autobiography of a punk rock yogi

I just knocked on the door of my roommate’s bedroom, wearing hobbit yoga pants and a tie-dye t-shirt (from the New Jersey Museum of Agriculture) to ask him if I could have my global warming mug (which he was using for water) back. Upon opening the door, he was immediately assaulted with rapid-flowing babble about how I was trying to make some tea and, “.. I’m, kind of attached to that mug because my brother got it for me for Christmas one year and I love the way the shore lines fade away when you add hot water… It just makes the tea that much more special.”

And then he just took a step back, clutching his chest, and melted into the floor because he couldn’t handle how goddamn cute I am.

Haha.

Between sleeping on my yoga mat and the amazingly inexpensive classes near my new place, I’ve gotten back into the yoga groove again. I’m not teaching, nor do I want to right now, but practicing regularly again has improved my everything.

I really think that all the hip openers we did today are helping me learn to walk in my new shoes.

These are my very first pair of legit HEELZ. They are my dream shoes. Everything I wanted: teal, faux snakeskin, they even got my name on ’em… so’s I dun fuhrget! LOL Oh, and plenty of space for my toes to splay. Lord knows I can’t tolerate tightly-bound phalanges.

I need to learn to walk in them for my cousin’s wedding at the end of the month. I assume they’ll be coming off once I start drinkin’ and dancin’, but I don’t have to worry about someone else taking them because.. they have MY NAME on them!

I saw one of my favorite bands, The Bouncing Souls, the other night at Brooklyn Bowl. I’m not going to review the show or anything because plenty of other people will do that, but I have to say that I haven’t had that much fun at a Souls show in several years.
They played the first song I ever remember hearing them play when I found myself at their set at the Warped Tour when I was 15 years old. It was true love from then on.

Get lost in it.

I like the venue a lot. We showed up kind of late, so I didn’t eat, drink, or bowl there, but I’m sure I’ll be back. The crowd was pretty good. Lots of people dancing and not too many jerks in the pit. Mostly skinny dudes and a decent number of ladies, which is a huge relief after so many big, beefy dudes started showing up to Souls concerts, getting wasted and throwing windmills in the pit like they were at a freaking hardcore show.

So, obviously, I danced all night, falling at least four times (the floor was wet and slippery, aight?). At one point, someone kind of stepped on my ankle. Although I was (duuuuuuuuuh) wearing docs, it still hurt. A lot. I hopped out of the pit, dragging my foot on the floor like a wounded animal. I got really sad because I couldn’t put any weight on it at first and thought I’d be leaning up against a wall for the rest of the show, and then limping back to my apartment.

But then.. they started playing a song I really love. I did a few ankle rolls and jumped back in the pit. All of a sudden the pain disappeared.

I LOVE ADRENALINNNNNNNNNNE WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After the show, I was a zombie. Good thing I skipped pilates that day. I’m getting so  old.

Normally I have the kind of face and demeanor that leads people to believe that I’m friendly and approachable (but I bite). However, after a punk show, people treat me like I have a contagious flesh-eating virus.

I remember one time I was taking the train home after a show in NYC, by myself, and a nice-looking young lady sat next to me. Within five minutes.. she got up and found a different seat, in an entirely different car.

After dancing for a full set at pretty much any kind of concert, I experience this weird “coming down” kind of hazy state in which I don’t give a fuck about anything. I’m exhausted. My eyes may be bulging out of my head. My tongue might hang out. I stink like hell, covered in my sweat, your sweat, and everyone else’s sweat. I might have sticky beer breath. I might still be drinking. I miiiiiiiight be talking to myself, or maybe I just look so bad that I’m starting to confuse myself with that crazy homeless person at the train station. Bruises might be starting to emerge. I’m not sorry for any of it.

I watch Fight Club on a semi-regular basis.

Last night, a similar event occurred while my friend and I were waiting for the train. “That lady just got up and left.” “Yeah, that happens to me sometimes, I must smell horrible.” Hippie deodorant.

My friend danced the soul right off her shoe. Nothin’ a rubber band can’t fix.

When I finally got to my shower that night, I noticed bruises ALL OVER ME, including my back. I look like a battered woman. Not that there’s anything funny about domestic violence, but I’m kind of getting a kick out of people’s reactions whenever I wear a tank top. I just bruise way too quickly. Who knows what I’d look like if I hadn’t started taking Flintstones vitamins with iron?!

**side note** To my vegetarian friends, especially the ladies, you might have an iron deficiency. A lot of plant sources of iron aren’t absorbed as well as animal sources, so you need to get MORE than the daily recommended value! Turmeric is an excellent source of iron. You can add it to a lot of foods because it doesn’t have a strong flavor. Also- cooking with a cast iron skillet helps.

It hurts to sleep on the floor when you’re covered in bruises. Namaste muthaf*cka

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