Crack is Whack

Tonight the President of the United States of America spoke the annual "State of the Union" address to millions of viewers. I was not one of them. I was at work wondering if he was telling me anything that I didn't already know... the state of the union sucks right now. Unemployment blows ass unless you are lazy and incredibly comfortable with living off the system and it's at it's highest in years. There are multiple issues that the President didn't address that I feel are more much pressing though. These issues became incredibly impressive on me this past week and I feel that I must address them in order to finally find some peace with them.

For those of you who know me and those of you who don't, I've begun taking hot yoga classes. This is simply a 90 minute intense cardio yoga class done in a room that is heated to one hundred and ten degrees farenheit. This literally causes you to sweat your ass off while contorting your body into multiple pretzel forms. In fact, while leaving the first class, I'm pretty sure that I stepped in more than one puddle of melted ass. Now, don't be confused, I'm not turning into one of those "fully centered, focusing on my third eye" weirdos... I'm simply trying to build strength and flexibility. However, there are plenty of yogi's... yep, that's the actual term, in the classes that are into all that bullshit. I mean, I felt completely exhilerated after the class, relaxed, and yes, centered, but I think it had more to do with endorphines than some damn sun salutation.

There are things about the class that I didn't expect though... I didn't expect a man in 1970's short shorts with a giant (I'm talking puts Santa to shame!) sized beer belly to be in the class. Thank dog that he was in back, but seriously, does the room have to be lined in mirrors? Talk about finding a focal point... his giant belly button was it! I didn't expect Big Foot to be taking the class. Or maybe it was a Wookie. Either way, this had to be one of the hairiest individuals that I have ever seen! Add 110 degrees, tons of sweat and I swear to dog, he looked like a lake creature from one of those bad 1960s B movies with the screaming girls and the terribly impossible plot lines! (Swamp Thing is what I will refer to this individual as in future blog posts.) I mean, after 90 minutes, this guy smelled like he'd crawled out of a toxic sewer! I'm just glad he was behind me and that I wasn't downwind.

There are two rules to taking hot yoga:

1. You must wear spandex or very little clothing. This has more to do with the changing of positions than it does with the sweating, but I think if I had layered up, I would have literally died due to dehydration... would have looked like one giant piece of beef jerky. (Btw... sorry for everyone who had to look at my fat ass in leggings but holy shit, was it hot in there!)

2. You must abstain from eating or drinking anything but water for at lest 2 to 3 hours prior to taking the class. Too much heat + digestion = puke. No bueno. Also, there are plenty of moves that put pressure on the internal organs, massaging them to create a release of toxins thus resulting in a better body balance.

Now, when you don't follow either of these directions, this is what happens: strange sweat stains and farts. Yep, farts. That's right. Try keeping your mind focused when the fat ass in front of you has his oversized basketball shorts firmly tucked between his puckered ass cheeks. Why were they puckered? Perhaps it was because he was trying to avoid blowing ass in class. Too bad... he did it anyway! Multiple times! Apparently this is normal, as I can remember my older brother telling me that HE was the one who farted in a yoga class, packed his things, left and never went back. However, this jackass just kept on ripping them like they were going out of style. 40 people, 110 degrees and this jerk doesn't flinch as he flatulates all over the place! Nobody else seemed to notice except me and my friends who tried desperately to keep from busting out laughing at each flutter of his ass cheeks.

I was releasing endorphines. That guy was releasing last nights fourth meal! Thanks for the leftovers asshole!

Now, I wish that this had been the most interesting part of my weekend but this was only second to the events that occured on Saturday night. You see, in typical fashion of celebrating a friends birthday, I ended up in a strip club. Not unusual as I have been multiple times and actually quite enjoy the outing, often viewing it as a sociological experiment. I spend most of my time people watching, sitting at the side of the stage, intently watching the men, both old and young, as they view each dancing woman as if they are pubescent teenagers catching their first glimpse of a naked body. This particular evening did not provide this sort of entertainment however. Instead, I began critiquing the girls, their outfits, facial expressions (or lack thereof), and taking particular interest in their pole tricks.

I'm going to pause here and give props to the athleticism that is demonstrated by strippers. Most of these women were doing moves that even the advanced yogi's in my yoga class couldn't do and they did them while completely naked, in front of a crowd on a cold stage. Kudos ladies... kudos.

Okay, I regress. As a tall blonde entered the staging area, all three of us verbally noted that she must be older because her hair was covering her face. We were right, she was 38 as we would later find out. As we sat watching, tossing singles on the edge of the stage to draw her towards us, her long legs twisting and turning across the floor, our conversation became more intriguing than the dancer. A moment later and I noticed that she was right in front of us, fully nude. "There ya go buddy! Happy birthday! Here's a crotch shot for ya!" I said to my friend. "I don't think she's looking at me," he said. And sure enough she wasn't. She had her eyes right on me, legs spread open, waving at me with one finger.

So where am I going with this? I think that if you are going to have a job stripping, you should probably get your hemmorhoids taken care of prior to showing up for work, removing your clothing and then spreading your butt cheeks in front of someones face and expecting them to give you money. I wanted to give her money, to have hemmorhoid surgery... not to keep her dancing in front of me. Long story short, she later came over and wanted to give me a lap dance. As flattered as I was, I sacrificed my friends' wife to the wolves and let her get the hemmorhoid rub down.

So this weeks lessons: a. get your butt fixed and b. don't eat before yoga.

If only all of life's lessons were so simple!