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Seattle Day Deux

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Day DOO! Hahaha. Oh, I am tired. My feets are swollen. I think I may have walked to northern California today. It’s quite possible.

Today was a good day. Seriously, you guys, the weather was ridiculously lovely. I even had a shop girl tell me upon my entry to the store that I had overdressed for the day. Thank you, Captain Obvious. Don’t make light of a person who is bearing shopping bags, with their coat on their arm and who is just a little bit sweaty. Big mistake. Big. Huge. Well, actually, not really, since I still bought stuff from that store, but still. STILL.

Anywho, I done good today. I got me some RIDICULOUS shoes, which shall receive a post of their very own. Just you wait (you really haven’t got much choice in the matter). I also got some less ridiculous shoes, but I’m still excited about them (I DO love shoes). No jeans, because I officially ran out of jean-trying motivation whilst eyeing up a pair of white jeans and wondering how long I’d wear them before sitting on wet paint or spilling POM juice on ’em. I figure 23 minutes, tops.

I went to Forever 21, too. I’ve heard a lot about this place. I can tell you I will NEVER go back there. That’s just not my idea of fun shopping. It’s a HUGE store, in a HUGE mess. I can’t handle that kind of thrift-store vibe. I get angry and annoyed and all like, “WHY CAN’T ANYONE TELL ME WHERE ANYTHING IS IN HERE?”

I also feel bad about buying extremely cheap crap that I figure will fall apart possibly before I leave the house the first time I wear it. I bought a couple of tops, because I figured I’d been in there too long and would never get that time back ever, so I’d better have something to show for it. Here are some of the highlights of my internal dialogue:

“This is what’s wrong with the world and now I’m being part of the problem.”

“Bay, it’s a sunk cost. You know this. Get out and spend your money elsewhere.”

“No, I do NOT wish to rehang my discarded items.”

I mean, really: I did my time in retail, which included putting away and folding/hanging discards. I no longer wish to do this and they really can’t afford my hourly rate.

I also felt very Canadian. Especially when the dude at Nordstrom Rack (an employee, no less! Harrumph!) backed up onto MY foot, without apologizing AND despite my polite “oh—watch out!” and then I apologized. Good grief. And I heard a lot of “uh huhs”. Adam is onto something there…

I also got my bangs trimmed, which was great. Because I then could actually see. It turns out the reason I couldn’t find a restaurant was because I literally couldn’t SEE them. And I bought 3 chocolates to eat first thing in the morning! And was propositioned by a table of sailors. You know, as you do.

Hey, so I shopped here, at Abe_bie &:

Why wear pants when you can just hold them?

Interestingly, when I took a picture with the flash on, this is what happened:

Could it be? Is this guy luminescent?

It’s official: I think Abercrombie & Fitch uses vampires for models. Because they glimmer in the light.

 

Zombie apocalypse: Are you ready? Also, I’m in Seattle.

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The reason I ask is because, apparently, Mother Russia is working on zombie guns. Not guns that will effectively deal with the undead, mind you, but guns that turn you  into one. Because that’s what we’ve been missing ’til now. What the world needs now is not love; it is mindless, people-eating drones. Clearly. Don’t worry, though; if you’re worried about how to cope in the event of such a disaster, the CDC has you covered. Seriously, you guys, the stuff that is legit in this world is pretty sad. And yet, no unicorns. Sigh.

What I find interesting about this is that there are people starving in this world (despite there being more than enough food for everyone), but money goes into the creation of this garbage. People with no place to call home, no bed to rest their head at night. Children living in terrible conditions, facing even worse times ahead if they’re lucky enough to grow up. But Russia is making zombie guns. Humanity’s priorities are a mess. <<shakes head sadly>> Who’s gonna make the anti-zombie gun? You know, the one that shoots love and puppy kisses?

Speaking of zombies, today was Sakura-con here in Seattle, which is an anime convention. This means a lot of people were wandering around in fairly uninspired costumes, including zombies, vampires and various characters of unrecognizable renown. We did see a pretty darned realistic and accurate Daenerys from Game of Thrones, dragon included. Well done, pretty blond girl, well done.

