They really need to loosen up...

I tried yoga. I quickly found out that it was not for me. It wasn't just one thing that made yoga wrong for me, but a bunch of things that added up to...disaster. Yes I know yoga is supposed to be very good for me. Nothing says "good times" like stretching and twisting yourself into a human knot them trying to breathe. Sounds like fun if you're a masochist.

I needed to find out what all the hoopla was about with this form of physical fitness so I enrolled in a class.

Did you know that there is proper yoga etiquette when entering the class?

I didn't.

Apparently, it isn't polite to disturb anyone's inner peace. You just don't go up to the person sitting quietly in a lotus position and say enthusiastically, "HI! I'm DICKEY BILL WAGNER and this is my FIRST YOGA CLASS, I'M SO EXCITED!" All I heard was "shhhh!" from all corners of the room. (Awkward) Wow I hope yoga works because these people need to loosen up.

The workout starts simply enough then the instructor calls out the Eagle pose. Who named this pose? The yogi who invented the eagle pose must have had some imagination, because I didn't see an eagle there...maybe one that hit the ground at one hundred miles per hour. I started laughing at my wit, which created a tension in the room. Really why is everyone so uptight in yoga class?

The clincher that yoga was not for me was the standing bow pose. I pulled my leg up just a little to far and I felt a click. My body was locked up in this pose. The moment went really bad when I rolled full pose into four yoga students next to me. We were a pile of intertwined sweaty bodies. I would have enjoyed that if I wasn't still stuck in the standing bow pose. There I was howling in pain and really disrupting the inner peace of everyone present and most of the class next door. The yoga class was dismissed early with a lot of apologies from the instructor. The instructor tapped my solar plexus and all of a sudden my body released its pose.

I said "thanks" to the instructor and back-pedaled out the door with much embarrassment. I guess I wasn't meant to be a yogi.

I am so fired!!!

Time keeps moving forward, regardless of how I feel about it. Physicist and Philosophers have created numerous theories about time. Some say time is an illusion others that it is relative on where you are at in the space time continuum. The term continuum implies continuity; an even paced movement where moments are connected. Hmmm then why am I missing segments of time? Why does the pace get faster and faster as I get older?

It has been over two weeks since I have posted a note on this blog. I vowed to myself that I would post weekly, I am so fired. I would have posted last week if I didn't have a flair up of OCD. That sprinkled with ADD is a recipe for lost time. I looked up and Voila a week was gone! I am so fired.

Physicist claim that time is relative to the observer and that large objects bend time and slow things down. That's why I hang out with fat people. Time moves slower for them. Do you know why New Orleans is called the Big Easy? Because fat people set the pace for time in Louisiana; okay fat people and alcohol.

That's nice but I live in Colorado, where people want to be fit and run road races like the Boulder Boulder. Time is moving so fast here that you do have to say Boulder twice to make sure you hear it once. Being lean and competitive guarantees time will speed up. There isn't enough time to speak in complete sentences, whew!

These examples are strong arguments towards the relativity of time. Energy, time, and mass are relative terms. So is good ole uncle Stanley. Yes uncle Stanley is a relative who doesn't believe in science because he is religious. Big bang for him is birthday sex.

Maybe if I was a physicist, I would learn how to control time without resorting to use my fat friends. I just feel so selfish when I do. Fun fact: guilt is relative too. Presently my options are limited so chances are you will see me with a large crowd. Time is on the move and I hate having to catch up.

Looking for some hair gel

Have you ever had a bad hair day? Me, I am having a bad hair life. I know it doesn't matter who cuts my hair. Because it always turns out the same. A big mess of wild hair that makes me look mentally unbalanced. This "wild hair" is a condition known as folliculitis flexomegaly.

This condition is highlighted by hair follicles that refuse to lie with the crowd. These follicles are individuals and have rebellious natures. They exist to go against the flow of what could be great looking hair. The other hair follicles see the great time that the "wild hairs" are having and want to party too. They start flexing in their own individual way and soon there is quite an event happening on top of my head.

I know when I am symptomatic people start looking at the top of my head when they speak with me. There are awkward looks as if they want to mention my hair but don't want to be impolite. Once at a job interview, I broke out in full blown folliculitis flexomegaly. "We love your credentials Dickey Bill, but just can't seem to get past your hair." Tell me me about it.

