About a week ago, Hilary Rodham Clinton (my black 2006 Scion tC) reached 50,999 miles, signifying to her faithful driver (myself) that it was time for a tune-up. My mother doesn't believe in courtesy shuttles, meaning standard maintenance is always an ordeal involving more than one car and more than one trip. My mother is also a fan of making everything into exercise, so she concocted a brilliant plan: we would walk from the car place back home! And, since the appointment was at 9:00 am, I thought it'd be great to get a walk in with Mama (and my Aunt Edie) and also fit in my practice.
Well, I woke up a little late. Actually, correction: I set my alarm for 9:35, when I should have set it for like, 9:20. In any event, I was late. I didn't think it'd take too long to get ready, and I went to bed late, so I wanted to get every minute of sleep I could. I threw my things together, grabbed a quick breakfast, and met my mother and my aunt at their dead mother's house. Then, we rushed over to the yoga studio, dropped off my mom's car, and then headed to the Toyota Maintenance Center. Boom. Huge line. Which was odd, because this Toyota has never had a line. Ever. Well, at this rate I was never going to make it to yoga.
"Well, if you start walking now, you might make it," said my mom. "We'll wait here and turn your car in." Ugh. The only reason I agreed to walk in the first place was to spend some time with her! If I left now, I might not make it, AND I'd have to walk alone. I took a moment to consider. But I had already done so much preparation for yoga (including chugging 2 bottles of water for hydration)! And my mom's car was there! This was the only time I could go.
So, I walked by myself. Great, I thought. I have to rush to yoga and hope I can make it. Oh well, I still have like, 40 minutes. Let's see what time it is...
Fuck.
My cell phone was in my yoga bag. In my mom's trunk. I'd have to rush to the studio blindly and just hope I'd paced myself well enough. Well, fuck. How did people ever survive without their little digital clocks on their cell phones?
Onward I trudged. I whizzed along the sidewalk, determined, sporting my best soccer-mom power-walk. Already the day was off to a great start. Walking alone from Toyota to a Yoga Studio. Sweating a bunch just before I literally sweat a full gallon. And I didn't have a phone to guarantee the latter. As I crossed the street, and the man in the car I was passing had his window open. Well, maybe I can check my progress.
"Do you have the time?"
He shook his head and held up his bare wrist. "No, sorry." Asshole. It's not like your fucking BMW was built without a clock in it somewhere. Unless that's a chic, expensive feature of sports cars. When you have a BMW, you're too rich to care what time it is. Whatever. I kept marching.
At somewhere around the halfway point, my large intestine decided it was time to take a huge shit. HUGE. So there I was, trudging from Toyota to Bikram Yoga, alone, trying to stop myself from shitting. Somehow, by some stroke of magic, I made it to the studio five minutes before the class started. I was having frantic spasms, and quickly threw myself into the bathroom. I emerged, frazzled, and flopped myself into the hot yoga room just in time to start. Just in time to start SUFFERING.
It was the worst class in a long time. Probably because of a few things: my lack of sleep, my grumpiness, my lack of focus, the discombobulation that resulted from my near jog, and the fact that I had just taken a near jog. The point is, I spent a lot of the time on the floor, nearly in the fetal position, nearly crying. When the class finally ended, I basically crawled home, crawled up the stairs, and crawled into the bathroom for a shower. I turned on the shower, took a quick pee, and then stupidly flushed the toilet. The water immediately turned unbearably hot (unbeknownst to me), and then I proceeded to climb in, still half dead from yoga. I cringed and pressed myself against the glass shower door. Of course, I thought. Anything else?
Naturally, my sometimes fussy toilet took this moment to run forever. Sometimes this happens. Something happens wrong, and the toilet fills to a certain point, and continues to fill the toilet as the surplus water drains back out. Without any action, it would run forever. I groaned, slammed open the shower door, and jiggled the handle. It's the only thing that can really be done. Once you jiggle the handle, it takes a good two minutes for the toilet to finally stop. I crouched on the floor of the bathroom as the excruciatingly hot water heated the entire room to a gross humidity. Perfect. Bikram Yoga Part Two. Mere moments before my unfortunate death, the toilet finally stopped running, the shower water finally cooled off, and I finally rinsed off my misery. I turned the water colder and colder, trying to drown myself in subzero bliss. Then, I laughed and shook my head at my ridiculous day.
Hey, at least it made a good story right? So much misfortune. It was hilarious. I got out of the shower, dried off, and finally proceeded to put on my underwear, ready to turn my day around. Oh, and then my foot got caught, I lost my balance, and I fell backwards into the bathroom door.
This is why I love my life.
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