Hot and Sweaty

I'm not a sweater. I don't like sweat. I think sweaty bodies are disgusting. For me, there's no faster way to kill the mood during sex. Don't touch your sweaty body to mine. Yuck. I can just barely handle touching my own sweat. Thankfully for me, I don't sweat much. Not usually. 

Until last week. 

Monday, I started Bikram yoga. What the hell is that? It's yoga that you do in a hot motherfucking room. 104 degrees to be exact. You do a series of 26 different poses. This is unlike any yoga I've ever done. No sun salutations. No upward-facing dog. Not even a warrior. I hate it and love it at the same time. It's hard, hot, and drippy. The yoga. Get your mind out of the gutter. 

I bring a beach towel with me to put on top of my yoga mat. By the end of class, the towel is soaked. Completely. I'm still amazed at the amount of liquid that pours out of my pores each time I practice. I drink tons of water all the time outside of class just so I don't die. 

It's a good thing that I've gotten over my whole belly thing, because most people (myself included) only wear a sports bra and shorty short yoga shorts. My bikini time in Hawaii prepared me for Bikram. However, in Hawaii, I didn't bend forward and scrunch and squish my flabby belly and excess skin. I stood/sat up tall and sucked in all the time. I still have it sucked in, but there's so much twisting and bending and "look at your belly" and "tuck in your chin" and "touch your forehead to your knees" that no amount of sucking in will help. So, I've let it go. Had to. 

I've also gotten over touching sweaty bodies. At least mine. I am the only one I touch during class. But I'm not just touching my hand to my sweaty leg. That would be easy. NOOOOOO, I'm touching my face- my entire pretty little face- to my legs. My 'dripping with sweat so much that it's pooling at my toes' legs. Like, when I look at my knees because that's where they want me to look, and I see the sweat, I have to make a decision -  get the most out of the practice and do what they are telling me to do, or, hell no those are some sweaty-ass legs and there's no way my face is going to bathe in sweat. But I do. I touch my pretty little face to my sweaty-ass legs, and the sweat drips into my mouth. And I don't feel grossed out at all. I'm actually amazed that it doesn't taste gross and salty. I let myself rejoice in the amazingness of my body and allow the sweat to help me move into deeper postures. 

I'm four classes into my first month, and I am pretty sure that I'm going to have to keep going forever. Or at least until I get bored and find something else to do instead. 

Because I don't want to pick paper out 'ma girl

All day, I've had at least three different topics swirling around my brain about what I would blog about today. First, I was going to compare and contrast Charmin toilet paper and Scott Tissue. Then I really struggled about whether or not to share my latest recipe for toaster leavin's. Then I had an awesome afternoon with my two favorite fellow yogis, and discovered a pose that was nearly orgasmic, so I thought I'd share. But then, I read Tia Becky's blog, and decided that I would expound on her thought-provoking question.

Then I decided not to.

Like, just now.

Just like that.

And as I am writing about how I'm not going to answer her blog. I just realized that I just answered it. Blogging is important because it's ALL MINE!!! I can do whatever the hell I want and you can't stop me!! Ha Ha Ha It's the first amendment, bitches!!!!!

That's some awesome shit right there! Just think about it- All damn day, we have to do what everyone else needs. It starts when we get up early to wake up the kids for school. Then we feed them breakfast, help them pack lunches, make sure they catch the bus on time, clean the house, play with little kids, run errands, be here when the big ones get back to school, make them do homework, cook dinner, clean up after dinner, get them in bed. And if we are still coherent, we have sex with our husbands (or not), and go to bed so we can do it all over again the next day.

But when I blog -or not blog- I do whatever the hell I want. I get to make all the choices. I don't have to have a certain number of vegetables in my blog. I don't have to make sure it's on time, I don't even to have good language on my blog. It's whatever, wherever, however I want.

It's my selfish, dirty, indulgence. Aren't you glad you came?