Please Don’t Sign Up for Yoga This Week

yoga class So, I was gonna go to my Bikram yoga class today, but when I got there a million people had already set up in the room and I left in disgust.

That’s right. I do Bikram yoga (very) occasionally. And, I take your judgment as jealousy.

Those of you that know me are probably super surprised because I’m totes fat. But, because I’m apparently an 80-year-old man from 1865, I have gout. It’s pretty debilitating. So instead of being a dick by laughing at the idea of me doing yoga, why not show a little moral support.

In fact, make that your New Year’s Resolution. Let’s spread it all around D/FW (especially Uptown). Don’t be a dick for no reason at all.

Which, that’s why my Bikram yoga class was totes packed. Because everyone decides to lie to themselves annually on January 1st and tell themselves they’re gonna work out more this year. Spoiler alert: you won’t.

I’ve been a member of my yoga place for four years now. It’s the longest commitment I’ve ever made in my life. Granted, I took over a year off while I lived in agonizing pain because I couldn’t go to the doctor because I didn’t have health insurance because, for some reason, Republicans think I don’t deserve it because I got a few allergy shots as a kid. But generally, I’ve been a pretty devoted member of the studio.

And, without fail, every January sees an enormous influx of new members. And, I say new members because you can always tell who’s new at a yoga studio. Especially when the class is 90-minutes long in a 105-degree room.

So, what’s the deal with New Year’s resolutions? Why is that the magical dividing line between you being a worthless twit and Superman?

First of all, it’s a completely arbitrary line. I mean, cosmically we can’t really know when a year ends or begins, right? Time is something we just made up. And, if you believe some Internet conspiracy theories, we’re literally living in the 1800s because a Pope decided he wanted his rule to be in the year 1,000. Then take the Rust Cohle theory that time is a flat circle, which echoes some Eastern ways of thinking, and really it doesn’t matter when you decide to go to the gym for two weeks before giving up and just watching Futurama for the billionth time through on your couch.

Second, everyone hates you. Well, everyone that isn’t being completely selfish and thrusting their efforts to better themselves on you. For real. You know all of the people who go to the gym all the time hate you as you struggle to figure out that one weird weight machine. They look on in disgust. You not only look ridiculous, but you’re holding up people who don’t suck nearly as bad as you at life. You’re bringing down all of humanity.

And, it’s not just working out. Granted, that’s usually the No. 1 resolution of Americans, but this ports to other arenas as well. Seriously, if one more person says we can’t go to a certain restaurant because they don’t have an acceptable salad for you to eat, then we’re just not gonna be friends anymore. If you’re going to be so persnickety that you boycott a perfectly acceptable suggestion for dinner, don’t agree to the meal in the first place. Look, on some level I get it. The American definition of salad has grown pretty broad. No kidding, over Christmas my mom made a dish that contained pretzels, cream cheese, whipped cream, and strawberry Jell-O (with actual strawberries diced up in it), and called it pretzel salad. It’s not salad. It’s a dessert. So, I get it. Finding a salad at a restaurant that isn’t like 2,000 calories and 100 grams of fat can be tough. Stay in then. I’ve chosen to accept my corpulence. Don’t make me feel shitty for it.

All this really has me wondering what the economic impact of resolutions is. But, different article.

Third, the only thing worse than everything listed above is the abstract and/or intangible resolution. Some people think they’re actually putting one over on the resolution game by making dumb resolutions like, “I’m going to try to be a nicer person,” or “I’m going to be more gracious.” Screw you. Seriously, from everyone, to you. Screw you. Leave the sanctimonious pretension at home. We get it. You’re a good person. No need to rub it in. “Oh, there’s nothing I could possibly do to improve any tangible aspect of my life. I’m already super good looking, talented, highly compensated, and sexually satisfied. So, now I just want to be nicer.” Ugh. It’s like when the New England Patriots take a backup guard with their first-round pick. We get it, you’re awesome. Don’t be such dicks about it.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking. “What am I supposed to do? People ask me what my resolution is.” Yes, they do. And, I’ve got an entire article planned about the total crap that is small talk. But, in the meantime, I get it. Everyone asks each other and you’ve gotta say something, right? And, for some weird reason, there are actually right and wrong answers. You see, as I’ve kind of covered before in other articles, human interaction is actually a carefully curated script that has been developed over thousands of years of human interaction. So, surprise. You’re not original in any way. No matter what you do you’re following a script that was written before you were even born. Sorry about that. Better to rip the Band-Aid off now, though, so it might free you from following that script.