Adam and I wandered around today and shopped it up. I didn’t get much—a few tops— but I got lots of ideas and tried on EVERY PAIR OF JEANS IN THE WORLD. Okay, it was 5 pairs. But still. STILL. Pulling skinny jeans on and off  is frustrating and causes my undies to bunch up/down/all around. TMI? Too bad. I don’t know about you, but I find the buying of new jeans to be one of the most tiresome and annoying tasks in the world. My fingers are blue from pulling up all the newly dyed indigo. I’m always worried I’ll forget to put a pair on when I go out for another size, and there I’ll be, in my knickers, in the middle of a store. This didn’t happen today, thankfully.

I have some missions for tomorrow. One of which is the finding of Cadbury Mini Eggs. Because Easter is in T-minus 2 and we got nuthin’. I’m mildly concerned that they don’t sell them here, which makes me sad for the US, but mostly for me. I KNEW we should’ve bought that mamma-jamma bag at Costco, Adam!

Pioneer Square. This is Adam's picture because I didn't take too many today.

 

Seattle or bust!

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Woo hoo! Spring Break Daytona Beach! I mean Easter long weekend, less Daytona and more Seattle. But it’s almost the same. Today has been quite momentous. Many things have occurred that are what I’d consider awesome. In no particular order, here they are:

  1. It is FINALLY the 4-day long weekend we’ve been eagerly and not-so-patiently awaiting since New Years, because our premier dangled Family Day in front of us on a year-long string.
  2. Adam and I are in Seattle. There will be shopping. There will be. I have saved all my shekels for MONTHS for this occasion. Bay’s gonna get stylish!
  3. I finally saw us on the bus. That may not make a lot of sense, but check this out:

We're on a bus! But not the way you think...

Oh yeah, and Adam got articles! In Victoria! That’s right: I shan’t be blogging to you about the high times in Whitehorse/Yellowknife/Iqaluit/Tuktoyaktuk. There will be no dogsledding for me, though I may attach a harness to Hermes and see what happens (yes, I know it will be nothing).

Anyway, we were just leaving for the ferry when Adam got the call. I peeked my head around the corner to get a read on his face (his thumbs up and toothy grin were a dead give away). When he hung up, we let out a whoop-whoop, hug and a kiss, and then grabbed the bags and sprinted out the door and caught the 5 pm boat, much to our pleasant surprise.

We waited for 9 years at the border, which was posted as a 40-minute wait. They lied, but you can’t get all aggro about these things, or else they flag you and cross-border travel becomes unpleasant. Plus, they have guns. But we did have hanger (hunger + anger = not pretty), so we were nearly matched in terms of dangerous-ness.

We’re staying at the Silver Cloud Hotel, close to Safeco Field. We got it à la cheap from Priceline. Here’s what’s funny about it:

We're in a "special" room.

Okay good night!

Happy Friday! Oh, wait, it’s only Tuesday…

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This was A Very Busy Day. I’m just getting used to being a mobile worker (isn’t she mobile?! Working on a chair on the ocean!), which means I have no desk space to call home. This is fine by me, but there are definitely some learning curves. After having struggled to shove all my stuff (I cycle to work and needed to bring teaching gear today, too) into two lockers on different floors, I found space to work on the fourth floor, which, might I add, has a lovely view.

Here are some of the lessons I learned today:

  1. After getting (relatively) organized to work in the free address space, make sure you have a pen/pencil/writing implement, or else you will need to go back down to your locker to find one.
  2. After making the trek for the quill pen or whatever you write with, don’t forget a spoon with which to eat the yogourt & granola you have on your desk.
  3. After finding a spoon and eating the granola/yogourt combo, you may be thirsty. You will probably wish you had a drinking vessel. Back down the stairs you go.
  4. Productivity, which is increased by working in a location away from distractions, can be reduced by the need to run up and down 2–4 flights of stairs for necessary items.
  5. I will lose weight working this way. Not too shabby for me and just in time for summer!

I taught two yoga classes tonight, having shifted my Thursday class to tonight because of the long weekend. I am tired. Adam put on the new Game of Thrones, which it is far too late to watch, but I cannot not watch. I wonder which character will die that I have grown to love. Sometimes, it’s better not to care…

I gotta go and pay attention, because I can’t afford to not know what’s going on in this show.

Also, big bummer: Ben and Ashley were meant to come with us to Seattle this weekend, but might not be now. This super sucks. Adam’s in coaching training for two full days, during which time I will be completely on my little lonesome. I am wishing I knew peeps in Seattle…

This is a cat. In a box. I needed a picture for this post. You're welcome.

That terrible awful moment.

