I very much like songs with whistling.

Bikram yoga – any Bikram class you go to anywhere in the world is the same – is 26 poses performed in a 90 minute class, in a room heated to 105 degrees F with 45% humidity, which leaves you CRAZY drenched in your own sweat by the end. It’s hard, but doable, which is the key for me to doing anything athletic. Still, after the first class, I thought, “all right then, never again BECAUSE I AM SO GROSS RIGHT NOW.”

But I’d paid for the intro week, so I went to another class, and then another, and on Sunday morning I woke up early and did my fourth class of the week, and in THAT class, something slid into place for me. I nailed this one pose that I had allllmost gotten previously. My achy right hip started to feel really good for the first time in a decade, which is huge for me. Epic. I am amazed at how strong I feel, both mentally and physically. It’s incredible.

There’s one weird thing, though: you kind of have to wear skimpy clothing; it’s just way too uncomfortable and hot otherwise. I’ve been doing short, tight shorts and a sports bra which I felt self-conscious in, until I just… didn’t. Because who cares? The class is so intense that no one is looking at anyone but themselves, and no one is judging my love handles. And if they are, you know, eff ‘em. I’ve gone through hell recently; strangers seeing the chubby bits around my middle and stretch marks on my hips don’t matter.

Ain’t nobody got time for that!

And I’m not THAT chubby any more, which I keep forgetting, honestly. The yoga studio has mirrors on two walls, and in my third class, I caught a glimpse of a reflection of a reflection of the lady behind me mid-class. Her arm in the air looked so strong and impressive, and her shoulder was so pretty. I got annoyed; she was wearing the exact same Target sports bra as me but looked so much better in it. Then I realized the double mirrors were distorting my vision, and I was actually seeing my own strong muscles, shapely shoulder, and graceful pose.

Graceful? Amber?

Apparently.

So! If you’re thinking about trying Bikram and needed someone to nudge you, consider this your encouraging words. I’m not sure now if I’m committed to going long-term, but I’m really glad I tried.

It’s time to start think about summer road trip songs again (yay!) Here’s a good track for grooving down the highway with your hand weaving up and down in the wind.

I laughed it off twice, but when the third troll email hit my inbox asking me if the reason Rob and I separated was because of some sort of lesbian relationship going on with Patrice and me, I figured it was worth a blog post, and a big “oh hell no”.

Not that she’s not fab, and totally hawt, but… yeah, no. Not in this lifetime.

I asked Patrice to weigh in on our scandal – we are both really excited to be involved in any sort of internet scandal, so we’re calling it a scandal BECAUSE WE CAN – and she said:

“Well, I’d date me! I’m fun and I like to ‘do it’! I also know all the words to Purple Rain.”

Well then. Gentlemen, she is all yours. I promise.

Have a happy, scandal-free weekend.

In case you missed it, Obama came out in support of same-sex marriage yesterday, marking the first time in our history that a sitting President has done so. So exciting!

This a huge victory for those of us fighting hard for marriage equality, and welcome news after Tuesday night’s blow to civil rights in North Carolina.

We’ll keep fighting until everyone can marry whoever they choose to love. Can I quote a negro spiritual here? I am totally going to:

We shall overcome.

image

I stopped using an iPhone case a while ago even though I know better, and was doing fine keeping it nice for a long time until Sunday, when I dropped it, shattering the glass on both sides to bits. Thankfully, Dr. Brenden in Park Slope is a quick walk from my apartment and I was able to hop in just before they closed and get it replaced. (I showed the repair guy my phone and asked if it was worth fixing. At $120 for everything, it was.)

Since we were replacing the front and back, I paid an extra $20 and had the parts that were black changed to yellow. I especially like that the back is unbranded. Now my phone looks like something Batman would use, and kind of reminds me of my MetroCard.

Isn’t it pretty?

Grab your hipster girlfriend and dance.

print “Owl No. 1″ by Lisa Congdon, available here

Remember how I was going to memorize 10 inspiring works of poetry for my Life List?

1. Wild Geese by Mary Oliver
2. i carry your heart by e.e. cummings

I never did memorize Where the Sidewalk Ends – my heart ended up not being in it, even though it was one of my favorites as a kid. I memorized this one, though, and counting it for number 3. It’s not specifically an “inspirational poem”, but the fact that this exists, that it is both perfectly quirky and perfectly beautiful, moves me.

Poem via Swiss Miss

How to Build an Owl

1. Decide you must.

2. Develop deep respect
for feather, bone, claw.

3. Place your trembling thumb
where the heart will be:
for one hundred hours watch
so you will know
where to put the first feather.

4. Stay awake forever.
When the bird takes shape
gently pry open its beak
and whisper into it: mouse.

5. Let it go.

Brooklyn-based indie band New Beard sent me their new single to share with you guys, and I love it.

Go here to listen.

They’ll be at the Bowery on May 5 if you’re in town and want to hear them.

Do you know what the Rapture is? It’s something I’d heard about nearly every day for my entire childhood, so it’s surprising the number of friends who say, “The WHAT?” when I mention it. The Rapture is a fundamentalist Christian belief that one day Jesus will come to earth again (the “Second Coming”… which just sounds dirty to me, and now sounds dirty to you and YOU’RE WELCOME). I’m fuzzy on the logistics, but basically, he comes down, and then, I guess, bounces back to heaven, taking with him all of the Christians on the earth and leaving all the heathens to wallow in a cloud of drugs, booze, homosexuality and extra-marital sex (which kinda sounds like fun, actually.)

It wasn’t until age 16 that I started to believe the concept of the Rapture was probably crazy, but at 14 or so, I wavered between being scared of not being good enough to ascend to heaven and worrying that the rapture would happen during my period, resulting in the unsaved masses seeing my used maxi pad left laying in the sidewalk as I left my clothes behind and hurdled towards the clouds. This was a deep-seeded, traumatizing, legitimate fear of mine for YEARS, and I’m annoyed now with all the time I spent worrying about it. I should have been making art or something with that energy. Is this not the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard?

I was never cut out to be a Christian.