Meditation For Losers

A follow-up to the ever-popular guide: Yoga For Losers

1.   Select a suitable CD to create a relaxing environment.  Something in the ‘Sounds of Nature’ genre, perhaps.

2.   Light a candle.

3.   Seat yourself in an open lotus position on your meditation cushion.

4.   Take a deep breath and hold it to avoid the odour of expired cat breath as you endure a face-bath.  Resolve not to wear the maple-blueberry lip balm next time.

5.  Exhale, releasing all tension from your body.

6.   Ignore sparks of electricity on your various exposed body parts caused by contact with cat who has just finished rolling around on your new all-vegan faux-leather sofa.

7.   Empty your mind and let go of all daily concerns.  Focus on texture of fur being repeatedly stroked gently and affectionately across your knee.  Find it soothing instead of distracting.

8.   Crack an eye and notice that you’ve forgotten to give your 16-year-old blind cat her prescription cat food.

9.   Decide to try again tomorrow.

10.   Hear Yoda’s voice in your head: “Do or do not – there is no try.’

11.   Give up and go play a video game.

Published in: on January 10, 2010 at 10:04 am  Comments (1)  
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On How the Universe Will Bite You in the Ass Every Time

I was a freshman in theatre school.  Never trust a first year theatre student.

I was having one of those days.  I just wanted to be left alone.

I needed clean clothes.

So I was sitting in the local laundromat, waiting for said clean clothes, reading and thinking about the first year language requisite I was taking – Russian, because by the time I’d gotten the call to tell me my audition had been successful, all the ‘normal’ language classes were full.

That’s when I noticed that the laundromat lady was a little crazy.

Okay, maybe ‘crazy’ is a bit harsh.  The laundromat lady was… ‘special.’  And I didn’t feel like making small talk with her. 

But sure enough, she was headed my way. 

I can’t remember the icebreaker she used to start being my ‘friend’, but I do remember what I said.   In a heavy Slavic accent, “So sorry…do not spik…Inglis…ya styudenka pa Rusky…” 

Laundromat-lady’s face lit up like she’d just discovered diamonds in someone’s pockets.  She nodded and smiled and left me alone.   I buried my face back in my script.

A few minutes later, I heard her speaking to her replacement prey.  “See that cute little girl over there?  She’s from Russia!” 

It hadn’t occurred to me that I was going to want to wash my clothes there for the rest of the school year.   I became so good at the accent, I minored in Russian the following year.