Suck:

Being cranky all day and then realizing it was ladyreasons.

Crappy internet at home.

Being stuck in traffic for seven hours from New York to Rhode Island.

Having to re-interpret nablopomo to mean “If I haven’t gone to bed yet and it’s 1 AM, then it’s STILL THE TWENTIETH.”

Rock:

Nano exceeding all our expectations about his car-riding abilities by napping happily on the backseat with Stuart the whole way here.

My mom (I have missed her!) and her delicious soup when we finally arrived.

My dad and his patience with the “project of a dog” he met today.

A new coat.

Stuart (always).

Sometimes you’re too busy living life to blog it.
And by living life, I mean, Cuban takeout and Doctor Who on the couch with my two favorite lads.

You know what I truly love?
Yoga.
I know. Do you hate me now? Did you just lump me with people that wear too many natural fibers and talk about their chakras? Hey! People that wear natural fibers and talk about their chakras! Please don’t be offended and egg me, seriously, I love hippies. I’m just, you know, not a hippie in any way. I recycle a lot and buy organic dog food and that’s the full extent of my hippie-ness.
Except for yoga. I love yoga! And don’t tell me I’d love pilates although I’m sure I would for its exercise-y properties but that’s not why I love yoga. I love yoga because most of the time, I am wound rather tightly and running on pressure steam. [Let me interject by pointing out that I am not high-strung. My dog is high-strung. Thoroughbreds are high-strung. People who cannot deal with the tiniest of setbacks and collapse under pressure are high-strung. I do not collapse under anything, in fact, I excel under pressure. So be ye warned about calling me high-strung as I have a friend who did so and I still haven't entirely forgiven that friend although I mostly have. I am just tightly wound, IS ALL.]
Wow, that was a long aside. Where was I? Oh, right, yoga. I love yoga because it is the one thing that makes me take long, slow breaths and feel like I am walking on fluffy rainbow clouds for several hours afterwards. In college, when I first discovered yoga, I was living with my best friend Beth. One evening after a session, we were having dinner or doing homework, or just hanging out, and she repeatedly asked me if I was alright. I finally asked WHY she was asking, and she looked at me, baffled, and said, “well… you’re just so.. QUIET.”
See, I was insulted by that because for one, Beth is basically my sister, and two, she was right. I feel centered and calm and loosely-knit after yoga. I don’t usually feel centered and calm and loosely-knit unless it is a weekend and I have done my writing that week and the house is clean and we’re lounging on the couch and there’s coffee and maybe even some french bread and cheese for breakfast, that’s an example of when I feel like I do after yoga. There are others of course, most of them involving picnics or wood fires or Buffy.
So I don’t like yoga for exercise. I don’t even like yoga that is slanted towards exercise, at gyms with mirrors and perky teachers. I want the fullblown hippie effect – the bright clean mirror-less space, the music, the incense, all that talk about my SPIRIT and my MIND/BODY connection. I love every single touchy-feely minute of it.
Of course, I can’t afford yoga in New York. Which is where I like to lay the blame when I’m full of anxiety nerves and negative toxins, because obviously, if I did yoga, I would be floating around all the time and also very rich and successful, right? Heck, I might even get taller! SHUT UP I MIGHT.
This post has no point. It’s Friday. I’m a bundle of nerves. I thought I’d let you know that if I did regular yoga, I wouldn’t be. The end.

Hmm, the Brothers Grimm;
Terry, those special effects?
Worse than the accents.