Doctor: What brings you in today?

Me: Well. I have two problems that I need you to fix but then if you could do all the regular stuff as well to make sure I’m not dying, that’d be great too.

Doctor: …

My two issues are: acid reflux which is ruining my entire life and severe tendonitis in my right shoulder joint (super fun).

The reflux thing has been out of control as in: waking up every morning nauseated, throwing up occasionally after meals, hating all my favorite foods because they bring me pain, (TOMATO SAUCE I LOVE YOU!) etc. The shoulder injury was a result of overuse towards the end of teacher training and then I tweaked it again pretty hard a week or so ago in a crazy psycho barre class and it has never been the same.

So, I got a prescription for an acid reducer (though the doctor told me to continue eating a bland diet if possible while I’m on it and continue to avoid trigger foods which for me are coffee WAHHHHHHHH and grapefruit juice AHHHHHHH, two of my most favorite things! Ain’t looking forward to the no coffee thing…at all.) I also got an Rx for an x-ray for the shoulder and lots of physical therapy so, let’s fix this sucker pronto!

However, what I really wanted to discuss was that while at the doctor’s office, I stepped on the scale and came to the startling realization (but not really because I kind of already knew) that, um, how do I say this…

MAMA HAS PUT ON A FEW POUNDS.

The Russian nurse announced my weight out loud to me, as if I wasn’t staring at it with my jaw dropped open. Then she said in a thick accent:

“GOOD FOR YOU??”

And I was all, Svetlana, no. No, this is not good for me.

I mean, it’s good for me in the fact that I’m still healthy and my BMI is fine and all that. But it’s not good for me in the sense that it’s a little heavier than I feel comfortable being and also, there’s the little fact that I AM GETTING MARRIED IN FOUR MONTHS and though I’m not obsessed with losing weight just for the day and being a crazy miserable skinny bride, I’d also kind of prefer not to be the heaviest weight of my entire adult life the day I walk down the aisle.

That’s just my preference though. If I was indeed heavier than usual on my wedding day, we’d all be fine and J would be happy and so would I and no one would probably notice or care and we would have the best day.

Anyhow.

I decided the weight gain is a result of a few things, after examining the past few months of my life. Due to long work days, J and I rely on takeout probably a little too much. Honestly it is just so easy in New York City. In about 15 minutes, magical things appear at our door for not that much money. We don’t eat terrible things per se but it’s just probably a little too frequent and the portion size for sure too large.

Additionally, the weight gain might be tied to the reflux as well a little bit because bland foods make my stomach feel better and since I’m vegetarian, I can’t eat broiled chicken as the reflux doctors suggest so I’ve been eating…rice. And noodles. And oh, it feels so nice. (Until my pants feel strangely tight hmmm how did that happen…)

Lastly, in terms of exercise, my day job burns a lot less energy than previous day jobs and I’ve severely reduced my activity level since yoga training ended.

Previous jobs/activities: babysitting (running around all day all the time), auditioning (running around all day all the time), yoga teacher training (yoga all day all the time).

Current job: sit at a desk for 12 hours, do not move a muscle, go home, feel too tired to hit the gym, eat, sleep. Repeat.

It’s…pretty much the worst. And yes, I try all those fun tricks the magazines tell you! Take the stairs! Get up and TALK to your co-worker instead of e-mail! Go for a walk at lunch! But let me tell you: those tiny movements ain’t gonna cancel out twelve bowls of elbow macaroni that soothes my acidic tummy, you feel me?

I don’t do well with restrictive diets and I eat pretty healthy as it is so I didn’t want to do some crazy sort of NO THIS NO THAT crap. I work better when it’s more proactive, when I think of things I could ADD to my lifestyle to improve it rather than take away.

Last night J (who has also gained weight, probably because of me and my Thai food addiction: I AM SORRY J), helped me brainstorm a list of physical activity I wanted to include in my week AND nutrients/meals/foods I wanted to include in my week.

The goal is to see how many I can accomplish which means I get to check things off a list which always gets me excited.

I thought blogging about it would help and if anyone wants in, feel free to get on my healthy diet/move your ass train! Choo choo! It’ll be awesome.

Thinking of posting how I’m doing on here, maybe keep track of my food choices and exercise. YEAH? WHO IS WITH ME?