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You know, the terrible, awful moment in which you realize you have absolutely no junk food in your house at all, apart from delicious leftover Christmas candy and two bags of marshmallows (What? I like to eat marshmallows!) that you cannot eat because you gave it up for Lent, which is becoming definitively interminable this year, despite it apparently being the same six weeks in duration as every other year, so you announce loudly to the cats and the surrounding air that, FINE, YOU WILL GO FOR A RUN INSTEAD OF EATING DELICIOUS GARBAGE OF WHICH YOU HAVE NONE ANYWAYS.

And then you go pull on your running tights, but don’t change your top yet because you get all distracted by writing this in your blog, which was, incidentally, meant to be merely a quick status update on Facebook, but, the laptop is in the same room as your running gear… After which time, you realize your life is passing you by the longer you procrastinate and soon it will be tomorrow before you run and that will mess up your entire week’s fitness plan. Before you leave to actually change into a running shirt and shoes, you reread that first paragraph and applaud yourself for writing the longest run-on sentence in your life. At least something was running. Amiright? I am.

To think this was going to be an amusing, one-line Facebook status update.

Just for the record, I did go for a run.

This is me running. Away from a photographer.

Swing and a miss.

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Sorry I missed yesterday. I had a post all planned, but then the day got away on me and by the time I had a chance to sit at my laptop, it was after 2 am. And I decided that it was okay to miss a day. Especially since officially, Lent doesn’t include Sundays and I’ve been faithfully posting away on the Lord’s Day, so technically, I’ve got, like, five freebies.

However, there is much to discuss. Today is April Fool’s Day. Rather, I guess it was, since it’s well past noon and the pranking hour is over. April 1st is also Maui’s birthday. That alone explains a lot. Because Maui is definitely a bit of a joke, as far as cats go. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I love that stupid cat, but she’s like a walking contradiction. All pretty and soft, but heaven help you if you fall for her siren’s song and lean down to pet her, unless you are a) Adam, b) myself, or c) utterly reckless and don’t mind seeing significant quantities of your own blood. She will rip you to shreds. Complete evisceration is her ultimate goal. Who knew this little cute ball of fluff would turn into the beautiful ball of neuroses we’ve had for eight years?

Seriously. So cute. Who knew what that cuteness was concealing.

Another thing that happened yesterday is hot yoga sesh #3. Interestingly, I’m no longer hating it (or myself for being there). Now that I know the order of postures, it’s much less stressful, because I know the end is near (this is the only time I’m anticipating using that phrase in a positive way). I don’t actually hate it, but it’s not very demanding, apart from the heat. I like the detox/sweat-it-out part. I feel like it’s good for my skin, but the postures don’t really challenge my strength or flexibility. I also realized yesterday that there is absolutely no hip openers in the series, which is odd to me.

Yesterday’s class was led by a teacher named Peter, who was pretty funny. Definitely my style of class. He was making jokes and providing really good cues and individual attention. At one point, he said “shit” and then apologized for his “Turette’s” moment. He also made fun of Nickleback, so you know he’s a good guy. I liked him. Too bad he’s leaving after today to teach in California for a year.

At the beginning of class, he asked if anyone was new, or had taken just two or three classes. I held my hand up. This was a mistake. He asked my name, leading to this not uncommon dialogue:

Me: “Bay.”

Peter: “May?”

Me: “Um, no. Bay. Like Hudson’s Bay.” A chorus of laughter ensued. Aren’t I hilarious.

He asked if I was liking it (and I lied and said yes, which I felt was better than telling the truth) and told me to take it easy, because I was still relatively new-ish. I didn’t offer up that I am, in fact a yoga instructor who has been practicing regularly for eight years, having taken my first yoga class at the age of 15. And being a dancer my whole life. What’s the problem with leaving that tidbit of info out? Well, everyone around me—which is to say the 347 people in class next to me—all gave me that kindly oh-you’re-a-newc0mer smile. You know, that one where they almost look sympathetic, as though to say, “Don’t worry: We’ve all been new. You’ll be okay.”

I mean, really, they’re all super sweet and nice and supportive and everything. After about three postures, I’m getting looks of interest mixed with mild confusion: “Didn’t she just say she was new?” After Peter called out that I was “killing it”, I really felt like a poser (Ha! Get it? “Poser” Because of the yoga poses! No? Not funny? Just me? Okay then.). Because Bikram’s isn’t particularly difficult, posture or strength-wise. It’s just really, really, exceedingly warm. I mean, it’s toasty. So I felt like a big show off, even though I wasn’t trying to be. This was not as big of an issue as I’m making it out to be, but you gotta write something in a blog. So there it is.