You know what you tell someone who asks you what your New Year’s resolution is? Tell them to mind their own f*cking business, and if they ask again you’ll stab them in their eyes with the closest phallus shaped object because that’s your motherf*cking resolution. To murder and destroy your pointless and ceaseless need to fill the few silent moments of life with your dumb jibber-jabber.

Seriously, gonna write that small talk article soon. Because it’s the worst. So, we’re gonna work on hacking it.

Until then, hope you all had good holidays. Hope you got everything you wanted for Christmas. I got a Hamilton Beach breakfast sandwich maker. So, who wants to touch me? Actually, it’s perfect for the back corner of my Tupperware cabinet. It’ll look really good just sitting there for the next four years until I unceremoniously give it away. Meanwhile, nothing will stop me from buying Egg McMuffins. The rapture could happen and I’d still go to McDonald’s on a Saturday morning to get some Egg McMuffins. And a McGriddle. Ah, I want so MickeyD’s right now.

Anyway, whatever you do, don’t go to North Texas Bikram Yoga for your resolution. I seriously need to get in shape, and I don’t need you in the way of that.

Until next week. Adios.

Top 5 Gifts I got for Christmas

5. A pedicure (that’s right) 4. Beer jelly 3. Flannel sheets 2. Cash money 1. 23 and Me - I’m adopted, so this is cool. Let’s all do it. maybe we’re cousins.

Kris Noteboom is a Level 3 student at DCH. He is working on his PhD, with a focus comedy. He went on a mini tour this summer performing his comedic one-man show, And Then I Woke Up.

(Image: The Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas/Creative Commons)

Doing Dallas: Now Walk It Out

Each week, this Virginian will try a new Dallasite activity and blog about the experience. There are few things I dislike more than waking up early or working out; among them are tonsillectomies, catheters, and paper cuts to the eye. So, when I found out about this next Dallas tradition, I was initially hesitant because it involved waking up early TO workout – basically my worst nightmare.  But, I decided to take one for the team because this activity is simply too perfectly, marvelously Dallasy to pass up.

NorthPark Center: A gym with free membership!

See, I was recently told that NorthPark Center is the place to workout on weekday mornings from 8 – 9 a.m. Apparently, walking around the giant square that is NorthPark is a wonderful (and popular) butt-toning activity. Never mind that your square neighborhood block is literally just steps from your front door – oh, no! It’s totally way better to drive a sizable distance to an establishment in which none of the stores are open yet and walk around the abandoned space. Fresh air and nature? Pshaw! Give me food court smells and window shopping or give me death! Okay – that might be a little extreme, but I was so fascinated with and tickled by this phenomenon that I had to try it out for myself.

Here’s what happened:

A Retroactive Live Blog: Walkin’ in NorthPark*

* This title should be read to the fabulous tune of “Walking in Memphis” by Marc Cohn

Tuesday, Oct. 14, 2014 – Wednesday, Oct. 15, 2014

11:00 p.m. – Already dreading waking up at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning. Setting my alarm for 7:30 a.m., I cringe knowing that my precious REM cycle and dreams of Ryan Gosling will be soon be brutally interrupted.

1:24 a.m. – Unable to sleep; worried about how I’ll perform in the morning. Will there be sprints up the escalator stairs? Should I have a jogging stroller? Will there be relay races around the mall? Maybe I should bring my baton just in case.

