Dont Mince Words

A dear, Jewish friend from New York called to wish me a happy Easter. She jokingly asked if I was going to church on Sunday.

“God, no. I just found a new yoga instructor I like and her only class in Pasadena is Sunday at 10:30 a.m.,” I replied.

She began laughing hysterically. I didn’t understand. She knows the last time I was in a church was for my nephew’s Christmas play in 2003. My brother called the church and requested structural reinforcement prior to my arrival.

“Marna, you know you’ve been in California too long when you seek out yoga instructors like messiahs,” she explained.

If church strengthened my back and improved my flexibility and breathing, I’d go more often. Then again, I’d go more often if they had pizza and beer in the narthex instead of coffee and crumb cake.

I woke up this morning after getting a full eight hours of sleep. Refreshed and whatever, I elected to go to yoga. We had a new, little instructor whose contortions could only be achieved by short, asian women. I did what I could and measured my success by the number of times I heard my back crack.

When I came home I decided today was as good as any to try a detox/colon cleanse. My trainer recommended one months ago and several co-workers have endorsed the effects. Perhaps I was a little high off my heightened state of alertness and increased flexibility. I mixed the concoction up. Mmmm yummy.

Yoga and a detox. What could I do to complete this California cliche? I decided to go vote before my colon woke up. What a treat this was. The folks at the Culver City Hall were great as I touchscreened my way to completion. I listened to several, nervous elderly voters wanting reassurance.

“Now this vote is going to count, right. You are going to turn it in,” one man asked with Andy Rooney size eyebrows, a cane, and braidable earhair.

I chuckled to myself. I feel like a kid that got the front car of the rollarcoaster ride. Voting was easy and it’s over. Who cares if it counts? We can always run back around for a do over.

My 12-year voting haitus is off and I didn’t puke.