Before I start this off, I’ll disclose that I am a lib’ral agnostic. Or pinko commie, whatever you want to call me. My husband is a big time Protestant (it runs in his family like Lupus). He also votes Republican. I swear he didn’t when we met. He said he didn’t care about politics, which to me translated as “ready to be converted to Liberal Democrat.” This didn’t work out so well. We also decided to raise the girls in the church. I figured they’d have an easier time of it than I did if they just believed what everyone else did (We live in Texas). Of course, I forgot they also had me as a parent. I honestly try not to push them into any one belief, whether political or religious, because I know that has the ability to backfire like nothing else. But some things they’ve come into on their own, or somehow absorbed in other ways. Observe some of their wisdom.
“If God created everything, who created God?” – asked by Thing One at around age 6 while I was driving down the road. My answer: “Good question!”
“This kid called me a hippy. I think hippy is only an insult to Republicans” – Thing One
“Republicans. Pfft.” – Thing One
“Our president is BaraaakObahhhma.” – Thing Two
“We had a class election. I voted for John McCain cause he broked both his legs in the war and I feel sorry for him.” – Thing One, age 8.
“Today our teacher finally got mad and yelled at our class that Obama was NOT going to make us go to school on the weekends so shut up about it.” – Thing Two
Thing One: You must be submerged to be fully baptized and go to Heaven.
Me: What about Moses? He was in a desert.
Thing One: That was before Jesus.
Me: Okay, what if YOU were in a desert and there was no water. Would God reject you?
Thing One: (annoyed) Mommmm, you’re making my head hurt.
At a book fair in 5th grade, Thing One chooses a biography of Obama and announces loudly, “I’m going to read this to find out what’s true and what’s not. I’m tired of these dumb Republicans being so mean to him!” (I’m thinking, hahaha, you mean the Republicans that are totally surrounding us?)
When Thing Two was four, her preschool teacher caught a cold.
Thing Two: (walks up to the teacher, puts a hand on her arm) Jesus will heal you. (then walks off just as mysteriously)
I’m putting on makeup one morning. Thing One is around ten, I think.
Thing One: Vanity is a sin.
Me: That hardly seems fair. I mean, should a vain person go to the same hell as someone who murdered lots of people?
Thing One: (thinks about it) Maybe there should be an in-between place for some.
Me: You mean like Purgatory?
Thing One: What?
(Meanwhile I can’t wait to tell my husband she’s now Catholic.)
Thing One: The teacher asked us to say which things we didn’t want in life. I chose wealth.
My husband: Wealth is not a bad thing.
Thing One: Dad. The Bible says it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than a rich man to get into Heaven.
The anti-war song “War” comes on the radio.
Thing One: Mom, it’s a Democrat song!
Thing Two (age 7 or so) comes out of Bible class with a coloring page. She shows me her picture of a religious prophet done up with a Trident and waves of water.
Thing Two: Look, Mommy, I made him into Poseiden!
Me: Cool! Don’t show Daddy!
Thing One (up late one night): Mom, sometimes I lay awake and I wonder about God and how can all this be real and what’s really going to happen to us when we die and stuff. And these thoughts just go all swirly in my head.
Me: I’m sorry. You came by it honestly.
I’m trying to get the kids ready for school.
Me: Get the heck out of bed!
Thing One: In Sunday school, they tell us that heck is as bad a word as the other one.
Me: Then I should have just said hell, huh?
Preacher talking to the children: Kids, what is the most beautiful thing you can think of? (prompting them to say Heaven)
Thing Two (at age two): Penguins!
Later we get a newsletter from the church. The preacher laughs about how a kid said chickens were beautiful. Thing Two is incensed.
Thing Two: I SAID PENGUINS!
One of the things I’ve learned from yoga is the importance of posture. Turns out if you slump, this does negative things to your back. So THAT explains Quasimodo. I bet that bell tower he lived in was not ergonomically correct.
I know for sure my desk isn’t. It’s from the 1970s, back when computers still filled up a room and no one dreamed we’d all be working on one that could fit on a desk. So we have these old desks with no pull out tray and somehow my wrists have not taken this very well. Whereas I used to cramp after writing a letter, now I cramp when I type for an extended period of time. This is BAD. I mean, maybe not for some of you who are saying for the love of GAWD pleeze stop with the 50 Shades. But without writing, I think my head might explode.
Back to posture. See, posture affects everything. Bad posture can make it hard to breathe, can mess up your back, your neck, your head, your butt, your legs, and of course your wrists. Carpal tunnel, man, it sucks especially when people leave scalpels in your body. With my luck, that would happen if I had surgery. I’d have a knife in me, or worse, a cell phone and I’d keep getting that doctor’s phone calls and wonder what that strange ringing noise in my stomach was and and I’d finally go totally insane.
