Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Not Everyone is a Billionaire!

I happened to be home today and had the opportunity to watch Oprah. She interviewed the Harry Potter author herself,  J.K. Rowling. It wasn't like I was chomping at the bit to catch this particular episode, but hey, I was home, (doing what, I don't remember) I've seen one or two of the movies but I haven't read any of the books. But I wanted to hear what she had to say. She's a writer. I'm a writer. I'm sure we have something in common.

At one point during the interview, Oprah brings up J.K.'s (whose name is Joe) extreme wealth. I believe she used the fact that J.K is the first billionaire writer, as her jumping off point. Oprah wanted to know how money had changed J.K's life. Frankly, it came off as an excuse so Oprah could comment on her own wealth. J.K. said, "I wear better clothes." She went on to say that there's a certain amount of freedom that comes with wealth. "If I see two things that I want, well, I realize that I don't have to choose. I can have both." Oprah giggled like a giddy school girl.

I started to throw up a bit in my mouth! Have these two billionaires read the papers lately? I could not believe what I was hearing. They were talking to each other as if they were having sleep over in one of their mansions and were regaling each other with the trials and tribulations of being filthy dirty rich, without a thought to the millions of viewers watching, who DO NOT live in mansions.

As J.K. was having her 'aha' moment about not having to choose, Oprah was on the edge of her seat, anxious to weigh in with a, "I know! I can have both!" It was positively repugnant.

J.K. went on, "Money doesn't solve anything. I still worry that it might go away. Although I'd have to be pretty foolish, and I've never been foolish with money before, so, I guess I'm okay." She looks to Oprah in a, you know what I'm talking about sister girl. But Oprah didn't know what she was talking about because she then adds, "No, I really don't feel that way anymore." Thus implying that she's pretty damn sure that she'd always be rich.

Really? In this environment you're talking about how hard, weird, uncomfortable and comfortable it is being a billionaire? Oprah wouldn't stop. She wouldn't let go of the money topic. Every time they returned from a commercial, Oprah somehow worked money back into the conversation. I wanted to climb through my TV and bang their heads together!

I've never had a problem with Oprah, except when The Secret came out and she started shouting S E C R E T (holding on the word for like a whole minute before she got to the T) Who the hell do they think is watching Oprah? It was the most insensitive 10 minutes of television that I had witnessed in a long time. And I watch a lot of television.

Clearly I was more irritated by this than I thought because I took it into my Mat Pilates class. We had just finished doing push ups and the class was in child's pose. I told them about the Oprah interview in a wild rant, complete with facial expressions, physicality and an array of vocal inflections. In essence, a stand-up comedy routine. This happens on occasion. I forget where I am. Is it a Pilates studio or a stage? See post A Tall Drink of Water or Pass the Beano, for further evidence.

I'm nearing the end of my story when I say something to the effect of "Come on, who do you think you're talking to? Fuck you." Of course this was directed at Oprah and J.K., and if that wasn't inappropriate enough, I brought the point home by giving Oprah the finger. Actually two fingers. As soon as my digits left my hands, I regretted it. But I was committed and it was too late. I ended it there but my class will, I fear, now have an image of me, red faced, irate, and shooting Oprah the bird.

Friday, September 24, 2010

The Case Of The Missing Water Filter

I haven't taught Pilates in a couple of days and I feel like I've forgotten everything that I've ever learned. Quite frankly, I feel like a fraud. I've got a private session and a Mat class later this afternoon and I'm so unmotivated. I should be coming up with kick ass routines, or review my anatomy, so that when a client tells me about their torn meniscus, I can offer up exercises that would be good for such an injury, and NOT just tilt my head with a, "Aw, that must hurt." No, I choose to obsess (read:blog) about a missing water filter.

It goes without saying that I am in charge of changing the filter in the Brita water pitcher every two months. I'm very diligent about this because I am anal about germs, following rules, instructions and manuals. I would make a really good HR person... says my friend Muffy.

