Life, the universe and everything

Last night I went to the 7:30 class at Baptiste and had the world’s most annoying instructor. As a rule, I don’t like to hear about the Baptiste teachers' personal take on life, the universe and everything, mostly because while many of them have experienced a real opening from yoga, Baron Baptiste has trained them all to say the same things and so it comes across as manufactured pap. This is especially true with the teacher I has last night. Not only did she spout the same Baptiste lines, she also said, “Mmmm, hmmm” after each sentence, as if the class was a Baptist congregation in need of lifting up. She put us through Sun A and Sun B so fast that we didn’t have a chance to actually hit each pose before she had us moving into the next one. I'd like to know how we're expected to link movement and breath if we can't actually go through the correct series of movements? I'm not concentrating on my breathing if I'm rushing from updog to downdog to warrior one, without ever really hitting downdog.

Another thing that irked me: this teacher says the names of poses in a really annoying way. She says Warrior One allinonewordandsofastthatitsoundslike Wrrroooooooooooone. Then Downwardfaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing. She'd get going on some cheesy Baptise theme and lose count while the whole class was holding a pose, so we'd end up being in a bind for like 5 minutes. I wanted to kick her.

Example: while we were in half pigeon, she shared this deep insight from Baron: “If you can put your forehead down to your hands or to the floor,” she said, “it’s like your forehead becomes a movie screen. And the movie screen is blank.”

Yes.

So lunch boy emailed today and asked me to go for an afternoon walk. It’s a gorgeous day outside and I had remarkably little work to do, so I said yes. We watched the ducks in the duck pond and talked about lots of things—the Boston real estate market, the nature of parents, the merits of online dating. Then he said something that stopped me in my tracks. “If I saw a 30-year old woman at a bar, I’d wonder about it,” he said.

“You’d wonder about what?” I asked.
“Well, why she was 30 and single and at a bar.”
“Because she’s young and single and likes beer?”
“Okay, but why is she still single? What’s wrong there?”
“Um, why does something have to be wrong? Maybe she just hasn’t met the right guy. And why is 30 the magic number?”

Reason #4527988453 why younger men can be problematic.

I told him that I was 30 and there was nothing wrong with me if I wanted to go to a bar. Then I told him that I was supposed to get married but that I called it off. And he said, “Well, okay. That explains it.” Explains what exactly? What needs explaining? And to whom?

He then revealed that he has an on again/off again girlfriend with whom he is currently on again.

“So if you have a girlfriend, why are you out walking with me?” I asked.
“Because you’re fun,” he said. “Why are you out walking with me?”
“Because you asked. And because I’m single, so it’s not going to weird anyone out.”

I'm probably being overly picky as a defense mechanism, but that seems icky to me.