The Dead Things Post

Not to be topped by Laksmi, although, sadly, I admit to being scooped, I am hereby posting a photo of a dead thing. And one which was subsequently dissected. Although not in what you would call a scientific way. My version of the "dead things" post is as such:

On New Year's Eve, I attended a party in which a dead pig was roasted on a spit.

I know, I know. Yuck, gross, you could see it's teeth, how disrespectful to display that poor pig's carcass for our entertainment, yeah, I know. As my mom says, "Food chain." And if that's not sufficient to get you to the next paragraph, then try this: Inhale let, exhale go.

I do think the roasting of the piggie was intended ironically, since the theme of the party was essentially Cowbgirl Whores and Men in Wifebeaters. How that theme came to be conveyed to the partygoers is another story entirely, involving an invitation in the shape of a boot and a request that we all bring our "ho on down" for some bourbon and some BQ. The message was a bit abstruse; however, if you wanted to get it, you did. Which is kind of the point, isn't it? And I kind of wanted to get it. As such, I purchased myself a "sexy cowgirl" costume from BuyCostumes.com, although in its execution:



I resembled not so much a sexy cowgirl ...

as ...

... Jessie, from Toy Story 2:

But that's okay. I just let myself be aware of this, and then breathed it away. See, there's yoga even in decking oneself out for a costume party in which roast pig-with-teeth is served! Who knew?

Most of the gals were dressed like Jessica Simpson in the Dukes of Hazzard - short denim shorts or skirt, button down buttoned low and tied at the ribcage, all with cowboy boots and bare legs. I coulda done that too. But I like cheezy ostumes too much not to sieze the opportunity.

A good time was had by all, and once again, it was pretty special to party with some of whom, it turns out, have become my very oldest (and dearest?! who knew!) friends. Much libation was imbibed, not by me, but by my peers. I have decided that alcohol is not my friend, and I need to spend far less time with this not-friend of mine. I am not saying that I am going stone cold sober. I just want to spend some time being mindful about my alcohol consumption and not drinking just because everyone else is and because I know that half a martini has the power to trasnform me from the quiet and contemplative but highly content girl curled up on a sofa just outside the crowd to the HI-LARIOUS, witty quipping, sexy dancing, utterly engaging belle of the ball that I am in my own mind when that martini starts to work its magic. Know what I'm sayin'?

Besides, drinking tends to ease my eating inhibitions, which will eventually catch up to me if I don't nip it in the bud now. What I don't need is to start having trouble binding. It's the one thing I actually CAN do at this point in my practice. Odd how things change over time in this practice. This ASHTANGA practice. Because I am, after all, an asthangi.

Pig roast, not my idea, might I remind you.

And I am quietly, almost but not quite secretly, participating in this WO YO PO HO BLOW thing that you all seem to be doing. You know, at least 10 minutes of yoga a day, regardless of moon days, ladies' holidays and Saturdays, for the month of January - and by yoga, you seem to mean ASANA. Hmmm. I can do that. No Mo Problomo with that. Except it was difficult to squeeze it in today. Lots of family and friend stuff going on here at Planet Yoga Chickie. So, for perhaps the first time ever, I did some A's, some B's, and the final three and called it a day. It made me hungry for more, which is kind of cool. We shall see if the sentiment continues through tomorrow morning when I have a full practice at the CT Shala planned, hopefully with the assistance of a teacher.

And that. Is all.

YC