was like a lost puppy looking for its home, forced to wear my cheap aviator knock-off "back-up" pair of shades. I've morphed from classy Audrey Hepburn look-alike to trashy Abercrombie and Fitch walking advertisement (from the neck up only - I'm not a pre-pubescent tween girl after all).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP_QH1K6P1JAmvkAZXeMjCSESlwNvQ19vlCqHQX3NkaDSpRFecsgBmiUoqyoEa07E-EsyBf8WBOAJ4UmwGcfC9D_7EtX1JPM_dVqRC4MAFT2mXkLZUcSDUI8YJrCFaeOYyU6qtgfMfRxHB/s1600/P1060049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP_QH1K6P1JAmvkAZXeMjCSESlwNvQ19vlCqHQX3NkaDSpRFecsgBmiUoqyoEa07E-EsyBf8WBOAJ4UmwGcfC9D_7EtX1JPM_dVqRC4MAFT2mXkLZUcSDUI8YJrCFaeOYyU6qtgfMfRxHB/s400/P1060049.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goodbye super cool awesome shades. I'll never look this good again.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Prior to this trauma, I had a full-blown technology-related breakdown at that ill-fated bus stop (I'm beginning to think it's cursed). I had recently been trying to free up memory on my ancient iPhone 6, when I came across a suggestion online that said all I had to do was sign out of my Apple ID account and then sign back in. So I did that. And it worked. And I was elated. Until I got to that damned bus stop on my way to teach a yoga class and pulled up my playlists to pick one out for my upcoming class.<br />
<br />
OH MY F*CKING GOD WHERE ARE ALL MY PLAYLISTS!!!! They had disappeared. I spend more time on my class playlists than on personal hygiene so I completely lost my shit. Once I managed to somewhat compose myself, I figured there must be a way to fix this. So I went to Settings, then to Music, and realized that my little sign out / sign in trick had turned off "show playlists on all devices". So I turned it back on. My playlists came back, and I wallowed in shame at my total and complete slavery to technology. <br />
<br />
Following my Apple aneurysm at said cursed bus stop, the bus arrives, I get on, and then quickly realize we're stuck in an unusual traffic jam. I have less than an hour to get to the yoga studio, where I'm expected to be teaching a class. It's rush hour and I realize the situation is reaching a critical point so I get up and go ask the bus driver if there's any chance we'll be across town in about 20 minutes. His look said it all: "Not a chance in hell." We're still fairly close to my house, where the car is sitting in the garage. I have a decision to make. I get off the bus, run to my house, cursing all the way there, jump in my car and pray there's no traffic on my secret "back route" which usually takes at least 20-30 minutes. I have about 20 left, and I'm desperately trying not to behave like a race car driver on crack. <br />
<br />
Miraculously, I arrived at the studio three minutes before the start of my class, completely stressed and out of breath but I had my playlists, so life as I knew it could go on.<br />
<br />Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-5787823518911510832018-01-28T22:03:00.000-05:002018-01-28T22:03:45.074-05:00From Obsequious Omnivore to Vivacious VeganA couple years ago, my stepdaughter became a vegan. On a weekend ski vacation, she hinted that her father and I should try it too. We politely scoffed, both convinced that it was a great choice, for other people. We were happy omnivores. I was also still working for the animal agriculture industry at that time, convinced that we were doing all we could to minimize animal suffering.<br />
<br />
About a year and a half later, I was fired, so I had a lot of time on my hands, and I was also freed from the karmic handcuffs of animal farming. I engaged in what my partner and I call "Netflix research" which basically consists of watching a shitload of documentaries on one particular subject (because Netflix breeds obsession) and afterwards declaring oneself an "expert" on said subject. In this case, the subject was, in a nutshell, how to stay alive, without getting fat or sick or precipitating an already near planetary apocalypse by contributing to the raping and pillaging of the planet. <br />
<br />
I could feel my love of greasy bacon slipping away, to be replaced by what can only be described as a "social conscience". Also, there seems to be a lot of evidence that meat and dairy are crappy for humans (I'm an expert now). I know, I know, who to believe? They told us eggs were the root of all evil, and if we continued to eat them our cholesterol levels would rise faster than a hooker's skirt on payday. Then sugar was bad, until the sugar lobbyists pointed the finger at dietary fat. Then gluten was deemed the poison<i> du jour, </i>and all things wheat became public enemy numero uno. So who's telling the truth? <br />
<br />
I guess what really got to me was: a) the not dying part, and b) my ardent anthropomorphizing of animals. Call it an epiphany or the result of reading too much Deepak Chopra, but I can't eat anything anymore that had a face, and parents. So, my research was then transferred from Netflix to Google. If I'm going to attempt veganism, how the hell do I go about it? I barely know my way around a kitchen. Perfecting the balance between butter, cream and a powdery pouch of Kraft cheese was, up to that point, my greatest culinary achievement.<br />
<br />
(FYI, this is not an endorsement. I was not paid to write this, although I could use the cash. Just sayin'.) I stumbled upon the Forks Over Knives meal planner online. Aha! How to eat vegan, for Dummies. There is also an associated documentary which, of course, I watched on Netflix, prior to finding their handy meal planner. I thought to myself: "With this kind of guidance, I might actually be able to do this."<br />
<br />
My boyfriend was working in Europe at the time and I asked him if, upon his return, he would mind if we tried veganism, on the condition that I would take charge of all our meals. He quickly agreed, if only to be relieved of almost exclusive responsibility for our meals up to that point, and also doubting this would last more than a couple weeks, so why put up a fight?<br />
<br />
It's been about three and a half months, and I've stuck with it so far. I've set off our smoke alarm at least twice trying to roast vegetables in the oven, and I recently made guacamole so salty, I broke out into a sweat as I ate it. I bought an eggplant for the first time in my life, and can now say "nutritional yeast" without laughing. I poop every day, I can make a pretty decent smoothie (when I follow a recipe and don't freestyle it) and I haven't burned our house down yet. What more can a girl ask for? <br />
<br />Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-65554251625660087862018-01-04T16:09:00.000-05:002018-01-04T16:09:51.060-05:00A divided self, a divided worldIf asked what characterizes the current state of our world, the first word that comes to mind is division: us vs. them; right vs. wrong; winners and losers; black and white. This is a very simplistic way of viewing things, when one considers that there is far more grey than black and white. Not everything can be defined, cut into neat little pieces for easy consumption, or be easily understood.<br />
<br />
It's simple to lash out and blame all our current ills on Trump, Putin, rapacious corporations, the media, etc., etc... If we are to even begin bridging the gaps, we need to look at the divisions within ourselves, at how we so easily compartmentalize without asking the big questions.<br />
<br />
We sit back and proclaim that climate change should be addressed but we're unwilling to change our lifestyles. We bemoan cruelty to animals but continue eating meat because we're so far removed from its source that all we see is the neat little package in the grocery store without asking ourselves where it came from, how the animal was raised and how it died.<br />
<br />
We are masters at lying to ourselves, at ignoring those dark corners we wish didn't exist, at whitewashing pain, ugliness and struggle, at extracting with surgical precision those parts of ourselves that don't fit into the current accepted narrative. If we are at war with ourselves, how can we possibly begin to bring peace to a fractured world when it is simply a reflection of our inner state?<br />
