there's more to life than this

I cannot stop eating Trader Joe's popcorn.

In other news, I am as sore as a mofo in certain bodily areas -- no, not that -- from yoga. Holy Jebus. After a Saturday night of cosmopolitans I arose at 7:30am to meet up with my yoga teacher and yoga the day away. The day started with Kundalini yoga (with superstar Gurmukh Khalsa at the Golden Bridge). Nothing says fun like holding your arms up in the air for ten whole minutes while you try to remember to chant. The best part of the practice was the resting pose at the end, not because I am a lazy ass but because while we laid there Gurmukh's husband banged on this amaaaaazing gong, it was like being washed with sound.

Then there was veggie sushi buffet lunch.

Then there was power yoga with superstar hottie Bryan Kest. Having mostly followed the Iyengar style o' yoga, I had yet to experience the sweat bath-style of yoga steaming up SoCal. Phuck! I was dripping and slipping all over my mat, packed into a room with 100+ fellow masochists. It was so good, but just sooo exhausting.

Then came part 2 of the Gurmukh experience -- she invites all of her students to her house for dinner Sunday evening, so I very tiredly sucked down two bowls of the yummiest curry soup ever and made an acquaintance with a songwriting lady from Nashville. The most common topic of conversation of the evening was the guy who lived a couple blocks down from the Golden Bridge who was threatening to commit suicide (he had a gun). The police had cordoned off the street and had been waiting him out all day -- the evening class was convinced that their prayers had ended the standoff, as the situation was clear by the end of their class. Coincidence? or Kundalini intervention? You decide.

Last question: why can't I get the dang blasted Mr. Show theme song out of my head?