downward katie
today i have an audition for yoga-girl...or rather yoga~instructor~girl.
should be a no-brainer. i'm a girl {woman? lady? broad? gal?}
i am an instructor:....pilates, spin, barre, some yoga, very little yoga actually, but i do take yoga.
sort of.
let me explain.
yoga is my thai food. i LOVE thai food. can't get enough of it. but i have to be in the right mood for it. i have to be absolutely, stomach growling, starving for the curry, lime, lemongrass coterie of noodles pad thai'd. otherwise you're forcing a well hydrated horse to drink. same with yoga, my body {with all her bruises and special needs} likes to thirst for the deep backbends and sweeping movements of vinyasa. and lately my limbs and spine have fancied more of a pilates rehab rather than the virabhadrasana 1 ilk, nevertheless i try to make a date, once a week with my sticky mat.
one thing i DO take away from all my downward dog sessions is a deeper sense of self, a truer heart, and an expanded, more inspired mind. my talented instructors always have the ability to unearth a meaningful, more authentic piece of my soul needing to emerge. for instance, during yesterday's "practice", while our hot-bodied, raquel welch-beautiful yogi, guided the rest of class into hand stands and arm balances, my use of profanity and name calling took on a whole new ardor and ingenuity that can only stem from yoga class:
bitch-face.
ass-head.
fuck-monkey.
scab-eater.
turkey-whore.
{in through the nose, out through the nose}.
and all this anger at someone i love and adore. someone who, out of my omgirl nomad leggings, i call a dear friend, someone i'd break bread with {fresh from the oven sourdough for me, raw ezekiel spelt for her}; a give a ride to the airport kind of friend, but ask me to throw my legs up in the air....and i don't care how friggin nice or pretty you are....i'll cut you!
there's something about balancing on my arms and going upside down....i lose my head and my air. all i can feel is my left hamstring, right rotator cuff, my aunt's cancer, court on wednesday, the 750, ooo dying in somalia, my neighbor's brain tumor, my friends' turmoil over their son, another aunt's broken heart, my father. i need an oxygen tank to breathe.
the flow flies away, the fear soars in.
child's pose.
if yesterday's class told me anything it's that i'm in dire need of my yoga. my brain is a bounce house of fret and un-focus, my body is broken down and walloped.
i'm return to the mat a true humble warrior.
drummer down
as i type this i have an ice pack in pretty much every nook & cranny of my person.
tuesday i got pound™-ed, and hard.
a new fitness class, using just 1lb drum sticks {ripstix™} and your own body weight, pound™ is a total body workout, designed to "put the fun back into fitness."
[vimeo http://vimeo.com/23228621 w=640 h=400]
the music, loud and heart-thumping, kicks you into a doable choreographed routine of banging floors, rapping ripstix™, shaking your bum, and oh yes.....lunging, squatting, bridging, twisting, and jumping {hello hamstrings!!!}.
created by drummers and fitness aficionados, kirsten potenza and cristina peerenboom, pound™ is a high energy, kick-ass class where you truly unleash your inner rock star. give the girl a set a sticks and our typically, yogic, bambi-eyed instructor, angela leigh, morphed into a rockin', groovin' gwen stefani looking for bambi's mother!
[vimeo http://vimeo.com/16084054 w=640 h=400]
i'm not lying. ten minutes into class, i was sheila-effing-E, glamorous life'ing all OVER that gym floor.
mmm. hmm. snap, SNAP bitches.
although today i feel more like sheila e's crippled grandmother. i'm not very big on the cross-training. spin, yoga, pilates, coreplay™, a little run here and there....those are my go-to's. pound™ definitely taught me i need to branch out of my exercise bucket.
pound™ is offered at the west hollywood equinox and starting this month will debut at the newport beach equinox.
the class will soon spread throughout the country.
keep updated on their happenings here.
thursday happy m'loves.
coastin'
monday happy m'loves.
today is a busy day of spinning, tucking, twisting, curling, and smiling.
