"Eternal nothingness is okay if you're dressed for it."

Tuesday, August 31st, 2010

Units of alcohol over the weekend:
Friday: None! God I’m skinny.
Saturday: Can’t remember. Casino for Ale and Mark’s Bachelor Party.
Sunday: Ow.

Calories:
WHY did I eat a chili cheese dog at 1am on Sunday morning at the casino?!? Do I even LIKE chili cheese dogs? (The answer is yes, yes I do.)

Weight:
-2 lbs.

Food consumed today:
1 cup of coffee
1 granola bar
apple
lean cuisine
popcorn (butter, obvi)
turkey dog (quantity to remain secret)
edamame
half a Frosty

Purchases I've made since my divorce that I regret; or, Why I only have .43 cents in my savings account:
August 25th-31st:
Groceries
My overdue library book

So, after one too many "winks" from creepy, serial killer-types on JDate (I'm happy and willing to convert), I decided I should be on the lookout for a new venue. Granted, there really aren't many alternatives to online dating, now that arranged marriages have fallen out of vogue. But I recently stumbled across something hip, that I thought I should try:

Singles.

Yoga.

Even if I don't meet my second husband, I figured, at least I'll burn some calories.

So, on a lovely Tuesday evening, I screeched into the singles yoga parking lot, with Kiss 95.7 blaring on my radio, and me screaming the words to "Better off alone."

Very namaste.

"God, I just hope they don't want me to sit quietly the whole time," I think to myself. "Why did I ever think this was a good idea?"

I take a deep breath, and open the car door. I stare up at the building in front of me, with a feeling of both dread and excitement.

"How did I even get here?" I wonder out loud.

It all started with ... hmm. Actually, I have no clue how it started. Certainly with a sense of desperation, and probably a lot of boredom. I may accidentally have stumbled across the advertisement while searching “Missed Connections” on Craigslist.

Like much of my memory, the details are hazy, but somewhere I saw an advertisement for a $10 Singles Yoga class in Glastonbury (fancy).

At some point, I also decided it would be a good idea to drag two of my friends with me.

However, I’m pretty sure I picked the 2 worst people to bring EVER. Now, don’t get me wrong: I love my friends, and would do anything with them. But, generally I'd prefer to not be competing with them for hot, shirtless, single men!

I approached Buffy with the idea first. I told her that she needs to get out, expand her network of friends, and try something different. Unfortunately for me, Buffy actually works out at my gym. As in, instead of sitting at the smoothie bar, waiting for prince charming to come along (and offer to buy her an extra dietary supplement), Buffy actually works out.

For 2 hours a day.

5-6 days a week.

She kind of has the most killer body EVER. Not exactly someone you want to bring with you to a class where you are trying to meet your second husband.

Then there is Carrie. Ballet, tap, and jazz dancer. Also swim coach. She also runs 5k’s. And she probably doesn’t eat at Friendly’s every other weekend (or every other weekday). What was I thinking?

On the positive side, I know I have my sense of style, and Lady Gaga lipstick.

Because, who doesn't wear lipstick to yoga?

Carrie and I walk up the steps (I'm already winded) and cautiously walk through the door. Oh good, we are the first ones here! We wait at the counter, while a girl decorates a billboard with upcoming yoga announcements. All the while ignoring us.

“Um, hello?” I finally say.

“Oh hi! Are you here for singles yoga?” She says in a smug manor.

No, bitch. I’m here to meet my boyfriend. He teaches yoga here, and has the sickest body you have ever seen.

“Yes!” I say politely.

“Just wait over there! The instructor should be here soon.”


Carrie and I walk to a waiting area, where there is one other person waiting.

A 20-something. Girl.

Great.

She is definitely skinner than I am, BUT seems to be wearing some sort of dreadful patterned top, and no lipstick. No competition, I think to myself.

She starts talking to Carrie, and I tune out. I wonder how many guys will be here? There is going to be so much sexual tension, I think to myself, when we are all lying down on the mats practicing deep breathing.

My phone vibrates. It’s Buffy. She's on her way.

All of a sudden, I hear the door open, expecting Buffy.

Another girl.

Blonde.

Ugh. They get all the men.

She sits down, and immediately strikes up a conversation with the first girl. They begin excitedly talking about their teaching jobs. Blah, blah, blah.

I wonder to myself: what kind of wedding are yoga-type men are into? Beach? I hope not. All that sand and sun. Ugh. Some people just aren’t meant to be tan. Or sandy. Plus, he might want tacky white tuxedos. Pictures are forever, and I don’t want to be seen standing next to a guy in a white tux. Or WORSE, what if he wants to wear Hawaiian shirts? I throw up a little in my mouth.

The door opens.

In walks the man of my dreams.

With no shoes.

I take a closer look, and realize he's definitely NOT the man of my dreams.

In fact, he's a creepy, less sexy version of Crocodile Dundee. He's 40-something, with a full-on mustache, green cargo shorts, and a toupee.

Just as I’m scanning the room for the closest exit, Buffy rushes in. I resist the urge to make eye contact with her, because I know we'll both start laughing about this situation, which is quickly spiraling out of control. She sits down next to me, and starts to smile.

I cough loudly 3x, in an attempt to disguise my laughs.

Just as I've re-centered my zen, Trader Joe (or Dundee, whatever) launches into the LONGEST SPIEL EVER about “CT Singles,” the group sponsoring the event. He is apparently a representative. And it turns out he's trying to get pro-singles policies on the next Democratic Party platform.

Illegal immigration is overrated anyway.

He proceeds to tell us that CT Singles sponsors many activities, including glow-in-the-dark mini golf, glow-in-the-dark galactic bowling, and bar outings (how fun would that be if it were glow-in-the-dark, too!).

“Those sound dangerous,” Buffy blurts out. I hold back my laughter.

Apparently, these singles think they have a better chance if their faces are lit up under blue lights?

He asks us if we have any suggestions for activities. Buffy suggests a wine tasting.

LOVE it!

“OH NO! WE CAN’T DO THAT!!!” Dundee exclaims.

“Why not?” she inquires.

“Insurance purposes. Someone could get injured.”

“But you can play mini golf in the dark?” she wonders loudly.

At this point, I can’t hold back the laughter anymore. Dundee gives me a look, as if to say, "I hate you but I’m going to smile anyway."

As I try to contain myself, Dundee and the first two girls enter into a deep discussion about glow in the dark activities, and whirlyball (huh?).

My phone vibrates.

Text (1)
Buffy: I get the feeling these girls have never left their houses before.

I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, where I proceed to laugh silently for approximately 12 minutes, before returning to civilization.

At this point, it is FINALLY time for class to begin. We go into the studio, and it turns out 8 other people have arrived.

All.

Of them.

Are girls.

Kill me.

The instructor is a 20-something, semi-attractive male. However, it's difficult to take someone seriously who keeps using the phrase “sit spoon.”

And he has his nipple pierced.

I basically endure the class by making to-do lists in my head, and picking out outfits for the next week (actually, next year).

When the class is over, we sprint out to our cars (god, why was that more work than the gym?). Carrie goes home, and Buffy and I drive to the Cromwell Diner.

As she orders her salad (no dressing, no cheese, no lettuce), and I order my turkey club (extra mayo, cheese fries, side of chocolate milk), I find myself wondering whether the time I spent blending 3 shades of eyeshadow for yoga was a waste.

Namaste.