<br />
We are not separate from anyone or anything. We are each other's caretakers and keepers of our environment, and other sentient beings with whom we share this planet. We are failing miserably on both counts. <br />
<br />
As Gandhi proclaimed: "Be the change you want to see in the world." The only place to start is with ourselves. Can we quiet the constant stream of mental noise and distraction that only allows us to skim the surface of things? Can we summon the courage to delve deeper, get acquainted with our soft underbelly and befriend it? Can we find out where our fear resides and try to release it? Can we be brave enough to be still and listen? <br />
<br />
Every choice we make matters. Wouldn't it be better if those choices were conscious ones? Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-5574457277162212462017-10-06T14:12:00.000-04:002017-10-06T14:12:23.121-04:00Unlocking our POWERful potentialThis past July, internationally-renowned yoga teacher Bryan Kest was in Ottawa giving a weekend of master classes. If you're wondering who that is, along with being credited for its creation, he coined the term "Power Yoga". Ironically, he mentioned to us that he was open to suggestions for a new name to replace "Power Yoga" since he felt the term was perceived as intimidating.<br />
<br />
I tend to agree. I practice and teach this type of yoga, which can also be classified as a vigorous type of "Flow Yoga" but as soon as you throw in the word "Power", people wince and retreat in terror. I'm beginning to think that, intrinsically, we don't like to be challenged. We avoid stepping out of our comfort zone. We stick with what we know, and what we think we're capable of. Problem is, we're always capable of so much more than we think we are. But we'll never find out if we don't step beyond our perceived limitations.<br />
<br />
I'm the first to admit I'm lazy. My default setting is sloth - exerting the least amount of effort most of the time. I have to consciously fight against this tendency. Sometimes, sloth is totally appropriate and called for; yin and yang. But my yin gets greedy and wants all the attention. However, when I do work actively against my laziness and commit to an active, empowering yang practice, afterwards I can feel every inch of my body teeming with something I can only describe as "aliveness".<br />
<br />
It's not always a pleasant experience. I usually feel bitter when I'm being challenged. Of course, the other side of that coin is that afterwards, I feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment for not having walked away from something that reminded me of my own strength and resilience, and left me feeling like a million bucks.<br />
<br />
Kest also reminds us that we should approach this type of yoga practice with moderation. Sure, it can be challenging but we don't have to go crazy. It's possible to find a balance between effort and ease when we tell our ego to take a hike and release any notions of physical or athletic "performance". What it truly comes down to is a steady breath and being present. Can we allow ourselves to feel challenged yet remain calm? Imagine how effectively we could deal with our daily lives off the mat if we simply mastered that.Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-42419837255764293182017-08-27T12:34:00.000-04:002017-08-27T12:34:49.472-04:00A Song Without Music<span style="font-family: inherit;">Me: "You know how much I love spending time in the kitchen." Boyfriend: "With a phone and a take out menu."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now that I've kicked off this post with the requisite witty humour, I can turn to other insignificant things, such as my playwriting. The idea recently flashed in my brain of sharing some of that writing here on my blog, kind of like a story in serial installments. I mean, why not?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A few months back, I began very preliminary work on a musical; the writing part, that is. I'm not sure where that project is headed but I wrote my first ever song lyrics. It's not exactly an uplifting ballad as I was exorcising some demons at the time but I think it could be a catchy tune. I call it: " A Song Without Music". </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Good morning, good morning </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">You're my wife, short of a ring</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">You're my mother, only better</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">You're my daughter, don't run for cover</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:1;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Calibri;
panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073786111 1 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0cm;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;
mso-ansi-language:EN-CA;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:612.0pt 792.0pt;
margin:72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt;
mso-header-margin:36.0pt;
mso-footer-margin:36.0pt;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
</style>Good morning, good morning<br />
Under my thumb, blessed underling<br />
It's the only way I know, the only love I can show<br />
Look pretty, don't think. Hint at desire, leave me on the brink<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
Good morning, good morning</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Your submission is a sacred thing</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It's your calling, weaker sex</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You've got no strength, no muscle to flex</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
Good morning, good morning</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm the master and you the slave adoring</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My psychic steel rod violating your space</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hunting you down, because I need the chase</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
Good morning, good morning</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Come to me and say good morning</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Good morning, good morning</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bend the knee and say good morning </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Stay tuned for my next creative writing installment. I think I'll go with a comedy next time. </span></span>Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-9380683030677492552017-07-23T12:41:00.000-04:002017-07-23T12:41:02.235-04:00Stereotype cancer - an insidious diseaseYesterday, I found out that a beloved figure in the yoga world, Michael Stone, had passed away, following a lifelong struggle with bipolar disorder, a struggle he kept mostly silent and hidden. Shock rang through an international yoga community at the sudden death of one of its own. The tragedy of his passing seems all the more bitter at the thought of his internal struggle with demons largely out of his control.<br />
<br />
It also reveals a soft underbelly of the yogic community: an expectation or preconceived notion that yoga teachers have their shit together; that they easily rise above it all and are able to remain in a continual state of zen-like balance. They're vegetarians or vegans, don't drink or swear and lead a squeaky-clean life. These stereotypes are also propagated, ad nauseum, by popular media and frankly, are reductionist and far off the mark of what yoga and meditation are all about.<br />
<br />
But yoga is not the only victim of stereotypes. They are widespread and pervasive, and they are harmful. In my former job, every morning when I stepped into the office, I felt like I had entered Stepford suburbia, and if I didn't conform to some incredibly narrow-minded idea, imposed by others, of who I should be: a happy, smiling, pleasant, social and above all, easily acquiescing female, I paid the price, either with social isolation or eventually, in my case, dismissal.<br />
