Mirrors = Love & Hate

So, I was thinking last night...

I have a love-hate relationship with mirrors.

Why do I hate mirrors, you ask? (Okay, you didn't ask, but play along, okay?)

I hate seeing my reflection. I know you are supposed to look in the mirror before you leave the house to ensure your look is only mildly hobo-esque instead of full on hobo. It's either that, or something to do with accessories, which I rarely add. I find it throws off my hobo style. No, not Soho style. Not bohemian style. My hobo style.

I prefer to just assume things fit and that all is well, then look in a full length mirror (likely after the point of no return, because I am already way late, OBVS) and discover that I actually look super shitty.

Mirrors also let me see all the great stuff I can pick at or pluck at on my face. That's a bad thing, my friends, especially if I am anxious. Snap. Yank. Crackle. Pop.

Why do I love mirrors?

Driving, thankGAWD.

And in the gym. Not to look at my slowly-bloating self over time, realizing I should be AT the gym IN FRONT of those mirrors more often. No, not at all.

THE MIRRORS CHANGE MY YOGA PRACTICE. You know, when I actually do it once a month. Yoga I mean. The teacher mentions that the left shoulder should be stacked over the left hip in warrior. A subtle change and DAMN! I can FEEL that! And it looks so much better, so CORRECT, so easy to see how my wonky ass is different from the instructor.

Approximation of me in tree pose. I need that tutu. (Via)

So there you go.

You probably thought I was going to mention nudity or something fun. But c'mon now. We all know I'm no fun.

You know, unless there is tutu involved.



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New Year Bullshit Begins

Listen.

Closely.

Can you hear it?

Everywhere, in bathrooms all over the globe, people are studiously picking up and plucking dental floss from it's dust-covered station in the bathroom, last touched when it was handed free to you at your dentist's office.

Resolve to floss!

Can you smell it?

Just flare your nostrils ever so slightly.

Yoga classes from here to every uptight yoga studio, from cheap to pricey, as the masses align their newly received yoga mats side by side. Placed so tightly together in the room, the body odour is enough to resolve to never return again.

Resolve to be zen! Be fit! Be healthy!

Because THIS YEAR is different. In that it ends in a 2. Or some stupid reason. Therefore your lame ass resolutions will stick this year.

Right?

Yeah, me neither.

I give it two weeks. Or whatever. It's hard for me to type this as I shovel my face full of chocolates, gluten-free brownies, Turtles, salted cashews, Lindors, and   self-respect   this healthy apple  the reality check that my clothes don't fit me anymore  straight spoonfuls of granulated sugar.

Happy 2012, Y'all.

I'm off to go let out a few seams on my jeans. (Yeah right, we all know I can't sew. You got me).


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