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09.28.2002 - 5:16 p.m.


It's probably one of the last beautiful sunny days we're going to see for the next eighty jillion months, and what have I been doing with myself? Sitting in a darkened room before the computer's warm glowing warming glow, working on a banner ad. Dorkification!

What else have I done on this lovely Saturday afternoon? Well, JB and I took our comforter outside and shook it. Yes, a profoundly boring activity to report, but my GOD you should have seen the mounds of fur that came whirling away and filled the air. It was disgusting. I cannot believe we were sleeping with that - it's like literally sleeping on top of a dog. We must have fur coating our lungs, several inches thick! Wadded up inside our nostrils! Between our toes! Blick!

We have made a new pact to not allow Dog on the bed, but if history is any indicator, our resolve will weaken at the first whimper from behind the closed door. Curse our wimpy selves.

And speaking of wimpiness (an amazingly clever segue, no? *cough*), I've been taking these yoga classes near Workplace. By "taking" I mean "I've gone exactly twice". I went on Thursday and I'm still so goddamn sore it hurts to steer.

The studio does both Bikram and 'Power Vinyasa' styles, where the room is heated to a temperature that rivals Death Valley in August. I'm not kidding, it's like being inside a furnace. Oh, and you're exercising in the furnace. The instructor, who looks like Jean Claude Van Damme only slightly less retarded, puts the class through a series of unbelievably hard poses. He says stuff like:

"From a standing position, hold your right foot in your left hand and extend it to the ceiling. Turn your head around so you are facing to the back of the room, and take your right arm and wrap it around your waist. Now lift your left foot. Yes, it sounds like I am asking you to defy the laws of physics, but that is because you aren't relaxed enough. Breathe."

I actually didn't know my body could produce so much sweat. I sweated like a fat kid at a barn dance. The soles of my feet sweated. My tongue sweated. Everywhere in the room you hear the soft patter of sweat-drops hitting the mats.

Other than having to sit out some poses because I could feel that I was very close to either passing out or bursting into flames, I made it through both classes. I'd like to keep going back. Maybe eventually I can do some of the balancing stuff without swaying violently back and forth like I was buffeted by hurricane-force winds.

And that serenity stuff. I'd like to get me some of that, too. It's hard to 'let go of your thoughts' when you're worried about whether or not your ass looks like a Macy's parade blimp in Downward Facing Dog.

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