benji

Yoga Rage

So, the other night Wifesy and I were heading out to yoga.  We were running a bit late as we eased our vehicle down our condo driveway.  We were forced to stop pretty quickly out of the gate.  In front of us was a man with all 4 doors of his SUV open.  He was loading his car and partially blocking the driveway.  Now, he wasn’t completely blocking it.  We could’ve gone around him.  Except for the fact that he also had a dog outside of the car.  The dog was in the middle of the driveway, unleashed, rooting around without a care in the world, as our two ton death mobile glared at him.  We honked at the man and gestured that he should pick up his dog.  Instead of picking up the dog, he shut his car doors and ushered the dog over to the side of the vehicle.  He then stood in front of it, arms extended, like a crossing guard telling everyone to stop.

 

Wifesy is a veterinarian.  So, this didn’t seem sufficient to her.  Quite frankly, it didn’t seem sufficient to me either.  I mean the dog is off leash.  To me the next logical step was – PICK UP THE FECKIN’ DOG.  But, no, this guy thought it was okay to just stand in front of the dog, as if a dog listens to humans when it’s supposed to.  Wifesy pulled the car over to nicely tell the man to “scoop the dog up.”  She began to speak and the harried man immediately started yelling.

 

“It’s fine.  Just go!”  He screamed.

 

“Look…” Wifesy began.

 

“I’m a single parent!” He yelled.

 

Now, with hindsight he was probably just an overly stressed out single parent.  I think this was indicated by the fact that he yelled out, “I’m a single parent” pretty much out of no where.

 

However, here’s where the cocktail goes wrong.  I am the nicest person on earth.  I’m loyal, I’m a giver (almost to a fault sometimes), but yell at my Wifesy – particularly when I feel she’s in the right – and you have a war on your hands.  So, I said…

 

“Just pick up the dog.  Just pick the feckin’ dog up.  It’s simple.  Put him in the car, then he won’t dart out.  JUST PICK UP THE FECKIN’ DOG, DUDE.  PICK HIM UP.”

 

After I yelled back, the startled man started yelling pseudo-gibberish and I yelled pseudo-gibberish back.  It sounded like the static between radio stations turned on full tilt.  Finally, Wifesy had the good sense to drive away because I was about to get out of the car and do I don’t know what.  Probably some kind of crazy gesticulating while bellowing nonsense.

 

About five minutes later, we were in the yoga studio performing child’s pose where I immediately began sobbing.  The teacher touched my back and I sobbed.  Wifesy touched my hand and I sobbed.  Thank god it was restorative yoga because to sob through some kind of Nazi, rapid fire, position flow would’ve been ridiculous.  It would’ve been like Private Benjamin sobbing through basic training, which happened.  I think.  I called the moment, “yoga rage.”  You have not lived until you’ve experienced the switching of emotions in an instantaneous span of time like a living, breathing, unit of telenovela energy.  This is what it is to be a woman.  It’s not all of it, but it’s a delicious part if you embrace it.  The moment passed and I went to work the next day.

 

Fighting through the war of life…

 

I’ve been working with a top notch, female video editor recently on a freelance writing project that I’ll be talking about soon.  I told her about my “yoga rage” or rather “rage then yoga” and she couldn’t stop laughing.

 

This is how I described the incident to my new co-worker:  “Pick up your feckin’ dog.  Pick up your feckin’ dog, Guy!  5 minutes later a yoga teacher says, everyone in child’s pose.  I assume the position and then I gently sob…and I sobbed for the world.  I sobbed because there are children in Africa with flies around their eyes.  I sobbed because that stupid feck who wouldn’t pick up his dog has more kids than he can handle.  I sobbed because my vagina is so big that it wants to scoop up the world and hold it in an embrace, you know, protect it from meanness.  This is what it is like to be constantly infused with estrogen.  When men don’t understand women, this is the part they don’t understand.”

 

I read somewhere that “sweat is fat crying” and it just feels right to me. Sorry, side thought.

 

The female video editor could not stop laughing after hearing my story.  In fact, she laughed until she cried.  (What a girl!)  I popped open a bottle of wine, poured two glasses, cracked open a box of Tampax and offered her one.  We put the video edit on hold and had a vagina dialogue.

 

Okay, not really, but it felt like that completely.  It was communal-like.  It was women sitting around a “red tent.”

