Cowgirl Yogi

Because I have a little girl, I have green froggy sunglasses and a stick-on mustache in my purse. Because I have a little girl, I have a perfectly logical reason to wear a tutu, at any given time on any given day.   Because I have a little girl, I get to have batman marathons on weekend mornings.   My house is filled with things to play with.   Rocking out in the middle of the grocery store is perfectly acceptable. As is going about my day talking like a robot for no apparent reason.   And because I have a little girl, I am shaking, literally shaking, with anger over a friend’s flippant facebook post.   I am yelling at my screen,   what the fuck is wrong with people!!!!!   This is what’s wrong with our country! This is what happens larry!!!!!!!   What could be so offensive you ask?   A parent from across the country asking if it’s a law that all children’s favorite restaurant be McDonalds, and the slew of parents responding, “yes!   I do...

Dear god, I have a giant ass.   I mean this thing is epic.   I know what you’re thinking; “great.   another woman complaining about her body, how original.”   Oh no, gentle reader, you’ve got it all wrong.   I mean, I have a class A, this one goes up to 11 not just a 10, fantastic, ridiculous ass.   Sure, it’s larger than most, I certainly don’t fit into any sort of cookie cutter mold, I will never be a high fashion model, but my curves are fan-fraking-tastic.   And they are here to stay.      Of course it’s highly likely that tomorrow I’ll go back to hating my bottom half for a few days before hitting the upswing, so I’m writing this now.    This is one of my many puzzlers, how do I, as a yogi working to better myself and one day be enlightened, how can I move beyond the constant attachment to my body?     Is it better to think I’m wicked awesome with Marilyn Monroe level curves? Be humble and accept my average Ameri...

I dug an old picture out of the picture box a few months ago.   I got it out to prove to my sister that I didn’t always have fashion sense.   It’s an absolutely horrid picture of me, so I didn’t really look at it.   As I   was going to bed last night, I found it again.   this time I looked at it, really gave it a good study.   It’s not just that the me in that picture had extra weight, or bad hair, or trashy hippie clothes.   I realized the real reason I have a hard time looking at that picture is because I hated myself back then, and when you look at that picture, you can tell.   I stand hunched over, arms tightly crossed in clothes 4 sized too big.   I’m smiling, but the smile doesn’t reach my eyes.   This picture was taken the summer I was 20, around the same time I started practicing yoga.   (I promise, when I dig the scanner up, this will be its first victim)   I was so disconnected back then, that I don’t even know if I c...

I don't care how smoking hot your body is.  DO NOT I repeat DO NOT use pictures of yourself doing yoga in a bikini.  you look trashy honey.  don't list your teacher as shiva rea, or Baron Baptiste or B.K.S. Iyengar.  maybe one of those people is actually your teacher,  but you sound pretentious.  oh and also, your teacher is not "my heart" or "the whole wide world"  your teacher is the person that actually teaches you yoga, maybe your teacher is yourself, but your heart didn't teach you to stand on your hands with your legs behind your head, a human did that.  now the body image grumbles kick in I see row upon row of very tiny, pretzel like creatures, with a few normal human types mixed in.  not that I'm surprised,  but I was hoping for a broader range of ages, body types, what have you.  don't get me wrong, I'm not hating on the tiny pretzel types,  all bodies are beautiful, but we s...