2:20 a.m. – Five hours until I have to physically exert myself. Probably even break a sweat. Five…five…fiiiivvveeeee…

7:30 a.m. – The shrill sound of my alarm clock pierces my peaceful, baby-like slumber. NO. IT IS TOO EARLY FOR THIS. Log rolling out of my lofted bed, I land with a thud, grab the alarm and hit the snooze. I lay in fetal position on the floor, soaking up my last few minutes of sleep.

7:35 a.m. – Snooze alarm sounds. NOOO. Trying to figure out how to sleep more. “I’m working out, I don’t need to shower or wear make-up, right? Or will the Yogis roaming the straight in front of Lululemon judge my under eye circles and disheveled bun? After all, I am exercising in NorthPark Center – the social watering hole of Dallas – so I suppose I should look presentable.”

7:40 a.m. – JK. I like sleep more than bronzer, so I succumb to the snooze once again and decide that no selfies shall be taken in the making of this blog.

8:10 a.m. – Game face, though not made-up face, on, I have arrived and am ready to do this thang.

8:15 a.m. – Successfully enter the mall. Whoa. There are fewer people here than I expected – clearly the watering hole is experiencing a drought. Which way should I go? Is it like a, “On Tuesday/Thursday we walk counterclockwise” situation? Suddenly I see two powerwalking, baby-stroller-pushing women rapidly approaching and I panic. Intimidated by their show of speed, strength, and agility, I take off in the opposite direction.

8:17 a.m. – I discover a playlist on my iPod called “Running.” It’s been a while since I’ve needed to use such a playlist, and so it hasn’t been updated for some time. I click it anyway. The first song on the shuffle? "My Humps" by The Black Eyed Peas, of course.

Cool artsy statue or axe-murderer coming to kill me? YOU TELL ME.

8:20 a.m. – This is quite frightening. Walking down empty corridors alone, the statues somehow look much more threatening. Praying my exercise-attempt doesn’t become the topic of a 60 Minutes.

8:27 a.m. – I arrive at the escalators. No one is doing sprints up them – they’re really missing out on a solid workout. An escalator is totally like a stair climber, right? I take the steps two at a time and repeat. LOOK AT ME, DOING FITNESS.

8:27 a.m. – A rogue jogger just whizzed past. I REPEAT, A ROGUE JOGGER JUST WHIZZED PAST.

The skirt, tempting me as I walk.

8:33 a.m. – There is the CUTEST skirt on display in Anthro. I want to try it on! BUT OH WAIT. I can’t. Not only because the store isn’t open yet, but because I am here to workout, not to shop! What was I thinking!? I suppose my being in a mall and surrounded by merchandise threw me off – a mistake I will not make again.

8:40 a.m. – HALLELUJAH  the Starbucks is open! Vanilla latte, you get in my belly.

Hand-selfie, featuring a Vanilla latte, turned-off fountain, and a locked Dillards. #NorthParkAtDawn

8:42 a.m. – This is about the time I’d take a selfie, to prove I’ve actually woken-up and actually power-walked around a mall. Too bad I look like I fell off the back of a turnip truck. I settle for a hand-selfie instead.

8:50 a.m. – A precious old couple in complementary velvet athletic suits pass me by. My heart fills with joy. Then the reality of the situation sets in – I just got passed by 80-year-olds. Yikes. This signals it is time to go.

9:08 a.m. – Back home and BACK IN MY GLORIOUS BED. Good thing I don’t have class til noon. Night night!  


Chelsea is a Level 4 improv student at the DCH Training Center. She is obsessed with music of the 60s & 70s and her vices include vanilla lattes and Swedish Fish. You can check out more of Chelsea’s thoughts and ponderings HERE!

Doing Dallas: Shake it Like a Polaroid Picture

Each week, this Virginian will try a new Dallasite activity and blog about the experience. This past week, I found out about free Zumba classes in Klyde Warren Park. While the prospect of working-out (oi vey,) dropping it low, and sweating with strangers made me nervous, I knew this was too Dallas-y of an opportunity to pass up. Here is a glimpse into what happened:

A Retroactive Live Blog of My First Zumba Experience:

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

11:15 AM – It’s been a while since I’ve worked out. Will I have enough energy? Should I carbo-load? Am I supposed to carbo-load the day-of or the night before? Does Zumba even warrant carbo-loading?