I haven't yet figured out how to make my look good. You know who made bad hair look good? Albert Einstein did. Even when his hair was combed it was out in the lunatic fringe. It looked like it could explode any second. Einstein didn't have my condition. No the reason his hair stood straight up was because he had a medium sized scalp stretched tightly over his extra large skull. This look added so much credibility to his musings of the space time continuum.

The best haircut I ever had was a mullet. I was cool then with my business up front and party in the back look. I think it is my responsibility to bring sexy back in the form of a mullet. I'll either look retro or be mistaken as a butch lesbian that coaches girl's softball.

I would shave my head, but I feel like I would go from badhair to bad head days. I guess part of my destiny calls for me to make people go "hmmm" when they glance at the top of my head. Hmmm what's with you hair?

The truth about Ostriches

Sometimes bad information can get you into trouble. The consequences from relying on bad information can be dangerous. My ultimate mission in life is public service and I know can help the public by debunking two outrageous myths regarding ostriches.
Myth #1. Ostriches deny their is trouble by hiding its head in the sand.
Myth #2. Ostriches make tasty burgers.

The urban legends surrounding Ostriches abound. Leaving behind confusion, in my case clouds of confusion. Ostriches do not hide their heads in the sand to avoid danger. The truth is that Ostriches are much too stupid to even recognize that they are in danger. Do you want to know why Ostriches eyes are so big? It is because there is room in their small heads for big eyes. Ostrich brains are smaller than its eyeball. That definately hinders cognitive thought.

Like any other normal person, I was never concerned with accurate information about ostriches. That is until I met an ostrich with a nasty disposition. I was strolling the campus of LSU (Geaux Tigers!) and I happened upon a nine foot tall ostrich. He was looking curiously at me with his enormous eyes.

I thought that the ostrich would consider me dangerous so I jumped up and down and hollered loudly to try and scare it. I expected the ostrich to run away and then I could laugh at my human superiority. He didn't move. I noticed his legs for the first time, they were massive. The ostrich then started swinging his head back and forth wildly. He stomped his gigantic ostrich feet on the ground. There was one thin strand of barbed wire separating us. He looked at me as if he was going to come through the wire and step on me.

My cleverness had backfired. I was now afraid and started backing away slowly. The ostrich got distracted at the complexity of the fence. I took that opportunity and ran away. I avoided being kicked around by a chicken on steroids because he was stupid. Whew that was a close one.

Speaking of chickens, some genius thought that ostrich was just another word for poultry. There are ostrich farms, I don't know if Tyson farm ostriches but they do a great job with chickens. I digress, ostriches are not poultry but they are edible. Since man will eat anything, why not ostriches? Because...Ostriches taste like crap! You bite into some ostrich meat and it is like having a mouthful of crap. That is definately not appealing to me. It must be an aquired taste. I don't want to have to work at enjoying food.

My certainty comes from the fact that I have sampled ostrich. My good friend invited the family over for a cook out. "I have ostrich burgers." He said with pride. "Oh really, let me see." I said. It was red meat and had the texture of ground beef. "Okay, I'll try it."

I took a bite of my ostrich burger excited by the new experience. There it was a mouthful of crap. I was grossed out. eeewwww! Judging by the looks on the faces of the other guests, we all seemed to be in agreement. No amount of condiments could hide that awful flavor. I ate a lot of potato salad.

Two myths about ostriches that are debunked. I hope you never need this information. However it is good to know just in case.

Ode to Ricky Bobby

I've done allot of different jobs in my working life. Occasionally, someone will ask me, "Is there any job you haven't done?" I am always surprised by this question. Obviously I haven't done everything. I have never been a race car driver.

I think racing would suit me. It's not too complicated and that is a plus. I believe I am coordinated enough to drive a car. I mean come on, it's not typing. I like the cool racing suit, just wearing that would be exciting.

I went to my auto mechanic to get my car tuned up. I spent a small fortune making sure it was road ready. When I was paying the bill, the mechanic said proudly, "It's a RACE CAR now!"...Really? I immediatly went home and told my wife I was going to Alabama. "I am going to enter the Talledega 500." I told her. She rolled her eyes and said "Okay honey, I'll see you next week."