<br />
Stereotypes are an insidious cancer that refuse to recognize the full depth and breadth of each individual, and leave no space for variety, vulnerabilities and flaws - the very things that, if brought to light and shared with one another, actually draw us together and create community.<br />
<br />
It is a terrible tragedy that Michael Stone felt compelled to remain silent about his mental health issues, but it is a silence I fully understand. I grappled for more than a decade with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder in complete silence. I couldn't bring myself to tell my family physician I was suffering these strange symptoms that were not physical. I felt I couldn't tell my parents or my friends. Only when I was living on my own and the symptoms progressively worsening, did I finally seek help because I could see the downward spiral awaiting me if I continued to do nothing.<br />
<br />
It was one of the best decisions of my life. I sought treatment and am completely open about it now. I've managed to let go of the shame I used to feel about it, and I'm fully aware that I'm not alone. However, there remains a stronghold of shame and misunderstanding around mental illness, one that needs to be removed, so those who are suffering can rise to the surface, come into the light, and seek the help and support they need.<br />
<br />
As a yoga teacher myself, my students should know that I am not perfect. I have shitty days. I struggle. I make bad decisions. I eat meat. I drink alcohol. I use swear words, sometimes profusely, but that takes nothing away from my passion for yoga and devotion to sharing it with as many people as I can. We need to allow space for people to be who they are, and release these rigid ideas of who we think we should be. All we need to be is ourselves.<br />
<br />Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-43593212292549134622017-05-22T13:57:00.000-04:002017-05-22T14:22:32.676-04:00A letter to the ladies...For the past five months, I've been a teaching assistant for a 200-hour Hatha Yoga teacher training program. Yesterday was graduation day, and marked the end of the journey. This group of 22 students was special indeed, being made up entirely of women. And it is to those strong, fierce, incredible ladies that I write this entry.<br />
<br />
As we began our journey together, five months ago, I was also at the beginning of a new existence. Due to an enduring personality conflict with my boss, on November 7, 2016, I was dismissed from my job. I had been working there for 14 years, and suddenly, the life I knew was gone.<br />
<br />
I remember coming home on that November morning, after the deed was done; a beautiful, sunny, unseasonably warm day, feeling a mix of shock and euphoria, because, on the one hand, that job was my security blanket. It paid very well and had great benefits. On the other hand, I had been in abject misery for years.<br />
<br />
I felt a lot of shame over being fired. Even though I was unhappy and the work was unfulfilling, it was still a stinging rejection and a public embarrassment. I had been unceremoniously kicked off the island.<br />
<br />
Shortly thereafter, I remembered having read about an opportunity to apply for a position as a teaching assistant for PranaShanti's upcoming 200-hour Hatha Yoga teacher training. The first time I had seen it, my interest was immediately piqued. However, I was still employed at the time and figured I couldn't swing it, what with the day job and an upcoming theatre production in February 2017. I guess the Universe had other plans.<br />
<br />
One of the first things I did following my dismissal was apply for that teaching assistant position. I felt like I had been given a once in a lifetime opportunity to pursue what I really wanted in life; to shed the doubt, move fearlessly toward my dreams, and delve into teaching yoga full-time. I was absolutely thrilled when I learned I had obtained one of two spots to assist with the teacher training program.<br />
<br />
Over the next five months, I sat in awe, listening to you share your stories, your fears, your struggles, your vulnerabilities, and watching as you stepped into the unknown, spread your wings, and soared. It was a reminder to me, and one that I desperately needed, that I wasn't alone and that I didn't need to be perfect to be loved.<br />
<br />
Your courage, determination and sass have helped put me back together after feeling shattered and lost. This blue string now wrapped around my left wrist is a welcome reminder of the best herd of cats I've ever hung out with.Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-44632394703039390402017-04-10T14:02:00.000-04:002017-04-10T14:03:31.032-04:00Curbing carbs and sweatpantsThere's nothing that induces guilt quite like seeing my vegan stepdaughter's bowl of fruit on Instagram after eating scrambled eggs with cheese and six strips of bacon, my greasy fingerprints still visible on the smooth surface of my iPhone. I always have the best of intentions when it comes to nutrition but then I find myself polishing off an entire box of KD and washing it down with a couple beers. I suppose I'm a bending contradiction, being a yoga teacher and food abuser.<br />
<br />
As I write this, I'm being a time abuser, procrastinating getting to my playwriting by blogging instead. I'm a little too hungover to have ideas. I could sit here and stare blankly out the window wondering why I'm not outside on this unusually warm, mostly sunny day. Although, occasionally I hear a slightly aggressive breeze on still bare trees and that encourages me to stay indoors.<br />
<br />
I've recently discovered that I can wear my sweats and slum it at Timmy Ho's without judgment because they have free wifi. No need to pull together my hipster cool outfit for Starbucks. Of course, spending the afternoon writing at Timmy Ho's doesn't have the same legitimacy as being seen in more trendy coffeehouses but, in the end, not having to change out of my sweatpants into something more uncomfortable for sheer vanity wins out.<br />
<br />
This is what happens when you stop working in an office and cease wearing socially acceptable clothing. Now I'm consumed with making loose-fitting fleece fashionably respectable. Let's remove the stigma of the sweatpant; the assumption that a fleece-wearing person has given up on life. What if the opposite were true? That life is so good, I need to be comfortable to enjoy it; that a skirt and high heels will impede my creativity and hence, ability to make a living using said creativity. My talent for rationalization is truly something to behold. <br />
<br />
I've even started doing yoga in my sweatpants. The once sacred space of the skin-tight legging is giving way to loose-fitting fleece. Where will it stop? Is there a support group for an addiction to comfort and soft fabrics, and complete lack of regard for highlighting my female desirability? Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-75030091274440229662017-03-30T10:13:00.000-04:002017-03-30T10:13:34.304-04:00Does flaming out fan my inner flame? Beware expressing unbridled enthusiasm for profound life changes because once the fairy dust clears, fear and self-doubt creep in. "WTF am I doing?"; "I'll never make it in this business."; "How will I make ends meet?"; "I should just give up now, and find another cozy cubicle where my soul can atrophy in peace."<br />
<br />
I know, I know... You're all like "Dude, join the human race. We all feel that way." I just need to momentarily believe I'm the only one who's ever felt this way in the history of time, so as to have an effective pity party. If my feelings of inadequacy are diluted by the masses, what's the point of complaining? Maybe I'm just tired, and seeing things through the embittered eyes of exhaustion.<br />
<br />
If you're not careful, constant enthusiasm and optimism will burn you out, especially when you're not used to it. Pessimism comes much more naturally to me. Existential crisis feels like a soft, warm blanket in which to comfortably wrap myself. Does familiarity breed contempt or laziness? And is laziness so bad? Perhaps it's only mislabeled. Maybe laziness is really contentment. Ceasing to constantly need better, bigger, faster, stronger, and getting really comfortable with "what is".<br />
