It's Official: I've Lost It.

We're moving across the country in precisely 9 days and 13 hours. Ho. Ly. Smokes. This means, I am crazy right now. Not my normal brand of crazy but a new kind: the kind where I daydream longingly about chickens with their heads cut off and think, "ah, to be that subdued!" There is so much to do and so little time to do it! I've lost it. I'm speaking, of course, about my mind. See, I couldn't even find it quickly enough to put it into that last sentence!

In a desperate attempt at sanity, I've put a list together of signs I've exhibited that prove I've, indeed, lost it.

1. My outfit today says, "I've given up." Yes, I believe fashion speaks. Just yesterday, my outfit said "I'm pretending that I'm not pajamas when really I am."


2. There are packed boxes everywhere and yet I still insisted we get a Christmas tree. We no longer have glasses but, don't worry folks, the Tannenbaum's a blazin! It's a vertically challenged, naked tree but it is fantastic! Every time I'm around it, I feel like saying, "good grief!" because it's my very own Charlie Brown Christmas tree.

3. I've been looking at the ridiculously huge pile of laundry saying, with great authority and fervor, "Laundry, do thyself!" No matter my optimism, the mass remains.

4. I've developed an enormous mass on my chin. Seriously, I'm Rudolph, the chin version! I prefer to refer to it as my "tumor" instead of a pimple, to which my husband so predictably responds, "It's not a toomah!"



5. I talk to myself. And my cat. Yeah, I'm that girl. I'm in my apartment all day working and packing, things were bound to go south for my sanity! Claudymom, God love her, always talks to herself. She says that "it's great talking to myself because I don't give myself grief like you kids do!" Ah, Claudymom. If this means I'm turning quirkier like her, than I guess I'm cool with it.

Send. Help. Please.

Oh, and Diet Coke. Lots of Diet Coke.

It's the Remix to Transition . . .

Before you read what will be an amazing post, look to your right. You see that blue box telling you that you can help people by providing clean drinking water? Put in your email address and help P&G provide up to 100,000 days of clean drinking water. I promise you will not be inundated with emails from P&G. Do it . . . or else.


We. Are. Moving. Finally.

Yes, now that blurb at the top of this page that describes me as someone who is "about to make a move" is legit. I am really, friends, about to make a move. We have set our sights on Portsmouth, New Hampshire and should be there after Christmas to ring in the new year, Granite State style.

What's that, you say? You've never been to New Hampshire? Well, watch this educational video and learn. I promise it will be illuminating.


So, folks, this is where I am moving. It's just like Old Hampshire, but it's new. This means, I am officially in a period of transition. We need to figure out how we're moving our stuff across the country, how our little Satan (our cat) is getting across the country and, of course, where we'll live when we make it there.

Overall, I like change. Now, I didn't say I was good at change, just that I liked it. Call it my ADD but I love switching things up because it keeps things fresh and exciting. Take my shampoo, for instance. I rotate through shampoo so my hair doesn't get bored or worse, take the hair products for granted (I do buy Aveda, after all- that s#!t's expensive).

My husband complains about the volume of products but his luscious locks totally thank me.

I have loved pretty much every minute I've spent here in SF. So, to show my appreciation, I've made a list of the things I will miss most about this great city (you know I love lists).

1. Wine Country. Really, this is self explanatory. Not since football games at Boston College was it appropriate to drink before noon. Thank you, Sonoma, for making inappropriateness acceptable again.
2. Food. Yes, I know there is food where I am going but not like this. From sandwiches at Ike's to Tsunami sushi, I will miss the smorgasbord of opportunities to stuff my face. I feel like like Templeton from Charlotte's Web when he's at the fair! So many things to choose from I might not get home because my tummy is so full!
3. People of Color. Yes, I feel I have to say "goodbye" to diversity as I am moving to New Hampshire where I will be with, pretty much, only other white people. I am sad about this because I know diversity makes us better and well, I need all the help I can get!
4. Being Outside . . . all year. I am moving to a place where it gets very cold and I'm kind of in denial about that. I don't really want to talk about it so . . . moving on!
5. My friends. Yes- I have friends in NH. Fabulous ones that I can't wait to be near. But, I also have fabulous friends here that I don't want to leave. When I finally master teleportation and/or apparition this long distance will not be a problem. If you don't know what apparition is, then I feel sorry for you but you can look it up here. 

I hope that, in the next few weeks, I take the time to reflect on what this place has meant for us. To often, we jump from one thing to another and never take a moment to soak it all in-- sometimes, we are really bad sponges. I wish, for myself and my husband, that we will internalize all of the wonderful things we've had and allow them to make us better and stronger. Then, we'll share that wealth with New Hampshire and, all I have to say is: New Hampshire, you're welcome.

This Blonde Bakes?

Now, I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me-- I am not domestic. It's not that I can't do domestic things or don't think they're valuable: I can and I do. It's that I hate doing domestic things like cooking, baking, cleaning, sewing (that one I actually can't do), etc. All I'm saying is, they're called chores for a reason and now that I don't get an allowance, I'm just not interested. 

Even with my domestic aversions (I think I might be allergic), I actually baked this past weekend. As per usual, I had a craving for chocolate and something had to be done about it! Perhaps I was feeling sorry for my husband who, when he wants something homemade, has to make it himself, so I decided to bake some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies-- my absolute favorite vessel for delivering chocolate to my mouth.

Besides a wife's guilt, my reason for choosing to make these cookies was sentimental. When we were younger, my grandmother (Claudymom's mom) would bake cookies for my siblings and me when we would come visit. She baked oatmeal chocolate chip for my sister and me and oatmeal raisin for my brother (Which is a lesser cookie, let's be honest. What's the point of a cookie without chocolate? She obviously liked my sister and me better).

Claudymom never let me bake growing up because she said I made a huge mess.

As I was baking, I thought about my Grandmother, or "Gram," as we called her. Just like her daughter, she was one of the quirkiest quirks that ever quirked. Whether she was mispronouncing words, chewing uncommonly loudly or singing Carly Simon's version of "Itsy, Bitsy Spider" in her car off of the only tape she owned (given to her at the dealer so she see the "caliber" of the sound system, I guess), this woman was full of life. As I made those cookies, I felt her presence and may have even sang a few bars of the song good old Carly made such a classic. Obviously, it sounded awesome.

They were ridiculously tasty. They're all gone now.

I felt really close to Gram that day because I was doing something she had done, over and over again, for us. She wasn't just a memory or a concept, she was an action: baking oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. The tangibility of the baking process helped me remember her in a new way, especially because this was the first time I baked these cookies since she died ten years ago.

Even though I wished she was there so much, it was nice not to have to share the privilege of licking the bowl with my sister. I never did like to share.

As we near the holidays, I hope I can pursue actions that connect me with my loved ones that are gone, as well as the ones that I am lucky to still have with me. What will you do this season to connect with those you love?

If you want the recipe, I've posted it here. This whole "writing about baking and posting recipes" is not going to be a habit. I will leave that to the fabulous Lady Gouda, who knows a whole lot more than I do about the "kitchen" subject.