the fall silhouette is long and lean {tuxedo suits and long skirts} and i'm off to get my clients ready.
a giant "THANK YOU" to coast magazine for my recent write-up, and an even bigger "THANK YOU" to ralph palumbo, magician photographer, for making a flu-ey katie camera ready.
weekend happy
hello i love you won't you tell me your name?
what's in your pocket for the weekend lollipops?
tonight, i plan on losing my voice with mumford and son's.
tomorrow, more shouting {microphone assisted} with my gangsta's looking to sweat and crush the constant inner babble of our brains.
tomorrow night i plan on losing my mind in hunkiest's sweet talk and sugar kisses. hopefully with a grilled cheese sandwich thrown in the mix somewhere.
more holla' and calorie crush on sunday morning to help stave off planned damage from deep fisted, easter candy basket binge later.
i'm a sucker for pretty.
marshmallow, nougat, white chocolate, marzipan....flavors which normally produce an upturned my nose; belle them up in lavender, aqua, celadon, azure, a dusty pink?!?! and i'm a sticky-fingered walking mallomar.
so share with me..i adore your comments.
are there champagne brunches in your future? peeps? eggs to be dyed? or are you more: easter's here?
weekend happy to you m'loves!
a weekend recipe
caffeinated courage.
lithe ambition.
a dance with dairy.
fire in the belly.
fire in the wood oven.
rinse, repeat and lather.
march
true to form, monsieur march came in like a lion;
surly and base, big paws swiping madly in the air.
agile as a cat, i luckily avoided any pops or scrapes to the face and bod.
silly little lions can't knock me down;
i'm always ready for a nice tangle and scrap.
scratch that. not true. pants on fire.
i HATE confrontation.
i'm quite the chicken.
cluck. cluck.
i'd rather hold my tongue than rumble.
my legs have a nice cozy spot for my tail.
but with all the bumps and barnacles i must share what else march has tendered:
homemade key lime pie.
mumford and son's tickets.
this year's first bloom of my jasmine plant.
a friday evening of french cuisine and friends.
new screen doors throughout the house.
a family dinner.
new bedroom furniture.
my dad's birthday.
my mom's beautiful smile.
spin and pilates students giving me goosebumps with their dedication.
blog posts making me cry, scream with laughter, and happy dance {sometimes all at once}.
my beasts discovering the art of spooning.
plum blossom bath soap.
pink nails.
hunkiest.
and finally the privilege of talking to you m'loves.
thursday happy to you!
not so faraway land
every morning i wake up in fairy-tale land.
don't get me wrong;
the shires of my fanciful kingdom are also filled with death, disease, discourtesy, and deception.
yesterday, it took all of robin hood's outlaws, and one lady in waiting to reign in my tongue; as i let someone take a favor i did for them, and twist it into a giant, ugly fat lip for me.
i could choose to dwell in darkness.
to hate, to plot, and to stew.
i never feel better though.
i'm guilty of my own bitchy, bad-mannered days, where i'm sure someone feels like giving me a lashing or two.
yet, for me bitterness fades when i try to relate to those who hurt me.
they become less big, bad wolf and more frail, weak, insecure granny;
hiding from the world beneath the covers.
someone i can relate to and love.
this ilk of living allows me to wake up in each morning in katie-land.
{sometimes with a new friend too}
disabled
friday i entered the studio to teach my last class after a long, stressful week. my two-day vacation {first one in some time} was about to begin in 65 minutes; i glided in giddy, only one more hour, and it was teaching one of my favorite classes: a classical pilates, level 2, with all of my regulars, and many other fellow instructors.
in an instant, the glee turned into gloom when my studio advisor told me i'd be having a new student in class:
mike, a gentleman in his 60's, had broken his neck. he was wheelchair bound and had never taken a pilates class. he was coming to take mine.
my skin began to clam, my stomach knotted, and my heart raced.