<br />
Maybe contentment is really gratitude. Gratitude for this hot cup of coffee I'm drinking this morning; for an able body that lets me gracefully (mostly) move through this life. Maybe constantly chasing the spotlight or some idea I have of "success" is only indicative of an inner emptiness I'm trying in vain to fill. As Marianne Williamson states: "To the ego, self-acceptance is death." What if I agreed to die? Figuratively speaking, of course.<br />
<br />
Maybe an experiment is in order. What if I expressed my creativity with no other intention? Just create for the sake of creating, with no thought to any particular result, no desire for praise or recognition, no utility or value judgement. It might be a golden opportunity to mine that deep chasm of self-hatred instead of embarking on yet another futile pursuit to placate it. Or a great excuse to start drinking heavily.<br />
<br />Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-49152968364542860622017-03-12T10:09:00.000-04:002017-03-12T10:09:25.037-04:00Exploding head ass kickingI realize it's been a while since I last posted here. I'd like to say that's going to change and I'll write more frequently but I've been busy posting pictures of my cat on Instagram.<br />
<br />
Since my last post, my entire life basically blew up. Ok wait, I should be more specific: my entire professional life. I best word this carefully for legal reasons. The Universe decided I needed a good kick in the ass in the right direction, and surprised me with a new life. How's that for equanimity?<br />
<br />
So now, probably for the first time in my life, I'm pursuing what I really want to do: teach yoga and write plays, like, full-time. It's scary as shit, crazy fun and I've never been happier. Every day is different and I'm fully in charge of my destiny which is daunting at times but it's really forcing me to focus my energy where it needs to go, and trust that everything will work out, hence my renewed obsession with social media.<br />
<br />
Whereas sloth used to be my biggest challenge, now I have to learn how to turn off my brain and take some time for myself because I'm so stimulated all the time with shit that I love and am totally passionate about. It's like being on life crack. It's an adjustment and I have to be careful not to OD. I was living in black and white, and now everything is in full f*cking technicolour. The future's so bright, I gotta wear shades.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I got hooked up with <a href="https://poweryoga.com/" target="_blank">Bryan Kest's Online Power Yoga classes</a>. What does this mean? Yoga, every f*cking day. Yeah, I'm still learning not to take a puff of that life crack pipe too often. My head's about to explode.Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-28954528975652859292016-08-15T16:44:00.000-04:002016-08-15T16:44:14.814-04:00Keeping it Veal<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">My boyfriend and I recently returned to Spain
for a couple weeks after a short first visit back in December. He’s got a work project developing over there and had a few
business meetings. I was tagging along for the ride. I basically hadn’t given
this trip any thought once the flights were booked. His Spanish colleague was
booking our hotel. I didn’t even know where exactly in Spain we were going. The
only details I had were: somewhere along the northwest coast in the region of
Galicia. So naturally, I assumed we were headed to a small fishing village with
a hotel, a café and a bar, and maybe a beach due to the close proximity of the
ocean. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We ended up in a place called Cangas de Morrazo
and it was considerably larger than the remote town I had envisioned. However, it
was breathtakingly beautiful, sunny and hot. We were off to a good start. After checking
in at the hotel and having the requisite nap after losing six hours on the way
over from Canada, we decided to venture out for sustenance of the food and
beverage kind. It was approximately 5:30 pm. We were hungry, thirsty, and
although partially rested, I still felt like I had been run over by a truck due
to jet lag. How hard could it be to find to find a restaurant? </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Lesson number one: the Spanish take what is
called a “siesta” ranging anywhere between 1:30 pm and 5:30 pm. Some businesses
close for the duration and others, such as restaurants, serve alcohol and light
snacks but no food… not until about 9 pm or later. That’s right: don’t even think
about dinner until around 9:30 pm, and even that’s on the early side. Tired and
desperate, we finally found a patio and resigned ourselves to deriving much needed
calories from beer. Luckily, they’re very generous with the snacks when you’re
drinking so we feasted on olives, peanuts and roasted corn nibblies. Also, the
beer was cold and delicious. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The Spanish, it seems, are generally on a later
schedule. As a non-morning person, this suited me just fine, and I believe,
also proves a theory I have that Spain is in the wrong time zone. They should
be in the same zone as Great Britain and Portugal, and yet they’re an hour
ahead. I believe an entire culture was built around this mistake. The sun rises
and sets later, and dinner doesn’t usually wrap up until midnight. I would even venture, based on this map, that at least half of France is also in the wrong time zone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18EhWtSp_JjcOQZLLQQ9PP-AWsph6wlMS3X1r9g06Hanayya1bUvxw95BHUxIcrt3Lov1ENLgpt2i_OKPpDYu6bjueVofXlitVAY3mj11mTBQutbz4Kln2W4n5PtAYSTC2etozI1oua7J/s1600/europe-time-zone-map.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18EhWtSp_JjcOQZLLQQ9PP-AWsph6wlMS3X1r9g06Hanayya1bUvxw95BHUxIcrt3Lov1ENLgpt2i_OKPpDYu6bjueVofXlitVAY3mj11mTBQutbz4Kln2W4n5PtAYSTC2etozI1oua7J/s400/europe-time-zone-map.gif" width="378" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">While exploring a local tourist site with my boyfriend's Spanish colleague and his wife, I asked about the whole time zone thing, and it
immediately sparked an animated discussion among a group of nearby visitors. Of course, they were all speaking
Spanish so I didn’t understand a word but I could tell I’d caused some
controversy, and my work here was done.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">After a few days, a daily schedule was emerging:
breakfast, beach, lunch at beach, chill time at hotel, dinner, bed. The biggest
decision we had to make on any given day was which beach to go to since there
were plenty to choose from. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_v0lbuR-w0Uk1896abssGV2a4iro_sI3RGW3I77lpiZ8SsBjejyzjh1RpwVw5jVVbzWmjCqh63bSWqxcIMc3pPNMWq3BOK9AeiHoE6Il3oOPpvxc0XDm6_rCyiK_sJtN_000XCvvC7bbL/s1600/IMG_2766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_v0lbuR-w0Uk1896abssGV2a4iro_sI3RGW3I77lpiZ8SsBjejyzjh1RpwVw5jVVbzWmjCqh63bSWqxcIMc3pPNMWq3BOK9AeiHoE6Il3oOPpvxc0XDm6_rCyiK_sJtN_000XCvvC7bbL/s320/IMG_2766.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yeah, this is a little bit of alright.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Of course, we had to limit our exposure to the Spanish summer sun for the first few days, having nearly translucent, white skin. I
was somewhat troubled when, upon returning from our first beach venture and
contemplating a shower, the boyfriend says to me: “Go wash the cancer off.”
Even slathered in SPF 60 sunblock, returning from that first day on the beach,
my skin was eerily red. In response to my boyfriend’s inquiry about the exact
shade of crimson, I replied: “It’s not of emergency room proportions but it is
aesthetically troubling.” However, with repeated daily exposure to harmful UV
rays, my pasty white Canadian skin was browning like a finely basted Christmas
turkey. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Lesson number two: when ordering seafood in
Galicia, be aware that you will get the whole enchilada, including the face.
