This is good. Good resolution. Yoga class on a Saturday morning. Much better than my usual Saturday morning, which involves sleeping till 10:30 followed by a restorative vanilla Pop-Tart. Oh, who are you kidding? 11:30.
Wow, do I really have to take these straps and purple blocks with me to my mat? What the hell are we gonna do with those? Are we gonna strap the blocks to our feet and do a Frankenstein impression? That might be kind of cool. Um…doesn't a large bowl of Frankenberry sound delicious right now?
Thank heavens I got a pedicure before coming here. This is a very feet-on-display kind of sport. Does yoga count as a sport? Am slightly in love with nail color. Might marry feet. Karen Feet. Yeah, that sounds bad.
Oh, we're starting. Okay. Wow, the instructor's kinda hot. Is he gay or just yoga sensitive? Probably gay. And if he's straight, he'd be one of those wool-socks-with-Teva-sandals guys.
Rolling the shoulders. Ahhh. This is nice. Oooo, stretching our lower backs; oh, how wonderful. See, this is the sort of workout I should've been doing all along. It's so serene. So…stretchy. I'll bet my mind will calm down, and I won't have Gnip-Gnop balls in my head all day. Boop boop boop boop. Bap bap BOOO! Boop boop. Okay, I get it. I get that you have Gnip-Gnop balls in your head. Stop thinking about it, because, oh the stretching.
This is lovely. This is—holy cats, look at the woman in front of me. LOOK AT HER BUTT! It's absolutely perfect. It's like someone sliced a small, pert melon in half and glued it to her back. How does anyone have a butt like that? Is it from coming here? I'm coming here every day, in that case. How old is that bitch, anyway? And how is it some women pull back their hair and it's all silky and perfect like it's meant to be in a ponytail, and my ponytail looks like I shot a beaver and stuck it to the top of my head?
Remember that scene in "Thelma and Louise" when Thelma says, "I hate being called a beaver?" Heee.
How happy can that woman really be? Wow. Look at the size of her diamond. Okay, probably pretty happy. Stop thinking about it. You're supposed to be being serene.
Oh crap. What're we doing now? What do you mean use the blocks to get into a plank position? What's a plank? What's a plank? What's a—
MOTHER OF GOD GET ME OUT OF THIS PLANK. GET.ME.OUT.OF.THIS—
Oh, thank God, that's over.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN, "AGAIN?" What kind of lily-livered, wool-sock-wearing sadist ARE you, you teach tolerance patchouli asshole? Plank this!
I had no idea I could shake this much. I'd be shaking less if I were trapped in a meat locker. Doesn't meat sound delicious?
Please be done with the planks. Please be—you want my foot to go where? I can't stretch that far! Lord, I'm all splayed out like a clamshell. Any second now, Venus de Milo's gonna pop right outta me. And stop telling me to breathe. I'm all splayed out like I've got invisible stirrups and you want me to breathe. You're lucky I didn't just split in two like a wishbone, Bub.
Doesn't some Wishbone Chunky Blue Cheese dressing sound delicious right now?
Wow, it's done. Now we have to lie still and have a guided meditation. Yes, this is lovely. This is calm. I am serene. Gnip-Gnop, gn-over. Yoga is wonderful. Yoga is—
Oh, crap. Is that twanging coming from my back? And don't baby back ribs sound delicious right now?