 

So, what’s the point of this post?  Well, it is a mandatory regulation that every woman must talk about her “visitor” at least once in their blog, but never in their stand up act.

 

Mission accomplished.

 

Please feel free to lather your estrogen-laden moments and testosterone-fueled incidents in the comments section below.  Both are welcomed.  Both should be honored.  Viva la difference.  (…or something wonderfully french sounding like that.)

 

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Photo credits:  privatebenji, yoga-woman

62 thoughts on “Yoga Rage

  1. That is ridonkulously funny. I’m menopausal so no visitor but I did start crying in the car today b/c Derwood is being made an officer of his company. No warning just crying.

    I heart you.

    1. i love the no warning crying jag. it’s insane. and awesome and bizarre. and crazy. and oprah-ish. loooooll. and hey, big ups for derwood. seriously. xoxoxo, sm

  2. I am first!!!

    I think the best testosterone-fueled moment I witnessed was during a great race incidentally named The Great Race. This guy in a black SUV went barreling up a street that would soon see about 300 runners. The race official stopped him to tell him to please go a different way. The man stuck his giant red face out the window and screamed “I have to get to church!!!!” and screeched off to mow down a few people before he would angrily kneel on a pew and pray the shit out of something.

    It was awesome.

    1. ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my feckin’ god. i have to run out to work but this is feckin’ ammmmmmaaaazing. omg. so so so funny. i love you, 7. seriously. it’s comedy-love. moms

  3. I have been there, felt that say, had a good cry. I kinda feel like that now. The sauce on my swedish meatballs and noodles does not match the delicious looking picture on the box. I want what was advertised, not the crap actually in the box.

  4. Reblogged this on Amber Starts Today and commented:
    Here’s a funny/true explanation of what it’s like living inside a female bod. I don’t do yoga, but I can sooo relate to the rage-then-catharsis part of this story! Sweet Mother’s posts never fail to make me smile/think.

  5. Reminds me of an incident back in the good ol Rutgers days. A bunch of us were piled in my tank, er, my moms 1983 Volvo diesel station wagon about to go to party, when all of a sudden, there was a thud followed by an ear piercing wail, followed then by a steroid infused tattooed man 2 steps from my window about to rip my head off and use it in a bowling league.

    The man’s dog was not on a leash, obviously. And it darted in the road as I was going 40 mph.

    Luckily one of the dudes I was with was a big mother himself and balanced things out. Otherwise I’d probably be walking around without a head right now.

    1. holy sh*t, rob. that’s a crazy story. why do people have their dogs off leash in the streets?!!! why? why? and i’m glad you had another muscle head to balance things out. that’s how we keep the world stablized…a little yang here and a bigger yang there. or maybe that’s just our foreign policy…looool. much love, sm ps also glad you still have a head!

  6. Last time I cried was on Mother’s Day. Daughter was listening to me tell her a story about a friend of mine…who has children who “…love her so much.” Daughter paused and then said, “Well, Mommy, maybe one day you’ll have children who love you so much, too.” I said, “No, Lovey, I think it’s too late.”

    We both laughed with love. Until we cried.

    This doesn’t really fit the story of road-raged hormones…but I’m tired of baking chocolate cookies, cakes and sweets…and having you move just one more time. Stay put. I’ll drop off the baked goodies sometime today……
    XXOOXJOTS

    1. any kind of crying jag fits here. so, i loved this story. loved it. and i love that you have that kind of sense of humor with your daughter. it’s absolutely hysterical. looooolll. and stop it with the cakes. okay, make more. but, for god’s sake, throw them my way. not in the face please. i only accept pies there. moms.

  7. I cry a lot when I run. The guy on my yoga DVD with his faux European accent says it has to do with meridians or chakras or some jazz. Tooooooooooooootttally normal. *wink*

  8. Yay!! Embrace it. I’m going to make my guy read this post. It’s so cool, we are all so different, yet we are all the same (women that is). I understood this post completely.

  9. OMG, how is it you can describe perfectly the ranting and ravings of the female mind, body and spirit. And you STILL went to Yoga where you have to be all calm, fluid and twisty. I couldn’t. I’d have to go punch something or lift some stupid weights that I’m so tired of doing, but I do to keep my estrogen levels on a somewhat even keel (although, trust it’s much harder to do as one ages). I did that sweaty yoga thing about 25 times once (the one in the 100 plus degree room waiting for something to come over me); it never did. I just got pissed at the lithe non-sweating instructor that kept saying, REE-lease, REE-lax and pushing by back and legs into inhuman positions. I’m on a rage now, so gotta go before I say more….SM, you are brilliant with your musings, you are. :).