I used to make fun of bloggers. . .

Not to their faces, of course. I'm just not like that. I at least had the decency to do it behind their backs.

Now that I'm a blogger, I think it's only fair that I should make fun of myself. As illustrated above, I'm a big fan of "knocking it before you try it." Here is a list of things I used to make fun of but got totally into later on:

1. Uggs. Sure, they may be a little funny looking but have you ever worn them? It's like cloaking your feet in a soft lamb right before it's sheared. Fantastic. I used to make fun of people for wearing them (again, behind their backs, like a lady) but now I own 5 pairs. Yup, 5 pairs.

This is but a small taste of what I had to live with for years.

2. The Color Pink. Since Claudymom decorated my room in Laura Ashley for the first ten years of my life, I kind of overdosed on pink. My bedroom looked like Laura had eaten bad Chinese food, chugged a whole bottle of Pepto Bismol to cope with it and then threw up over my room while her child was coloring the walls with only a pink marker. Once we moved into a different house, I vowed never to have pink in my room again. I hated it for a long time and, after years of healing, we eventually mended our relationship and my bridesmaids wore a lovely shade of vermilion on my wedding day. It was glorious.

3. Capri Pants. I didn't "get" them for a long time. Sure, they would be useful in the event of a flood but wouldn't my ankles be cold? I have very sensitive ankles. I would mock my dear friend Caroline for wearing them where we were in high school (I really was such a doll!) and it was only a short time later that I had capris of my own. They're quite handy in the mild-weathered San Francisco. Not quite pants, not quite shorts!

4. Harry Potter. There was a time in my life that I persecuted fans of the teenage wizard. It was a dark time in my past that is quite difficult for me to write about. I even threatened to tell my husband (who was then my boyfriend) the end of the 6th book because I had heard a rumor about what happened. I can't believe he still married me! Clearly, I have repented and stepped away from that dark time in my past. Ok, I'm done talking about it-- it hurts too much.

5. Diet Coke. Gosh, I am just bringing up all these painful memories! I used to think Diet Coke tasted disgusting and would make this face anytime people drank it around me:

Isn't it so fun when someone makes this face at what you're eating or drinking?

After years of making this face, I woke up one morning my sophomore year of college with craving for Diet Coke. My life hasn't been the same since! I have a sneaking suspicion that my roomies were slipping me some behind my back and therefore creating an addiction (ah, sweet addiction!) that I would happily carry into my adult life.

6. Highlights. Yes, I was judgmental of people who got highlights. Is there no end to my hypocrisy?! Now, without the help of a trained colorist, I would not be "blonde yogini" but rather "'I used to be blonde when I was younger and sometimes I get blonde in the summers if it's really sunny and I am outside enough' yogini." Thank God for my conversion, not to mention my fantastic colorist at my local Aveda salon (their blondes really are the best!).

7. Big Sunglasses. I was skeptical of the trend in designer eyewear at first because I didn't want to look like a bug or worse, Johnny Depp from Willy Wonka. Now, they are my go-to accessory on any sunny day. Without them, I would need a seeing eye dog when it gets really sunny. My absolute favorite are my Kaenon sunglasses-- the design is called Leila. I just feel so much better in big, fabulous sunglasses. When it comes to women's sunglasses, I say the bigger the better. They are worth the price, in my book and I daresay I look nothing like Willy Wonka (even though Johnny Depp is super hot and, while he's a man and everything, any likeness to someone of that caliber hotness is a compliment).

8. Many more things! Skinny jeans, gladiator sandals, Mexican food, Canada and the list goes on!

I guess I judge what I don't understand or feel uncomfortable with . . . I'm sure there's a lesson from history here. With my track record, in five years I will be a purple-wearing, Ashton Kutcher fan who votes Republican. Yikes!

Ideas for Getting Out of A Bad Mood

Maybe today sucked. Maybe you have an ingrown toenail or your cat was acting up. Maybe your cat has an ingrown toenail. Or, maybe you were just grumpy for no reason. Whatever caused (or did not cause) your bad mood, you're desperate to get out of it. Because, let's face it, being in a bad mood is no fun (for you or the people around you).

This might surprise you but, I am not always a pleasant, bubbly person. I get grumpy and even mean sometimes. Shocking, I know- am I rocking your world?! While it might be easy to get in a bad mood, it's really tough to get out of one. This is where I am here to help. I've come up with a few tips to get help get you out of your bad mood.

1. Treat yourself to something. Not something big, like a pony, but something small and special, like a Diet Coke, a latte or some chocolate. Yum-tastic.  
2. Get up and get going! What you may want to do is watch the 6 hour, BBC version of Pride and Prejudice featuring the fantastic Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy (or something like that . . .) but, your body and mind will thank you if you just get out and do something! Make a plan, make a friend and get out of the house or office, just for a bit.
3. Exercise. Boost those endorphins to help your mood from really going south. Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands, they just don't. (Yes, I am aware that I just quoted Legally Blonde making me, officially, a cliche.) 
4. Do something funny. Choreograph a dance to your favorite song (note: this becomes even funnier if you suck at dancing). Prank call a local grocery store (Do you have Mrs. Butterworth's syrup? You do? Well, you better give it back to her! is really a classic). If either one of those don't appeal to you, video yourself lip-syncing to a song like this guy:


5. Start drinking. It's five o-clock somewhere right? Unless you're not a happy drunk in which case, don't do this one, it'll make it worse.

Well, I hope this list was helpful. I know I already feel better.

Misbehaving dog in Cole Valley

Big news, everyone! I found a misbehaving dog in my neighborhood and just had to post! Since posting this post a few weeks ago, I have been feeling very insecure about my future dog's behavior.

But, Blonde Yogini, how can you be insecure about a dog that has yet to misbehave because he doesn't yet exist?

I don't know how I do it, it's a gift. Looking at the rest of my family, I'm guessing it might be hereditary.

So I have been feeling this insecurity about my potential future dog because of the well behaved dogs here in Cole Valley. Is there some secret obedience school? Are these dogs really just cute robots (think Teddy Ruxpin) that might turn on us one day making both Stephen Colbert and Dwight K. Schrute right all along? The possibilities kept me up at night.

But today I am feeling much better and I think I will sleep tonight. For, at 2 pm PST, I found this little gremlin barking up a storm outside the Boulangerie.








No, that's not an Ewok but a misbehaving dog is just as rare here. Thank you, universe, for reminding me that anytime I feel insecure I just need to find faults in others to feel better.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone Jessica

Ice Baths and Utkatasana

Almost two years ago, I ran the Nike Womens' Marathon in San Francisco. This may be the coolest marathon in all of history because a) it's all women and b) at the end you are greeted by firemen in tuxes and one of them hands you a Tiffany blue box with a silver finisher's necklace. Amazing, right? Sure it was a little awkward seeing a horde of fantastic looking men after I had just ran 26.2 miles and wasn't looking . . . awesome. But really, I'd do anything for that blue box.

I'm the one in the hypothermia blanket. Claudymom is on the left! Isn't she a babe?