So posture is important. This is where yoga comes in – it shows you how to have good posture. In mountain pose, you’re supposed to stand firm – like a mountain. Which is tall and firm. Unless there is, like, an avalanche. This happens to me on the yoga mat sometimes. And obviously posture is important while sticking your butt in the air during Downward Dog. Although turns out this is killer on your wrists. Who knew, what with balancing all your weight on them and all. Yet yoga teachers are OBSESSED with Downward Dog. You have to wonder about yoga teachers sometimes.
So I’m trying to get all ergonomic, as much as I’m able. I stuck my monitor on a phone book to make it more level. And I adjusted my chair, though my chair was probably made in the 80s back when aerobics was king and no one gave a damn about posture as long as you jumped a lot and wore spandex. So my chair sucks too, ergonomically speaking. I’ve been typing nonsense for a while now and guess what? Cramp. What to do, what to do. I KNOW! A video!
This is one of the best videos ever – at least it is when made fun of by the MST3K robots. If you’ve never watched these guys rip bad movies apart, you really should. And they’re even funnier on old shorts from the 40s and 50s. This short is the exciting story of a teacher who spends an entire week teaching posture. The kids who do the best become king, queen, prince, or princess of posture! Don’t knock it, you guyz. I was actually elected Queen of Posture back in 3rd grade and it looks awesome on a college application.
So anyhoo, sit back and enjoy and be happy we are no longer back in the good ole’ days.
Hi! My name is E.L. Ja . . . Bambi Vagina. I’m just your average stunningly beautiful 21-year-old college student in China studying to become a veterinarian. I’ve always loved kids, so it seemed like such a cute idea to cut them up! I live in this totally awesome apartment that is like better than anything you will ever live in so I don’t have to describe it. Think sandstone. There’s a lot of that. Bricks too.
My roommate is Kimberly Kardishipan and she is just so annoying cause like she lets me mooch off her but doesn’t appreciate it. Today I have to do some stupid interview thingy with this really hot rich guy cause she went and got sick. I told her not to eat Taco Bell. My life is so HARD.
I drove to his work in my car that is so hipster cause it’s old, right, but I love it cause I’m trendy and quirky. So this guy, his name is Richard Head, he’s really super rich and hot and works in this big building where he makes lots of money doing nothing. I think he’s like a congressman or something. Who cares? He’s hot. Remember that.
So I got to his work and there was this big sign that said Head Douchebag Incorporated Esquire and I was super impressed and you should be too. There was sandstone here too. Sandstone is big in China. He had secretaries that were blond which is kinda funny on Chinese people but whatever we’re talking about me here.
I walked into his office and “tripped” so that I showed my butt. This is a great way to meet guys. Kimberly Kardishipan gave me all these dumb questions to ask but he wanted to ask questions like where I lived and worked and my credit score and my social security number and my bra size and if I was into dungeons and being chained up and stuff. Then he offered me a job. This stuff happens to me ALL THE TIME. Sigh.
I already have a job and they told me I had to come in if I want to get paid. Ugh. I work at a hardware store. Isn’t that quirky? A girl – in a hardware store? There’s like hammers here – I don’t get it. My life is SO HARD. Well, guess what you will never guess! Richard Head came to my workplace. How did he figure that out? He is super hot AND smart. ZOMG.
He asked for lime and a shovel and duct tape and rat poison and the other guys I worked with were super jealous cause everyone wants to have sex with me. It’s such a pain. They should know I’m super busy sleeping with my professors, I mean, gawd. So he spoke all creepy to me which really makes my motor run – get it? I said motor, and I’m in a hardware store! He bought that totally normal stuff and left in his helicopter.
Mr Richard Head asked me out for coffee at this pub in China! It was a really trendy place and they spoke American which is so much easier than when they do that chitter chatter stuff. He said I should call him “Dick” cause everyone else does so I said he could call me Bambi cause that’s my name and people call me that. Then he saved me from a Kamakazi jet plane by staring at it really hard and making it explode. It was way cool. Those Kamakazis. They’re everywhere. Cause it’s China.
I figured he would kiss me then but he didn’t. So I got sadfaced and drunkfaced with Kimberly Kardashipan at this other pub in Chinatown. My friend I string along pawed at me and Dick popped up. Dick Head, you guys. He was SO MAD that I went out with friends and got drunkies! Oh, oh.
I woke up this morning in Dick Head’s bed in his way big fancy super special dream house and he gave me Advil which only hot rich people take. And orange juice he squeezed with his own thighs. He is AMAZING but what does he see in sexy, gorgeous me?
I learned so much. Like that Dick is really Batman. I believe him cause he totally has his own Bat Cave with whips and chains, just like the real Batman. He took my pants off but it’s okay cause it was for science, he said. Then he started talking about me signing a contract to be his total sex slave and I got all woozy cause wow business talk is so bo-ring. But I guess it’s hard to find a date when you’re solving crime at night.