Great. Let’s do this.

Also my week is starting today, which is Friday, the day I like to eat the most. SIGH. But putting it off ’til Monday ain’t gonna help no one.

Hit it Rockapella.

WOO!

However, one of those things never really changed and sat in the back of my brain for a long while, occasionally rising to the surface like ‘yeah, I still maybe want to do that…’  and that was to become a certified yoga teacher. It stemmed from really loving yoga and thinking I might have mad teaching skillz. (At the time, ‘mad teaching skillz’ = 1) I like to talk a lot! B) I’m good at noticing when people do things incorrectly! PERFECT!) I also wanted a chance to immerse myself in practicing for awhile and figured teacher training would be a good place to figure out how to get upside down without having a panic attack. (Inversions = not my favorite.)

My yoga journey began at 19 when Tom and I, home from college one summer, stumbled into a Bikram studio, got our asses kicked, and went back over and over until school started again. I’ve practiced Bikram in a mostly on sometimes off kind of way ever since. This led me to the most magical little studio in my neighborhood, which led me to their hot yoga classes and then to their vinyasa flow classes and then and then…

Over the summer, I noticed the studio was beginning a 200 hour teacher certification in October. It would run for almost six months, every other weekend, pretty much all weekend long. I called J from my bedroom in Astoria after going to an informational session about it and I was like, geez I don’t know I’m not sure what to do, it’s expensive and I’m already too busy and blah! and J listened and then outlined all the reasons I should go for it in this very gentle loving thoughtful way which is why we’re getting married. Because I have never met anyone who talks to me quite that way.

So I forked over one trillion dollars and signed up.

And on a Friday evening in October, yoga training began.

Soon after that, J proposed (BEST), Hurricane Sandy hit (WORST), we moved in together into a terrible apartment, I started a new full time job which stressed me out more than I anticipated, we realized we hated our apartment too much to stay, we broke our lease, we moved out, we moved into a new apartment, we realized OH GOD WE NEED TO PLAN A WEDDING, we started doing that and throughout it all, every other weekend I spent 16 hours in a yoga studio plus took class three or four times during the week, which was mandatory.

It was…not the most fun sometimes???

One Saturday morning in particular, I remember standing in our kitchen in tears and J asking me what was wrong and I whispered, “I don’t want to go” because I was so tired and I wanted to have a lazy Saturday with him or sleep in or just not talk about the chakras anymore because WHO CARES!? MINE ARE PROBABLY ALL BACKED UP ANYWAY.

J gave me a hug and told me I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to do.

But then he reminded me of all the other days of yoga training.

And the fact that pretty much all those days felt like the best days of my life.

Friday nights I would burst through the door at 10:30 positively beaming, wanting to share everything I learned. Which I’m sure was SUPER FUN for J, a very patient saint.

“J!!!!!!!! DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU STORE TRAUMA IN YOUR HIPS? I MEAN THAT IS SOME CRAZY SHIT. THE TRAUMA IN YOUR HIPS. WHAT KIND OF TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCES DO YOU THINK YOU HOLD ONTO? WAIT. DO YOU WANT TO SEE MY HEADSTAND? HOLD ON. OKAY. SEE? NOW I’M UPSIDE DOWN. ANYWAY, BACK TO YOUR HIPS…”

And on and on it went.

To say I learned a ton is an understatement.

Posture clinics (taught by an Iyengar teacher so pretty much I learned everything I’ve been doing is wrong), prenatal (I wore a sandbag around my stomach and tried to practice yoga – THAT AIN’T FUN, LADIES!), restorative, yin, Bhagavad Gita, chanting, inversions, rope wall, anatomy, sequencing, practice teaching, modifications, adjustments, props, ON AND ON AND ON. Om shanti, you guys. So great.

But the thing about 200 hours (and I can’t believe I’m saying this) is that it really isn’t a significant amout of time to learn anything at all. It was one of those situations where the more I learned, the more I realized I DIDN’T know and as a perfectionist, that stressed me out like crazytown. My teachers were so full of knowledge, so wise and so amazing, spewing out the names of bones and muscles, modifying poses for injuries and pregnancy, speaking to high levels of spirituality and sacred texts and I was like Oh cool, how on earth will I feel ever feel qualified to teach other people any of this!? AHHHHHHH!