I've run a few shorter races since then and, even though I don't plan on doing another marathon, I still think about it a lot. As I've said before, there is something about pushing your body that makes you feel alive. We were designed to run, walk and even swim and I try to be grateful for my body every day (even on those days my "skinny jeans" seem much more like "thank God these zipped up today jeans").

One of the most challenging things I had to do in training for the marathon was take ice baths. Any time you run over 10 miles, it's a good idea to take a bath in ice water for about 15 minutes. This is even less fun than it sounds. I remember the very first time I did this . . . I bought a few bags of ice from the store around the corner, put on my fleece hat, poured the ice in the tub with some very cold water, and proceeded to get in.

If you know me well, you know I did not go quietly. From the second my big toe hit the water, I began screaming obscenities at the top of my lungs. If pressed, I can curse like a sailor-- it's a gift. My husband ran around the apartment closing windows because, according to him, "kids live in this neighborhood!" and would apparently need therapy for years if they heard what I was screaming. I really didn't give a crap.

In this painful state (and it was SO painful), I could feel every part of my body. Even though I hated my life at that moment, I was so acutely aware of it.

I experience the same awareness when I am in the yoga pose utkatasana (oot-kuh-tah-suh-nah). This pose is most commonly known as "chair pose" because the person is supposed to look like they are sitting in an invisible chair.

In some yoga circles, this pose is known as "awkward pose." I truly didn't get that name until I saw this image from Yoga Journal. I swear most people don't look like this in this pose. Yoga is cool, I swear.

As you can imagine, this pose burns. But, if you can stomach it, it has the potential to remind you that you are, indeed, alive.

I know I spend too much time taking for granted that I am alive and well. That my heart pumps, my lungs fill and empty and my body is able to work hard.

So today, I am thankful for ice baths and even "awkward pose" for the awareness they have brought to my life. Awareness is what I need. I am also thankful for my yoga practice and the way it blends so well with my running practice. Yoga complements running and running complements yoga. They work together in my life to make me a saner, more aware person.

AT&T: Why Do I Keep Coming Back for More?!

Oh, AT&T. You are simultaneously the bane of my existence and the source of my sweet nectar of life. That nectar of life is, of course, my iPhone (which I affectionately call "Jessica." Don't ask why because frankly, I don't know). I live in San Francisco, a technology capital, no doubt, and never seem to have cell phone service. Apparently Sutro Tower, the large tower I can see from my window that looks like the Eye of Sauron, is not strong enough to carry my 3G.

Jessica and I have been together since Christmas. My dear husband brought her to me on that momentous holiday (yet another reason why Christmas is awesome). I have doted on her while she has consistently surprised me with her endless supply of games (Scramble rules!) while at the same time supporting my banking needs. It has been nearly perfect. Nearly.

The glow of our mutual affection (yes, an iPhone can love you back-- especially when you record Voice Memos that say "I love you" and play them on repeat) has been tainted. Tainted by the involvement of AT&T. It's like a sadistic love triangle that won't seem to fizzle out (even though rumors of Verizon carrying the iPhone persist). AT&T is the awkward member of said triangle, in that no one really likes him but he manages to sneak his way in because both Jessica and I are disgustingly codependent entities. It's sad, really.

In other metaphors, AT&T is like the abusive boyfriend I keep going back to. Even though he promises to fix things over and over again (even issuing me account credits over and over again) I JUST CAN'T STOP GOING BACK TO HIM! I keep waiting for a knight in shining armor to come and rescue me. Ahem, Verizon? When are you going to man-up?

Now, I want to share some of my coping mechanisms with you. These help me get through each day.
1. Call AT&T often. Complain. The squeaky wheel gets the grease. I have not paid a full bill since March.
2. Butter up the service reps because they will tell you HILARIOUS things. For instance, Veronica at AT&T, uses Verizon. She told me this in a moment of weakness.
3. Make them laugh at your dilemma-- it shows you aren't taking it all too seriously even if you are dying inside. For example, I told Edward that "I feel like it's 1991 and I have a car phone and I keep going through tunnels." If he seems really into it, throw in a movie reference like Howard Weinstein (Franc's assistant) in Father of the Bride.
4. Never give up hope. I never stop believing that Jessica (or some newer, cooler model of her) and I will live happily ever after.

Good luck, people.

News Flash: Christmas Coming Early This Year!

I know what you're thinking: This dumb blonde just wrote about Halloween and now she thinks it's Christmastime already? 

My answer for you: First of all, stop being so harsh and secondly, get your ass in the Christmas spirit!

Look at it glistening in the sun . . . it's so beautiful.

Everyone knows there are two authorities on the arrival of the holiday season: Coca Cola and Starbucks. Think polar bears and red cups, people! The Diet Coke can has spoken: it's that time of year again! (side note for all of you worrying about my health for drinking diet soda. If it kills me in the end, it'd be a good way to go!)

I purchased this glorious D. Coke this afternoon on my way to Walgreens. The festive can was my first clue and the overall decor of Walgreens was my second that it is indeed the most wonderful time of the year (I encourage you to sing that as you read it. Come on, try it. No one likes a Scrooge).

Some people do not like Christmas to come so early. There are even people out there who won't let their wives to listen to Christmas music in the house until Thanksgiving. These same kinds of people think that changing the entire Netflix queue to all Christmas movies is going overboard. I know, I know, who are these Grinches?

Sure, there are some who might be overwhelmed at the amount of Christmas paraphernalia already present in their local Walgreens. Maybe their wives didn't use up all the glue on purpose so, in terms of a leg lamp, they're all set.

But me, I like to see all of the decorations for sale, both tacky and classy. There's something about stretching Christmastime out that makes me happy. Not because I like to shop or because I buy into the frenzied pace of some people's holiday seasons. I like the feeling in the air; the contagious joy. People are more patient, more generous-- dare I say, jollier? What's wrong with stretching that out for as long as possible?

I would also consider myself a fan of baby Jesus. Sue me for getting religious on you but I enjoy being reminded of God's love during this time. How does a leg lamp remind you of God's love? you ask. Well, I'll tell you. It all has to do with tradition. Every Thanksgiving, when I was a kid, we would get out the boxes of decorations and begin to decorate the house. I would be playing with the Lladro creche (unbeknownst to Claudymom, obvi), my brother would have on our scratchy Santa hat, my sister would be singing carols at the top of her lungs all while my mom yelled out the window at my dad hanging the Christmas lights to make sure he did a good job decorating the trees. It was too cold for Claudymom to be outside so she settled for yelling her orders from the window. It was like this for years. These quirky traditions and decorations remind me of the love in my life and, since I believe God is in all people, the love God has for me. Even my demonic cat in her elf costume (gift from Claudymom) fills me with joy. Only Christmas can do that.

The real challenge for me is, Why does it take Christmastime for me to be so connected to deep joy? I must try harder to remember the poetic words of Dickens' classic, coming from the mouth of the converted Scrooge:

I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year!

Thoughts about Halloween

It's been a week since I posted last. My only explanation for not posting, for those of you who have been just miserable without me, is that I am very busy and important (READ: Bravo has been REALLY good lately. Another Real Housewives . . . what am I to do?).