He got the contract off the internet so it was legit enough for me. It asked me to promise my soul and sign in blood which was kinda weird but at least I didn’t have to find a pen and I wasn’t really using my soul anyhoo. Once that was all over with he said we could have the sex and I told him I was a virgin cause I am. I mean except for all the sex I had.
It was so hot! He totally pulverized my “down there” with his Batman super powers! I zonked for a while and woke up and he was playing his xylophone and you guys – his cape hung “that way”. It was way hot.
Had lots of fun with Batman, shhh, I mean Dick Head. We scuba dived in his bathtub which is big as a swimming pool and has real sharks. I also gave him a BBJ (Bat Blow Job) and he was impressed since it was my first time and it was except for all those other times. He is so hot and sexy and hot and he’s a little bossy but I guess that comes from fighting crime. Also I learned that his mom was a crack ho and his dad was an emperor and they were both gunned down by this Joker guy in an alley one night. So sad. But then he had to go to work at his super important job.
He gave me stuff cause he’s so rich with all the money he got from his parents biting it and all. Like one gift was this strange thing he called a laptop, which I thought was a kind of dance but nope, it’s a computer! And it has this thing called email. Far out.
There was this graduation thing which was weird cause I’d totally forgotten I was going to school. But get this – it says on my diploma I can only cut up cats, not kids. Who knew?
Dick tells me I have to do everything he says cause he’s the Batman and the Batman knows best. Also if I leave he’ll have to kill me cause I know so much. Makes sense. Also, he needs practice for when he fights the bad guys, so sometimes I help him out with that by playing the bad guy. I stand there while he tests his super weapons like the bat flogger and the bat plug on me. It’s hot.
Guess what else? I think I might be a super hero too because I have all these other personalities. I think I’m gonna go with “Subconscious Goddess Twit” for a super hero name. What do you think?
I just realized Dick Head is not who he says he is. He’s not the Batman – he’s a super villain named The Riddler and wears this weird spandex outfit with punctuation marks all over it. But it’s okay, because he’s out of Arkham now and he’s just misunderstood and I’m sure with my love he will be totally reformed.
Tonight he’s having a party and inviting his friends over. This should be fun. I wonder if I should make some Chinese coffee or just order some Chinese food. Cause they make that here, you know.
That was NOT a fun party. Super villains are not very nice. They hung me from a rope over the pool with sharks while they ate their bean dip and laughed evilly. Then they smacked me with a bat like a piñata. Uncool. I decided I didn’t care if Dick is rich, I am so OVER him and his money and his hotness. I mean, that spandex, wow. No, no, I am better than this.
So I left him, I did, and then I cried and cried cause even though he’s a super villain, he’s really, really hot. Sigh.
I didn’t realize I was so old. It happened all of a sudden. One minute I was twelve, and the next I was about to turn 37. In one month. June. June 29th, to be specific, for all of you who I just know are going to write me fabulous blog posts in my honor. Write that date down. Are you writing that down? Because I also want a Super Soaker water gun.
Anyway. Next month, I’m also going to get a nine-year-old and, dear God, even worse, a thirteen-year-old, because I didn’t feel old enough already. All our birthdays are in the same month so that by July, I’m starting to not want cake. There is something wrong when I don’t want cake.
There is something wrong when I turn 37. I’m not 40 yet, I mean there’s still three years to go, right, so according to People Magazine I haven’t yet gone over the hill so everything should . . . what was that? I bent my neck and something made a grating snapping sound. Snap. Crackle. Pop. Ouch. I’m not sure which is worse – the actual pain from the popping or the SOUND of the popping. I’m pretty sure joints aren’t supposed to do that sort of thing.
I went to the doctor a while ago for this. He said, and I quote, “Bones just do that when you get older.” And I gave him a look that said something like “WTF I AM THIRTY SOMETHING NOT EIGHTY WHERE DID YOU GET YOUR DEGREE A CRACKER JACK BOX?” I think I made him nervous with my shouty caps eyes, so he wrote me a prescription for physical therapy. That was only available from 8 to 5 because that’s just incredibly helpful for something who also works from 8 to 5. I’ve never met anyone who works from 9 to 5. Wtf with that song, Dolly?
I went during my lunch hour and there was this really cute peppy young woman who worked on me and I immediately hated her. She put these things on my neck with electrodes and it made my muscles do freaked out jumpy things that did not make me feel magically better. Muscles aren’t supposed to do jumpy things without you making them do jumpy things.