    1. brig, i heart you. sincerely. thank god i got something – like a post – out of this yoga rage, otherwise it would have been goddermned futile, but if i can mine it, it’s all worth it. lool. anyway, i ALWAYS love your commentary. you rawk. momma

  10. I watched my friend A cry this weekend at our friend’s wedding while giving her toast. It came out of nowhere, but frustration, rage, and the situation reduced her to tears during her toast. It was kind of intense, since she is normally extremely put together.

      1. I haven’t (yet), but I’ve thought about starting a blog of all of my non-fashion related thoughts and commentary. I am more than happy to tell you all about it, though, since it was about as wack as you would expect.

  11. last i cried was Sunday night…and then i couldn’t sleep for good numbers of hours..and yes i think its because of my visitor…anyhow problem with late night bed time crying is..you end up falling asleep in office… i was yawning and walking like a zombie all day….had so much work the say day.. :P

  12. Hilarious! Around my house it’s called womanly time : ) there’s a song and everything. It sounds like something a cheesy lounge singer would perform.
    I swear I thought you were going to say your yoga teacher said down dog and you started wailing hysterically. Hilarious, did I say that already? Yeah, and it was, thanks!

    1. i would’ve screamed, “down dog, you mean pick the dog up!” thank god i didn’t put that 2 + 2 together. loool. hilarious, honie. ay yay yay. none of us are immune to the ping pong, swing swang of the emotion train. ah, such is life. xo, sm

  13. One time a man yelled at me, a coach of my son’s team, and he was mean and awful and totally out of line, and I handled it well until I got home and sobbed for maybe an hour. And I felt the exact same thing. I was crying with the force of a thousand wild horses about being a woman, being bullied, not being a man, feeling sorry for this man, and the kids on the team, and the kids in Africa that couldn’t play basketball, and for the fact that I wanted to just hug him and tell him that if he’d just choose love it would all be alright. Damn my vagina!

    1. It is an overwhelming feeling, isn’t it? One time a guy in a Cadillac Escalade yelled at me as he was backing out of a parking space at the grocery store. I was walking from my car into the store and he said, “fat bitch get out of the way.” Another person heard him and asked me if I was alright. I said yes and went into the store calm as could be. I did my shopping and checked out. When I got into my car to leave, I just burst into uncontrollable sobs. EFFER!

      1. honestly, honie, that is horrible. people like that should be shot. i swear i want someone to say that to me or another woman in my presence and they will suffer. i swear to you. one time a man did this thing where he mocked trying to hit me with his car while i was crossing the street. he would motion for me to go, i would start to go and he would step on the gas a little and laugh. then he pulled up next to me to say god knows what with his window rolled down. it had just rained in manhattan and i was carrying an umbrella. i beat him with it. i’m not kidding. at one point, i had half my torso in the window (wearing a business skirt and blazer mind you) while i pummeled him with my folded umbrella. i’m not proud of the rage that i have sometimes. what i am proud of is that when it does go off 99% of the time it’s pointed in exactly the right direction. some people need to be told “nooooooo, a-hole. no.” anyway, i’m deeply sorry that happened to you. I’ve had sh*tty people say similar things. and always remember it’s the coward that does it in an automobile that’s driving away or anonymously somewhere on the internet. so, that d-bag was a coward. and he’ll get what’s coming to him – in one way or another. hugs, mother

      2. LOL – Sweet Mother! Normally I would have yelled something right back, but I was just stunned. bitch yes, but fat? wt? Yeah, coward. That’s probably what I would have called him. ; )

    2. jesus christ, christine, your comment is so funny that i actually read it out loud to the above editor. i mean, the ‘force of a thousand wild horses’??!!! to die for imagery. to die for. glorious, glorious. made me laugh out loud. you have no idea. THANK YOU for leaving it here. momma