11:25 AM – Finally come to a decision. Going with tortellini for lunch. YAY CARBS!

11:30 AM – Watching Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” music video while eating to get into the Zumba spirit. Praying my hips tell the truth this evening.

12 – 4 PM – In English class. Cannot concentrate; thinking only of Zumba. What should I wear? Will I know anyone there? What if I’m the only one to show up and I’m so bad the teacher just leaves? I CANNOT BE THE ONLY ONE THERE. I retweet Klyde Warren Park’s tweet about the free class, hoping one of my Twitter followers will be really into the Zumba scene and decide to join.

4:50 PM – Zumba is in t-minus 1 hour, 10 minutes. Feeling low on energy. Decide another bowl of tortellini is the solution.

5:15 PM – Wearing spandex shorts and a Lululemon top. I totally look like a Zumba pro – no one will even be able to tell this is my first time. To Klyde Warren Park I go!


5:25 PM – Sitting at a stoplight I check the temperature. 100 degrees! In this heat, I’ll sweat so much it will be like I worked out for six hours instead of just one! Or I’ll pass out. Does fainting burn calories?

6:00 PM – I’m not the only one! There are 30 women and one man here. One woman has a striking resemblance to Meryl Streep, and I find this strangely comforting. I’m already sweating.

6:02 PM – I’ve positioned myself in the second row on the far right end. While I at first think this is a prime spot, once we begin getting down to a song with the chorus “I’m gonna get it tonight,” I realize that I’m right next to the glass windows of the Lark on the Park restaurant. It’s dinnertime, and the restaurant patrons are gawking at us. Oh, sweet Lord.

6:05 PM – The immunization I got on Monday is still very painful and I am having trouble lifting my left arm. I decide to substitute any move involving this extremity with a Rockette kick of my left leg. #NailedIt

6:07 PM – Actively confirming I have no rhythm and two left feet. I start to think about how I am always one step behind and going left when I’m supposed to go right. Struck by the fact that this sounds like a song lyric, I start composing the song in my head as I awkwardly shuffle along to the music.

6:14 PM – Why can I not do a body-roll?!? I am painfully aware that my feeble attempts resemble Phoebe dancing for Chandler on Friends.

6:20 PM – Actual words from the instructor: “I want to see bigger pelvic thrusts, people!” Wait…WHAT? Is this Zumba or Fifty Shades of Grey!?

6:25 PM – Really regretting that second bowl of tortellini. I’m cramping up hard and quickly losing the desire to go on living. I look over to Meryl Streep – she’s still going strong. This gives me inspiration to power through.

6:36 PM – “Sexy and I Know It” comes on. THIS IS MY JAM. All thoughts of cramps vanish as I drop it lower than I did in the discotecas of Spain.

6:40 PM – So much sweat in my burning eyes that I can no longer see the instructor. Clearly I put too much of my soul into that last song. “Womanizer” comes on. Though empowering, I decide to make this song my last.

6:44 PM – I came, I saw, I conquered (or so I tell myself). I act like I’m going to get a drink of water but really pick up my stuff and scram.


6:46 PM – A safe distance away from the action, I stop behind a pillar to take a picture of my fellow Zumba-mates continuing the workout. I realize how extremely creepy this looks. I look around to see if anyone notices me. I realize that looking around makes me appear even more creepy. I make a dash for the car.

6:55 PM – Sweet, sweet air-conditioning!

7:00 PM – I stop and get a cookie on my way home to reward my efforts. I have enjoyed my Zumba experience and plan on returning next week.

Chelsea is a Level 4 improv student at the DCH Training Center. She is obsessed with music of the 60s & 70s and her vices include vanilla lattes and Swedish Fish. You can check out more of Chelsea’s thoughts and ponderings HERE!