Tuesday, January 2, 2007


This will be brief, and a digression from the Sledge, but I MUST divulge:

I just got home from yoga, and I'm left not with a sense of solace and wholeness, but with snippets of the hysterical conversation I heard in the women's room.

Why do yoga people have to be so predictable?

So, I'm toweling off my hair and pulling on my jeans, inch by inch over sticky legs, when I overhear two women talking about karma, past lives, and -- I kid you not -- His Holiness, the Dalai Lama. Now, I'm not one to knock any of these things. I don't rule them out (not that I ascribe to any of them, either...but that's my religion: the mystery of it all. My prayer: who knows?), and I still love Shirley MacLaine. But the WAY they were talking...ugh! Totally esoteric and fluffy, like, "Ohhhh, you'll just LOVE it...it's soooo AMAAAAAAAAAAZING, your soul is just like, ohmygod..."

I'm sorry, but super-barf, girls.

My favorite part of the conversation? Afterward, when one of the chicks said, "My name is Marla." Pause here while she steps into her thong (probably made of breathable hemp). "But you can call me Mars." It was like an interplanetary yoga exchange btwn. Mars and her litte yogini suns. I love the yoga, but, man, get real!

Along similar lines, my contractor thinks I'm a hippie, which I find kind of hilarious, considering my black-clad past spent in swank Manhattan martini bars. People can change. Cheers, baby.

Also, because this hippie hates working for the man (and must return to work tomorrow after a LONG vacation), I've been thinking: if all goes well with renovating (and, eventually, selling) this house, why not make a habit of it? I need constant change (otherwise, I'm deadly bored...and v. quickly), love projects, and know that I need to work for myself. Even with a piece-of-cake job, I'm doomed to misery if I'm doing something for which I don't give a damn. (If I sell this house even at a marginal profit, I'll make TWICE my annual salary. How's that for apples?) I'm trying to get the freelancing off the ground (running in the grass, for now, at least), but if I can make some megabucks renovating homes, why not? It might be fun. It's been good so far, however stressful on my bank account (and brain). But, knowing it will pay off (faith!) is exciting. I like the impermanence of it. Maybe I'll live here for a few years...maybe not. I can do whatever I please; name myself Saturn, move to Kentucky, and start singing back-up for a bluegrass band. For now, though, still taking a whack at this place...still sledgin'.

I'll leave you w/ some photos of my trip to the Northern/central Cal coast:
Elephant Seals on the beach
Elephant seal pup
Santa smokin' up in Big Sur

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