How to Go From Better-Than-Nothing to WAY Better-Than-Nothing on Valentines Day


Today is Valentine’s Day. My only real excitement on February 14 lies in waking to squeals of delight from my children upon finding the treats I left out for them the night before. This morning, my daughter was particularly excited by the Peppa Pig Beanie Baby I got for her, which brought a big smile to my face because I totally knew I hit the jackpot when I found it in the card store. Apparently, pigs with British accents are all the rage for toddlers nowadays.

The kids’ enthusiasm wore off after about ten minutes (it isn’t exactly Christmas, you know), and then my husband and I exchanged our own treats. After seven years of marriage, I’ve come to expect very little on these cheesy Hallmark Holidays. I find that it successfully avoids unnecessary disappointment and marital arguments. He handed me his classic Valentine’s Day safety net trifecta of roses/card/candy, and I forked over my own card for him. Kiss, kiss, Happy Valentine’s Day, and back to the regular daily routine.

I had to laugh a few minutes later when we were watching the morning news and they were doing a segment on making last minute V-Day gifts look like they were planned out for weeks. The last line of the piece read: “and whatever you do, avoid that cheesy drugstore flowers and candy combo!” To which we both laughed and I added “unless you’ve been married for seven years.”

My husband has never been a big gift-giver or an over-the-top romantic. He proposed to me in the car while driving on the highway, saying “so I was talking to my aunt and she thinks that, since you’re pregnant, maybe we should just get married.” I cried immediately, obviously not because I was so moved by his gesture. And I cried all the way to our dreamy City Hall wedding a few weeks later.

But I don’t blame him. Failed birth control combined with the need for better health insurance never does create the perfect environment for romance. But he set the bar pretty low from the start, and I have learned that the whole mushy-gushy, sweep-her-off-her feet shit just isn’t a requirement, and its absence does not a bad marriage make.

While my little less-than-fairytale romance isn’t exactly one for the books, I’m 100% sure I’m not the only wife who doesn’t bother with high hopes on most gift-giving occasions. Even those who didn’t exchange vows in the same building where ex-cons go to have their urine tested for drugs.

But here’s the thing: since so many married wives have low expectations on Valentine’s Day, it at least gives their husbands an opportunity to catch them off guard by doing something seriously sweet once in a while. I think that, sometimes, guys should toss their “better than nothing” flowers and candy out the window of the same car they proposed in, and do something extra special for the special ladies in their lives. And really, they don’t even have to think that far outside of the box to do it.

Thus I present to you my five, fantastic, WAYYY-better-than-nothing gifts for wives on Valentine’s Day. If there are actually any guys who read my blog, be prepared to slap yourself in the head, coulda-had-a-V8-style, for not thinking of these nifty gifties on your own.

Jewelry. It’s expensive, so I think husbands like to avoid it because they can get away with their wife thinking “oh we can’t afford that right now”. But no one’s telling you to hit her with a diamond from Tiffany’s. It’s 2015, and the timeless gift of jewelry comes in all sizes, shapes, and price tags. From crystal to silver to cubic-Z: it’s ALL better than nothing.

Lingerie. You would expect this type of gift when you first start dating, but it does seem like the last thing a married mother could ever want. Right? Wrong. Think about it. Receiving that type of gift from a husband shows that, after all these years, he still sees his wife as being just as sexy as she was when they were first dating. It’s pretty flattering. She’ll feel like maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t look so bad for a married mom after all. Plus, it might be something extra to look forward to on Valentine’s NIGHT. Wink wink.

Wine or champaign. I mean, if he’s going for an edible gift, it shouldn’t be a gigantic box full of little chocolate regrets. In fact, if you pair some bubbly with #2 on my list, it’s really one hell of a win/win.

Dinner. Either cook it, order it, or take her out for it. Whatever happens, just make sure she doesn’t have to deal with it for at least one night. And for pete’s sake, do the damn dishes after it’s done. And if there’s time, feel free to also sweep, mop, dust, do the laundry, make the beds, scrub the toilets, and clean out the fridge while you’re at it.

