Bookshelf

Have you ever read a book and you've automatically wanted the author to be your best friend?

In 2008, I lost my first "big kid" job. Allegedly I was insubordinate - my boss at the time even went so far as to claim I got down on my hands and knees and bowed to her (side note: um... what?).

In actuality, I just was over my job and started mentally checking out way too soon causing my work to suffer. Stupid? Undoubtedly, but I was 23 and now see it as a learning experience.

Anyway, in case you don't remember that was the year that practically everyone and their mom lost their job, so it took me a bit longer than it otherwise would have to find another full-time gig. Things got tight, and we were in a bad way financially.

After 2 months I landed a full-time job, and between my two jobs and Ricky's one things were starting to look up again. That's when I discovered her - Jen Lancaster and her first memoir, Bitter is the New Black.

It turns out that Jen had been through a very similar situation in 2001 - but even worse, as hard as that was for me to imagine. Seriously, she helped me see that I wasn't the first person to go through a hard time, and I wouldn't be the last. She also made me laugh harder than I ever had previously while reading a book, so there's that, too.

Yes, she's 10ish years older than me, and has a notorious disdain for Millennials, but I can't help but feel in my heart of hearts that if we had the chance to meet that we'd become instant besties.

Not really, because I'd probably make it awkward somehow and stumble over my words (or literally trip while going to talk to her) and make absolutely no sense when I'm trying to explain to her how much her work means to me, and how much she helped me when I needed it most. And she'd probably smile while backing away signaling for her publicist to save her. And then I'd be sad but thrilled to have met her.

Long story short. I have a major girl crush on Jen. And though she'll never, ever in a million years read this, I just want to say "thank you." Thank you for sharing your stories, making them relatable and making me laugh and realize I'd be okay when it seemed like all hope was lost.

Keep it up, Jen. I adore you.

Rainbow and SM Pkwy

Okay, so you know how babies sometimes get diaper butt syndrome? Where their pants start falling down so you get a big ol' eyeful of diaper? It's super cute.

On a grown-up... not so much.

Nope, not talking about those dudes who walk around with their ass hanging out of their pants. That's to be expected and while eye-rolling worthy, not really something to clutch one's pearls over.

Yeah, no. Today I'm talking about myself.

While running.

Outside of my workplace.

Fun, right?

Oh, and another fun part to this equation. Instead of having diaper butt syndrome, picture the opposite.

Yeah, my undies decided to do the drooping and then my pants threatened to follow along. Can we say wardrobe malfunction?

I got maybe a tenth of a mile before deciding to say "screw it" and give up the hope of running today.

It wasn't worth the highbrows in the surrounding neighborhoods potentially calling the cops on me for indecent exposure. Plus I run past two schools on my route, and I'd prefer to avoid potentially scarring any children who aren't related to me.

I call Ricky to vent my frustration and he's super sympathetic.

Not really.

I can hear him struggling to keep his laughter muffled over the phone.

Thanks, babe. Love you, too. Jerk.

Standing near one of the side driveways of my office I begin huffing and pouting over the idea of going back inside already. It's too nice out.

Hello, it's not often we see the 60s in March in KC. (Attention non-climate change believers, if this isn't an indicator I don't know what is. Yes, I don't particularly enjoy the cold all the time, but it is still winter and maybe - just maybe - it should actually feel like it.)

Anyway, rather than accepting defeat I go all "Goonies never say die" and decide to walk instead.

Was it my normal three-plus miles? Definitely not.

Was I a little grumpy seeing that I walked half the distance in about the same amount of time? You betcha.

But on the positive side of things, at least I was out in the fresh air for a while. So there's that. And now I remember why I'm so picky when it comes to workout clothes. Fully functioning elastic is my friend.

Master closet

I'm standing in my closet staring at my clothes, willing my brain to work in order to get the day started, as Ricky steps on the scale. A small smile crosses his face as he steps off.

Someone's pleased with himself this morning.

"What's your number today?"

As he tells me (his business, so I'm not sharing) I can see him doing an internal victory lap. Lately his number's been riding a bit higher than he likes, so he's thrilled that his efforts have been paying off.

Our first Easter vs our most recent Christmas.

Curious about my own stats I momentarily abandon choosing between my usual work week wardrobe rotation. Seriously, I've been doing the whole pod-wardrobe-thing unintentionally for about a year now at the office.

I've been running 3+ miles a couple times a week, pretty honest with my food tracking (the hardest part is doing so when you know you've had a bad day - connect with me on MFP!) and doing yoga on a consistent basis so I'm feeling pretty confident.

The smooth metal surface of the scale reflects the lights above it as I step on. The numbers start processing so I try to hold extra still to make sure they're accurate. When they've stopped I glance down.

That doesn't look right.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and step off to let it zero out. I check the scale to make sure it's not laying on a grout seam or something then I step back on.

Same results.

172.2.

I realize at this point in time I have one of two ways I can go: I can get upset and let this dictate my entire day or I can realize it's just a number in a moment of time and count on how I feel instead.

Not to mention I drank a ton of water last night and haven't had the first BM yet, so this could be the result of any number of things.

C's cries indicating he's ready to get the day started cause me to make a snap decision. I peek at the number again. Sigh, shrug, hop off the scale and decide to move on with the day.

Am I thrilled with the number? No. Not at all. Most times I feel as though I'm a skinny person living in a fat person's body, but I can't really be mad at my body (insert cliche list of all the amazing things my body is capable of here).

It serves its purpose and it's a constant work in progress.

So long as I'm not just sitting on my butt cramming my mouth full of chips all day long that is.

Basement

I recently purchased a Groupon for a yearlong subscription to a yoga video collection. I've always wanted to truly try yoga, but being as cheap as I can be I couldn't ever really stomach the cost associated with taking class in a studio. So when I saw the deal was only $12 for a year I was all over it.

A couple things I've noticed since starting my "practice."

• I'm not nearly as flexible as I was pre-C, but I can still put my palms flat on the ground while in forward front stretch so I'll get there again. Eventually. Maybe.
• My core is supa dupa weak. I can do planks and downward dogs, no problem. It's when I try some of the twisting one-hand-one-leg balances that I realize how far I have to go. At least in my basement no one can see me trying to stabilize all over the place. And the only one who could get hurt - aside from me because, well, klutz - is my cat if he decides to try to investigate at the wrong time.
• The teachers tend to be super chatty, but I guess that comes with being on video. You have to fill the silence somehow, and no one wants to hear the loud "dragon breathers" who are sometimes featured as students for the entire length of the class.
• I've forgotten how it feels to not just naturally be good at something. It's an odd feeling, but one I'm okay with. After all, the teachers in the video call it a practice because that's what it takes to get the hang of yoga. Practice. I just have to go back to my mindset from dancing days past where I don't know all of the technique by heart and have the openness to learn.

Am I ever going to be a true "yogi" who can do all of the awesome inversions and balances like it's nothing? Probably not. But what I will do is get better and stronger in my practice. And maybe, just maybe, become a more zen person in the process.

Namastae, y'all!