So I quit going because I can do stupid stuff to myself on my own time and I really preferred to have lunch on my lunch hour. So my neck is still in bad shape. I’d gotten kind of used to that, since it’s been going on a while, but now my hip hurts when I lie down sometimes. And my wrists – wtf, wrists, just because I wrote thousands of notes for years in school and then type during work and then go home and type stupid blog posts that’s no reason to act all wimpy and crap. Sheesh.
Most recently, it’s been the knees. I’m not sure if this is because of my yoga or not. After dissing that Science of Yoga guy, I’m starting to wonder. Maybe I can blame this all on yoga. I mean, look at the postures they have you do. Put all your body weight on your wrists and stick your butt in the hair! Good! Now act like you are sitting in a chair, but there’s no chair, so you’re just there in midair and you look like an idiot and your hamstrings are screaming at you for God’s sake stop! I started yoga to feel better, not feel worse.
Of course I now have to wonder if it’s the chicken or the egg. Was I going to have joint pain anyway, because I won the lotto of depression, asthma and arthritis? Or have I made it worse by contorting my body in weird ways because damn it I sucked at sports but I was always flexible look at me throw my leg back I am a yoga champ and owwww. Snap, crackle, pop.
I really don’t want to give up yoga, because my OCD starts panicking at the thought of having to find something else to obsess about. Also, I kind of like it. But is it helping or hurting? I don’t know. It doesn’t help that my yoga books completely contradict each other. For instance, one says for knee pain relief do chair pose, tree pose, or triangle. And the other book says, and I swear I am not making this up, whatever you do, don’t do chair pose, tree pose, or triangle because that’s bad for the knees.
Anyone else had these joint issues, or am I the only one? If you do, how do you help yourself feel better? Does yoga help or hurt? Also, it would be awesome if you have the magic elixir I’ve been searching for, because lista de email told me she had it but SHE LIED you guyz. That makes me want to make something go SNAP.
Snap, crackle, pop.
P.S. June 29th. Write it down. Super Soaker.
- The Benefits of Practicing Yoga for Carpal Tunnel (yoga.answers.com)
- A Journey, not the destination (omgirlsguide.wordpress.com)
- Namaste (yearigrewup.wordpress.com)
- what does your yoga look like OUTSIDE of the yoga room? (juiceboxyoga.wordpress.com)
- Yoga Poses to Improve Concentration (healthylifestylesliving.wordpress.com)
So, like, a bunch of WordPress people (adults supposedly) are playing tag and I just got tagged. Not freeze tagged, tagged where I’m now doomed to find someone else to tag in order to rid myself of the blog cooties. Or something.
I could ignore it, but I’m about ready to shoot up some technology, so I might as well take a nice little break before my RAGE costs a goodly portion of my paycheck. So anyways, it was twindaddy again (quit stalking me! Unless this is really Blunt Life Coach in which case – I knew you loved me all the time!) and he was tagged by Merbear. I wasn’t aware there was such a thing, but I guess if you’ve got sea cows you can have Merbears. I bet there is a special in the works on Animal Planet or Discovery.
Okay so rules (I wish I could just run and smack him back like in first grade. So much easier.)
1. Post these rules.
2. Post a photo of yourself and eleven random facts about you.
3. Answer the questions given to you in the tagger’s post.
4. Create eleven new questions and tag new people to answer them.
5. Go to their blog/Twitter and let them know they’ve been tagged.
A photo of mwah? Sure.
11 facts about me? A-gain? What don’t you know? What would you like to know?
1. My favorite antiperspirant is Mitchum. I find it has the best flavor.
2 . I love watching that show “Monsters Inside Me” because it freaks me the heck out; but you know, I want to be prepared.
3. I suck at technology. Either that or my computer is currently possessed by Satan.
4. I read all the Twilight books AND all the 50 Shades books because I . . . why? Why did I do that?
5. I know people hate award posts, but I don’t have any other ideas so it’s an award post and what else was I going to do hurt feelings, huh? Huh?
6. I’m pretty sure I have the plague and Rat Bite Fever. (see number 2)
7. I have cavities. Damn those Cavity Creeps!
8. I almost never have any idea what I’m talking about. (surprise!)
9. Did I mention the computer possession? My disks have got it too. Maybe THEY have Rat Bite Fever.
10. My name isn’t really Alice, but my real name does come from a classic book.
11. I like saying “eleventy billion” and “sadfaced” and other made up words and writing really long run on sentences because I’m a terrible English major.
Now I’m supposed to answer questions from twindaddy. Is anyone still reading? See if I care. Go check out someone’s interesting blog but you’ll be SORRY.
- If you were a super hero, what would your super power be? Blowing up stuff with the power of my mind. It’s probably a good thing I don’t really have that.