Be an even better Dad than usual. There is so much joy in seeing a father make his kids feel special– when he spends time with them, plays with them, shows them how important they are. So on Valentine’s Day, go the extra mile for the kids, too. Take them out to lunch, make a card for Mom together, maybe even pick up a special gift for them too. They’re the littlest Valentines, after all. And honestly, that’s probably one of the most romantic things a man can do for his wife. Because there is NOTHING sexier than a really, really good dad.

Winter: 10 Things I Hate About You

sled (2)I used to really like the winter. At least, I felt like enjoying winter was a requirement of anyone who despises the summer. Like you can hate one, but not the other. Otherwise, you’re just a complainer.

Well, screw that. I AM a complainer. I own it. If I want to hate the summer, I’m gonna hate the summer. If I want to loathe winter, I’ll do that too. Hell, if I want to go outside one day in the middle of May and trample on a bunch of spring flowers, or maybe smash some giant pumpkins in the street sometime in October, I’ll do that as well. Screw the seasons. All four of them. Yea, I said it.

But since it’s winter, and most people hate the shit out of winter, I figured I’d dedicate a blog post to it and maybe give the people what they want. Plus, the Super Bowl is on right now and I need something productive to keep me busy in between the commercial breaks, and blogging about the weather seems productive enough.

Dear Winter. You suck. Here is why:

1. I always spend more time dressing my kids in snowsuits, coats, hats, gloves, boots, scarves, two layers of pants, three pairs of socks, and two shirts with an extra sweatshirt than they spend actually playing in the snow. Like, wayyyy longer. And it just doesn’t seem fair.
2. Not every type of snow yields decent results when building a snowman. The light, powdery, fluffy stuff is impossible to roll into a ball. But the kids don’t understand that and want to know why we’re building a “snow lump” instead.
3. Have you ever dragged children around on a sled, cross-country style, in the freezing cold? Maybe it’s fun for some people, but an Olympic athlete I am not. I’m usually huffing and puffing worse than an 85-year-old chain smoker by the end of my block, meanwhile my kids are begging me to “pull faster!”
4. There is no graceful way to slip on ice. There’s a painful way, a mortifying way, and an ass-bruising way, but no graceful way. Except maybe if you’re Kate Upton.
5. Shoveling. Because potentially throwing your back out and/or risking potential cardiac arrest beats the dangers of an icy walkway. Right? Right??
6. No one wins with board games. NO ONE. Young kids holding tiny game pieces + everyone being forced to take turns + someone having to lose eventually = mommy chugging wine before noon.
7. This might be mostly an NYC thing, but getting a parking spot is a pain in the ass enough on its own, without having to worry about needing four-wheel drive to be able to pull out of it.
8. After Christmas, wintertime holidays are nothing special. I mean, they’re great excuses to get a day off, but I work from home on those holidays anyway. And don’t get me started on the most pointless holiday in the whole damn calendar: Valentine’s Day.
9. There is no deeper hell on earth than a nasty mid-winter stomach virus sweeping violently through your home, complete with green-tinted children and vomit-covered couch cushions. And of course, the promise that you’re up next!
10. I’m not a fan of facial pain. That’s right, facial pain. You know, the kind of pain you feel when it’s so fucking horribly cold outside that it literally makes your FACE HURT? Well, I don’t enjoy that.

For argument’s sake, the winter does have its moments. You can drop off and pick up your children from school without a bra on and no one will ever know. Trips to the park are entirely off limits. The sun sets about ten seconds after it rises, so you can put your kids to bed as early as you want. The phony conversations you have when you run into acquaintances are cut short because everyone is freezing their asses off. That being said, I’m still looking forward to the end of this winter. I doubt I’m alone in that.

Ten Ways to Combat Stress (Or However Many I Can Come Up With)


See stress-reliever #9 for details.