But, I'm back. And I have opinions. Lots of them. Today, they're opinions about Halloween.

I've never been very good at Halloween. When I was little, my costumes were always sort of typical: I was a rock star, a clown, a baseball player and one year, a princess. I was never into the scary side of Halloween, with the obvious exception of my clown costume at age 9. The movie Scream still terrifies me so much that it is still painful to think of that night in ninth grade that I watched it with friends after the Homecoming dance. And NOT just because that is how Courteney Cox and David Arquette met and now they are no longer . . . sigh. Does nothing last in Hollywood?

Besides failing Hollywood relationships, there is another thing I just can't wrap my mind around: creepy Halloween decorations. Not Sister Wives creepy, but "undead" creepy. Take a look at what I'm talking about.

And I thought flamingo lawn ornaments were bad. This photo was taken in suburbia -- small children live here! Can't you just imagine putting up the decorations with the kids? Honey, can you grab the severed head from the garage? I stored it in the coffin next to you tricycle. If I had found this severed head at my house at age four, I would have piddled on the floor a la my old dog when she gets really excited. Ew.

But maybe you were tougher than I was? Maybe you could actually watch E.T. when you were little. And maybe these kids in Burlingame, CA actually like this sort of thing. Perhaps they're exchanging their Disney princess costumes for something more terrifying, like Bratz girls costumes. Either way, I don't want to be a part of it.

I basically climbed over a white picket fence into somebody's front yard to take this picture. It was awkward as the family who owns the house arrived just as I was snapping it. I put on my biggest fake smile to hide my judgment and said, I'm just taking pictures of your COOL Halloween decorations! They were onto me as my high-octave, high-decibel voice didn't successful hide my judgment. The skills I picked up while being a cheerleader in 1995 totally failed me here.

I think the worst for me is the fake spiderwebs. As if I don't have enough fear that spiders are going to jump out at any time to take me to their leader, spin me up in their web and eat me with their freaky little mouths (I didn't know if spiders actually had mouths or little pincher things, so I had to look it up and was further traumatized by the images I found. Thanks a lot, Google.).

If it weren't for the abundance of chocolate during this season and my new Harry Potter costume (Complete with yellow and red scarf with the Gryffindor crest. Thank you, dear sister!), I think I would throw out Halloween altogether. But, maybe you're into it. If so, I'll let you have it. I never judge, I'm just not like that.

You want some candy, little girl?

What Are Your Intentions?

This question always makes me think of an awkward guy meeting his girlfriend's father for the first time. The father, ever so protective, wants to know the long-term hopes and dreams this poor kid has regarding his daughter. My Dad used to joke about having a gun and a shovel upstairs when he met a new guy of mine. My brother would help him out as well, but normally in a more "teenage boy" way like telling a very unfortunate boy who once called me, How can your name be Rob? Rob is a boy's name and you sound like a girl. Ah, adolescence. Fun times.

I was thinking about intentions the other day in yoga because, before every class, my teachers always encourage us to set one. An intention, in the yogic sense, does not mean a goal. Philip Moffitt explains their differences this way: "Setting intention, at least according to Buddhist teachings, is quite different than goal making. It is not oriented toward a future outcome. Instead, it is a path or practice that is focused on how you are 'being' in the present moment." For example, I wouldn't set an intention for my practice of mastering a difficult pose. Instead, I might set an intention to connect with my breath more deeply during the next hour or two that I am practicing. Or to feel each pose in my body instead of just tuning out the physical sensations. The differences are slight, I realize, but clearly one is more about success while the other about presence. One is more about achievement while the other, mindfulness.

The struggle between working for success and presence happens both on and off the mat for me. I am an extremely competitive person who prides herself on her achievements. It's easier for me to feel good about myself if I have something to point to that is tangible that shows my self-improvement. T-shirts from finishing races, certificates of completions-- that's the stuff I want! The whole idea of striving for presence is so challenging because the art of being present in the moment is not measurable. Where are my results? How can I get a PR or some kind of certificate for that? Even a pat on the back would be nice. . .

The idea of setting intentions for presence easily translates to daily life. I have many dear friends who say grace before a meal together, reminding themselves to fully engage in the company present as well as their food. They don't set a concrete goal to have a really great conversation about politics (or whatever) or to finish their green beans (something I will never do because green beans are disgusting). These grace-ers grace because they want to be more mindful of the present moment. Saying grace is setting intentions.

Now, when I ask you What are your intentions? I hope your palms don't go sweaty and your voice starts to crack. Don't worry, my dad was just kidding about the gun and the shovel and my brother is not so tough. I'm simply asking you how you plan to live in the present moment.

Do You Need a Yoga Mat to Practice Yoga?

This question has been on many a yogi's mind lately because of an article in the New York Times from this last weekend. Mary Billard, its author, interviewed a number of yoga practitioners who are forgoing their mats in favor of a simpler practice. They are eliminating the barrier between them and their yoga studio floor, their living room carpet and wherever else they choose to practice. These yogis cite a number of reasons for this including the commercialization of yoga mats, their potential damage to the environment as well as a desire to get back to the traditional practice of yoga without all the accessories.

I, for one, love accessories. They always make an outfit and I believe the same can be true for a yoga practice (or any other kind of spiritual practice, for that matter). For me, having something tangible that symbolizes and signifies my yoga practice is extremely helpful. When I take my mat out, unroll it and get on it, I know it's yoga time. It's sacred time, ME time and quiet time. Even our tiny apartment transforms into a sacred space when my red mat comes out. If I didn't have the mat out, it'd just be the floor. And what would separate me from the cat hair my cat places strategically around the apartment to make anything dark I have on look disgusting?

I think what I am saying is, as humans, it is extremely helpful to have something tangible to help us get into a "sacred state of mind" (I think that's a Billy Joel Song?). Catholics call this the need for mediation. We need something to mediate our experience with the sacred because the sacred (or God) is invisible. Think of any kind of prayer beads: the prayer certainly could pray without them but it is so helpful to hold them while he prays because they are physical, touchable, just as we are. The feeling of the beads helps him know that he is engaging in a sacred act and it therefore encourages that sacred act.

I can certainly see that Yoga is a risk for becoming extremely commercialized but I'm not sure that is reason enough to ditch the mat. Take a look at what Jade Yoga is doing. Their mats are made sustainably in the U.S. and every time you buy one of their mats, they plant a tree.

Another reason I need a mat is because I am a sweater. I don't get this from Claudymom because she doesn't sweat, she glows. My sweaty hands and feet would cause me to slip all over the place on hardwood floors and I just don't feel like mopping every time I do yoga. Or slamming my face into the floor because my hands slip in Downward Dog.

I also really need the support of a good mat for my knees. The pose below, Anjaneyasana (low lunge), would hurt like a mother if I did it on hardwood floor. My cute red mat protects me. Hurray!

So, I am taking a different side here. As much as I love that yoga is being written about in the NY Times, I sure hope they're wrong when it comes to the trend of ditching one's mat.