NO!!! i snarled. you can't let him. it's too dangerous! he needs to do a yoga therapeutics, or a pilates private. you can't let him take my class!
she was concerned too, but much more composed and lovely than my shade of ugly. apparently, mike was not going to take no for an answer. he was coming to take pilates come hell or highwater.
i. was. terrified.
i didn't want him to get hurt. i was worried about liability. i didn't want him to feel uncomfortable with a room of advanced students. i didn't want him to feel unsuccessful or discouraged. he hadn't even shown up, and already i had spun myself into a dreidel of nerves and defenses.
rather than admit my fear, i acted like a bratty child, not getting her way.
i stomped around dramatically, eyes wide on the lookout, hoping to intercept him, and kindly discourage him from coming in.
class began. no mike. i was so relieved. he had changed his mind.
then i heard the clankety clank of an elevator {we have an elevator in this building???}, and realized he was late because our zig-zag, aztec-shaped building: hard enough to traverse even on two, healthy legs, is close to impossible to ascend in a wheelchair.
mike made it. his injury is no joke. from the tips of his toes, to the tops of his ears he is severely affected.
he cannot walk.
but he did get himself on his mat, and from there MY lesson began.
i conducted class like i normally do:
planks, push ups, crisscross, scissors, leg lifts, the gamut. i had two advanced instructors taking class so it wasn't like i could do an hour of diaphragmatic breathing.
mike worked at every exercise i called out. many looked agonizing. because of his injury some weren't workable; 99% of the participants can't do every exercise though. i don't give special attention, nor did he need any. this man's focus and determination could win simultaneous chess and wrestling matches. he heard every word i said. every right, left, lift, lower, breathe in, out. my cues, modifications, corrections had to be laser sharp, clear, and simple.
my body was fine from the demonstration, my brain was fried within the first 15 minutes.
after class, when everyone had left the room and mike was getting himself back into his chair i introduced myself and thanked him for coming. i was moved and emotional. in less than an hour i had undeniably changed roles from that of teacher to student. i was embarrassed by my earlier resistant and ignorant behavior to ban mike from class. rather than projectile vomit my insecurities all over the place {my propensity when faced with those who rock my world}, i just let mike talk.
he explained his injury and informed me it was his third time EVER out of his wheelchair. he was visiting from hawaii, and his wife is afraid to let him do things that involve leaving his chair. he said "but, katie!!, sometimes you just got to live life." and living life last friday meant taking my class no matter what.
no matter how wretched the stair, ramp, elevator system is in our building, regardless of the instructor's provincial and birdbrained attitude about having someone new or different in her class; living life meant not letting a physical body impede a mental and emotional resolve.
one of us walked into that room handicapped. his name wasn't mike.
kreativ blogger
i'm sure there was some sort of mistake.
i'm so not worthy of such an award,
but, in what i suspect was copious amount of black tar heroin consumption,
the divine deborah of dumbwit tellher bestowed the very generous kreativ blogger badge upon moi.
to say i have procrastinated is putting it mildly: she gifted me march 1st.
tis how i roll. i'm still sending out wedding invitations, and we're coming up on our 2nd year anniversary.
i tend to fall behind.
part of my hesitance has been the job of summoning up 7 personal items of substance and circumstance to impart upon, you, my loveliest of readers.
i can easily give you 7 things that are annoying and compulsive. but the former......i gots nuttin.
rather than try to dazzle i will go for the informative route. these may not be sparkly, antic facts, but all are true and differentiate me from the all the other mouthy, half-japanese/half caucasian, childless, compulsive eating, newport beach housewives around here.
1. i am terrified i will be the worst mother ever. we're talking joan crawford style wretched. i'm in love with a baby i haven't even conceived. but i'm deathly afraid said child will be asking hh for someone more adept and competent with her first words.
2. i love gummi bears. but only the haribo brand. and only the orange and yellow bears. i won't touch red, white and green. they taste like someone else's regurgitated jello shots: a senior graduation trip to puerta vallarta i'm still trying to forget.