  14. I had a crazy pregnant lady meltdown once. I blame it entirely on hormones.

    I went into a clothing store and picked out a whole bunch of maternity clothes to try on. Earlier I had been to a fruit and veg store and bought fresh produce for the week so I had a trolley full of stuff in bags. So I go into the change rooms to try on my pants and come out to find my trolley (and aforementioned groceries) is missing. Now I had parked my trolley next to the attendant’s desk and asked her to keep an eye on my stuff which she agreed to, so when my trolley miraculously disappeared my ire was directly squarely at her. After making a scene and calling security and being generally obstreperous I insisted that they check the security video to see who the vile creature was who would have stolen a pregnant womans trolley. The security guard was talking to the eye in the sky via walkie-talkie. Him: “Maam he says you came in with that black trolley with something red inside” Me:”No it is a silver trolley with three white bags in it” Him: “But maam he says that is your trolley” Me: “I bloody well know what my trolley looked like and that isn’t it!” Him: “Okay Maam I’m calling the head of security” Me: “yes please!” Meanwhile every security person in the store is looking for my trolley thief. The head of security come to me a says “Maam let’s split up and look for your trolley he will go that way and we will go this way. Now where were you in the store?” By this point I am livid an snorting and stomping around like an enraged heifer. I drag the poor man through the underwear section, the baby section and rounding the corner into the maternity section and lo and behold, in a spotlight of humilatingly bright light is my rouge trolley. I feel myself heat up too the surface temprature of the sun and my cheeks start blushing like a star going nova. I grab my trolley and race out the store muttering a few feeble apologies. I left all my clothes that I had picked out behind.

    Not only did I cause a scene but I had actually STOLEN someone else’s trolley and parked it in the fitting room and left mind in plain sight!

    I blame it on the hormones. While I was pregnant I cried in more shops than I care to admit.

    1. ok, fabs, that story was OUTRAGEOUS. and awesome and mortifying and we have ALL done something similar. i can not imaging what pregnancy hormones would do to me, but i’m not sure it would all be good! looolll. my mom did something similar – she screamed at the receptionist (who was being bitchy) at the bridal store we were at to pick up dresses for my cousins wedding. turns out we were at the wrong store!!! lol. xo, sm

  15. So timely! I’ve been wondering how to blog about visitors without even knowing that I’m supposed to! I am supposed to be menopausal but am not. Sigh. My daughter, who will likely be having visitors in the next years, witnesses my visitors, ’cause she goes to the bathroom with me, like all daughters do. About three days ago, she had a complete meltdown because she doesn’t ever, ever want to be visited. Who can blame her?

  16. No Tyler Clementi comments? However much we may sometimes disagree, I know (deep down) we stand for the same things- even though we express them differently.
    You have pit-bull effectivity, my dear, use it! Please, use it.
    always yours,
    E.

    1. E, please know that when i like someone – as i do you – things roll off of me. i say my piece, but then for me, it’s over. if i don’t like you, i never involve you in my thoughts at all. and since i involve you in all of my thoughts and opinions in this blog world – that’s how i express my fondness. you know what i mean? that being said, i MISS your blog. but, i’m in real-job-hell (heaven?) at the moment – something i’ll talk about soon – and i’m secretly answering your comment from the edit bay. but, i promise i’ll get to your blog real soon. mainly, cause i want to. momma

      1. Relax irish-colombian weirdo :D
        But when you have a moment, from the glory of your perspective, give Tyler Clementi a look. I think you have the ability to shine a very special light. Personally, I think he kind of deserves it from us, because nobody else seems willing to do it, and as we’re not everyone else… ;)

      2. Yes, the sentence, but worse, that gay activists that have been calling for a diet-sentence. Zero calories. No jail time.
        Most, from Signorile to Hicklin said Dharun Ravi was just a young prankster. Basically, if you’re gay, you’ve got to be prepared to be trashed. You’ve got to be tough. You’ve got to be MANLY! Take it on the chin. You know, we deserve abuse. It’s all worthwhile, or so the mainstream thinks… Filming gay people in the most intimate of circumstances? It’s just a joke- no consequences to anyone. Some of us are just making a big deal about nothing.