Best Places for a Meltdown

I am a huge people watcher. Sometimes I stare so much that my husband has to snap in front of my face and remind me that staring is rude, Allison. I get this trait from my mom, Claudymom, who is even worse about it than I am. She's going to grow up to be one of those old people that just spaces out and stares at you. I love those kind of old people.

My most favorite thing to watch EVER is kids having meltdowns. I was a nanny when I was in grad school and have tons of experience caring for kids. I love kids-- they are the funniest people I know and, when they meltdown or throw a tantrum, I want to be there.

This sounds sort of ridiculous, I know, but it's almost better than Bravo TV. When a kid throws back her head in pure despair, collapses to the ground and commences with an Oscar-worthy performance of emotion, there is nothing better. I love the commitment, the sheer devotion to their strong (soon to be forgotten) feelings. Their single-mindedness. I envy it! I wish I could have a public meltdown sometimes.

The icing on the cake for me is where the meltdown happens. I have picked my two absolute favorite  places for a meltdown and they're taken from my own experience as a nanny and avid people watcher.

The Grocery Store. This is obvious. I am convinced the candy section of the checkout aisle was created solely for the meltdown. Why else would supermarkets everywhere put candy where they know kids will see it just as they are about to finish running errands with their parents which, let's face it, no kids like to do. When I see a kid's unbridled passion for the forbidden fruit (aka a Twix bar), I am living vicariously through him. I totally want the Twix bar I just don't have the balls to show my true feelings. I feel like throwing my head back, screaming at my hips and thighs, WHY WHY? Why can't I have a Twix bar?!

The Beach. This one is by far my favorite. First of all, the trip to the beach is classic in that the parent might as well being taking their kid to Everest, leading the way as a sherpa. You have your sand toys, your towels, your sunscreen, your cooler, not to mention the sherpa's personal items. You lug all this to the beach, slather obscene amounts of sunscreen on your child while they proceed to get sand in every crevice possible. Later in the day, when it's time to leave, begins the meltdown. Amazingness. There is nothing better than a sunscreen-slathered, sandblasted child screaming that they don't want to leave the beach. One of my most memorable moments from being a nanny is a fateful trip to the beach that ended with two adorable girls screaming as they followed me, their sherpa, to the car after a day at the beach. I loved it. Good for them for rejecting our leaving time. It's not fair that we had to leave and good for them for speaking up. Just don't tell their mother I said so.

Really, the point is that a good meltdown can happen anywhere. In San Francisco, we live on a very steep hill (of course- it's San Francisco) and I saw a 4 year-old just the other day stop halfway down the hill and pronounce: I'm not going ANY further. This hill is TOO steep! She proceeded to sit down right then and there, in the middle of the sidewalk and was true to her word. It was amazing. I tried to fist pump the dad for having such a hilarious daughter but he was a little awkward about it. He might have been more of a "high fiver" or a "thumbs upper."  I just appreciate this stuff. Kids are hilarious. They're stubborn. They're filled with fire. We could learn a lot from them.

Parents, you are my heroes.
 

The Stepford Dogs of Cole Valley

I live in a neighborhood of San Francisco called Cole Valley. It is a great neighborhood complete with coffee shops, a local hardware store, a few good restaurants and even some great bars. My husband and I moved into our apartment here over three years ago. At that time renting in San Francisco was like a competitive sport and we just completely lucked out with this place.

One of the most amazing things about our neighborhood, in my opinion, is the dogs! There are so many dogs in a one mile radius you would think the streets would be lined with poo (I sang that to the tune of "There are no Cats in America" from An American Tale). 

Of course they aren't lined with poo. This is the land of well-behaved canines. Man's best friend? More like Man's best behaved friend. Seriously, it's ridiculous. Unleashed dogs roam the streets . . . five feet in front of their owners and stop at crosswalks. There is hardly any barking, unless it's the "Jimmy's stuck in a well" kind and we don't get much of that here. There aren't any wells around.

Here are a few photos of some well-behaved pooches from Cole Valley.

 Anonymous, waiting patiently for owner outside Cole Hardware.

 Pixie, on her way to the park to play Frisbee.

Chloe, minutes before pooping in an appropriate place.

There is one dog in Cole Valley that just kills me. His name is Theo, he is 10 1/2 and is perfect. He is never leashed and will just wait patiently outside of stores for his owner to come out. He is the Holy Grail of dogs.

Theo. The dog, the myth, the legend.

I should be happy for these owners. I should sing their praises about how Cesar Milan could learn so much from them. I should, but I can't. I can't get over my jealousy.

See, I have never had a well behaved pet. Our family dogs were always ornery and the one my parents still have is a champion barker (not to mention her serious need for jaw reconstruction surgery . . . can anyone say "underbite?"). And don't even get my started on my cat. I think she is possessed. I'm not kidding. She's staring at me right now and it's freaking me out.

Don't be lured in . . . she uses her powers for evil.

I love dogs and can't wait to get one of our own. But I have so many hopes and dreams about them being somewhat well-behaved. Will our dog have intimacy issues like our cat? Will our dog channel the devil like her, too? These are the things that keep me up at night.

Sure you're an Adult, but are you a "Grown-Up?"

Once we reach 18, we are called adults. We can vote, buy porn and cigarettes, get tattoos and see R-rated movies. But when do we become "Grown-Ups?" I'm inclined to think being an adult and a "Grown-Up" are two different things entirely and, judging from the people with whom I hang out, I don't know too many . . .

Except for myself, obviously. I'm incredibly mature and together-- a total "Grown-Up." It's OK to be jealous. I'm jealous of myself right now.

Want to know if you are a "Grown-Up?" Check out this list (love lists!) that I made entirely from my imagination (not from personal experience . . .). If you agree to three or more of the following, you, my friend are no "Grown-Up."


. . . you hum the soundtrack to Indiana Jones when doing something particularly effort-full, like parallel parking. Dum duh dum duh, dum duh dum, dum duh dum duh, dum duh dum dum dum!

. . . your snack of choice is one of the following: string cheese, goldfish crackers, graham crackers or a snack pack.

 you know you want some . . .

. . . any time someone says the word "karma," you bust out in a rendition of Justin Timberlake's "What Goes Around . . ." complete with tenor falsetto.

. . . you think about flux capacitors sometimes.

. . . when listening to a newscaster on NPR compare predicting the future of North Korean succession to reading tea leaves, you think "oooh, like Professor Trelawney! I hope they don't get 'the Grim!'"

"the Grim" turned out OK for Harry, will it for North Korea?

. . . you defend Taylor Swift (aka T Swizzle).

. . . you abbrev. your words when speaking.

. . . sometimes you "hold it" for no reason, even if the bathroom is right nearby.

. . . your mom still does your laundry whenever you're in town. She folds it, too and uses fabric softener. You love it.

. . . you get this twinge of guilt whenever you are carded even though you are well above 21.

. . . you think the world would be a happier place if Justin and Britney or LC and Heidi got back together.

the good old days . . .

. . . even though it would be ridiculous, you still lust after Zack Morris' cell phone because his coolness is timeless.




Well, how did you do?!

No (wo)man is an island

No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. 

