Wednesday, March 24, 2004

I think that yoga is a drug. I used to make fun of all those yoga freaks who got up at four in the morning and did it until their arms fell off. But if I weren't so lazy, I could seriously see myself becoming one of them. Last night's session was so hard. At one point, I almost started cursing Lori for making me stay in downdog for about five minutes. And this takes place in an Episcopal church, mind you. But at the end, when you are laying there on the floor, completely stretched out and exhausted, the whole world seems right.

Too right, in fact, because last week when I was driving home, I got stopped by a cop. I was all "La la la, aren't the stars lovely tonight!"...driving 47 in a 30. But then, I was still in such a good mood, that the cop just gave me a warning. He actually said, "This will just be between you and me. But please stop speeding." No kidding. Like Cannonball Run or something.

I had to go get two birthday balloons this morning for two coworkers (Passive Aggressive Priss and Miss Pushy Pushy.) Well, apparently I didn't actually read the balloons at Walmart, because I got out to the car and noticed that one said, "Happy Healing." So at work, I crossed out "Healing" and wrote in "Birthday" with a sharpie. Very classy, I know. It was my one task. "Ellen, pick up two birthday balloons." I'm just not very aware sometimes.


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