I’m just going to preface this post by saying I have no business, at all, whatsoever, telling people how to combat stress, since I could probably be the poster child for how NOT to deal with it. I think I might be more stressed out lately than I’ve ever been in my whole life. Want proof? Go check the date on my last blog post. I still had Halloween decorations up (and not the kind of Halloween decorations that are hiding behind the Christmas tree). Blogging is one of my favorite things on earth. But ain’t nobody got time for that these days, you know?

Anyway, I guess I’m kind of just mentally searching for ways to, well, calm the fuck down. Ease up. Relax. Stop feeling like the walls around me are closing in. And if I actually manage to come up with some decent stuff, I want to share it with you. Just in case you are as stressed out and mentally imbalanced as I am to think anything I say actually works. So good luck to us both.

I’m going to list as many “stress relievers,” as I can, with my ultimate goal being ten. If I make it there, awesome. If not, well, at least it was a quick read.

Oh, and please don’t expect those boring, traditional de-stressing techniques from me. At no point would I ever suggest you light candles, take a bath, take deep breaths, listen to Enya, or write your feelings down in some type of journal. Unless your feelings involve a lot of cursing.

1. Keep watching your favorite TV shows. You don’t have time for TV? Make time. I make a ton of time for TV. You know why? For the exact reason that people say you shouldn’t watch it. Because it’s completely mindless! That means I don’t have to think about anything that really matters while my shows are on. I’m free to wonder who the new crazy bitch on the Bachelor will be, or why they can’t just let Darryl and Carol do it already on the Walking Dead, or what the hell Penny was thinking when she cut off all her hair on Big Bang Theory. You know, the kind of stuff that doesn’t matter in real life AT ALL. It’s the perfect way to zone out of your own real life problems.

2. Make your husband fix all broken household appliances. Or do it yourself. Or hire a fucking handyman. Whatever it takes just get it done. Non-functional crap around the house doesn’t directly cause stress by itself, but it often serves as the straw that broke the camel’s back. My dishwasher recently broke, and it stayed that way for two months. Two fantastic months of handwashing thousands of dishes and sippy cups and plastic takeout containers Tupperware. Because after working all day and cooking and cleaning and and doing laundry all night, I TOTALLY had an extra hour to spare for hand-washing dishes, like, 1955 style. I guess l’ll sleep when I’m dead, right? And now that the dishwasher is finally fixed, the toilet in our only bathroom took a nosedive. I need a basin and a gallon of water to flush it manually every single time, and plunging is my new workout routine. I can’t even talk about it without wanting to literally dropkick my husband the person who broke it in the first place.

3. Cut out the people who suck. This makes me sound like I’m one of those people moaning and groaning on every social media site in the world that they can’t trust anyone, and their heart is delicate but they’ll protect it with the fire of a thousand suns, and yada yada blah blah blah. But really, those are the people you should delete on Facebook and in real life too. I’ve come to realize that if you want to vomit every time you think of a certain person’s face, you probably shouldn’t be friends with that person. Not on the internet and certainly not in real life. So move on.

4. Have a glass of wine or two or ten. This is self-explanatory. Just don’t do it alone if you’re the crying type. And if you do it alone, I recommend having Youtube and a list of awesome 90’s music or movies nearby. Good times.

5. Make some new friends. Not that I have any fucking idea how to do this. But it seems like it might help, if you can figure out where to find some people who are as awesome and cool as you are.

6. Buy stuff for yourself sometimes. Last night I was on Amazon ordering some stuff that my kids need, and I hesitantly added a hat to the cart that I wanted for myself. I proceeded to checkout, reviewed my order, then stared blankly at the screen for ten minutes in a silent self-debate over whether I really needed to spend $19 on a hat. And then I deleted it from my shopping cart. But then this morning, my ears were really cold and I was all like WTF? I should have bought myself the damn hat. So don’t be like me. Keep your ears warm. Buy the damn hat.