I have to say I am very disappointed in my auto mechanic. I arrived at the Speedway ready to enter and was promptly told to leave or they would call the police. It seems that I have been mislead and my gold Honda Civic was not a race car at all. That's okay, while driving back home to Colorado, I pretended I was in a RACE! I was gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles as I maneuvered through traffic. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins.

Everything was fine until I saw a 1972 Ford Pinto in the fast lane passing a line of cars on the right. It was smoking and the side mirror was hanging by a thread. I don't know how it was possible that it was going 90mph. A thought crossed my mind that whoever was driving that car was mentally impaired. Now it was dangerous. We were moving fast. With my cat like reflexes, I tapped my breaks to slow down. Pure reflexive genius in action.

I tried to be a race car driver and I was turned away. Perhaps my destiny is yet to reveal itself. I still have to say that Auto racing is a job I have not had.

She told me it was unisex.

Last week I went shopping for a shirt. I had some functions to attend that required me to look my best and a new shirt would help. I don't like to browse and try on clothes when I shop. I want to get it over with as soon as possible and be on my way.

I walked into a clothing store and was greeted by a salesperson. "May I help you?" she inquired. "I am looking for a shirt." I blandly replied. She side stepped and produced a shirt seemingly as if she knew what I wanted all along. She held up the shirt and said, "I've got the shirt for you right here. It is the newest thing in fashion and what is really great is that it is unisex."

She handed me the shirt to examine. Oh it is lovely I thought. The fabric is incredibly soft and it is shiny. I like shiny things. "I don't know." I said holding the shirt up. I noticed that the shirt was my size. "I think you will look great in this shirt." the sales lady said. You know what, I believed her. I decided to try it on. It had an unusual cut to the material, it fit great and I noticed I looked slimmer in the mirror. The sales lady must have been one shirt away from a huge commission because she gushed all over about how good I looked. She was a true professional. I purchased the shirt.

Have you ever noticed when you buy a new car, you suddenly see that type of car everywhere? That is what I experienced with my new shirt, except I didn't see this shirt on one man, only very fashionably dressed women. Hmmmmm I wondered why my wife asked me why I was wearing her clothes. I wondered why the gay guy at work suddenly decided to hit on me. He told me exactly what he wanted to do to me. I was flattered.
I guess the unisex part of this style of shirt hasn't caught on yet. Wow I am on the front lines of a new trend. I'm glad too, because the shirt really makes me look good.

When the Saints come marchin' in...

It is Mardis Gras season in New Orleans. Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulette! Especially this year when the Saints defeat the Colts tommorow. The party will be more than the usual madness and decadence. There will be an optimistic vibration resonating strongly with the celebration, the Big Easy way.

I think I should invest in some Superbowl Champion Beads with the Saints logo all over them, then take a road trip to New Orleans! Hoo yeah cher! The party will be off the hook. Millions of people will cram into the French Quarter to watch parades, drink excessively and reveal body parts usually left to imagination.

It brings me back to my first Mardis Gras celebration in the Big Easy. Along time ago when I was fourteen years old. I hitched a ride with a couple, ten years older than myself, but we hung out allot. My parents didn't have I clue I was there because they would not have let me go.

Someone threw me a beer from a balcony on Bourbon Street and the party began in earnest. I learned quickly that I could exchange beads for women exposing their titties. 'Wow' I remembered thinking 'I wish everyday could be Fat Tuesday'. I got really competent negotiating women to flash me for the sheer excitement of being naughty. I had run out of beads in about ten minutes.

"Show me your tits." "No" came an immediate reply. I asked her "If we were in a serious relationship you would show me, wouldn't you?" She thought for a moment then smiled and said "Of course." "I love you." I said back to her. She grinned big and pulled both breasts out and rubbed them on me. I had reached a new level in my life and there was no turning back.

Yes the Mardis Gras celebration is all about the good natured drunken nakedness for me. Yes I have earned allot of beads just to give them back. This year...when the Saints come marching in, oh Lord I want to be in that number. Who Dat? You know who it is. It is the New Orleans Saints and they are number one this year, GEAUX SAINTS!