3. i like to have things planned way ahead of time. and i make lists like ina garten makes cobblers.
i'm a moronic-scheduling-maniac, who writes everything done in my filofax (yes, i still live in the 1990's), re-syncs it in my blackberry, and triple confirms it to my desk calendar. i even schedule my spontaneity.
4. i take multiple baths everyday.
5. crickets. i hate crickets. i also hate silence which, in effect, is pseudo-crickets.
6. my left pinky toe lies horizontal. i was born with it this way. we call it bitch toe.
7. i am always cold. i wear a fluffy, cozy wrappy all the time to keep warm. even in 100 degree costa rica sunshine i had goosebumps. it's no longer adorable to my hh, but to still to get his attention i dramatically cry out, "baby, i am frijoles!!".
yes, i know this translates to " i am beans." BUT i like the way it almost sounds like "i am freezing", and it makes him smile.
so there you go. my seven things. it only took me 4 months to figure them out, put them to paper, and post.
i'm apparently supposed to tag the kreativ blogger onto 7 other blogs to keep the party going.
argh!! i hate that i have to narrow it down to 7....
duel living, jeune marie, sweet nothings, reverie, trust your style, with love from pittsburgh, and audrey onassis.
feel free to accept the tag if you like or pass it on to your discretion.
thank you again deb. you set the standard, oh goddess of katy, texas.
oink oink
full disclosure: this is not a review.
i don't eat bacon. anymore.
(pause for moment of silence as i commemorate days of crispy salty, sweet love. love that made all things bad and scary..disappear, for 12 seconds as i chewed and swallowed).
i'm not one of those vegetarians who doesn't miss meat at all (take that double negative and shove it where the seitan don't shine). i crave tofu and tempeh like i crave being hungover. so when my friend, tara simon, started selling her katie treats candied bacon, i tried my best to avoid her.
but unfortunately, my plan to evade my fellow pilates co-worker (yes, you read that correctly; she is also an amazing pilates instructor) worked out disastrously.
her new company, the sticky pig is cooking like betty crocker!!! people are losing their minds over her candied bacon confections. seriously, say those two words together "candied"/"bacon". they're perfection. that's like "parisian"/"vacation"...."cashmere"/"bathrobe"..."folded"/'laundry"...(you get the idea). flavors come in coconut curry lime, raspberry jelly doughnut, s'mores, orange ginger, maple cinnamon, apple pecan dulce de leche, dark chocolate peppermint, the elvis, chocolate covered strawberry, and original.
these morsels sell and ship all over the country. orders range from 4 pieces to 12 month supplies.
this is a fabulous valentine's day present....a nice break from the normal chocolate, wine and flowers. how great would these be at your next chi-chi dinner party or reception?
love it tara!
happy weekend
dahlings what are you plans for the forty eight hour holiday? dancing? drinks? dates? my plans aren't set.....yet. i know there will be huffing and puffing, and tucking and squeezing. and that's just when i'm on the clock.
one thing i am craving is more girl time.
belly laughs. the crying that unclogs that thing in your throat that's been there for months. head on my shoulder as i play with your hair, looking for split ends. omitting prepositions and nouns......we know what you mean. your index finger to the sky swirling, head bobbing up and down, eyes rolled.....even with your mouth full of chardonnay it's crystal clear: your husband's boss' wife, the one who got so wasted at the christmas party, wants to be best friends and won't leave you alone.
i need more of this. even better if we don kimonos, smoke from long pipes, and play dominos.
happy weekend. love, katie
click image for source.
pretend monday
i'm going to pretend i'm wearing this outfit all day long. as i go from spin class to pilates back to spin class one last time to pilates. i'm going to live in my fantasy land where i am wearing this outfit catwalking over the stoned, rainy streets of newport beach; clutch in tow, eyes smokey, lips pursed, and a sultry, sour pouty faced expression exposing my disdain for all matters frowzy and inelegant.
happy monday.
love,
katie