Ow. That Would Be My Ass. Ow. That would be my Quads. Ow. That would be my--

"I'd rather fight with you than make love with anyone else."

-Movie, The Wedding Date

Aww...how sweet, right? I just caught the end of this movie on TV right now. What a loving thing to say, right? Only in the movies baby! Real men don't talk like that. Real men say things like,

"Grab the ball!"
"Touchdown arms!"
"Safety pose."
"Hulk Hogan Arms!"

Oh. And. "UUUUUUghhhh!"

That's what real men say. Even during "yoga". Real men don't hold in farts either--as the lovely fellow who had his ass perched about sixteen inches from my head during a downward dog, generously exhibited. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to write about that, though. More about that later.

Bastardized yoga at its finest. What the fuck did I just sign up for? I though this was an instructional video. Instead I'm doing Crouching Farter, Hidden--when the hell is this over Yo! ...you get the idea.

It hurts us.  And it doesn't pay enough. 

...Although, there were SOME perks. There was a young fellow there who looked like a young Nathan Fillion. Helloo...Handsome. Eye candy always welcome. I ALSO made a wonderful friend out of a former Cirque du Soleil performer--he specialized in contortion. Finally--I meet someone more flexible than me = man.

The irony today was endless. We stretched together. We made like ballerinas and simultaneoulsy made eyes at young Fillion look-alike while cracking each other up on our mats during YOGA FROM HELL. I think I have a new best friend--there were moments he had me giggling so hard I was half afraid I would squeak a fart out and then it would just be O-V-E-R.

I should know what real men say. I just spent the worser part of the afternoon with a (oops can't tell you that) someone  who now thinks he's qualified to teach yoga. Or sell yoga. Or give yoga newer, funner names kinda like: Touchdown Arms. (Cringe.)

Oh. My. GOD. And. Ow.

And right now...I'd rather yark in my own shoes than get off my ass. I am home after a LONG day of butt busting. Yoga video. Well. Way to under-describe. Whoever was in charge of THAT breakdown should be horsewhipped. That was an interesting day. Taught four hours of Pilates (participated in my 9:00am class too). Then, went to the Yoga Video Taping. Can someone just shoot me up with morphine so I can call it a day???

Except it was really an infomercial for what felt like Tae-Bo Yoga (phrase coined by Tavi Stutz). Well, it's not called that! I can't tell you what it's really called or they'd have to kill me. But I can tell you that's what it felt like: Tae-Bo Yoga. Which is why I don't really want to do anything except point the remote at my television and raise a candy bar to my lips. (I figure I earned it.) I can't tell you any juicy details or show you any pictures either---or they'd have to kill me.

Seriously, I read (thoroughly) the contract--and educated some fellow "talent" who could have been signing over their constitutional rights for all they knew--and the contract said we couldn't talk about it. They even said, when I asked if it was okay if I blogged about it, No. I guess it's Top-Secret-TaeBo-Yoga! So, I'm not. I'm not going to tell you a thing about the yoga infomercial itself.   

Seriously.

I've only told you what REAL MEN SAY. What kinds of friends I made today (Contortionist & Friendly Fire Farter Guy). What kind of physical activity I was involved with. And...how my body feels.

Now....if only the movies could get it right. What real men say, that is.  When they choose to talk at all. They most certainly don't say startlingly sexy things like: I'd rather fight with you than make love with anyone else. Ha! I only believe that if a "SCORE!" followed.

And.

There's a good chance I might pee here. Because the mere idea of standing up and walking to the toilet just...hurts.

--Eve White