7. Plan a night out, but don’t expect it to make you feel any better. Going out is fun. I haven’t really done much of it ever since the time I got drunk and fell and broke all my teeth (true story), but it’s definitely still fun to do once in a while. However, do not expect one night out to cure any kind of stress you are feeling. You will probably just drink too much and end up without teeth very hungover, causing you to fall a day behind with the endless crap on your to-do list. Even if you aren’t a big drinker, just know that one “much needed” night out, though fun, will not leave you feeling refreshed and stress-free. It’s just a night out. Don’t get your hopes up. But definitely still go.

8. Clean something. I know it doesn’t sound very fun, but I find that cleaning gives me a great sense of accomplishment, and also leaves surfaces in my home shiny and stuff. I fucking loathe doing it, but after a full day of scrubbing, mopping, and organizing, I usually feel amazing. Well, at least I feel amazing until my little bulls-in-a-china-shop children come stampeding in and wreck the place. But until that  happens, I like to sit back and enjoy the stress-free feel of a sparkling clean home.

9. Have your cake and eat it too. I hate that saying. What the hell else would you do with it?? Stare at the damn thing? Anyway, nonsensical idioms aside, you should eat cake. It’s delicious. Obviously, it won’t help with your diet woes, but like I said, IT’S DELICIOUS.

(I seem to be grasping at straws here. But I will think of a #10. I promise).

10. I give up. Now the stress of finishing this blog has ended for me, so at least one of us is less stressed out, right?

I Can’t Tell You If You’ve Found “The One”, But Neither Can Anyone Else

I don’t know about you, but I am getting very sick of these obnoxious articles popping up all over the internet which list a thousand bullshit ways to know if you’re with the “right” one. They’re all “communication” this and “respect” that, with their condescending listicles that make newlyweds feel all smug and amazing but leave the rest of us wondering where the hell we went wrong.

It drives me crazy. I’m no relationship expert, (seriously, not at all), but I do know that if your husband of fifteen years doesn’t declare you the most beautiful lady in all the land every single time he looks at you, it’s not exactly a reason to go filing for divorce.

I think that people need to understand that marriage is hard. There is no foolproof checklist or “list of fifteen things” that will quickly determine whether or not you married “the one.” There are over seven billion fish in the sea (actual world population), so who the hell knows if the right one swam up to you and put a ring on your FINger (haha, get it?).

Your husband probably won’t support every decision you make, even the big ones. He isn’t likely to make you feel sexy when you’re bumming around in stained sweatpants and fuzzy slippers. He surely won’t always be honest with you about everything. He might not help around the house enough (or at all). Perhaps he rarely shows his appreciation for all you do, not even with a simple “thank you” once in a while. He probably doesn’t plan date night very often (or ever) and maybe his definition of romance is never leaving the toilet seat up. He’ll sometimes get you really shitty gifts on birthdays and holidays, or none at all. It’s very possible that he’d rather be watching football or playing video games or taking a nap on the couch than partaking in family outings on his days off.

You’re not always going to finish each other’s sentences, or constantly be making each other laugh, or having deep conversations over glasses of wine every night. Hell, you may not even see each other for more than a few minutes a day.

There will be times when you’re madly in love with each other, and times when you’re literally miserable being in the same room together. Times when you look at him and somehow simultaneously love and hate his stupid face at the same time. He probably has similarly mixed emotions about  your stupid face.

But you shouldn’t beat yourself up over it. I really think it’s normal, this imperfect, undefined version of marriage. So this isn’t the part where I list all the crap he does do or should be doing to make up for all the shitty stuff. In real life, every relationship is different. What doesn’t work for you might might be working just fine  for someone else, and vice versa. Nothing is ever set in stone, so stop pretending that it should be. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can breathe a nice big sigh of relief that you and your darling aren’t headed straight for Splitsville simply because the fucking internet told you so.


An Ode to the Dishwasher…Sort Of

I’ve picked on laundry. I’ve picked on grocery shopping. Kids clothes, playgrounds, social media, assholes, the Tooth Fairy— I’ve bitched and moaned about it all (side note: click a few of those links for some of my whiniest/funniest blogs, and don’t mind my shameless  self promotion). But for some reason, I’ve never really tackled the wretched task of doing dishes. At least not at length like these other topics. And doing dishes is one of the most loathsome daily rituals of all. I’m really not sure how it has escaped my wrath all this time.

