Nobody Likes A Chubby Yoga Teacher

I have been entertaining the thought of becoming a Yoga teacher.

But there’s a small problem – I refuse to be a “chubby” Yoga teacher. I have some rules for myself: I have to lose my belly and be able to do the splits.

I have a recurring nightmare: I am leading a Yoga class doing a folding leaf stretch and my shirt creeps up (exposing my pasty muffin top). The old ladies snicker and point at me.

A doctor must not dry heave at the sight of blood. A pizza maker must be able to toss raw pizza dough around and not drop it on the floor. The splits are a mandatory thing for any Yoga instructor.

It’s not like I practiced gymnastics as a child and became limber. I was never on that “flexibility” wagon.

I am really close to being able to do the splits, but close enough isn’t what champions are made of. My rule is: the balls have to touch the ground.

The weight thing is important to me because there is a certain appearance one must uphold as a fitness instructor.

Richard Simmons may have a great Afro, but he never had a 6-pack. His personality and flamboyance do a great job distracting us from his frumpy belly.

Not to pick on him – his attitude is infectious. I don’t have his personality though, and I’m sure he can clobber me in a sit-up challenge.

I desire to have credibility. If you engineer a tower in Italy and it leans heavily to one side, no more architecture for you.

I can’t be the chubby Yoga teacher, it’s just irresponsible.

Day Three At The New Office

Today is my third day at my new office. I have work to do, but instead, I am watching HILARIOUS cat videos. I am not a fan of cats in the least, but videos of them doing stupid things that cats do … priceless.

One thing is evident; my work ethic is in critical condition.

I had a home office. The reason for getting a new space was to get away from my attention starved dogs. They are always touching me for some reason. When they aren’t touching me, they stare at me.

While working from home, when I was faced with the choice of working or not working, I seem to mostly choose to not work. I would escape to Facebook, Netflix, & Youtube. I would imagine cocaine feels just like these things.

When a chore was neglected, like the dishes, I would stop working and wash them.  Dog hair on the rug? Lets vacuum. Skid mark in the toilet? Get the Lysol.

If I leave skid marks in the toilet at work, there is nobody policing the toilet situation. I think I am similar to most men — in that we are capable of tolerating a high degree of filth (compared to women).

My one saving grace at my new office is the Internet is very slow.  My desire to watch videos of a 1000 degree knife cutting random things will, hopefully, diminish over time.