After a sojourn on yet another pristine beach, we stumbled onto an elegant
restaurant, and as luck would have it, they had a patio. So, we plunked our
sandy asses down and ordered some beer and food. When the waitress said
“prawns”, I immediately thought: “Hey, that’s shrimp. I love shrimp. I’ll have
shrimp.” So I ordered the shrimp. This is what I got: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbcUhfEnDzYdZeD-Ffo7Z2IcA4vLGVcB9bulhfAYrhq8v0EPoul5VwbbQWs5Pn5iIVLg56Nh-M79AXR0wCChuXfbMq9hSspZDck-vQm2PGk633JtkKowYw3hMUNpBxom-3P2OkQWqTpUGw/s1600/IMG_2793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbcUhfEnDzYdZeD-Ffo7Z2IcA4vLGVcB9bulhfAYrhq8v0EPoul5VwbbQWs5Pn5iIVLg56Nh-M79AXR0wCChuXfbMq9hSspZDck-vQm2PGk633JtkKowYw3hMUNpBxom-3P2OkQWqTpUGw/s400/IMG_2793.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">As you
can see, that’s an entire animal: face, shell, spindly little legs. I was
Anthony Bourdain-ing it in parts known to most, but not to me. I’m not (yet) a
vegetarian or vegan but trying to eat something that still has little beady
eyes staring at me is almost enough to turn me into a full-fledged herbivore. Below is the prawn refuse I generated once I'd extracted the edible meat. Well, edible according to me:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg40T2xgmqrDxKzE-sriP67SPqoB7w2Jn1kG3fWv1DeIbz3g-TjT7gbBS9v9u6PRO1ccX4jgB0SpHhPstJ_iPf6yWbtaGLPeFX_-O0Zk6vyaq7v2bnDpWhY8BhMobjCHRbBnph3Kq_zSY78/s1600/IMG_2796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg40T2xgmqrDxKzE-sriP67SPqoB7w2Jn1kG3fWv1DeIbz3g-TjT7gbBS9v9u6PRO1ccX4jgB0SpHhPstJ_iPf6yWbtaGLPeFX_-O0Zk6vyaq7v2bnDpWhY8BhMobjCHRbBnph3Kq_zSY78/s400/IMG_2796.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">After a few days, we also noticed something was
different about this place. Apart from the Shell gas station, there was no
corporate presence whatsoever. No Golden Arches, no Forever 21, no forced
homogeny of the masses. We were surrounded by small, local businesses and
completely immersed in another culture. No double Quarter Pounder with cheese
to soothe my homesickness; no retail therapy at whatever hipster-poser chain
store is hot right now. I felt this lack of Western influence was also
apparent in the people, who were very relaxed and comfortable with themselves.
I saw plenty of bare boobs in two weeks, and I can honestly say not one of them
was fake. These were real people on the beach, and bikinis weren’t just
reserved for skinny model-types.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Lesson number three: there were only the two
lessons mentioned above. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Apart from not speaking a word of Spanish, I
felt at home here. The people were friendly and welcoming, and I knew we had truly begun integrating when the boyfriend
turned to me one evening and said: “ Well, it’s bedtime, so it must be time for
dinner.” We made it our mission to do as little as possible, every day. We went
from sitting on our asses in our hotel room, to lying on our asses on the
beach, to sitting on our asses on patios and in restaurants, moving as little
as possible while slowly fattening up. We were keeping it veal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-29750949960664855942016-07-15T16:26:00.000-04:002016-07-15T16:26:33.226-04:00Baby turtles eat raspberriesMy brother-in-law recently posted a video on Facebook about how young adults today seem to lack basic life skills like cooking, sewing, personal finances, etc... As I watched this video, I realized that, to some extent, this was me. I mean, I can do my laundry and make an omelette, but I'm by no means a domestic goddess. I have the ability to cook but I just don't want to. So maybe it's not that I don't have the skills, it's that I'm lazy which I guess is an entirely different problem.<br />
<br />
It's become clear to me today that instead of working on my latest play, I will piss away my time on social media and other general time-wastage activities. Watching a baby turtle eating a raspberry may cause me to have my next big idea. I think I entered into a meditative state while watching a toddler scale a rock-climbing gym wall. I mean, that's when I'm open to the muse, when my subconscious can rise to the surface due to my tremendous focus on a singular thing, like videos of cats destroying Christmas trees. Yeah, I know it's July. Don't tell me you don't get nostalgic for Christmas come month seven of twelve.<br />
<br />
I just impressed myself there with a semi-Star Trek reference. If you didn't catch it, you're a loser. Get caught up. Wiki Jeri Ryan. Or ask your boyfriend. So we finally got hooked up to Netflix, because the boyfriend and I were tired of being losers too. So now when someone says: "It's on Netflix", I promptly reply: "Seen it, bitch" because I have no life.<br />
<br />
Remember Amanda Peet? She was almost famous for a while... like maybe a decade ago. She's the Rom-Com pretty young girlfriend, think opposite Jack Nicholson in <i>Something's Gotta Give</i>. I figured she was an average actress at best. Until I watched HBO series <i>Togetherness</i>, in which Ms. Peet plays one of the main characters and proceeds to blow my f*cking mind. She's absolutely brilliant in this show, making bold choices as an actress and completely unafraid to play someone who's kind of messed up. She's the real deal, friends. Watch this show. Of course, you'll need Netflix, or Apple TV or whatever's not available on your regular cable subscription.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDtZkxk2LboOlZcwJ4YUPQ-NsgDJjQ7V0bu0kcBKfutI0ovZpLpYKVz8HgOZHc4K594grTK9ciZS48AYMAmFFlxvViuLgNKhIw-wHVM7A-OtrwNBApYrt9Em5q0wdx9RrYAWysM9mNE0wj/s1600/amanda-peet-3-320x240.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDtZkxk2LboOlZcwJ4YUPQ-NsgDJjQ7V0bu0kcBKfutI0ovZpLpYKVz8HgOZHc4K594grTK9ciZS48AYMAmFFlxvViuLgNKhIw-wHVM7A-OtrwNBApYrt9Em5q0wdx9RrYAWysM9mNE0wj/s1600/amanda-peet-3-320x240.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">This girl ain't no poser. She's for real.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Now if I could just finish reading the latest Jonathan Franzen novel I started six months ago. Thanks Netflix, and adult colouring books.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-33194068936430159502016-02-01T10:56:00.000-05:002016-02-01T10:56:10.730-05:00Sloth-induced positive birth traumaA colleague sent me this meme recently:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2zgaq6Ks6LXHkDoXfNJGgiseWt0K4dSwp7nNBw4MwpGyXxXVD8evUYO-pjbFNp8Ibpd7mbZ5JE1dHRil7e5yW_Nqj0tEatIsObZHfJ1kMic9Vw-x4hu-bggrq_ASgaWEO2WicVjOPc1Ct/s1600/Dog+vs+cat+age.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2zgaq6Ks6LXHkDoXfNJGgiseWt0K4dSwp7nNBw4MwpGyXxXVD8evUYO-pjbFNp8Ibpd7mbZ5JE1dHRil7e5yW_Nqj0tEatIsObZHfJ1kMic9Vw-x4hu-bggrq_ASgaWEO2WicVjOPc1Ct/s400/Dog+vs+cat+age.jpg" width="291" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've always had a natural affinity with felines.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My 11 years of yoga practice haven't really contributed to my evolution as a human being. I still feel like a spiritual infant because people, in general, still irritate me and I don't like to share. This could also be caused by my lack of empathy towards others, except when it comes to animals. Play a sad Sarah McLachlan song and show me abused animals and I wither in a river of tears. Show me an impoverished child with the face of an angel and... nothing. Sure, on some level, I know it's "sad" but I remain unmoved. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm beginning to realize I may lack sensitivity which is surprising since I consider myself a writer, and being such, qualify as an artist, who in theory, should have a "sensitive" soul, or something. All I really "feel" is bitterness and scorn, sprinkled with resentment. I know that, based on <i>The Secret </i>and the law of attraction and all that jazz, that negative thinking will land me in all manner of hell. However, positive thinking has brought me some messed up shit. So, WTF yo?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Is an attitude of gratitude helping or hindering me? How about a "f*ck it" attitude for 2016? If I didn't give a shit, then I wouldn't have to pour so much effort into being grateful all the time which is exhausting. Gratitude demands a positive outlook on life which is not my default setting so I'm constantly straining against my natural tendency towards misanthropy. My attitude is essentially this: despite basically being part of the world's one percent (upper middle class), things still happen to me on a daily basis that I consider "shitty", thus thwarting my attempts to be content.<br />
<br />
To make matters worse, I'm an introvert, so it goes without saying that I'm misunderstood since I usually prefer the non-company of people. However, my f*ck it attitude would come in very handy for someone who generally prefers being alone. Do I want to do anything fun / positive / useful / productive? F*ck it. I want to get drunk and watch <i>Girls</i> reruns. I want to give up on my dreams and sink into the quiet despair of an unchanging daily routine. Pursuing goals is much too demanding and there's no guarantee of success. I'd much rather wallow in the safety of mediocrity.<br />
<br />
Investing myself in anything worthwhile feels like a waste of time, and also highlights the harrowing depths of my sloth. One would assume that I'd be happy doing nothing, since it's essentially my chosen path, but one would be wrong. I would have to criticize and mock those who are doing something. How dare they tarnish me with their ambition and drive. <br />
<br />
Obviously, 2016 is starting off on a high note. I've become wary of even-numbered years. They don't have the same promising, cozy feel as uneven-numbered years. It's strange that I would feel this way since I was born in an even-numbered year. Although, it could explain my dread of the even-numbered year since I found out fairly recently that I suffered birth trauma upon my arrival, and was basically in need of a therapist within the first minute of being born. But that's another story.<br />
<br /></div>
Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-36957599186619341182015-12-31T09:50:00.000-05:002015-12-31T09:50:30.869-05:00Escapee Santa and palm trees - Christmas in EuropeHow to be productive: travel to Europe from Canada. Lose six hours. Stay overseas for two weeks. Adjust to that time zone. Come home. Gain six hours. Wake up at 5 am because I'm still on European time. Get shit done. By 9 am, my day is done and I can justify watching <i>Friends</i> reruns for the next 8 hours.<br />
<br />
How to eat guilt-free: go to France. Cheese, bread, charcuterie, creamy sauces and wine are plentiful; and you may want to pick up smoking, otherwise, you'll stick out like a sore thumb. For some reason, it feels like if you smoke in France, you won't get cancer because everyone is doing it and they make it look so cool. It's like eating bacon in North America. Don't fight it. It may give you cancer but a life without bacon is not worth living.<br />
<br />
How to justify sleeping in: go to Spain in December. The sun doesn't rise until about 9 am. I got up for a bathroom break in the darkness of what I thought was the middle of the night. I checked my phone. It was 8 am. Also, there are palm trees in Spain. I didn't know this until very recently.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTGskQMACZuehdSUmvuozhEJRaxt2LD74W2QV2dOczNsHIyaUIStvHLexpk7OrIDPb3QLs8NdIjaTCSnpK1Bl6CRvCp_WZ8tPYUcI0pvOu0VhyAN_EaTXL_VNe7i_OTXoo1_YywRJMPWLv/s1600/IMG_2588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTGskQMACZuehdSUmvuozhEJRaxt2LD74W2QV2dOczNsHIyaUIStvHLexpk7OrIDPb3QLs8NdIjaTCSnpK1Bl6CRvCp_WZ8tPYUcI0pvOu0VhyAN_EaTXL_VNe7i_OTXoo1_YywRJMPWLv/s400/IMG_2588.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you spot them?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
How to confirm North American food has been f*cked with by evil corporations: eat pretty much anywhere in Europe. The food just tastes better. I can't even say precisely what it is but the food there tastes more... real, and less like chemical soup with a strange aftertaste.<br />
<br />
In France especially, I seemed to ignore my body's signals of "If you eat another bite, your gut will explode all over this table." The food was so good, I was willing to gestate a food baby on many occasions, hence the frequent wear of stretchy leggings and loose tops. In my defense, I did a fair bit of walking but it by no means seemed to equal my fitness regimen at home, as evidenced by my tight fitting clothes and rounder bod at yesterday's yoga class - my first in about a month.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Amusing discovery: the "Escapee Santa" seemed to be a very popular festive decoration overseas:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcS44CZY47uqcO_22m7WrtA6DgWJqvhzx4fbrzjpwvRXFxi4AHmLsjFX93t_mqLrhOByENS4YE9wDvhS4HlRBceH6kANvnzmqoBxa97b-bBD8Hup5lnO8IXvAuqKgM_40FesMxzm3iWAqK/s1600/IMG_2600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcS44CZY47uqcO_22m7WrtA6DgWJqvhzx4fbrzjpwvRXFxi4AHmLsjFX93t_mqLrhOByENS4YE9wDvhS4HlRBceH6kANvnzmqoBxa97b-bBD8Hup5lnO8IXvAuqKgM_40FesMxzm3iWAqK/s400/IMG_2600.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's every make believe man for himself!<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This was the first year ever I was away for Christmas. I didn't even bother decorating our house because we would barely see it, and also, our cat would have destroyed the tree by the time we got back, as evidenced by years past:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mh3fT4dm5uKtCxzvqZQJy2tE5gWTSjo_MUB_sbpn2HRIVVugpUtrBqyQttxv353cSGrnTIgU3lNGM8uXeCk1KnLObscp7IMH10CNEFJ8SM8M7RpbsV3REuBH0EFz5Pk2K-xnhmABU6Z2/s1600/IMG_0707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mh3fT4dm5uKtCxzvqZQJy2tE5gWTSjo_MUB_sbpn2HRIVVugpUtrBqyQttxv353cSGrnTIgU3lNGM8uXeCk1KnLObscp7IMH10CNEFJ8SM8M7RpbsV3REuBH0EFz5Pk2K-xnhmABU6Z2/s400/IMG_0707.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She doesn't yet know to leave the scene of the crime.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Christmas in Europe, or at least in Spain and France, was tastefully understated. You knew it was the holiday season but it wasn't shoved in your face at every corner. There seemed to be some kind of restraint, unlike the unbridled retail glee at home, complete with Black Friday trampling hoards and the like.<br />
<br />