      3. i went to rutgers, the school they were both attending, so i have a slightly different take on all of this, but i’ll probably talk about it at one point when i can make it funny…so

  17. it’s funny because we’ve all done something like this before (at least women have!) When I was pregnant with my first born I dropped off the car to get the oil changed at all places – WalMart. I walked around, uncomfortable, fat, emotional, very pregnant for a hour in the store. When I went back to check on the car and paid, I went outside and the car was in the exact same spot. I tore back inside and yelled at them, ran out slamming the door (large heavy metal door) against the wall. It was prego rage! They were scared out of their boots :)

    1. omg, i can’t even imagine prego-rage. if this is my NORAMAL hormones, i can’t imagine the amount of WHORE that would be involved in my pregos-hormones. it would be outrageous. that’s all i know. anyhowdy doody, that is an awesome story. much love, sm

      1. Wifesy might be very afraid of you while pregnant! OMG, what if you were both prego at the same time! Mama bears need to be pampered, that’s all I’ll say. xxx

  18. I love love love you, SM. Truly I do. This made me laugh and cry at the same time. Love. My favorite line is “I sobbed because my vagina is so big that it wants to scoop up the world and hold it in an embrace, you know, protect it from meanness” but the whole piece is stellar.

    During my own seething/sobbing moments, poor Mr. Weebles looks at me as if an alien had just crawled out of my chest and spoken to him in Klingon. He just tiptoes away quietly. I can’t even imagine how insane it must look to men, and there’s no way to explain it in a way that will make real sense. I’m sorry, guys!

    And I’m notorious for going off on massive crying jags at the drop of a hat whenever I see those ASPCA commercials (or is it the Humane Society? probably both, actually), or whenever I read about any sort of animal suffering. I Just.Can’t.Take.It. I’m getting a little verklempt just thinking about it.

  19. I usually don’t go into a emotional crying fits when it’s my time of the month but more into crazy over the top ridiculous projects – Phil has gotten adept to sniffing out the time of the month by the scent of fresh paint. Usually though – halfways through – I run out of energy and well motivation and he’s the one who has to finish it if he doesn’t want to live in a halfways painted appartement ;)

    I swear I can’t be held responsible for my acts during that time. I really think I should be considered legally insane and incapable. Maybe I should file for that? Or maybe HE should ;)

  20. I was serene before the menopause. Now I think my testosterone levels must be higher than my residual oestrogen because I tend to get angry. I toot at stupid drivers, write scathing letters, jump up and down on my soapbox and sometimes attack things with a shovel [mostly weeds].

    I would enjoy being this lady in shining armour except for the fact that it looks so silly on someone my height – like a chihuahua going up against a grizzly bear. -sigh- There is no justice in the world.

  21. Hey Sweet Mama. I am glad that I read this blog. I like the thought that fat is sweat crying. I will remember that while my fat cries tomorrow as I work as hard as I can to get my elliptical to start propelling forward off its tracks.

    Also, I like the freedom to discuss my red-headed sister who finished her visit last Saturday. I like my period because it is confirmation that I am not pregnant… again. You see, I have seven children (4 bio, 2 step, and 1 foster) and I would probably lose my marbles if I upped the ante. Which brings me to another point…. after having 4 children via the natural child path (can’t bring myself to say the va-jay-jay) it isn’t as roomy in there as you’d think, or hear it to be. (Though your experience with your Wifesy and what she experienced shows that not all va-jay-jay are built the same.) Take heart, kids may create lasting marks on our hearts, and sometime on our bellies, thighs and arses, but not always in our cavernous bits. There certainly won’t be room in there for all the people in the world or even really for one fly-eyed African child. :)

  22. I always knew you were the kind of girl who would back me up in a bar fight, and I love to fight right before I’m about to go on the rag. There. Now two of us are talking about our periods on your blog. Yay!

  23. Oh gosh. This killed me. “Sweat is fat crying,” HA! I can completely relate to what you said about being nice to a fault, until your loved ones are yelled at/threatened. My only black-out rage was when my best friend, J, said about another close friend, M (after M and I had just completed an epic hike in New Hampshire), “Who cares how many miles M hikes if she’s just going to eat a hot dog after?” I went on a “HOW DARE YOU” rage, screaming all the way through the living room and up the stairs like some sort of Real World episode, in a house full of strangers. To this day I have no idea what I said, but it resulted in us not speaking for almost a year! Maybe I should ask her now that it’s been 7 years… but I’m afraid. So afraid. She knows what I’m capable of now though, at least, LOL

  24. Is it inappropriate to discuss Aunt Flo’s visit over dinner? And why not in your stand up act? Does it make the men uncomfortable? Too fucking bad. Do they have any idea how uncomfortable it makes us feel each and every month? They can suck it up at a comedy club for a couple of hours!

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