I Can’t Sleep

Jet lag didn’t bother me much on my trip to Europe but I have to say that it’s kicking my ass coming home. I chalk it up to not having Tabby’s dad around to monitor my sleep cycles.

I miss her family.

Around 6:30 last night I was so tired I was barely coherent. Loony tried to keep me up with extra spicy Indian food which I ordered so I can’t really blame him and worse yet I only ordered because I burnt the cauliflower/potato soup because I was so out of it.

Then he suggested I watch some Parks and Recreation to keep myself awake but getting horizontal on the couch that I love with The Insect burrowed underneath the covers and Blue emitting that warm, cooking rice scent, well, you might as well roofie me.

So here I am at 3am and wide awake. Partly because I’ve already gotten 8 solid hours of sleep and partly because because the wind is blowing really hard and partly because I am so excited to take yoga this morning.

No. Hackers have not taken over my account.

This is me talking. Would hackers know about that time I had a dirty/sexy doctor dream that, when I woke up, reminded me that I was due for my annual exam and when I called to make an appointment it turned out that  the female nurse practitioner that I really liked was traveling in China for six months but THE DOCTOR I JUST HAD THE DIRTY DREAM ABOUT could see me instead to which I completely freaked out and was like UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES DO I WANT TO SEE HIM so I saw another NP instead and in the middle of it a physical therapist walked into the exam and was like, “I’m getting certified as a vaginal therapist, do you mind if I practice on you?” and because I can’t say no to anything I was all Okaaaay, I guess and she snapped on the gloves and started, um, massaging my perineum and was like, Oh, you must not have children because you perineum is very supple and I was all, Thanks? because I was 23 at the time and would take all the compliments I could get, and then she started doing this:

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This is just an illustration. I do not have a purple ass. Nor is my butthole a little x. And my hands are the same color as my nether regions, more or less.

and I was like, why are you doing that? and she said, “Women who tear during child birth often get scar tissue that makes intercourse painful. This softens the area.” But I was thinking that I haven’t had children and I don’t know if loosening things up down there was something I really wanted her to do PLUS I was like Do you really need a certification to massage cooches?  which might have been a little insulting to her profession.

See? PROOF that I am posting as myself. There is NO WAY Anonymous could make this shit up.

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I hear they are going after ISIS. To that I say, “Get em.”

Did you get the part about the dirty dream being a dream and the crazy OB experience actually happening?

Back to yoga. I actually love it these days after talking shit about it and the people who do it for 30+ years. Before I went on my trip, I was doing yoga every day, I kid you not, for three months.

Where do I find inspiration to get up at 5:45 every morning for my spiritual practice?

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He also teaches at Rallysport, a club I do not go to or endorse because crazy people work there. I take his classes at The Colorado Athletic Club. You should try it. But not at Rallysport.

Oh my god, I hate WordPress’s new editor. I was having problems captioning my yoga instructor’s image and it put in the caption from the perineal massage image. Har!

This is almost as good as a drunk post. I should post at 3am all the time.

Do you wonder how my yoga instructor (I call him Shreef) feels about me posting images from Instagram onto my blog?

Hopefully he’ll never know. PLUS, let this be a lesson to him about the dangers of the internet. This shit will follow him around forever. But hell, if I looked like the female version of that I would be happy to have it immortalized.

Not that he shouldn’t post pictures of himself on Instagram looking all hot and muscley and 21 -rowr!- because next to the morning shavasana where he tractions out my back by pulling on my feet and then does this little rotator cuff massage, and then rubs my neck for a second, it’s the best part of my day.

I didn’t do yoga yesterday so this was the best part of my day …

And this was pretty good too …

And I found this at the grocery store …

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Flip top, squeeze sour cream!

… which is not only my favorite brand of Sour Cream (dare I say the ONLY brand I like) now I don’t have to decant it into a pastry bag for taco night. THIS IS A TOTAL GAME CHANGER!

And of course this made me really happy …

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That’s my guys eating contraband quiche and pain au chocolate from Paris.

You know what else made me really happy? When I got off the escalator at the airport and there was Loony, waiting for me on a bench and I walked over to him and because he knows me he didn’t stand up, he just held out his arms so I could sit in his lap for a long time.

I don’t have a picture of that.

Anyway, no more quiche for me, though. Not for a while. I’m trying to cut back from my 15,000 calorie/day meal plan and eat like a proper Boulderite but oh, the withdrawal headaches! I want quiche! And croissants! And madeleines! Fuck this salad shit.

And fuck this new editor platform. There is a two second delay on every keystroke. I can’t work like this. NINA!

 

 

 

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