- You don’t like your name (if you do, pretend that you don’t). What do you change it to? Pocahontas
- Debbie leaves Cincinnati at 5PM and travels an average speed of 62mph. Triton (where did that name come from?) leaves Dayton at 4:47PM and travels at an average speed of 87mph. They head towards each other. At what point do you give a fuck about any of this? BONUS Question: How long until Triton gets arrested for reckless driving? Triton is a water god dude from Greek Mythology – or Ariel the mermaid’s dad. Not sure how he’s driving at all with that tail. At no point do I give a fuck about this.
- Coffee gets me high and keeps me awake at work on most days. Do you have such an addiction? If so, what is it? Cola. Cola, cola, colaaaaaa.
- I truly believe we are all broken in some way or another. What is your biggest defect? Defect? No one has made me the Queen of the Internetz yet, that’s the defect. Or possibly it might be using humor as a self defense mechanism. Nah.
- Conversely, we all have one thing we are extremely talented at. What is your best attribute? I’m extremely talented at doing absolutely nothing. Also some people like my writing and drawing. You don’t? Well get lost!
- If you were like Pinocchio, but could choose which body part would get bigger with every lie you told, which body part would it be? Clearly asked by a man. I would choose to make parts smaller, not larger.
- You find an empty box on the floor of your office. What was in it? Crap. Or, um, archival material I mean.
- You just walked into Starbucks. What do you order? A pastry. I hate coffee, even fru fru coffee.
- Do you read (besides blogs)? If so, what type of reading to you enjoy? Alice no read. Alice read 50 Shades and brain no worky. Actually, I usually like reading non-fiction but lately my attention span is so shot that blog entries and magazine articles from Cosmo are about the limit of my intellectual ability.
- If you could guest post on any blog, what blog would it be? Oooh, oooh, does the Pope have a blog? Cause that would be pretty sweet. Otherwise – I’d like to guest post on any of my peep’s blogs.
That’s all fol . . . that’s NOT all? I’m supposed to ask more questions? WTF kind of tag is this? By this point you realize I could be on the other side of the playground, right? Okay, FINE, but you will be sorry.
1. Why do you blog? Why do any of us do this? Why?
2. Are you hungry?
3. Is this eleven questions yet?
4. Is anyone still reading?
5. Does my butt look big on this blog?
6. Just how bored are you?
7. How long can you hold your breath? No reason. Just curious. Don’t look behind you.
8. Can you poop rainbows? If so, we must meet.
9. Are you STILL reading? You really are bored.
10. Is there a monster at the end of this post?
11. Does anyone know what I should write about? That would like, be actually good? Or mildly entertaining? Or stupid and gross but kind of funny?
And now for the nominations, for anyone who got this far.
twindaddy (serves you right)
Miss Four Eyes (if you don’t answer, Sad Pony will get even sadder. Squirrel will simply die. Think on it.)
List of X (I want to see him come up with 10 reasons not to respond to this tag)
Rutabaga the Mercenary Researcher (I really want to know if she can poop rainbows. That’s a great skill in a librarian.)
Revis (as brother to twindaddy, you are automatically responsible too. It says so in the Bible.)
Faithhopechocolate (speaking of Bibles, faith, you’re it.)
Not Quite Alice (Another Alice is Always Acceptable and Alliterative)
Animockery (good artist and fellow geek)
braith an’ lithe (she’s a yogi – she can probably twist her way out of this tag)
Doggy’s Style (Run, doggie, run!)
She’s a Maineiac (Looks cool drinking coffee)
So there you go, our nominees. Yay. Now remember, you must pass this award on or ALL THE PUPPIES WILL DIE. Have a nice day!
Since so many people have given me awards, I decided to return the favor and come up with my own. Yup, I made it ALL BY MYSELF. I thought on this one long and hard, folks. And then, an idea came to me, like the ghost of Christmas past. Fruitcake.
I made rules and everything, but they’re really easy, guyz. Here’s how it works.
1. Thank the person (it’s the thought, not the hardened fruit, that counts).
2. Forget about it for a while.
3. Realize you haven’t written a thank you post, you cretin. Click: Add New Post.
4. Display the charming image on your blog. Smack it up there like you’re proud of it and everything. Don’t hurt grandma’s feelings!
5. Link back to the person who sent it. If you can’t remember, just link back to anybody. Chances are they won’t remember whether they gave you something or not.
6. Chose ONE lucky, lucky reader to receive this special gift of joyness. Cause what the heck are you going to do with it?
7. See what bizarre things you can get them to do. Here are some suggestions. Tell them to: blog naked, talk to their split personality, converse with imaginary animals, name themselves after a fruit, read 50 Shades (that’s just cruel), sparkle, hunt zombies, stand on their heads, join a religious order, eat a spambot, or even better, all of the above. At once. Pics or it didn’t happen.
8. Stalk their blog and see if they do all the stuff you asked. If they don’t, tell them how hurt you are that they don’t like their gift and ask why they no longer love you.