The Britta guide said to change the filter every two months. They even include a little calendar that adheres on the pitcher as a reminder. I also put it on the calendar that hangs on the refrigerator... just as a safety precaution.

Well, it was time for a filter change the other day and lo and behold, no filter, just an empty box. I was livid, I tell ya, livid! First of all, I would never put an empty box back in the basket of cleaning supplies that lives under the sink. And second, where the hell was the filter?! I bought a package of three and I know there was at least one left, or else it would've made it onto the "we need the following" list. Anal... your table is ready.

It couldn't have been my boyfriend. He doesn't even know that we have water filters, let alone, take one out, swap it out with the old one and put the empty box back under the sink. Although he has been known to put the orange juice carton back in the refrigerator with a spit of juice left. Then again so have I.

There was only one other person that could've taken it. The CLEANING LADY. But why? And wouldn't she think that I would notice, especially since it was the last one? If she had thrown the box out, then maybe, just maybe, I might've thought that I forgot to put it on the "we need the following" list.

In any case, I decided not to confront her because I didn't have any forensic evidence. But she better watch her back because I'm onto her. She doesn't exactly have a clean record. For one thing, when she cleans, she puts things 'away'... in drawers, cabinets and closets. The first time she cleaned, I couldn't find anything. It's terribly annoying and she should NOT be opening my drawers... nightstand or kitchen.

So, when she came to clean yesterday, I laid it on the line. It might've come out a bit harsh because I was thinking about my missing water filter. I told her that on no uncertain terms should she put anything away. Lift, clean, and put back down.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

And Here's To You Lululemon

I have to thank Lululemon for their Wunder Groove Crop pants, with inner stash pocket, flat seamed stitching (to prevent chafing) and extra padding in the crotch area, because sitting at Starbucks's, I sneezed and peed my pants.

I know I shouldn't be embarrassed, after all Whoopi Goldberg brought LBL (light bladder leakage) into the mainstream. Stream. Get it. http://nymag.com/daily/entertainment/2010/03/see_whoopi_goldbergs_bladder_l.html But let's face it, it's not cool to lose control of your bodily functions in public.

I was sitting on a wood chair, working on my laptop, because, what else is there to do at Starbuck's? The coffee tastes burnt and smells burnt, so I’m not there for the Joe. But they do have free WiFi and it's a great place to people watch.

So, I sneezed and it felt like I fully made my pants, as if I was sitting on the toilet. It did not feel like a trickle or 'light leakage'. I was convinced that I was sitting in a pool of my own urine. Charming AND sexy.

This was bothersome and frustrating for a couple of reasons. For one thing, I MADE IN MY PANTS IN PUBLIC! The last time I made in my pants I was at a roller rink (old school, four wheels) in 7th grade, skating to Donna Summer's, "Last Dance", when my friend Debby said something so funny, that I, well, peed in my my pants. I was able to Kegel just in time to prevent the 'stream' from dribbling down my leg. Luckily I had a sweatshirt with me and tied it around my waist.

I didn't have an extra sweatshirt with me at Starbuck’s. I could have made a beeline to the bathroom, because there were only a few stragglers milling around but there was a man sitting right behind me, who I was sure could see my leakage on the chair and in my pants.

I busied myself for awhile and then had to get to the bathroom. I grabbed my bag and awkwardly held it behind me, in a feeble attempt to cover my ass. My other hand covered my front.

When I got into the bathroom and spot checked, I was out of my head with amazement. There was no sign of leakage outside of my wonderful Wunder Groove Crop pants. Oh, I did pee, don't get me wrong, but that extra cushioning in the crotch acted much like, oh, I don't know, a very sassy, and comfortable diaper!

Besides being embarrassed, I was upset because I'm a friggin' Pilates instructor! My pelvic floor muscles should be in tip top shape. On my last gynecological visit, my doctor said, ‘Wow’ upon examination. I'll spare you as to how he came to this conclusion.

I can't rely solely on Lululemon to catch my pee. I've got to get back to the Pilates studio and squeeze, for when I sneeze.