-From John Donne's Meditation XVII        

I have been thinking about this poem lately for a reason that is almost too ridiculous to admit. In the spirit of the Real World confessional, I will come clean . . . I watched the first episode of TLC's Sister Wives. If you know what show I am talking about-- stop judging. You know you're dying to watch it! If you have never heard of this show, you're probably better off but I will inform you just the same. Sister Wives is a reality show following the lives of a polygamist family (one husband, three wives and their respective litters of children). 

I could go on and on about how sexist a polygamist lifestyle is and how I am shocked that Big Love was so damn accurate, but I won't. It's not super fun to read others' rantings. What I will say is that Sister Wives reminded me of something so true about our humanity: we crave community.

While I wanted to punch the husband in his face, I actually found myself identifying with much of what the sister wives were saying. They wanted other women around to help them with their kids, support their daily lives and be there if something were to happen to them. Of course I felt like shouting "get friends, not sister wives, you brainwashed idiots!" at the screen, but something stopped me. Even though I completely disagree with the way they have found their community, I can't disagree with their desire for it. 

After all, it is my desire for community that leads me to my faith. Even to my yoga practice. In both Christianity and yoga, community is supremely valued. John Donne's poem echoes the passage from 1 Corinthians 12 that compares a spiritual community to a physical body: every part is essential and, standing alone, can do nothing. For Hindues (who brought us yoga), the Bhagavad Gita asserts the connectedness of all creation over and over again.

Even if a person is not religious or interested in spirituality, I think we can all agree that we need each other. Things are just better together. Think about it: Harry Potter doesn't go searching for Horcruxes on his own but brings Hermione and Ron with him. 

Yes, that was a freak flag. 

So, just do me a favor. Don't take a sister wife. They're creepy. Find other ways to get your community on.

Movies that Traumatized Me

I prefer happy movies, in general. Give me a "happily ever after" and I am all set. I prefer my cinema with a side of hope, thank you. I will leave the scarring and traumatization for my real life.

So, a list of the top ten "movies that traumatized me" (clearly I watched Letterman last night) . . .

10. Marley and Me
Thanks but, I prefer my pets to live forever and not die a slow death that is magnified by the presence of small children mourning.

9. Gone Baby Gone
Ben Affleck as the director should have been my first clue. I refuse to say more because of my PTSD.

8. The Changeling
Clint Eastwood loves to f$&# with me. That and the fact that I am still not over Brad leaving Jen for this movie's leading lady made for two hours of my life that I want back.

7. Sex and the City 2
Yes, of course I was just happy to see all the girls together again but WTF, Michael Patrick King? Why did they have to go to Abu Dhabi? Everyone knows you can't get a Cosmo in the UAE. It's illegal!

6. Million Dollar Baby
Damn you, Clint Eastwood!

5. Down to You
Hopefully you haven't heard if this movie starring Julia Stiles and Freddie Prinze, Jr. All I can say is that I paid good money to see this chick flick and I am still waiting for a refund. Sex after eating tons of cake is just totally gross. I really don't even remember anything else about it.

4. Twilight
Yes, I read the books. In like 3 days. Stop judging. I don't know what I was scarred by more: Kristen Stewart trying to act or Robert Pattinson being SO hot yet unable to act. It's a question for the ages. . .

3. The Lion King
I have been waiting to get this off my chest since sixth grade. Simba, I am just so sorry you lost your father. Scar sucks.

2. The Birds
I really have no idea why I ever watched this movie but I know it's why birds terrify me. That, and Fabio.


1. Arachnaphobia
Watched this at my friend Jennifer's house in 4th grade. Clearly her parents did not employ the same parenting techniques mine did and I have years of fear for which to thank them.

Now, I am not telling you to not watch these movies but, if you have any sense, you won't. If you do, may God have mercy on your soul. Namaste.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Logan Aiport

Namaste, St. Ignatius!

I'm not really into saints, even though I reference one in this post's title. Yes, I have a background in theology but saints are really just not my thing. Even when I was Confirmed as a 13 year-old and had to pick a saint's name to take on, I just couldn't get into it. I ended up picking St. Lucy because Lucy was my dog's name and I was into her.

St. Ignatius however, might be an exception. This person who lived 400 years ago has had a deep effect on my life. His way of thinking about faith is really the only reason why I haven't walked away (more like run!) from the Catholic Church and some of its not so progressive ways.

One of the most powerful things I can take from St. Ignatius is his commitment to "find God in all things." If you're not particularly religious, I think it's completely acceptable to amend this phrase to say "find sacredness in all things." Ignatius was convinced that the fingerprint of the Creator was upon everything-- that nothing escaped the love and beauty of God's hand. Even the ugly things . . . like acid washed jeans or (eek) spiders.

I find this notion to also be present in the practice of yoga. When we seal our hands together at our hearts, bow to each other and say "Namaste," we are actually acknowledging the sacredness in both ourselves and the life around us. The word "Namaste" literally translates to "I bow to the god in you" or, "the sacred in me bows to the sacred in you." In this way, each day presents a new challenge. Some days, I can easily see my own sacredness or self-worth. Other days, I struggle to see my own value and am overwhelmed by the good I might see in others. It's a daily process, this Namaste-ing. 

While I would love to pretend old Iggy practiced yoga back in 16th century Spain, I know it is just a pipe dream. I am amazed however, that, in different parts of the world, at different times, people were coming around to the same truths: that all human beings have worth and our world is filled to the brim with the the sacred. Ignatian spirituality certainly illuminates my yoga practice.

So, I say to you "Namaste" and hope you can say it back to me.                              

Can't you see this guy rocking a downward dog?

Yogini in Central Park

I have been traveling up the east coast for the last few days having many adventures. I am no longer at my parents' home so I am finally safe from snakes but I did travel through New York City which, as you may know, is a pigeon's paradise. Needless to say there was some awkward ducking happening on the streets of NY just yesterday. By the grace of God I escaped unscathed (unlike Fabio on the roller coaster circa seven years ago . . . I'll never forget, Fabio! you have not suffered in vain!).

Being in New York is always fun. I love shopping, sightseeing and, of course, visiting my roommate from college who now resides on the Upper East Side (how very Carrie Bradshaw of her. . . ).  She lives just three blocks from Central Park and five from Museum Mile-- what a great spot.

One of the things I was dying to do while I was there was go for a run in Central Park. I was so fixated on it for some reason that I literally could not sleep on Sunday night because I was too excited to explore the park in my running shoes the following morning. Yes, I really am that big of a loser. So, I got up at 8 the next morning after sleeping about three hours, and went for a run. I ran around the reservoir and then down through much of the park. Of course I had no idea where I was going which made it all the more fun. I had a great run.

I am completely overjoyed by my random display of enthusiasm for running because, you see, I have been in a major running slump. My knees were hurting, my routes seemed boring and running just seemed like such a chore. Instead of it being something I looked forward to, something that gave me energy, I dreaded it and went on strike.