But to be completely fair to myself, I was more prepared than most. And when teacher training ended, I could teach a fully vinyasa class, I could modify most poses for a pregnant student, I could sequence a class in an intelligent way, and oh yeah, I COULD STAND ON MY HEAD ALL OF A SUDDEN. (Upside down = no longer terrifying, mostly awesome.)

When the certification ended, the studio asked if anyone was interested in taking a few more weeks to learn how to teach in the hot room. They were interested in training people to potentially sub a class here and there as the studio has very popular hot yoga classes. I said yes because the hot room is where it all began for me but deep down I was a little like NO MORE! I CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE YOGA FOR AWHILE!!!

But something in me knew it could be a great opportunity so I dug down deep and signed up and continued to study yoga for a few more weeks. I learned all about the heat, the effects on the body, the modifications you need to make, the dangers, the health benefits. Then we got up to take turns teaching poses and what do you know, an almost 10 year Bikram practice makes you quite a natural at teaching hot yoga. I surprised myself with how much I knew.

I was asked to teach a full class for any friends who wanted to come so the director of the studio could observe me.

Tom was in town randomly so he showed up and a few other friends that completely surprised me. It was so wonderful and so fun.

A few days later, I got an e-mail asking if I would like to sub a few classes at the studio, which will probably turn into a permanent thing for me.

My first one is Saturday.

My name is on the schedule.

I not only became certified to teach yoga…

I am officially a yoga teacher.

It. Is. Awesome.

My Mom: Are you getting married in the Catholic church?

Me: Probably not.

My Mom: Well. We should discuss this.

Me: Probably not.

My Mom: Are you going to have dad walk you down the aisle?

Me: Why wouldn’t he?!

My Mom: Well some people walk themselves down the aisle or choose another relative.

Me: EVERY OTHER RELATIVE WE HAVE IS OUT OF THEIR MINDS.

My Mom: This is true.

Me: PLUS HE’S MY DAD!?!?!?

My Mom: Okay, well you should ask him.

Me: OH MY GOD! I didn’t think I had to ask him.

Me: (to my dad, who has been standing next to us the entire time) Dad, can you walk me down the aisle for my wedding?

My Dad: (immediately dissolves into tears)

Me: OH NO. DAD.

My Mom: He’s gonna cry the entire time. He is. He’s crying now! Now let’s talk about getting married in the Catholic church.

Me: Mom, that’s not happening.

My Mom: YOU MIGHT WANT IT TO HAPPEN.

Me: Dad, can you walk me down the aisle?

My Dad: Yes! But only if you want me to. If you want someone else, dat’s okay.

Me: WHO ELSE IS THERE!?!?!?

My Dad: I DON’T KNOW. You won’t hurt my feelins if you pick someone else.

Me: Once again, WHO ELSE IS THERE!?!?!

My Dad: OKAY FINE I’LL WALK YOU DOWN DA AISLE.

My Mom: I know many priests who would love to marry you in the Catholic church.

Me: Mom.

My Sister: What should I wear to your wedding? How hot is it going to be? Like really hot? Or kind of hot? Or not really hot?

My Little Brother: What kind of food are we eating at your wedding? There better be some good shit.

My Dad: (crying in a corner)

My Mom: Father Tom? Father Charlie? The new Latino Pope?

Me: *jumps out window*

Fin.

Him: You’re welcome!

Me: And for listening to me talk.

Him: You’re welcome!

Me: And for cuddling with me.

Him: You’re welcome!

Me: You’ve been so nice to me today!

Him: I’m trying to speak to you in your love language.

Me: You said you thought my primary love language was ALL of them?

Him: Yeah, I think that’s true.

Me: Well, that’s five love languages.

Silence.

Him: Actually, I’m pretty exhausted today.

Scene.

It has felt so long and so cold. I feel like I don’t really do much except bundle up in the morning and take the train to work. Then I bundle back up and head into the darkness and come home. I’ve been going a little stir-crazy and anxiety that I used to deal with once or twice every so often rears its head almost every day.

It’s funny how things can start to seem normal after awhile. Waking up with a pit in my stomach: normal. Acid reflux all the time: normal. Crying before I fall asleep: normal.