Well, that ends today.

My dishwasher was a birthday gift from my husband three years ago. Some might find a dishwasher to be a rather unconventional gift, but I thought it was a fantastic idea. After all, all the jewelry in the world won’t reduce the spread of bacterial growth while leaving your cups and glasses with a streak-free shine.

Not that I have anything against jewelry. Because I don’t. Are you listening, Big M? Nothing at all.

Anyway, the day that the dishwasher was installed was probably one of the best days of my life. I know that sounds like an exaggeration, but I assure you, it most certainly is not. Because owning a dishwasher instantly improved my quality of life.

Prior to having a dishwasher to call my very own, I had spent countless hours of my life slaving over the kitchen sink, washing dish after dirty dish, bowl after dirty bowl. So many glasses and plates and coffee mugs and UGH, the horrible never-ending silverware. An endless supply of utensils in every shape and size littered my sink every single day of my life. Not to mention how much precious time and elbow grease was wasted scrubbing away at dirty pots and pans on a regular basis.

And the baby bottles! Ugh! So many pieces! Why all the pieces, Dr. Brown’s? Avent? Playtex? Why do you hate parents? Why??

For some reason, my family produces an astonishing amount of dirty dishes every day. No amount of paper plates or plastic silverware seems to even slightly reduce the mounds of dishes from piling higher and higher with each passing hour.  The kids seem to really enjoy taking a tiny sip of water and immediately tossing their cups into the sink, and then repeating that process every half hour. I can’t believe I actually used to hand wash something like THIS every day:

Fullscreen capture 10112014 73406 PM

And it isn’t just about saving time, either. I’ve actually lost layers of skin on my poor little hands from all that scouring and harsh water, leaving them constantly cracked and bleeding and swollen and just totally gross.

So yea, getting the dishwasher was one of the best things that ever happened to me (my life sounds pretty exciting, huh?).

Now don’t get me wrong. Owning a dishwasher doesn’t alleviate ALL of the pain associated with doing dishes. It doesn’t load itself. It doesn’t empty itself. Sometimes it ruins shit (why do they even still make things that aren’t dishwasher safe?) It certainly doesn’t have any clown-car-like properties that enable you to easily place every single item inside before slamming the door, hitting the power button and sitting down with a nice glass of wine. Sometimes I spend more time mashing and maneuvering than if I would just whip out the old dobie pad and get the job done with my own two hands.

Sometimes I spend so much time mulling over which configuration of dishes will leave me with the least amount of leftover items to wash by hand that I forget there was ever a time when I didn’t have the luxury of that decision to make.  Which is really not cool, because it’s really important not to forget where you came from (in this case, that would be a dishwasherless home).

I do get kind of pissed at my dishwasher whenever there is an excess of tupperware hanging around my sink. I’m sure we can all admit to “accidentally” tossing some innocent pieces of tupperware in the garbage once in a while just because it’s such a pain in the ass to clean. It takes up too much precious space on the top rack of the dishwasher, has all kinds of edges and hard-to-reach spots, and always ends up with that inevitable greasy film that’s impossible to get rid of. I guess my qualms should really be more with the tupperware than the dishwasher here… so screw you, tupperware. Just screw you.

It also sucks when I’m emptying the dishwasher and come across a pair of cooking tongs harboring crusted breadcrumbs from last night’s chicken cutlets, or a rogue spinach leaf clinging to a fork, or the worst– hardened cereal bits glued to yesterday morning’s bowl of raisin bran. Like what’s the point of using a dishwasher if you have to rewash some of its contents anyway?

Still, although it doesn’t perfectly clean every dirty dish in my life, nor does it grow a pair of extendable arms that reach into the cabinets and put away the clean stuff for me (are you listening, KitchenAid??), I love my dishwasher simply as much as one can adore any inanimate object that makes life a thousand times easier.