You may have guessed this about me but it is not easy to get me to do something I don't want to do. Just ask my father about bringing me to Mass every Sunday growing up. I was not above hiding in my room or throwing temper tantrums to get out of going to hear some old guy bore me to death. Even though my plans never worked, I never gave up my quest for a Mass-free Sunday. Once my father wrestled me there, I would sneak off to the bathroom and practice my cartwheels. If there was one good thing about my church, it's that the bathrooms were HUGE. Perfect for my routines . . .

Thankfully, my desire to run has returned-- the strike is over. I am so grateful to have the will back because I do love running. Not all the time, but it really is a gratifying thing to do. It's hard not to be thankful for your body when you run. Raising my heart rate, getting in sync with my breathing and pushing myself are things that I really love to do. Perhaps all I needed was something new to explore to make me remember why I do it in the first place.

Sometimes . . . I ruin adventures.

So my husband loves to go on, what he calls, adventures. I know what you're thinking: I'm either married to an eight year-old or to Indiana Jones. Let's just compromise and say he's a bit of both.

I have ruined a couple of our adventures because, well, I can be fragile. By that, I mean I have motion sickness and am absolutely not a good sport about it. I also go from zero to starving in like a millisecond. He loves that. I'm not necessarily proud of this "not being a good sport" thing but this blog makes me feel like I'm in the confessional room on The Real World (back when it was good, obviously).

When we first moved to San Francisco, my husband and I drove up to Point Reyes. Point Reyes is a beautiful peninsula about an hour and a half drive on a ridiculously curvy road. Ridiculously. My very own explorer extraordinaire had the route mapped out for us. I will spare you the details but you can imagine how this scenic drive went for him and his adventure-ruiner. Let's just say I have not returned to beautiful Point Reyes and I don't intend to unless they make a straighter freaking road. I know California's broke but I personally think it should be on Arnold's "to do" list. I know what you're thinking, Why would your husband make you go with him when he knows you'll just get sick and ruin everything? The answer, my friends: naive optimism. Remember: a hybrid of an eight year-old and Indiana Jones. It's a dynamite combination.

I have a long history of ruining adventures with my fragility. I'm like a peach.

I was six when we took our first ski trip. We were living in Madrid, Spain at the time and decided to go somewhere in the French Alps (I feel ridiculous even writing this because it sounds snobby. Please feel better about me knowing that I was in a bright purple one-piece snowsuit and my dad was decked out in neon colors . . . see below). Of course the road was brutal and I threw up all over my purple snowsuit. My father, ever the problem-solver, had me go out and roll in the snow to get cleaned off. Awesome. Despite my vomiting and later peeing myself during ski school, I actually enjoyed my first skiing adventure. That purple snowsuit went through a lot.

So yeah, I'm fragile. It's a miracle I am still here.

 Sorry about the quality- best my secretary could do. . .

My Ex-Boyfriend's Band

Ok so maybe the title "ex-boyfriend" isn't really appropriate since we "dated" when we were in sixth grade for like three weeks. But still, three weeks back then was HUGE. Sure, we didn't ever talk and there was absolutely zero physical contact but, it meant something. Jason Blynn's curly blond hair was just too much for me to resist as an awkward sixth grader. Jason lived in my neighborhood so naturally, our romance started on the bus. Of course we would never speak directly to one another but we had our friends to help us communicate. It was like the most awkward game of telephone ever played, as if telephone isn't super awkward enough already.

Now Jason is a big deal. He's in a band with another schoolmate of mine, Sarab Singh, called Harper Blynn comes out of New York City. Of course I had an enormous crush on Sarab when I was in eighth grade. I was much more mature then; Sarab and I actually talked.

Jason is lead vocals and guitar while Sarab plays the drums. The other guys (Pete Harper and a guy name Whynot) are really great, too. I've just never met them before therefore never had a crush on them and apparently this post is all about my old crushes. Anyways, their songs are great-- I think my fave is "Steal Your Love."

Check out the review of their album "Loneliest Generation" on Paste Magazine's web site. Also-- their myspace page is amazing since it lets you listen to a bunch of their songs to see what you think.

I am posting their cover of Beyonce's "Halo" and hoping it will act as a gateway drug to their music. Enjoy!! My SF friends-- they will be at The Independent on November 10th!

"Quirky" by Claudymom

I love quirky people and would like to be one someday. Maybe the quirkiest person I know is my mom, Claudymom. She is both delightful and a little odd-- my favorite combination. She has these tiny little freak flags (they are subtler and more tasteful than mine-- I think she hired a decorator) that she displays from time to time. I decided to dedicate this post to Claudymom and give you, all 5 of my readers, Claudymom's Guide to Being Quirky:

1. Put ice in your white wine. Because, no matter what, it is just never cold enough!
2. Get a hula hoop and take up hula hooping. Do it for your daughter's friends when they come over. They will love it.
3. Purchase a sling shot and some ammo. Get to be a really good shot and chase the geese away that ruin your backyard.
4. Mispronounce random words that everyone else can say. Refuse to ever get a Volvo because it would sound like you are talking about female anatomy any time you'd mention it.
5. Never spit out your toothpaste because it is crass to spit. When you are lectured by your daughter for poisoning yourself, tell her that you've been doing it all your life and you haven't died yet!
6. Say things straight out of "Charlie Brown" like good grief! Add your own spin and expand to good griefous! or something like that. Go crazy!
7. Get the most out of every tank of gas. Don't refill until you are literally about to run out of gas. Pass this trait onto your daughters.
8. Make up your own names for things. "P.F. Chang's" restaurant might become "P.C. Fang's" or, for short, "Fang's." Get creative with it.
9. Get a really kick-ass nickname like "Claudymom" and become an entity unto yourself. Own it. Live it. Get an aol screen name circa 1996.
10. Don't be afraid to incorporate new lingo into your life. It might mesh well with words from your vernacular like "hunk" or, everyone's favorite, "heebie jeebies." Surprise your kids when you "call bitch" (aka claim the middle back seat of a car for yourself.)

I think the overall message of Claudymom is to be all around fabulous and well-liked. Loved, actually.

Well, good luck being quirky! Claudymom has helped all she can- the rest is up to you.

Who is the quirkiest person YOU know?

Product Placement

So I was at Wegman's in Frasier, PA today with my mom. You may not know about Wegman's but you should because it is the best place EVER. It's Trader Joe's meets Whole Foods meets Safeway. AND the prices are really great. I heart their sushi in a major way-- kind of the way I feel about Zack Morris.

Ok, enough oohing and ahhing-- this is not the purpose of my post. What I noticed is that, while people are getting better about bringing their own bags to the grocery store, they are still using all of those small plastic bags for their produce. I find those bags so annoying because a)they don't keep my produce fresh in the fridge for a long time, b) I am always awkwardly searching for them in the produce aisle and c) I can never figure out which side has the freaking opening so I stand there like an idiot trying to peel them open. This makes for an all around awkward and long shopping trip. SO, I recently bought my own produce bags and I love them. Amazon sells a number of varieties but I have the Flip and Tumble kind.  They are $10.95 for a pack of 5. They are super cute (SO important) and my husband even uses them for his lunches. I keep them in my purse and have found all sorts of uses for them.

Anyways, look into it! Say no to plastic.