Now then, it wouldn’t be a recap about a hot yoga class if I didn’t mention the sweat and unyielding heat. You see, I’m not really certain that you are understanding how hot it is in that room. So I looked it up. It’s 40.6°C with a humidity of 40%. That is warm. Add in the 60 or so people in there sweating profusely and that temp/humidex jumps up pretty quickly. There are so many people in there that your mat is mere inches from the person next to you (which is not unlike a packed led primary class, so I’m not weirded out by the lack of personal space).

The guy in front of me, who has been at EVERY class I’ve taken (I think he just lives there and sweats it out five times a day), loses a LOT of sweat. It’s disturbing. There was a puddle on his mat, on TOP of his towel, which was completely saturated. That towel didn’t have a chance. You guys. I’m not exaggerating, though I realize I tend to embellish my stories now and again (it’s more fun that way). A literal PUDDLE of his sweat. I mean, we’re all sweating in there, but this guy was internally combusting.

At one point, we have to lay down (well, that happens a lot, actually) and his sweat-soaked head touched my hand towel. Oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god! I had to force myself not to scream, while my face must’ve looked like this. His sweat. Was ON. MY. Towel. Come on! I bring my own towels to deal with my own sweatiness. It’s not my problem that he should clearly be doing yoga in a wading pool.

Anyway. At the end of class, after savasana, this is what happened: He rolled up his mat/towel, which is not in itself odd. After all, that is what one does with a yoga mat. But then, you guys. Then. He had somehow magically acquired a bucket and he lifted his mat, quickly holding the end over the bucket, so the puddle of sweat could stream/splash/sploosh into the bucket. HE WAS LITERALLY SWEATING BUCKETS. This is not normal.

Just for the record, I talked to Peter as I left and when he asked about my background, I confessed I was an Ashtangi and an instructor. He said that made sense and that he loves Ashtanga. We talked a little about how we both think it’s good to mix up yoga and keep an open mind. What a good hot yoga teacher!

 

 

Aw, rats.

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My sister has rats in her house. Two of them. They are quick and they love to disappear into small cracks and crevices. Usually, a rat in your house would be considered a pest,  but at Michel’s, they are considered a pet. Yup, Perdita and Cinnamon.

Now, when I heard there would be pet rats, I had my concerns. But, they are pretty cute. I like to look at them and maybe play with them a little, but I’m not gonna lie: I wouldn’tt want them as my own pets. I mean, they’re funny and soft, but the problem is that rats have incontinence issues. They pee. All. The. Time. Including at such times as you are playing with them or letting them crawl up onto your shoulder.

I am not a fan of holding things that pee on me (I do not have children, you see). Once per year, Maui pees on me and it is not my favourite thing. Just because I recognize that it sounds like I have a special cat-urine day, I’d like to clarify that it’s on the annual bathing of the cats that Maui lets loose. It ends up being a pretty angry bath time. This year’s has not yet occurred. We’re waiting on the last mats to dissipate. I think she’s holding onto them on purpose, delaying the inevitable. I don’t know why. The cat shampoo is lotus-blossom  scented..

Anyway, my niece’s rats, Perdy and Minnie. We discovered tonight that Minnie may have a thing for Perdy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. The only problem is that Minnie’s unrequited love is not in Perdy’s favour. I mean, whatever: Their love life is not really any of my business, but I hope they can still be friends. Minnie’s not using her listening skills. They share an apartment, though, so it’ll be awkward if they don’t sort it out and set up some boundaries.

This is not Emily's rat. But it kind of looks the same.

Off to bed. I’ll try to find a more inspired topic tomorrow.

 

Attention Deficit Hyperac—, Mmm! Ice cream!

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I was going to write about my ADHD tendencies, but once I started thinking about it, I just couldn’t stop other thoughts from flying in. And then I thought about cupcakes, which led to thoughts of ice cream. Ice cream is pretty much my favourite. Along with pie, but I canNOT go down that rabbit hole right now, or else I will just sit here salivating about cherry pie and get nothing done at all. It is pure coincidence that this image says pie. Or is it…?

Hi. Hi. Hi. Hi.