And all that time I save on washing dishes frees me up to complete other important tasks, like helping the kids with homework, cooking healthy dinners, folding loads of laundry, and of course, pouring myself glasses of wine.


Random Thoughts: Am I The Only One?

Like most people in this world, I often wonder if I’m the only one who thinks a certain way or feels a certain way about, well, anything. Sometimes I do weird shit, sometimes I think weird shit, and sometimes weird shit just happens to me. But I know I’m not alone. So I’ve compiled this extremely random list for you today.

I wonder if I am the only one who…:

  • has absolutely no clue how to defog the car windows when it rains. Should it be all the way hot? All the way cold? Is there some kind of a shortcut? Why is this so difficult??
  • has no idea how to use a barbecue, with no intention of learning how to do so. My klutziness doesn’t go well with open flames and it’s terrifying.
  • drives like a total idiot when I’m following another car. What if I lose them? What if they lose me?? Why can’t we all just use our GPS like normal people and meet there???
  • doesn’t understand when people say they “forgot to eat” or “haven’t eaten all day”. How is that even possible? What and when I plan to eat next is like the default setting in my brain.
  • breaks at least one glass, plate, bowl, jar, or bottle per week. I once broke five dishes and seven bowls at one time. Read that ridiculous story here.
  • secretly loves every single song on that damn Frozen soundtrack, and sometimes puts it on without my daughter even asking. It’s time I came out about this one. Dammit, it feels good to be free.
  • still gets a big kick out of stepping on crunchy leaves in the fall. It’s freakishly satisfying.
  • prefers to park my car further away and just walk more. I’m usually a lazy person, but who the hell has time to wait around for the perfect parking spot?
  • can’t make coffee without spilling coffee grinds everywhere. Ditto for the milk if it’s from Costco (you Costco people get it).
  • deletes my Facebook app once every few months, then re-downloads it less than 24 hours later. Who knew the most passionate love/hate relationship I’d ever have in my life would be with a stupid website?
  • always has to think for a second when asked how old I am (but could never fail to quickly recite my children’s ages, birth weight, and the exact minute they were born, if asked).
  • screams “you’re welcome” at strangers who fail to say “thank you” when necessary.
  • occasionally talks out loud to no one in particular….in public.
  • finds wearing socks under a blanket to be physically impossible.Okay…pants, too.
  • feels a surge of pride every time I successfully retrieve an object using only my toes.
  • wears my watch on the “wrong” hand. With a dead battery. If only righties could be lefties two times a day like broken clocks, then all would be right with the world.
  • rarely used my double stroller after having my second child because I kept forgetting how to open it.
  • gets extremely annoyed when I turn on Nickelodeon or the Disney Channel for the kids and realize it’s either 20 or 50 minutes after the hour. Why can’t they just make 30 minute episodes??
  • is grossed out by cold pizza. If it tasted better cold, they would serve it that way in the first place.
  • kinda feels bad for telemarketers. They’re just trying to do their job.
  • unfailingly ends up with the most spastic cart at the supermarket. And it gets more squeaky, more wobbly, and more spastic with every item placed inside.
  • unfailingly ends up in the slowest checkout line at the supermarket. Often behind the type of person who pays for groceries with their checkbook.
  • didn’t learn how to “close out” an app on my iPhone until about two years after purchasing it.
  • quickly changes the channel the second I hear Sarah McLaughlin’s voice. (I’m definitely not alone there, right? Those commercials are the WORST).
  • saves certain outfits or articles of clothing for “special occasions,” and then never ends up wearing them at all. Where the hell do I ever go??
  • thinks window shopping should  mean buying windows instead of buying nothing.
  • occasionally talks on the phone in the bathroom. They can’t really SEE you, you know

I could probably go on all day, but that’s all the time I have for rambling right now.  Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what’s on your list!

Not So Namaste


I recently started doing yoga.  I also recently stopped doing yoga.