I was once bitten by a snake

Yeah, I'm totally not kidding. The memory of it is flooding back to me since it happened a year ago here, at my parent's house in Devon, PA, where I am currently on holiday (read: unemployed).

Now, don't get the wrong idea about Devon. It's suburbia-- the Main Line of Philadelphia. The closest people get to reptiles here are the alligators on their Lilly Pulitzer dresses. But of course, all that changed on one summer day in 2009. . .

My parents and I were just returning from a lovely dinner out. We pull into the garage and I get out of the car. I begin walking to the side door when I step on something squishy. It all happened so FAST-- I felt a sting on my heel and yelled with great fervor and emotion "A SNAKE JUST BIT ME!" I saw it slither away from me, deeper into the garage.

My mother  (let's call her "Claudymom") reacted fast. She bolted back into the car and LOCKED THE DOORS. Thank God for power locks or she would have been taken by that snake that day. We can only thank the makers of my dad's SUV for having the foresight to protect women and children from two-foot water snakes that wander up from the pond into the garages of innocents.

While my mom was indulging the "flight" aspect of her reflexes, my father went into "fight" mode. He grabbed a shovel and proceeded to kill the snake. I think he was defending my honor. He was brave that day . . .

I, of course, had let myself into the house and was wriggling around trying to get rid of the heebie-jeebies (Claudymom's words, not mine) that damn snake had given me. I looked down at my foot and had the tiniest little cut from where the snake had pierced my skin. It was literally so tiny I started laughing hysterically. It didn't even hurt. Of course I would get bitten by a snake and have barely anything to show for it. I mean, it is really hard to brag about how hard core you are when you basically have a paper cut on your foot.

After the snake was properly dead, Claudymom unlocked the car doors and joined my father and me in the house.

We became much closer that day. . . Claudymom believed she had escaped death by mere seconds, my dad had stared into the face of a two foot snake and lived to tell about it and I was nursing my paper cut. The feeling of being alive was invigorating.

The scene of the attack.

My fear of flying

I am afraid of flying. I hate it. But obviously, see above list of interests and notice "travel" as one of them, I must do it. It's a necessary evil, I suppose.

This phobia of mine far supersedes both my fear of spiders and of birds accidentally flying into my face. You think I'm crazy? Well, just look at what happened to poor Fabio. I have no problem displaying my crazy when it comes to these two phobias. I will scream dramatically and with great affect when encountering an eight-legged demon and I will unabashedly "hit the deck" when winged creatures  are flying just a little too close to my head (my husband LOVES when I do this on our walks in the park). Yes-- I am not embarrassed nor shy about waving these freak flags of mine but when it comes to flying, I feel I need to keep it together. I won't even medicate or drink too much on a flight because I don't want my reflexes impaired in case we go down. Emergency-ready-position needs to be easy to get into and Valium or alcohol may inhibit me and I just don't want to take that chance. So I must stick to faking that I am OK. That I don't think I'm actually going to die. I smile and nod at the flight attendants as if I am just on a leisurely cruise about town.

Perhaps I don't want to incite panic among the other passengers thereby jeopardizing my chances of survival in the event of an emergency. Or maybe, just maybe, I have a little bit of shame for once? I think the former is more likely. As for me, I will keep my sweaty palms and  thoughts of imminent death to myself. If everyone actually realized that we are only protected by a thin metal casing that could be ripped apart by turbulence or forced to the ground by a stray bird in the engine (again with the BIRDS!), everyone would be as freaked out as I am. It's their ignorance that protects them. I wouldn't take that away, I'm just not that kind of person.

Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu

The above Sanskrit translates to "May all beings be happy and free."                                                

Last weekend, Labor day weekend, I went on a yoga retreat for three days. It was amazing! I had been dying to deepen my practice and looked into an opportunity at my studio, Yoga Tree (yogatreesf.com). I don't normally practice with her but I went with the lovely Chrisandra Fox on a "Heart of Renewal" retreat that she runs twice a year. It was basically a long weekend filled with lots of yoga, meditation, good food (from amazing organic, vegan food chef Meredith-- pranaful.com) and relaxation.

I was a little nervous to go. I'm not exactly a "typical" San Francisco yogi. I love meat. I am a somewhat practicing Catholic (albeit guilty and repressed-who isn't?). I'm sarcastic. I am not too experienced with chanting (unless you count "Yankees suck" as a yogic mantra . . . which well . . . maybe I do?).  I can't sit still long enough to do the horizontal portion of a crossword puzzle let alone meditate in some kind of pretzel position. I wasn't sure how it would all go but still, I was very excited. So I packed my bags and went, being careful to trade out my book Are You There Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea for something more "mature" and "yoga-ish."

I am so glad I went. The people were GREAT. Non-judgmental. Funny (sarcastic, even!) The food, though meatless, was excellent and fulfilling. I could totally be vegan if Meredith moved in with me and cooked for me. I felt very comfortable and very free to be who I am. I found out that I am NOT a "typical" yogi because there really isn't one. Again, yoga taught me to just accept myself and the people around me and let go of notions of "typical" or "normal." God knows I will never fit into any of them.

Oh, and that Sanskrit mantra above? Yeah, I chanted it. And I liked it.

A little pick me up. Maybe the best thing ever.

This girl is my hero. I am totally changing my morning routine after seeing this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qR3rK0kZFkg

My First Blog

It could just be undiagnosed ADD, but I have a lot of interests and refuse to decide on one genre about which to blog. So, at the genesis of this all, I am going to blog on whatever the hell I want to. If there is a fabulous “Real Housewives of New York City” episode on, I’ll write about that. If there is a new fashion trend I love or hate, that’s where I’ll go. If there is a justice issue that I feel needs attention, I will do my best to tell you about it. Yes—I am a reality show loving, trend-following yogini who also cares very deeply about the people in our world. Some might think these things don’t go together but I live within the paradoxes and love it.

Basically, I am not sure what this blog will be about everyday but I can tell you what it WON’T be about. I’ll tell you in list form because I really like lists (even though it’s not an “official” interest in my list of interests since I felt it was really implied).

1. Cooking. I don’t really cook. I want to be very clear that my interest in food lies solely in the eating. I mean, I have been known to defrost a chicken breast here and there but I am actually much better at dialing for takeout. Ask my husband.
2. Auto repair and/or maintenance. I have bad luck with cars and God knows you don’t want my advice about anything with four wheels. If this were live TV it would cut to my father who just shakes his head any time the words “Ally” and “driving” are in the same sentence.
3. Cleaning and/or home organization. I have a subscription to Real Simple and just love it. Too bad I’ve never actually put any of their ideas in to practice. I’ve thought about it, though.
4. Hot sauce. Yeah, I won’t be writing about that. There is a blog dedicated to hot sauce on the Internet somewhere. I found it in my search for “hot blogs to read.” Google obviously took me literally. Finding it was actually a good thing because it gave me something else to add to this list.
5. Sports. Like, organized sports on TV. I like them but this is just not where I see myself going. All you need to know is that I like the Red Sox and Boston College teams. Other than that, I’m all set.

Well, now that the parameters have been vaguely set, I will press on.