I still have a thing of peppermint candy ice cream left over from Christmas. It used to be called candy cane ice cream, but I think they got sued by the King of Christmas Candyland or something. Because now it is called peppermint candy ice cream, which is a much less exciting name. It still tastes like magical wonderfulrishical happiness, though! I get a tub of it every year from my wonderful in-laws. I have to work for it, though, lest you be thinking I’m the world’s luckiest girl (which I am, just for the record).

There might be a pretty ribbon I need to unwind and follow, or a riddle for me to solve. Each time, I run downstairs, check the deep freeze, hug my ice cream and replace it in the freezer, and then sprint back upstairs to announce that I had found nothing at all. “Nothing to see here, folks.” Certainly nothing that needed to be shared. Come ON: This kid wasn’t born yesterday!

Moving on, from ADHD (I’ll cover that one soon, I promise. Ooh, LOOK! Hermes…”), to cupcakes and then ice cream, to ZOKU! Ben and Ashley have this and I feel like we need it. Adam feels differently about this. Pshaw. You can make Christmas popsicles! Halloween popsicles! Disgusting popcorn-flavoured popsicles (buttered popcorn Jelly Bellies make me barf). These delicious treats (minus the popcorn ones) have their own blog! I could actually get this fun household necessity with the points from our credit card, for FREE. Or I could save up the points and get a food processor, which we actually need. Adam thinks I will only use the popsicle maker once.

He *might* be right.

Don't eat these ones. They are gross.

I bet you never thought I’d write about bot flies.

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But you’d be wrong. I made myself a note yesterday! Let’s see now, what did I say I’d talk about? Oh yeah, they are (in no particular order):

  1. Brain-eating amoebas
  2. The Plague
  3. Bot flies

There is a common thread to all of these disgusting things, but you’ll have to read this whole post to figure out what it is. First, let me tell you why they’re on the list. As you may know, I write a blog for work, all about health. It’s called Health-bent (how I got away with that name, I’ll never know) and it’s pretty much the best part of my job. Last week’s post was all about allergies, which must’ve resonated with a lot of people, because many people commented in response to my quest to find a magical cure. It was all going well, and then came the brain-eating amoebas.

Well, actually, first came my comment about neti pots and distrust of this image, which I cannot stop posting. There’s something mesmerizing about just how much this guy is enjoying his ridiculous predicament. One of my readers posted a comment (with a link to a news story, no less) about how people using tap water in their neti pots somewhere in the southern US contracted a brain-eating amoeba. Seriously, you guys; this is for real. It was in the news in December. <<barfs>>

So, that’d be a bad day. Imagine: There you are, rinsing your sinuses, and suddenly your BRAIN is being eaten. By a zombie-like, brain-eating amoeba. FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, THIS IS TERRIFYING STUFF. And to think I was contemplating trying a neti pot. NOT ANYMORE.

Okay, next point. Right. Moving on. To the Plague. Mmm hmm. A nice light topic. Last time Adam was in Seattle for coaching training, I was watching movies on Netflix and saw one with Sean Bean. I figured it must be good. Except for how it was all about bubonic plague (not sure what I thought it would be about, given that it was called Black Death). Suffice it to say, this movie was Pretty. Darn. Gross. Seriously. It was gory (people die in horrifically medieval, by which I mean not generally humane, methods). The next day, I was at work, and began to wonder if the way they portrayed the plague was, in fact, based on fact. So, I looked it up. Do NOT do this. I urge you to heed my advice. But, I can assure you that the way they depicted black death in the movie (which you probably shouldn’t watch) was very true to reality (which you probably don’t want to know).

Clearly, I cannot be trusted to take care of myself whilst on my own. I watch horrible movies and stay up too late. I need a grown up.

Okay, so last one. Bot flies. Last week on my monthly Friday-night craftiness party (in which my friends and I make crafts involving rubber stamps, double-sided tape and oh-so-much glitter), we somehow ended up listening to Ashley describe bot flies.

By “somehow”, I mean that we were talking about bugs and Annie mentioned that her crazy roommate on the MBA trip to Brazil (oh right, that was me…), felt compelled to look up and learn about the types of insects they might encounter while pottering about in the Amazonian rainforest. I admit that, in hindsight, this was a mistake. As was, apparently, the sharing of my new and unwelcome knowledge with Annie, who has evidently not yet forgiven me.

