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10.07.2003 - 5:39 p.m.


Weeks ago I chirpily announced to JB that I was going to start doing yoga in the mornings along with TiVo'd recordings of Inhale. So it came to be that practically every evening when we checked our recorded shows - ching! - there was a copy of Inhale. Then another. Aaand another. All unwatched, of course, because I was too lazy to get my half-asleep ass in gear. They piled up embarrassingly until JB finally deleted a bunch and set the recording option to record over each day's show.

Well, this morning I finally made good on my promise. I got up early for a change, and after JB had dutifully pecked me on the cheek and left for work (it's this weird robotic 50's thing we've got going sexy, I know, it comes complete with "how was your day?" in the evenings and I have to physically restrain myself from adding "dear") I changed into a tank top so my boobs wouldn't whap me in the face, fired up TiVo, and embarked on a "high energy power yoga workout".

I actually liked it very much, except for the fact that it became frighteningly obvious I've been lax on the working out in general lately because during more than one pose my muscles did that trembly palsy thing and I was quite glad to be in the privacy of my living room so other yoga students couldn't point and laugh (and, you know, not let me play in their reindeer games).

The problem, though, with doing anything in my house that requires a close proximity to the floor is the dog hair. Oh my freaking god, the dog hair, there is so much! Of the hair! (It's not like I don't vacuum, either. There's just no way to stay on top of it. Dog shakes ONCE, and a metric ton of hair explodes outward. And she's a Lab, how do people with big massively fluffy dogs deal?)

So Dog Fur Yoga. "Downward dog!" says Steve Ross, garbed in his humongous billowing t-shirt, and okay! I am doing the downward dog, no problem. "Lower yourself to the floor," he requests, and okay! I am on the floor. From my vantage point, I see nothing but fur. Fur lies in all directions. North? Fur. Southeast? Fur. "Upward dog," Mr. "My Music Choices Are So Fresh" Ross commands, and I bend up and back. Fur is wadded on my stomach. Fur is plastered in my sweaty cleavage (hellooo googler!). I bend back down, then add my own special twist to the Inhale routine by rolling to my feet for a brisk session of batting wildly at myself.

Maybe that added extra cardio? If so, hooray for Dog Fur Yoga! Perhaps I can market and sell special Dog Fur Yoga tapes that come complete with several bags of fur! It's not like I don't have existing inventory, after all.

It will go quite nicely with my idea for a supplement that you put in your pet's food that somehow - harmlessly! - enhances your cat/dog/chinchilla's body with the smell of your choice. Imagine reaching down to scratch your loyal dog's back, and you are rewarded not only with a thumping tail, but a pleasing whiff of vanilla! Or mango, even.

I call it....PetPourri.


I CANNOT get enough of these singing horses.

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JournalCon 2003

10 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

yay, diaryland