It all started with a smile

Three Saturdays ago, I stumbled into yoga a few minutes before 6:30 am. A strange dream had awoken me that morning. In a sleepy haze, I found myself nudging past a tall man filling out a yellow card. While mustering up the energy to legibly write both my first and last name on the sign in sheet, I was hit with the realization that some guy had chosen Saturday's pre-dawn class to start his Bikram yoga journey. That is pretty much unheard of.

I saw him again the next morning for the earliest class of the day, a more reasonable 9 am for Sundays. I was surprised to see him again so soon. Lots of people never ever make it back, and only the extremely brave return the very next day. For the second consecutive morning, he smiled at me both before and after class. Two days later, I went to the 4:30 afternoon yoga session hoping to see him. He was not there.

The following Saturday morning, I sprang up from bed when my alarm rang for the 6:30 am class. I had a really late Friday night, but was energized by the possibility of seeing hot yoga guy. Sadly, he was not there. Yoga practice was especially painful that morning. I spent the greater part of the ninety minutes trying to resist the urge to yawn. I could not concentrate, thoughts of how stupid it was to come after only fours hours of sleep spawned feelings of regret and resentment.

The next morning I somehow made it again for morning yoga. I couldn't sleep and showed up mostly because I had already consumed the calories that I would be burning off. To my delightful surprise, hot yoga guy was the last person to enter the heated room that morning. I probably had a silly grin on my face. When class finished, I gathered my things and walked out, smiling at him when I caught his eye.

I had lunch with my college roommates later that day, one of whom practices at the same yoga studio. On the car ride to the restaurant, I was telling her about hot yoga guy. She commented that there was a good looking guy at the Saturday 9 am class just the day before, noting a particular resemblance to former Laker Rick Fox. I immediately burst out into laughter because I had yet to make the connection. She was spot on.

This whole past week, I have been thinking about hot yoga guy. I mentioned my fascination to a co-worker and she encouraged me to approach him next we met. I quickly explained to her that he was likely better left in my imagination. There, hot yoga guy is good looking with a great smile, witty, intelligent, single and most importantly, into me. I know better than anyone else that I had created this persona to make my weekend morning yoga classes a bit more enticing.

Yesterday, I ended up sleeping in after yet another late Friday night out. I made it to the 9 am class, again mostly to burn off calories I had already consumed. I was barricaded by a large number of Asian mothers, not really the hard core yogi types that frequent the pre-dawn class that I am accustomed to. Hot yoga guy was again the last person to enter the room. This morning though, he totally ruined my conceptualization of him. He not only walked in disoriented but also had unsexy bedhead--the "naturally more voluminous on one side due to being smashed for many hours" look. Then, after almost every pose in the last half hour of class, he grabbed his handkerchief and blew his nose. He just seemed sickly and disheveled, not hot at all.

I was sitting in my car about to start the engine when out of the corner of my eye I saw a guy walking down the stairs. As he reached the landing, I turned over and was surprised to see him looking into the car. He nodded his head as to acknowledge me and again fired off that sensational smile. I reciprocated.

I forgot to mention that he has hazel eyes. They sparkle in the sunlight. I selfishly hope he unknowingly redeems himself on the hotness meter the next time we meet. Either way, his novelty will likely wear thin all too soon. If he becomes a regular at the studio, I will learn of his name and the many other things that make him more him and less the funny sexy do-no-wrong persona that I have conveniently assigned to him. Then, I am left with just me to motivate myself to get out of bed for all those mornings of plain old heated and humid yoga.

I dated a Brahmin...

And all I got was this t-shirt.

My friend's little sister just started her own t-shirt company. I am planning to have one of these screened in a very large size so I can sleep in it.

I came up with the concept when I was writing an entry about my most recent beau. I put the finishing touches on it earlier today, but have opted to not publish it because it turned out much more sentimental than I had first intended.

As I was lying in bed last night, unable to sleep because of large dose of caffeinated beverage late in the PM, I thought to myself how hilarious it might be to print a large number of "I dated a criminal defense attorney... And all I got was this t-shirt" t-shirts on behalf of the many guys my sister will start and stop dating this coming year.

My sister knows I love her. :-)

I <3 the list of Craig

Below is an email I sent in response to a C/L ad for a floor lamp.

-----

I love your lamp. To be honest, I have already exceeded my furnishings budget for the month with a side chair purchase. So, my husband will likely frown if I bring this home. However, I love the lamp so much that I thought I would email to ask if you would be willing to sell the beauty to an admirer who will give it a good home. I think $140 is the maximum I am going to be able squeeze by him.

If it is already sold or your offer is too low, I understand.

Thanks for reading,

-----

The part about the husband and the side chair are not as accurate as they could be, but I really did exceed my monthly furnishings budget. I felt really guilty when I received a response from the seller saying that he would be willing to sell the item to such a "compelling story." That feeling simply evaporated though when I arrived to pick up the lamp and was met with a Maserati parked in front of a multimillion dollar home. Walking into the house to find the lamp next to a few thousand dollars worth of Le Corbusier furniture made me feel like I should have offered a much lower price. I still paid the $140, but inside I was kicking myself for discounting my story telling skills by at least a whole extra $20 worth of savings.

On daughters and marriage

My mother came home from church this past Sunday to find me watching a TED.com video of Elizabeth Gilbert discussing genius. She stood by my side for a few minutes before she wandered off into the kitchen. When the video finished, she causally strolled back into the study. The following conversation ensued.

MA: So, Whitney is getting married in May.

ME: Oh, cool. (Thinking to myself, I already read about it on Facebook.)

(MA walks away for about a minute and returns.)

MA: I was wondering when my own children would be getting married.

ME: What are you talking about? Ge (means older brother in Mandarin) just got married last year.

MA: Well, I mean, when will my own daughters be getting married?

(I roll my eyes at the computer screen thinking that it is too soon to be having this conversation. I turn to face her.)

ME: Well mom, I think you might be to blame for this. You know, when you give a girl a good education that enables her to find a job so she can pay for her own mortgage and buy most of the things she wants and needs, she really is a lot less compelled to compromise. I mean, goodness gracious, arm a girl with an American passport and a self-sustaining income and she gets out of hand, she doesn't feel like dealing with all the problems that relationships can bring, and she isn't ready to sell her independence to any guy who comes along. I don't know what to tell you.

(MA walks away after letting out an audible grunt, as to signify disapproval. I smile and return my attention to the computer monitor.)

This brings me back to what Uncle Larson, the husband of the woman who babysat my siblings and me the summer of 1989, said to me the last time he saw me, "Never settle, you hear me? NEVER SETTLE."