9. See who they choose to send your gift on to.
10. Wait for it to eventually return back to you. It’s fruitcake. That’s what it does.
So that’s it! Now, for the first winner of the great Fruitcake Award! Miss Four Eyes, chosen because she is my bestest blog friend in the universe (I LOVE YOU FOREVERS) and not because her name came up first when I was thinking of who to
dump this on give this precious gift. Congrats!
Or something. I just got a new bling from twindaddy. It’s pretty sweet. I’ll display it right this second or I’ll forget because senility.
There are fireworks and crap, which is just like when WordPress did that end of the year thing with fireworks, only it doesn’t display my most used
safeword search word. You know I typed that sentence twice with the same Freudian slip. Huh.
Anyhoo, there are more rules, and as the classic rebel without a point, I’m going to rebel and screw them all up. Again. So let’s see, rules, rules, rules. He says:
Display the Logo
Well no kidding. Look, there it is up there. Don’t look in my bling closet because I haven’t added it yet. It’s kind of a mess and if I open it crap comes pouring out and it’s bad for my allergies. Okay, what else is there?
Finish this sentence “a great reader is ___.”
You know you’re asking for it, right? Let’s see, I could go with what Thing Two did at age five when her Bible class teacher asked her to fill in what her very favorite thing was. She said “My very favorite thing . . . is me!” But no, I’ll give it a little more thought. A great reader is someone who reads my crap. Even if they’re dragon tales creepers. Or spambots. Remember, spambots always take the time to leave comments, even if they are unintelligible and trying to sell you pills that really do work come see me now!
Oh, wait, there’s more. Nominate – 14 people? WTF, 14? Do I have 14 readers? According to my stats I’ve got lots. Huh. Okay, so here goes! I’m going to nominate those who, in my opinion, are least appreciated around here. Here we go:
Lista de email: You, lista, never fail to visit. Your email lists are the bomb. Take this award.
Pure Green Coffee Extract: I’m so glad you share my love of green coffee. Do you hang out at the Cantina too? Not only that, you offers weight loss pills for men for women. Awesome. Here you go.
Katherine is super awesome. She offers PHD scholarships which I didn’t even realize was a thing until now. She had an interesting comment too:
“I would prefer dragons from trolls. Dragons are much cute, cuddly and enchanting compared to trolls that drool. Plus, toddlers would enjoy watching dragons in different colors while soaring into the air. Not that I hated trolls, I just don’t like their appearance and mostly they are villains in children’s stories. I would like to hear more of it soon.”
No problem, Kat. I too love different colored toddlers who fly in the air more than I do drooling trolls.
mysocialday thinks I’m swell and tells me so with backhanded compliments. Like “I can’t believe you aren’t more popular given that you most certainly have the gift.” The gift of what, I’m not sure, but hey thanks. Take this award.
acnecyst has overcome so much in life. Like acne cysts. Those sound unpleasant. If you go see him, I’m sure he’ll have some cream for you. Thanks so much, man. Here’s an award.
Hahaha I am only kidding here, guys, I have a lot of honest to goodness real readers here, too many to write down because if I do I might leave someone out and then that person might come after my blog after first finding all the dragon tales readers and teaming up and then I would be an absolute goner so you see this is mostly just a way of protecting myself and loving everybody equally so help me Amen.
And thank you twindaddy, for being awesome, as usual.
Yoga has gotten some more attention recently from the New York Times, the highly respected newspaper whose bestseller list includes the literary masterpiece 50 Shades of Grey. So you know you can trust these guys. Anyway, one of their prize “science” journalists, William Broad, wrote a book called The Science of Yoga. In order to
promote book sales warn people of the dangers of yoga, he had articles printed in the New York Times both before the printing of the hardback “How Yoga Can Wreck Your Body” and then later the paperback “The Perils of Yoga for Men”.
I read both articles and the negative and positive reviews on Amazon. The positive ones assured people that while the articles were biased and showed no sign of actual science, research, or journalism, the book was much more balanced. So I checked it out of the library to find out for myself. Now I’m going to give you my total professional opinion of this book, okay, so get ready.
It sucked. It really did. I tried to go into it with an open mind. I mean, yes, recently I’ve gotten into yoga, but I’m not so into it that I can’t admit that there might be problems with it. I think it’s common sense to look at certain poses and realize there is slight potential for stuff like muscle strains, dislocated bones, and decapitation. And yeah, some of the claims I’ve seen are a bit out there. I highly doubt that yoga is actually going to remove that wart on my hand or cure AIDS. On the other hand, it does help with a lot of other ailments. Even if some of that help is pure placebo; if it works, it works.