But it isn’t.

It’s dangerous for me in particular because I can fake it really, really well sometimes. I’m fine! I’m fine! I’m fine! Until I’m not. I’m not at all. And I haven’t been for a really long time but I didn’t want to bother you so…

I don’t know if it’s situational or if genetics have finally got the best of me, anxiety running for generations through both sides of my family. I have a feeling it’s both. But wherever it comes from, it has been crippling.

I have a support system in place and it helps but I feel like an anchor. Like I can only lean on them so many times before they just give up like enough already, pull it together.

But I haven’t been able to.

And it’s so frustrating and so sad.

I turn 30 tomorrow and thank heavens, I am going away to Florida with J and his family. I’m not naive enough to think that a short vacation will fix me. But I’m always hopeful in a reset. Just take some space and some time to exist without the pressure that comes at me every day from all angles.

I hope to come back here regularly sometime soon and I’m sorry that even writing a blog post has felt like too much lately. I miss writing a lot and I just I cannot wait for spring. For my body and for my heart.

I found this on my friend Laurie’s blog. She wrote these affirmations as New Year’s ‘resolutions’ but I’m adopting them for my 30th year.

They all seem so fitting.

Thanks for listening you guys.

xoxo

be vulnerable.

don’t pretend to be aloof. don’t pretend not to care. chin up, heart open.

be present.

stop compulsively checking my phone. stop living in the future and the past. stop distracting myself. when I’m reading a book, when I’m eating dinner, when I’m spending time with friends – be just where I am, and no place else.

be quiet.

I’ve learned how to tell people what I think; now I need to learn how to listen.

be compassionate.

stop being such a harsh judge of the people I love. stop being such a harsh judge of myself. we’re all on a journey and what we need most is acceptance and love. plus: sometimes I’m wrong.

be brave.

talk to strangers. ask for what I want. remember that the best things in my life were the reward of the scariest things I’ve done.

Dear Family,

I went to get bagels this morning and it started started to snow.
When I drove the car up to the top of the driveway and down to the middle of the driveway for mom to use later, I discovered a curious pattern being formed at the top of the the driveway by the car’s tires in the snow. It looks like two intersecting heart’s (in math, a Venn diagram).
I inserted our names in the hearts and took some pictures with my iPhone.
I thought you all might like to see my crazy pictures.
The pictures combine the beginning of the blizzard of 2013 and Valentines’s Day next week.
I was trying to think of a name for them like Valenblizz or Blizzlentine.
Oh well!!! Creativity can only go so far!
Have a safe and blessed weekend!
Love to all of yous!!!

My parents will be married 35 years this St. Patrick’s Day and my father continues to write love letters to her in all manner of forms.

I’d like to insert a sarcastic hilarious something but I can’t.

He is just the absolute best.

DSCN0080 from The Spectrum on Vimeo.

We hesitated a little bit because the building shares a wall with a quaint looking old bar that advertises live music.

“How loud is the sound?” we asked the landlord.

“It can float in through the windows in the summer on the weekends,” he admitted. “It’s a little annoying.”

“Hmmmmm,” we thought.

We weighed our options.

Cons: the bar in the summer

Pros: large (by NYC standards) apartment, washer/dryer downstairs (I have never had laundry in my building, ever), newly renovated kitchen, central heat/AC, affordable rent, neighborhood we love…

WE WENT FOR IT, OBVIOUSLY.

And here is where we can all laugh and laugh at how adorable we were to TRUST A NEW YORK CITY LANDLORD! OH! SO CUTE! Also, we were born yesterday!

I have yet to write about it but we moved (or were set to move) in the middle of Hurricane Sandy. Due to the storm, the basement of our new building flooded which fried the boiler which left us without hot water for a bit. This is important to my very thrilling story I am telling you because the bar also flooded and was in a worse state than our building, so they were closed down for nearly a month.

In that time, we unpacked our lives and attempted to settle into our new home.

Then towards the end of November, after pictures were hung on the walls and all the boxes had been emptied, after we had become accustomed to our new little sweet home, the bar opened for business and we heard it: loud, thumping bass coming from next door.

“Is that…?” asked my fiancé.

“IS THIS HAPPENING?” I screamed at no one.

We called 311 to file a noise complaint.