That being said, it's always nice to come home, especially when perfectly timed with the first snowstorm of the season and a record snowfall and continual shoveling of the driveway and...Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-60541922621826813872015-08-18T14:57:00.002-04:002015-08-18T14:57:21.477-04:00No complaining for 30 days. And you thought the pepper and lemon juice cleanse was tough...The boyfriend and I were out recently with a dear friend of ours who mentioned he had recently been on a cleanse. "Pepper and lemon juice?" says the boyfriend. "Not quite" says our friend, "No complaining for 30 days". "Whoa", I say, and the idea stuck with me, either because I was completely traumatized by it or I thought it was brilliant and I should probably try it.<br />
<br />
Except that I'm a misanthrope, through and through. If I stopped complaining, I would basically stop speaking. I mean, what would I talk about? Our friend raved about this cleanse, claiming it transformed his thinking and writing (he's an actor and playwright). I wondered if my playwriting would improve if I attempted this cleanse. It's a daunting prospect. Complaining is my main mode of communication. If I can't ridicule, mock, cut down, berate or criticize, what do I have to live for?<br />
<br />
But I can't shake the idea. It's a challenge and it's enticing. Would I be a completely different person if I never complained or would I just go stark raving mad, shouting "Serenity now!" while walking the streets in my underwear. It's only 30 days. I can stop after that if I don't like it, right? I suppose my biggest fear is that I'll become a happy person.<br />
<br />
A trusted mentor told me recently that I falsely assume misery will make me a good artist, that happiness and creativity are not mutually exclusive, and that being happy (contentment and inner peace also apply here) actually generates creativity which would, in turn, make me a better artist. I had to ponder that for a while; I wasn't completely convinced.<br />
<br />
Generally speaking, happy people annoy me. Maybe I'm envious. Maybe I want to be happy and don't know how. Maybe I like being in a constant state of mild misery. So I guess I'll try this cleanse which I assume also includes retraining the voice in my head that's constantly nattering away, feeding off its own negativity. Will that voice go silent, and if there's silence, will there be more space, and if there's more space, will there be more room for brilliant ideas? I shouldn't kid myself - I'll be going cold turkey in mental rehab. No complaining for 30 days. Maybe I'll start tomorrow...Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-10461491026841449872015-07-20T12:39:00.000-04:002015-07-20T12:39:19.875-04:00Yoga rage, Birkenstock rejection and ibuprofenYou know when you attend a yoga master class with a world-renowned teacher and you're really looking forward to it and then you're jam packed in a classroom with too many people and you've got someone's smelly feet in your face for most of the class which is highly irritating and taps into an endless supply of rage that then seeps out of every pore until you're just a big, badass ball of seething anger? Namaste.<br />
<br />
Then, on our lunch break, I realize I can't go and gorge myself on gourmet donuts from my favorite shop next door to the yoga studio because I don't want to be puking all over my mat during the afternoon session. So I had to make a healthier choice. I balanced that out with alcohol by evening's end. Detox / retox, yin / yang... it's all about balance.<br />
<br />
I'm a Birkenstock reject. I've tried to wear them and like them but they reject me. They tear at my flesh, sand and rocks somehow edge their way in constantly, and my feet just can't get comfortable in them. This surprises me since they're a product of German engineering which typically, one would assume is of superior quality. I see them everywhere. People seem to love them. Maybe it's me... I'm of too inferior quality for my sandals. Time for a trip to Dollarama for some flip flops.<br />
<br />
Ibuprofen has become my new best friend. I've been getting frequent headaches, probably from an inoperable brain tumour, or inordinate amounts of rain we've been getting (those low pressure systems really f*ck with my head) or hangovers. I haven't forgotten who I am, used swear words at completely inappropriate times or spontaneously lost bladder control, so I can probably rule out a brain tumour. Although, my love of corn dogs and Cheetos remains unexplained.<br />
<br />
I've always had a love of TV show intro songs but HBO's new season of <i>True Detective</i> takes the cake. As soon as I heard Leonard Cohen's haunting <i>Nevermind</i>, I was hooked. I had to watch the show because the intro was so creepy, it drew me in. Lera Lynn's <i>My Least Favorite Life, </i>performed in the very first episode, was also utterly mesmerizing. Thank you Shazam for basically revolutionizing how I find really cool music. Of course, marketers have figured this out too. They know people are gonna Shazam that shit. It's music video as television program. Brilliant.<br />
<br />Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-2250850482595642532015-05-15T15:48:00.000-04:002015-05-15T15:48:07.728-04:00The Happiness DiseaseI've noticed of late that there is a clear preference for "happy" people, keeners, positive thinkers, extroverts; as if everything can be glossed over with a smile, a friendly nod and an optimistic thought. That would require an acknowledgement that everything is indeed ok, which frankly, is rarely the case.<br />
<br />
"Happy" is not my default setting. I usually wake up with some degree of melancholy and general unease. Happiness feels like work, and I'm not about that. Maybe I'm just lazy, or unmotivated. Are those synonyms?<br />
<br />
I'm most certainly an introvert. There seems to be a general misunderstanding of introverts since extroverts are valued so much more. Introverts make people uncomfortable. I'm guessing it's because others can't understand why we would more often choose to be alone than with other people.<br />
<br />
It seems pretty obvious to me. Other people are usually really f*cking annoying, especially those sickly sweet, jazzed up extroverts who are basically asking for a punch in the face. It's not that I aspire to be a recluse. I'm just very particular about who I spend my time with, and much more so as I age, and realize that life is short so why would I spend it with people I hate or find generally irritating?<br />
<br />
The one beautiful thing about aging is that you start to care less and less what other people think. If everyone is basically obsessed with what everyone else thinks of them, no one is paying attention to you, so why should you care what others think because they're not thinking about you at all. They're only thinking about what you think of them.<br />
<br />
I tried to get on the "positive thinking" bandwagon a few times. It's much easier to be bitter and cantankerous, and frankly, much more interesting and entertaining. Being steeped in anger and resentment feels natural to me, and fuels my drinking habit, which I treasure dearly. Also, being a happy writer just sounds like an oxymoron. What would I write about if I were happy? How to be happy? Puke. Besides, that market is completely saturated... with extroverts.<br />
<br />
I recently had a profound revelation. I thought my life would miraculously change once I was a playwright with a production under my belt. Well, I'm now a produced playwright, and guess what, jack shit has changed. It's been a very humbling time.<br />
<br />