Not according to Broad. This guy, who says he’s done yoga for years, seems to have some sort of personal vendetta against yoga. He mentions sustaining an injury, but admits that this was mostly because he wasn’t paying attention, so that hardly seems enough reason to hate yoga. I think some yogi pissed him off somehow. Maybe a yogi stole his car, or his girlfriend, or his journalistic integrity. I’m not sure. But he goes above and beyond to try and prove that yoga is dangerous, and yoga instructors are untrained and/or stupid and/or malicious.
Now I’ve had my doubts about whether a class is the best place to learn yoga. There’s not as much one on one attention, and it is true that teachers (in general) only need to have 200 hours of instruction to become certified by the National Yoga Association. The exception to this is Bikram Yoga (the yoga done in boiler rooms) whose teachers have to have a lot more training and also be certified insane. In most yoga classes, everyone is expected to do the same thing and not every body is exactly the same or at the same level. So at the moment I’m considering my options. Is it safer to trust someone who is working with several people and might not be qualified or working with myself (ie someone who is definitely not qualified) and a DVD or book. I’m not sure.
One of Broad’s big problems is that yoga isn’t regulated by the federal government (cause we can totally trust politicians), and the injuries aren’t tracked down to the last person, so it’s possible that there are bazillions of injuries out there, all due to yoga.
Quick, everybody, throw out your yoga mats! We’re all gonna dieeeeeee!!!!!
Of course it’s also possible that there are injuries out there related to working in a library (I can attest to that. The secretary gave me my very own box of band-aids for my desk.) and raising children (they don’t even require 200 hours to quality for that, just like, five minutes) and writing (zomg carpal tunnel!) and come to think of it, I’m surprised I’m still alive. These science people need to get on the ball and study this crap, pronto.
Anyway, I read the book, peeps, I did. I didn’t see a lot of documented science there. I saw a lot cherry-picking and ego-tripping (he is like TOTALLY the very first guy to ever realize that people can get hurt doing yoga you guyz!) and sensationalism. The most controversial chapter was about yoga injuries. He had some questionable studies from the seventies and a couple of individual stories. In one a woman sustains injuries by falling asleep while in a forward bend. Who the hell does this? I think my chances of falling asleep while folded up are rather low, personally. Same for the guy who sat meditating for days at a time. You mean that might get sore after a while? You THINK?
His biggest scare is the STROKE warning. It IS possible to have a stroke while doing yoga. Also while getting your hair done at the beauty parlor. And while reading 50 Shades of Grey (maybe not, but it wouldn’t surprise me.) The biggest reason behind people getting strokes comes from people bending their necks all crazy. So don’t bend your neck in weird directions, okay, guys? There. I have officially saved your life. Give me my Pulitzer now.
He does talk about more than injuries (although the OMG YOGA IS SCARY) is sprinkled liberally throughout the book. He says yoga can make you fat. No, really. That’s why there are all those fatty yogis out there, doncha know? He says it slows down your metabolism. Okay, so yoga isn’t going to trim you up as much or as fast as frantic aerobics (unless you try that Kandalini chick’s stuff) but people do lose weight. Part of this comes from the mental changes. He acknowledges that Yoga is good for depression and other people with whacked out brains. But even this bears a hint of condescension. Like, okay, so it helps people with the mentals, but nothing physically, and that’s we want, right? Nevermind that whole mind-body connection thing that’s been studied with actual credible studies. Pfft.
But here I’ve almost missed the best part, the other part that is also liberally sprinkled throughout the book. Sex. Sex, sex, sex. Yoga, according to Broad’s research, was founded by sex-crazed perverts called Tantras. That’s where Tantric Yoga comes from, and all those revered gurus? Yeah, they were like having crazy yogasms all over the place with girls, girls, girls! The scandal! I mean, have you ever heard of a man in power having indiscriminate sex? I know! I was shocked too. But it’s true – if you do yoga, you will get huge sexual rushes. This makes me especially concerned about my last post on yoga for children. But hey, it’s never too early for sex education, huh?
Of course, this leads to a bit of confusion. Yoga is not going to make you fit. In fact, it’s probably going to kill you dead. On the other hand, yoga will give you really hot sex. Decisions, decisions. Dead or sex? I will have to meditate on this a while. If I don’t get back to you, well, if the mat’s a rockin’, don’t come knockin’, kay?
P.S. Have you guys read the book or the articles? What’s your opinion?
They are still following me. I looked up my top search terms and you know what the top one was well DO YOU? Check it out.
