I’ve been going to hot yoga for a few months now. I say this because the best part of going to yoga is telling people that I go to yoga. Oh, me? Yeah, I’m on my way to yoga. Subtext: I’m strong and flexible, and better than you. That’s also the main reason I practice Buddhist meditation. Not just to connect to my heart and let go of my ego, but to feel superior to everyone that isn’t practicing Buddhist meditation. That’s right, bitches, I’m doing it. I’m eliminating my ego. That makes me better than you.
If you practice yoga, you already know what a beautiful experience of mind-body connectivity it is. It’s also a really good way of getting flexible enough to put your vagina right up on someone else’s vagina, with very little leg interference. Like this:
Hot, right? I If you don’t already practice yoga, I’ll illuminate the experience for you. Here is a run down of pretty much every yoga class I ever go to:
Shit. Class starts in seven minutes. This is at least a ten minute walk. I’m going to be late. This lady in front of me needs to step up her game. Lady, if you can’t walk fast get the hell off the sidewalk. Yeah, I know it’s icy. But this is real life, not a god damn rehearsal for play called Old Lady Minces Down the Sidewalk. Move move move move move.
That’s it. I’m going to be late. God damn it. They won’t let me in. I should have given myself more time. I’m going to be late. Why do I always do this? Oh, right. Because I’m a horrible person.
Yoga will be good for this, all the thinking and self-recrimination. It will help me relax. Will it help me relax? I want to relax. I want to learn how to go with the flow.
“Go with the flow?” Who am I? I don’t talk that like. I don’t want to talk like that. I don’t even want to think like that. Unless I’m high. Or on a surfboard. Or both.
Oh my god, how immediately would I die if I was high and on a surfboard? So immediately.
Being eaten by sharks would be the worst.
No. You know what would be worse? If the sharks betrayed you emotionally, and then ate you.
Okay, just be cool when you walk into the studio. Maybe you’re late. But be cool. They want calm people at yoga, not neurotic basket cases rushing in off the street. Do sharks give live birth? Also, fix your hair. There’s probably something wrong with your hair.
Am I too late? Are they still letting people in? They’re still letting people in! I timed this perfectly. Maybe I’m not a horrible person.
Oh my god, I’m a horrible person. I can’t deal with this locker room. Where am I supposed to look? Everyone is so hot. Everyone is so hot and so not fully clothed. Just let them be hot, DeAnne. They’re not being hot FOR YOU. Just let them be hot. They’re just super hot hot yoga girls.
Thank god I don’t get visible erections.
I wonder if sharks get erections.
My erections are on the inside.
Starfish are weird.
Don’t be creepy about this, DeAnne. Yes, so people aren’t wearing shirts. This is a changing room. They are changing. We are all adults here. We are all hot, shirtless adult human women. Don’t look at anyone. Don’t make eye contact. Oh god. Okay, maybe don’t look down either, because Jesus Christ, that’s an ass. That is a sweet yoga ass. Oh my god, the things I would…okay, get a hold of yourself. Just relax. Relax. You can do this. Don’t smile. Jesus. Don’t smirk. That’s worse. OH MY GOD. Are you for real biting your lip, like a dude from a sexist 80s movie? Do NOT bite your lip. Whatever you do, do NOT put a finger in your mouth to keep from biting your lip. You are the creepiest person alive. Get out of this changing room. Now.
Okay, in the studio. Here we go. What? Why does the yoga instructor have to be hot, too? Of course she’s hot. That’s the deal. That’s the deal with yoga. She’s hot and she’s going to boss you around for an hour. Try not to be into it. Don’t make this weird.
Wait, she’s going to tell when to breathe? This is bullshit. I breathe when I want to breathe. This is bullshit.
Oh, okay, she has a point. This isn’t actually so bad.
Yeah, I can do this.
No. Nope. This is stupid. Downward dog is not where I “recharge.” This is not where I find my “power center.” I recharge curled up in a plush red papasan chair eating tortilla chips and watching Netflix. That’s my power center. Not in this fucked-up V shape.
My hamstrings are burning. That girl behind me is hot. I’d like to downward dog her.
Stop it. Stop it. Stop being creepy.
Connect to the moment.
How much time have I wasted in life, perving on girls? I have a perfectly good vagina. I don’t need another one in my life. I don’t need to spend so much time thinking about girls, trying to get girls. Why can’t I just stay home with my own vagina? Why can’t I just stay home with my own vagina and a mirror? Just stay home and masturbate. That’s a thing I could do. It makes sense. I like girls. I am one. See, that works. That’s a perfect feedback loop right there.
What’s a feedback loop? It’s an electronic engineering thing. No, it’s a computer science thing. Is it a psychology thing? I should know more than I know.
I mean, I’d need wig. If I were gonna stay home and masturbate. Not just a mirror.
Definitely a wig. At least. And I’d take off my glasses. Maybe I’d wear a dress. That could work.
That would never work.
“Reach beyond your fingertips and look beyond your eyes?” What does that even mean? Am I in a yoga class or have I just dropped acid inside a Tame Impala song?
This is a ridiculous amount of sweat. I know this is hot yoga and everything, but how is there even this much sweat in me? How is this possible? This seems unsafe. Is this normal? Maybe I’m peeing. Am I peeing? How can there be this much sweat in a person? I think it’s pee. It’s pee. It has to be. I’m peeing out of my face.
This feels horrible.
Actually, this feels good. This is cleansing.
This is the worst thing ever. I am peeing out of my face. I’m going to die.
Fine. I get it, girl behind me. You’re super flexible. Oooh, look at your open hip joints! Stop showing off. We’re all going to die.
The yoga instructor’s touching me. She’s right behind me, touching me.
Don’t fart. Don’t fart now. Her face is right there. Don’t fart.
I actually am impressed by those open hip joints, though.
Toppling tree? Let’s do it. I love toppling tree. That person in front of me better not wobble, though. If they wobble, I’ll wobble. Don’t wobble. I’m trying to open up my heart here, asshole. Don’t wobble.
I bet that girl with the open hip joints is amazing in bed.
Bring your mind back to the present, DeAnne. You’re the worst.
Just be. Don’t admonish yourself. Just be.
Okay, telling yourself to be in the present is not the same as being in the present. Just be in the present.
Just be in the present.
Just be in the present.
Sweet! I’m doing it! Yoga’s working! I’m totally in the present! I’m totally at one with this moment, shutting off my overactive mi…oh shit. Never mind.
Whoa, the yoga instructor’s gonna touch me again?
Uh, pretty sure she wants me.
Wait, that was the last pose? Class is over? I did it! Namaste indeed. I recognize the light in you, too! It’s over. It’s over. Yoga can be hell to get through when it’s happening but awesome once it’s over. You just need to stay focused and know that the end is near. In that way, it’s not unlike oral sex when your neck is at an odd angle. Just stay focused. It will be worth it in the end. You can endure this.
Savasana pose. I love this one. Just lie there. Just lie there and feel superior because it’s over and you did it again, you little champ.
No! No, I didn’t just fall asleep.
Unrelatedly, what time is it?
Off to the changing room. Oh Jesus, the changing room! Yoga is the best.
So, that’s my experience of yoga. What about you? Are you into it? Am I the only one that puts the nas-tay in namaste? I probably am. I’m a horrible person. But I do yoga. So I’m also better than you.