It had snowed and I couldn’t get my foot into my boot because of the fucking leg corset.
That’s how yesterday started. It finished with a $2,025 puncture in each hip and chakra workshop. Just a regular Friday.
You would think if I was going to pay someone over $4,000, pull my pants down, and let them take pictures and a video I would have walked away with something rather exciting and completely unsuitable for this family-friendly blog. I’m not completely ruling out such experiences, but that’s another post.
So. Yesterday was approximately 4years in the making. It started with our hero as a fearless badass yoga teacher, it involved:
Twelve Burly ER dudes
Eleven ER visits
Ten Shots of Fentanyl
Nine Thousand Needles
Eight Hundred X-Rays
Seven Special Lawyers
Six Ortho Surgeons
FIVE Ambulance Rides (with Hip dislocations)
Four Pitiless PTs
Three Sets of Crutches
And One Fucking Leg Corset
I know, now you’ve got a Christmas song stuck in your head. Sorry. Who am I kidding? Totally not, sorry, cuz it’s kinda catchy. You’re welcome.
The story is not over, but our hero through it all remained a Badass yoga teacher and also managed to complete a 500Hour Yoga Teacher Training, a Personal Training Certification, a Life Coaching Certification, a Trauma-Informed Yoga Training, Mother Fucking Firewalked with Tony Robbins, started teaching in Cook County Jail (occasionally on crutches with aforementioned fucking leg corset), got sacked 1.5 times, hired 10+ times, broke up 5x, got back together 4x, and continues to have fabulous adventures and hang with a bodacious bunch of Badasses.
Bones, for the win
I got this
F@cking Leg Corset
There’s more, so much more, so you’ll have to stay tuned if you want to hear about the Mustang Convertible in Arizona, Osteostrong, Several Sets of Wings, Art, Truffle fries and Hamilton.
Until I can have an exceptionally hot Latino man behind me continually squeezing and lifting my ass I’m going to have to settle for my “uplifting” yoga pants and blue jeans.
Statement. By me. Today.
For the record, I was wearing just regular, not “firmly cupping my ass and lifting it six inches from my thighs, super compression” yoga pants that take 20minutes to pull over my ass, but I was talking about the “ass sculpting, tummy flattening” jeans I was planning on wearing on my hot date that night (coming soon, maybe, depending: How to Date a Yoga Teacher).
Yeah, I continue as the top contender for Most Goddamned Enlightened Yoga Teacher, like ever.
I know, I know…. Yoga teachers are somehow supposed to be above this sort of thinking, “Levitating in Lotus Pose” kind of above it, but hey, some of us (#me #allthetime) are still rolling about in the lovely muck and mud down here at the bottom of the pond and haven’t managed to bloom into the Freaking Floating Lotus Flower that we’re supposed to be.
I try, really I do. Well, more accurately, I used to try. I tried for a long time to be the type person that I thought you thought, or society in general thought, or the person I wanted to impress thought I should be. Of course, this was what I thought they thought I should be. Just writing that sentence was exhausting, and you probably had to read it more than once.
So sorry folks, but I just don’t have time for that kind of bullshit anymore.
So last month, I’m on the beach, yeah, go ahead hate me a little, talking to a fabulous young male yoga teacher. He is everything you, okay I, imagine a stereotypical male yoga teacher would be, he has long pretty blonde hair, a adorably scruffy bit of beard, mala beads on his wrists and around his neck, cute yoga tattoos and spends most of his time shirtless and in handstand, and never seems to lose mala beads, or look anything other than hopelessly young and hot. So, yeah, we’re chatting, about yoga, because that is about the only thing we have in common – things I am not, young, hot, in control of my mala beads, and more thankfully, bearded – and I mention this blog – Zen Bitch, and he says in the sweetest most adorable way, “Well, if you worked at it, you could start calling it Zen Sweet”.
Oh my god, aren’t you the cutest thing ever? Zen Sweet? I have been called many things in my life, but “sweet” doesn’t make the top 20… or so. I opened my mouth, paused and closed it, I did this a couple more times, but the only things that wanted to come out of it were things that would go along with the Zen Bitch nom de plume, and we were having such a nice little moment on the beach I didn’t want to spoil it, so I did what I do in these situations, smiled and crinkled my eyes in what I hoped was a merry and cheerful way and changed the subject to just how good he was at handstands.
Other somewhat Unenlightened thoughts I may or may not have had:
How does my ass look in these pants?
How does my ass look in down dog in these pants?
How much of my ass is showing in down dog in these pants (aka – how see through are these pants)?
Is anybody noticing how my ass looks in these yoga pants?
Why the hell isn’t anyone checking me out?
I am totally above all this checking out in yoga class, it never crosses my mind.
Wow, shirtless guy in handstand!
Dammit! I’m wearing the same pants as she is.
The pants look better on her.
I need to go home and change, like right now.
Don’t fart. Please don’t fart. Dammit.
Pretend it was the guy beside you, glance over, so everyone knows it wasn’t you.
Why did I have the beans lunch?
How do I look in this pose?
How does my hair look in this pose?
What the hell is my hair doing in this pose?
What exactly is going on with my hair period?
This sports bra makes me look like a teenage boy. No really, I’ve been mistaken for one.
I should put this pose on Instagram because I am totally rocking it.
I bet Yoga Girl looks gorgeous in this pose.
I wonder if I’ll get a lot of “Likes” for this pose?
I bet Yoga Girl has 5 billion likes already.
This pose would look better in different pants.
What is that on the back of my legs? Oh, wait it’s my ass. I want to die now.
Are we inhaling now? Why the hell are we inhaling?
I should not have looked in the mirror. Look down for heavens sake!
Lower? Are you kidding me?!
I am totally wearing the wrong malas.
Is it me, or does the little tassle on mala beads make you just a little bit crazy?
What does a person have to do to get a 1/2 pigeon assist here folks? Seriously!
If he/she can do it, then I sure as hell can, and I’ll be much lower, and more spiritual about it.
Where exactly is that Chakra? Because I think I’m missing at least one.
Are OHMing? Oh God! Okay, wait for someone else to start, and for the love of Pete do not be the last one making sound.
Can anybody hear me? I think I’m flat, or maybe I’m just super connected spiritually, yeah, I bet that’s it.
Did anybody see that? No really… anybody?
Why isn’t anyone else dying in here?
I am sweating 10x more than any normal person does. There is something seriously wrong with my sweat glands.
Seriously, can we all just savasana now?