All this talk of looking up disgusting bugs that want to kill you made us discuss the spiny fish that swims up your you-know-what, if you pee in the water (I don’t know if it’s true, but our guide said not to pee in the water, so I took his word for it). After agreeing that this would definitely be an unpleasant experience, Ashley shared with us a story about bot flies and how she learned what they do by Googling them. I would strongly suggest you do not do this. For real. Trust me. I haven’t, because I have the benefit of Ashley’s verbal description and I’m not quite done twitching when I think about it.

What’s the moral of this long, seemingly disjointed and rambling account? Don’t look things up. Do not Google them. And heaven help you if you do, but do NOT click on the images tab. Just leave it alone. Look at pictures of cute kittens to distract your mind. Trust me. There are some things you don’t need to know, especially graphically.

I remember the day I looked up the plague at work. I ran over to my coworker’s desk and told her how horrific it was. To which she replied, “Well, yeah. It’s The Plague. What did you expect?”

How very reasonable of her. I didn’t really have an answer. But I wish I didn’t know what it looked like.

 

D00d, where’s our car?

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Law Grad Formal was nothing short of AWESOME (requires all caps to convey my happiness). You know, I made some fabulous friends during my MBA (I believe it’s normal for people to bond during highly intense and traumatic experiences, at least according to Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock in Speed. It’s in a movie, so it must be true), and there are a couple of people I know I’ll be friends with forever. But when it comes to the people we’ve met through Adam’s law school experience, I’m thrilled at the bountiful abundance of exceptional, talented, lovely-inside-and-out, funny and clever people with whom our lives have been blessed.

Have I mentioned that they are all exceptionally good-looking?

The handsome gentlemen of The Old Swingers Club.

And also stunningly beautiful 😉

The gorgeous feminine side of The Old Swingers Club

[Just for the record, because he’s about to become a lawyer and I don’t want to get sued, I’d like to attribute these amazing shots to the fine photography skillz of Mr. Ryan Johnson]

Anywho, last night was super-awesome-amazing good times. To say the least. Know what’s pretty fun? Having everyone you meet say, “Oh you’re Bay? Adam’s wife? He’s such an amazing guy!” Never gets old hearing that kind of stuff! Adam’s speech (voted by his peers, along with his fellow student, Darcy, to address the class) was perfect. Thought-provoking, humorous and inspired. I got all misty, and saw several other people wiping their eyes. I’m so lucky to have married this guy. For real.

He’s going to put his speech up on his website and when he does, I’ll link to it here!

Since I know you’re all dying to know how my ensemble worked out (No? You’re not? Oh well, I’m telling you anyway), you’ll be pleased to know that it was a hit! I felt pretty good, too, which is always nice. Not that you need compliments to feel good about yourself, but you know what, my friends? It doesn’t hurt. Not one bit. And the big wildcard of the evening, a.k.a. My Hair, was a success. I did an intricate kind of updo, with French braids on my temples, a small bouffant (I teased it! Me! TEASING my hair!), and then 93 trillion bobby pins holding up the curled ends. You can kind of see it in this photo:

We're blowing kisses. You're welcome.

There was a professional photographer at the formal, doing a photo booth. I LOVE the whole photo booth thang. It came about just after our wedding (just missed that trend…) and it’s such a stellar way to capture all the guests at an event, have a little fun and create memories. I love them. They typically involve props and hilarity. We did a bunch of group shots and couple shots, so I can’t wait to see them! I’ll share ’em when we get ’em!

I could go on and on, but I’m tired, because of the late night good times (and possibly many adult beverages). I was definitely dragging my rear today. I was going to get up at 9 am and go for a run, followed by hot yoga/sweat-o-rama at 1 pm. The run did NOT happen.

Oh well, I thought, I’ll catch yoga now and then run later. At precisely the moment I needed to leave to get to yoga on time (it’s not within walking distance), I remembered that our car was parked somewhere downtown: We’d abandoned it in favour of being responsible adults and cabbing… So, I caught a cab to the car, but alas! it was too late to go to yoga.

So I went for a run and caught the later yoga class, at 3:45 pm. Oh wait, no I didn’t—I watched bad movies with the boys, didn’t run at all, and missed that class, too. At 5 pm, I kicked myself in the rear and dragged my sorry self to yoga after all, for which I’m pretty glad. I wonder if the people around me could smell the haze of night-before-excess that I was sweating out (“Does anyone else smell pinot gris?”).

What a great weekend. Awesome. Thank you, Weekend!