I thought all this "positive thinking" would ensure an unprecedented success for my show. Well, it was a success, but not unprecedented, not entirely unique, and everything is basically as it was before, i.e. me wondering why I even write at all when it feels like I'm losing an uphill battle, then deciding I may as well start drinking before I get swallowed whole by my existential angst. Maybe I'm not visualizing enough or I'm doing it wrong. I was supposed to be an international sensation by now. Perhaps my 104 Twitter followers think I am, and I suppose, for now, that will have to do.<br />
<br />Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-20779353783071590342014-11-04T15:55:00.000-05:002014-11-04T15:55:34.186-05:00German Darth Vader Advent Calendars on SmartphonesKnow what I hate? People staring at their mobile phones while walking in public and not bothering to look up so as not to run into you. They still manage to swerve and avoid you because they somehow have an "object in personal space" perception but the fact that "other people" don't even merit a quick glance really irks me.<br />
<br />
I mean, yes, I have a smartphone, and yes, it is the second most important relationship in my life (the first being my relationship with the boyfriend, obviously). Ok, I may have added that comment in brackets merely to avoid appearing politically incorrect, or sociopathic. I mean, my relationship with my iPhone couldn't possibly be THE most important relationship in my life, right? Right?<br />
<br />
I'm also pissed off at all those critics who poo-pooed the third season of <i>Homeland</i> which the boyfriend and I are now finally getting around to watching. It's very good. What is everyone's problem? Unless it was reverse psychology. Tell everyone it's shitty and when they watch it, what a pleasant surprise it will be that it doesn't suck. Oh big brother... I'm onto you. <br />
<br />
So I had another tooth that was feeling a bit sensitive. They're so easily insulted. I keep telling them to grow a thicker skin. I'll spare you the rest of this story because it's kind of lame. Here's the condensed version: Stressed. Dentist. Fine. Toothpaste for sensitive teeth. If you're wondering why I said "another" tooth, read <a href="http://sassystylings.blogspot.ca/2014/06/european-inspired-root-canals.html" target="_blank">this</a>. I really need to grow out of this oral fixation phase or start smoking again.<br />
<br />
I was on a gluten-free diet for a while until I developed an obsession with cheese. I've always loved cheese, but the absence of wheat products turned cheese into crack-cocaine. It wasn't pretty. I was obviously compensating for the lack of croissants in my life. So I gave that up and simply opted for a balanced diet: a little bit of everything and a lot of wine.<br />
<br />
I'm kind of bummed out because I can't find my deluxe <i>Lindt</i> Advent Calendar at Costco. Have they already run out? Did they not receive their shipment yet? Will they simply not stock them this year? What up Costco? Where's my f*cking Advent Calendar?<br />
<br />
"Luke, ich bin dein Vater". That's German. I can't attest to its grammatical correctness since I just started learning the language five weeks ago but anyone familiar with <i>Star Wars</i> will figure it out.<br />
<br />
My cat has a new boyfriend:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirsA0RvfUfxuz0V4Y6VMo-1PkXDSGyrigssdeNFDNyEV_Exp33-hdLL8wh4W3U5XAssli6ecxYw62oIVMuW1Li3RQqExHsBkBFwM46BReWP5xNV6JEdoRejJfJGctlkxhInpABqjFDUyT1/s1600/IMG_2179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirsA0RvfUfxuz0V4Y6VMo-1PkXDSGyrigssdeNFDNyEV_Exp33-hdLL8wh4W3U5XAssli6ecxYw62oIVMuW1Li3RQqExHsBkBFwM46BReWP5xNV6JEdoRejJfJGctlkxhInpABqjFDUyT1/s1600/IMG_2179.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm not sure how I feel about her dating. If she asks for a sleepover, I think I'll say no. We haven't really had "the talk" yet and that boy looks shifty.<br />
<br />Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4225050073167260769.post-28265062575509516732014-09-04T15:32:00.000-04:002014-09-04T15:32:13.303-04:00Being 40 - A ManifestoSo... I'm 40 years old today. I was feeling quite ambivalent about this for some time but now that it's actually happening, I can't help but feel... elated, mostly because I'm steadily beginning to care less about what other people think. My new motto is: I'm 40, I can do that, or, I'm 40, I don't give a shit, or, I'm 40, I don't have to shower.<br />
<br />
In honour of this rite of passage, I figured I should probably come up with a manifesto for this new chapter in my life, so here goes...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>Being 40 - a manifesto</b></u></div>
<br />
I will not automatically conclude that every minor physical ailment is cancer (or some other life-threatening illness) which means that, under no circumstance am I to look up symptoms on the Internet. Ever.<br />
<br />
I will continue to shop at places like Aritzia, American Eagle, Hollister, etc... you know, places where "40" doesn't exist, because dammit, I like their stuff, despite the fact that a salesperson at Aritzia once asked me if I was shopping for my daughter (*cue Psycho shower scene music here as this accurately expresses my rage at the very thought of this).<br />
<br />
At any given time, I will eat as many cupcakes as I want.<br />
<br />
I will never wear high-waisted shorts that expose my ass cheeks. This has nothing to do with my age. It's a matter of taste... and class, as in, I don't hail from a trailer park.<br />
<br />
As much as possible, I will be honest and do away with pretense, unless it's in my best interest to lie. <br />
<br />
I will try to read grown-up books, unless <i>The Bachelor</i> is on, then all bets are off.<br />
<br />
I will continue to wear my Lululemon gear while doing yoga because my Lulu leggings are so old, you can't see <a href="http://www.webpronews.com/lululemon-founder-blames-women-for-see-through-yoga-pants-problem-2013-11" target="_blank">my ass crack through them</a>. <br />
<br />
I will continue to use abbreviated words like LOL, OMG, Whatevs, TTYL, etc... because I'm lazy and have become accustomed to not speaking in full sentences.<br />
<br />
I will no longer base my self-worth on the number of "likes" I receive or followers I have on various social media platforms. I will develop a drinking problem instead to deal with pesky feelings of worthlessness and self-doubt. <br />
<br />
I will always choose sleep over personal hygiene. This will never change.<br />
<br />
"Morning" me will always be skinnier than "evening" me. It's a fact I've come to accept.<br />
<br />
Corn dogs and mayo = breakfast of champions. Ok, maybe I do hail from a trailer park.<br />
<br />
Hello Kitty is also turning 40 in 2014. I don't know why that matters, but it does. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC9rkcrYQFZSEH4NrwNRGy0rZWjzEGgIsH3Xo9KcH11etmsHQ06W8HNVi8tIR47MdGKNZcWHgO08WJYew9fj7FSjne7oEojHEKY4XEu9vfz8f1-LdVN12cOtObaTu6d8ffVRUTjrV0Zh5A/s1600/hello-kitty-x-playboy-000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC9rkcrYQFZSEH4NrwNRGy0rZWjzEGgIsH3Xo9KcH11etmsHQ06W8HNVi8tIR47MdGKNZcWHgO08WJYew9fj7FSjne7oEojHEKY4XEu9vfz8f1-LdVN12cOtObaTu6d8ffVRUTjrV0Zh5A/s1600/hello-kitty-x-playboy-000.jpg" height="320" width="233" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Betcha didn't know there was a Playboy Hello Kitty...</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sassy Stylingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18122840222925114792noreply@blogger.com0