I suck. Athletically, that is.  Sports, exercising, working out– I basically find anything that requires sneakers and a sports bra to be highly repellent.  Thankfully, I’m one of those people with a decent enough metabolism to keep myself cruising along at a fairly satisfactory weight, without ever doing too much dieting or working out (and by “too much” I mean none at all whatsoever).  Sure, I could benefit from some salad and crunches as much as the next lazyass, but I’m not totally unhappy with the way I look.

Still I know the whole “good metabolism” thing typically wears off sometime around your mid-thirties, so I figured I might as well start doing something about it now, before I become one of those moms telling people they’re “still trying to lose the baby weight”– as they cart their youngest off to the first day of middle school.

I chose yoga because it’s pretty low-impact and I’ve heard you get to nap afterward or something like that.  Meditation, napping, same difference. I’m also fairly flexible, so I thought that would help. I can really do a mean Indian-style.  Sorry, that’s wasn’t very PC of me.  I can do a mean “criss-cross apple sauce”. That’s right, criss-cross apple sauce. That’s what the preschools are calling it these days, folks.

So I started the yoga thing. I found a class, signed up, and started yoga-ing or whatever you call it. And it went great.  I downward-facing dogged. I upward-facing dogged. I planked.  I posed like a tree, a child, a bird, a warrior. You name it, I posed like it. I really kicked ass in there. I walked out of that yoga class like a freaking boss.

I guess it didn’t exactly hurt that the class was composed entirely of post-menopausal middle-aged women, but whatever.  They were all very nice and didn’t seem to mind my ass in their face. I didn’t mind theirs either.  The ass-in-face phenomenon is apparently unavoidable in a yoga class.

So I left there pretty psyched. I did way better than I thought I would, and I actually even kind of enjoyed it.  I could have done without all that incense-burning, inner-peace, namaste bullshit, but I guess that’s part of the whole experience.  Maybe it’ll grow on me.  Or maybe not. Either way, I was still a total yogi.

Well, I was a total yogi until I woke up two weeks later with back problems.

With the exception of that time I was carrying seven-pounds of human in my uterus (and 40 pounds of pizza and chocolate bars everywhere else), I’ve never had back pain in my life.

I aged like 15 years in two days.  I couldn’t sit, I couldn’t stand. I was hunched over. I was huffing and puffing around like my 93-year old grandfather when he gets all worked up looking for the remote to put on The Price is Right.  When I almost couldn’t reach the top shelf to grab a wine glass (had to wash all that Aleve down with something), I finally drew the line.  No more yoga for me.

I think I’m just not meant to do the whole exercise thing.  And it’s so damn unfair. Some people are so  awesome at it. Why can’t I be one of those people who get addicted to endorphins? Like those people who run five miles a day and literally enjoy it. I can’t even be a person who purchases a two-year gym membership and uses it for longer than a week (true story).

Addicted to endorphins, sheesh. Sure, I have a few addictions. Coffee,, Big Brother (the TV show, not the conspiracy). These are things I simply cannot live without. But endorphins? I’m not even sure what these “endorphin” things even feel like.  Is it anything like a percocet before the nausea sets in? Because if so, then I can see what all the addiction is about. And if so, then maybe I need to buy me a shiny new treadmill. But I’m guessing not.

I don’t know, maybe I threw in the workout towel too soon.  Maybe when I realized I could actually work up a sweat without hurling on my yoga mat, I started to overdo it– which is what screwed up my back.  Maybe I just need to scale it back a little on all the crazy posing.

What is that cliche workout saying? No pain, no gain? Just do it? No hustle, no muscle? (I might have actually just made that last one up. I’m not sure. But it’s pretty clever, if I do say so myself.)

I think I’ll make up another one.  How about “you’re 32 and you haven’t worked out in ten years, you lazy piece of crap. Get off the damn couch, shut off Big Brother, put the bag of Fritos away, and go for a fucking walk”.

Nailed it.

Anyone up for some yoga?