We walked next door to see if the bar could turn down the music because, let me also say it was a Monday night at 11:30.

The bartender blinked and responded “Uh, it’s live music. Also, this is a bar.”

THANK YOU, SIR!

You can rinse and repeat this scenario for most Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturday evenings from November-present moment.

A few times, I was met with warm reception from a female bartender who immediately adjusted the volume level and allowed me to get some sleep.

Usually though, we were met with the male bartender who repeated his mantra, “It’s a bar.”

And blamed us for living next door.

Om, shanti, my friend! xoxoxo~*~*~*~*~*laura~*~*~*~*xoxoxo

Bar patrons also loved when me or my fiancé showed up in our pajamas begging them to turn down the music. (Which, admittedly, if I were drunk, I would also probably find hilarious.) More than once, a random drunk dude would offer their opinion.

“WHO MOVES NEXTTOABAR ANAWAH?” they would slur.

This is probably one of the worst ways to respond to a person in crisis, in case you were wondering. What you want to do when someone stays up all night listening to a Brazilian jazz flutest next door and then has to drag their ass to work the next day, is to shame them for moving there in the first place, making sure they feel maximum stupidity for trusting the landlord.

Kisses, drunk dude! ENJOY YOUR COORS LIGHT! ~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~XOXO LAURA HERE IS A CLOWN FACE FOR YOU *<:o)

So, you can see we have been living in…less than optimal conditions. My fiancé suffers from insomnia to begin with so this has really helped with that, AND BY HELPED I MEAN NOT AT ALL IN THE SLIGHTEST.

The bar has been unhelpful, the cops sent by 311 have been useless, most likely because the bar IS a very old awesome dive bar and when the cops show up they just order a beer and hang out and ignore the fact that we asked them to PLEASE HELP US TURN THE MUSIC DOWN. We have measured (and recorded) the volume levels in our home when the music is playing. It has reached 90 decibels at its worst. (Legal limit in a residence is 40 so, thank you for breaking the law! We love it!)

The highlight of this experience was one evening when a familiar voice was strumming on a guitar playing songs I knew the words to.

Me: Um. Pretty sure my ex-boyfriend is playing in the bar tonight.

My fiancé: ?????????????

Me: Yeah. That’s. Wait. Let me check the schedule on their website. Yes. My ex-boyfriend is playing music in the bar tonight. OMG I LOVE THIS SONG!

My fiancé: The weirdest thing that ever happened is happening right now.

Two weeks ago, after we were kept up on a Saturday night to the thumping beats of a 90′s R&B cover band named “No Biggity” (who were, admittedly, REALLY good), we looked at each other and decided we could no longer stay in our apartment and lead healthy lives.

We had reached rock bottom that night, our very lowest point, laying wide awake in bed attempting to suppress our rage when the familiar strains of Lisa Loeb wafted into our bedroom.

“You say,” I began to sing along. “I only hear what I–”

“STOP,” snapped my fiancé. “DON’T BE A TRAITOR.”

It was true. We were past the point of singing along. It was time to move.

To my credit, I only cried one time after we decided the next day to break our lease. The idea of packing and moving and unpacking in a 2 month span is enough to break anyone down. Not to mention, I was already pretty raw living almost daily on interrupted sleep and felt heartbroken considering the fact that my fiancé proposed to me in our apartment and I was already quite attached.

The landlords have not taken kindly to us asking to leave, despite the fact that we have significant proof that the apartment is uninhabitable. So it’s been fun to simultaneously be threatened AND get accused of lying! As luck would have it, a friend of mine is renting out his place a few blocks away and though it’s smaller and more expensive, we’ve decided to take it. The movers come tomorrow and just like that, life shifts yet again.

It’s been…a little traumatic, to say the least. I’ve been pretty stressed with my new job and my anxiety has increased like crazy over the past few months due to a lot of life adjustments. Add to that the uncertainty of WHERE ON EARTH IS MY HOME??? and things have been a little rough.

But one of the reasons I am marrying the guy I am marrying is because when tough things come up – hurricanes, anxiety, cover bands playing R. Kelly’s “Ignition (Remix)” – he steps up and he holds my hand and we instantly become a somewhat seamless team.