Search Terms for all days ending 2013-05-06 (Summarized)
|wordpress alice at wonderland||47|
|dragon tales characters||32|
|50 shades of alice in wonderland||22|
|alice at wonderland wordpress||18|
|alice in wonderland wordpress||15|
|fifty shades of alice in wonderland||11|
|dragon tales emmy||10|
|next week horoscope||9|
|dragon tales logo||9|
|50 shades of grey satanic|
Yeah, that’s right, folks. It’s dragon tales. By a FREAKING LAND SLIDE. What the heck? But that’s not all. We’ve also got dragon tales characters and dragontales and dragon tales emmy (whu?) and dragon tales logo. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? I mean, sure, there are some others. The old reliable most popular search word from last year “crack whore” is still holding in there with 10, but that’s no 439. Dragon Tales got more than Sad Pony, more than Santa, more than 50 Shades, horoscopes, or the name of my flipping blog.
My dragon tales review is suddenly my most popular post as well, even though I wrote it like two years ago before I even got to WordPress, hence the lousy formatting transfer. So I decided to search dragon tales on Google and see if my blog came up. It didn’t. I went through like 10 pages and no sign of Alice anywhere. So just . . . wtf? I did find some other disturbing things. For instance, did you realize there was fan fiction for this show?
It’s weird, guys, it’s really weird being stalked by dragon tales fans. 50 Shades creepers I get, sure, but dragon creepers? I was up late last night chatting with a friend and bounced over to my blog – this was a short time after midnight. I had one visitor and one view and guess what he/she was looking at? Dragon tales. Dun dun dunnnnnn.
I had no idea I was the dragon whisperer, but apparently I am. Maybe I can get a show on Animal Planet. They talk about Bigfoot and mermaids, so the idea of dragons not actually existing will probably not faze them. I should get something out of this, since WordPress doesn’t seem to offer a blog restraining order. But just so you know, dragon tales peeps, I know about you. And I am NOT scared. Nope, not at all.
Okay, maybe a little.
I know. You’re shocked. Here it is, another holiday, and here I am with another post. What are the odds? Just be happy that I don’t make a post for every holiday out there. There are TONS of random, stupid holidays made up by people every day. My coworker discovered a site full of them. For instance, we’ve already had numerous holidays this month including Star Wars Day (May 4), Lost Sock Memorial Day (May 9), and Eat What You Want Day (May 11). I celebrate these days regularly, and you should too. I bet you didn’t even buy a CARD for Star Wars Day, did you? I know a storm trooper who will be extremely disappointed in you.
But most people remember Mother’s Day, for one major reason: guilt. For once, the shoe is on the other foot, children. Mothers are made to feel guilty from the time that stick turns pink (and even before, hence the popular plea why haven’t you had babies yet???). You didn’t have a natural birth, you didn’t breastfeed, you put your child in daycare, you stayed home with your child but did not provide him with Baby Bach and routine trips to the museum, you didn’t make your child’s baby food from scratch, you didn’t wear your child like a coat, you didn’t write down every one of your baby’s accomplishments in a book or worse you did it for one kid and forgot the other, you didn’t homeschool, you let your kid watch T.V., play video games, and eat fake cheese product and even if you did all the right things and none of the wrong things that just makes other moms hate you.
There is no winning for moms. But we have a day, you guys, one day that is all about us, where people recognize our greatness with cards, flowers, and maybe even a trip out to eat at some fine establishment like Hooters. If your child is younger, he or she might make you a homemade card. The card will say sweet things like “I like my mom because she smells like oranges.” And there will be a little hand print. And you’ll say aw, that is so sweet and you will intend to put it in a frame somewhere but then forget and lose it and feel guilty forever and wonder why did those teachers have them make cards do they have no decency?
But I usually tell you about the origins of these holidays, don’t I? This time I looked it up, I really did, on the History Channel, where history is made today so they can show reality shows about loggers (Ax Men – it’s like it’s something cool, but it’s not!) Mother’s Day (at least the one in America and let’s face it the American one is the only one that counts amIright?) was invented by Anna Jarvis who I should point out not never married or had kids herself. She thought American holidays were biased towards the achievements of men (who’d a thought?), so she wanted a holiday on the calendar about women and their achievements. Namely producing a human out of your body and raising it without killing it. Pretty big deal.
She got her way. But then the merchandisers caught hold of it. Soon it was all about buying cards, flowers, and other crap, more than it was about actually say, seeing your mom and saying hey thanks for popping me out of your uterus and supporting me until I was the legal age you could get me out. Poor Anna. By the time she died, she’d already denounced the holiday and tried to get it removed from the calendar. The road to Hell is paved in good intentions, dear Anna, and thanks to you we now have this stupid holiday. I say stupid, even though I partially benefit, because it isn’t just about me. I mean, I have a mom and my husband has a mom and we have to get them stuff too. And then there’s those who have lost their mothers, so this holiday gets to remind them of that and feel crappy while people who aren’t jerks buy their mothers gifts. Just all around fun.
But hey, at least you might get to go out and eat at one of these lovely dining establishments with your whole family. Which makes the whole thing worth it.