So every night this week, we’ve been packing boxes and running them over to the new place in my car. We get take out and we sit among the mess of our soon-to-be old apartment and we tell each other that in a few days, we’ll have some peace and quiet and we’ll create a new home and everything will be fine.

And it will.

And so, as No Biggity advised a few weeks ago, as our walls shook with every thump of the bass, we are doin’ it and doin’ it and doin’ it well.

Amen.

LAURA: Okay, guys! Let’s watch Les Miz!

DAD: I LOVE THIS SHOW.

MOM: Who is that?

LAURA: Hugh Jackman.

DAD: Who?

LAURA: Hugh Jackman.

DAD: WHO?

LAURA: He’s Wolverine. And he’s like 30 pounds lighter, oh my God, he looks skeletal. Still hot though. But skeletal.

DAD: WHO IS THAT?

LAURA: Russell Crowe is better than I thought!

MOM: I THINK HE SOUNDS NICE.

DAD: WHO IS THAT?

MOM & LAURA: *IGNORING*

*TIME PASSES*

ANNE HATHAWAY: I dreamed a dream in time gone byyyyyyy…

LAURA: *SOBBING*

MOM: *TEARING UP*

DAD: WHO IS THAT?

*TIME PASSES*

MOM: How does Jean Valjean make a living? Honestly.

LAURA: He was the mayor! He made some good investments?

MOM: But now he’s escaping and he doesn’t work. How does he have money? HE DOESN’T WORK.

LAURA: I hope Javert commits suicide earlier than usual because he can’t sing.

DAD: MASTER OF THE HOUSE! LA DEE DA DEE DA! OH MAN, THOSE TWO ARE CHARACTERS!

*TIME PASSES*

MOM: Who wrote the music for this again? Andrew Lloyd Webber???

LAURA: *punches Mom in the face, throws her out the window* BLASPHEMYYYYYY!

*TIME PASSES*

DAD: WHO IS THAT?

LAURA/MOM: Cosette.

LAURA: She is worse than Russell Crowe. I can’t stand her voice.

MOM: Me neither.

DAD: Who is that?

MOM/LAURA: COSETTE.

LAURA: The little girl!? He saved her and now he’s her father.

DAD: THAT BLONDE LADY IS THE LITTLE GIRL CLAUDETTE?

LAURA: Dude, you have seen the musical at least 3 times.

DAD: I NEVER KNEW IT WAS HER.

MOM: Why on earth would he just be living with a young blonde woman? THIS IS A STORY ABOUT GOD.

*TIME PASSES*

LAURA: *CRYING ALL THE TIME*

DAD: (twenty minutes after the sewer scene) WAIT. HE SAVED MARIUS IN THE SEWER?

MOM/LAURA: …

MOM: Who did you think he was carrying in the sewer?

DAD: SOME GUY.

LAURA: Dad, you are missing major elements of the story.

DAD: WELL I GET IT NOW.

MOM: You see why I get upset with him!? He has no idea what’s going on.

DAD: I KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON. HE SAVED THE GUY FOR CLAUDETTE.

LAURA: No one in this movie is named Claudette.

DAD: ANYWAY NOW I KNOW HE SAVED HIM.

*TIME PASSES*

LAURA: *SOBBING SO HARD SHE CAN’T BREATHE*

DAD: Man, everyone died.

LAURA: (wailing) I KNOWWWWWWWWWW.

DAD: EVEN THAT LITTLE GIRL! THEY SHOT THAT LITTLE GIRL.

MOM/LAURA: What?

DAD: THE LITTLE GIRL ON THE BARRICADE!

MOM/LAURA: That was a boy.

DAD: HE HAD LONG HAIR!

LAURA: You need to work on your assumptions about traditional gender roles.

MOM: HE IS A BOY.

LAURA: His name is Gavroche.

DAD: Garbage? (pronounced ‘Gar-bahge’)

LAURA: Yes. Fine. His name is Garbage. The little boy on the barricade.

MOM: SEE WHY I GET UPSET WITH HIM? HE DOESN’T GET HIS HEARING AID UNTIL MARCH. HOW CAN I LIVE UNTIL THEN?

DAD: I CAN’T BELIEVE GARBAGE DIED.

LAURA: *CRIES FOR THE REST OF THE EVENING*

Fin.