Pilatte' with Extra Whip Cream

I wouldn't go so far to say I am a Pilates freak, but I do love Pilates and I am a freak, so for the sake of this post, we will assume that I am.

There is a repose and vigor to the exercise. Plus you can casually give people helpful stretches or poses to do if they say their shoulder or sit bones hurt. But no matter what, there is a mental journey I go on during every Pilates or Yoga class. Please join me in this recreation.

You first arrive and are a little skeptical of your flexibility. Also of what you ate for lunch. Why must you always have hot wings pre-Pilates. Does everyone know? Are you allowed to eat meat and take these sorts of classes? What if I don't know what the newest kind of almond milk is? Who will love me in this small studio space?

Getting a little further into the class, you're more in the groove. Who cares if your form isn't perfect? You are a unique human being with a harmonious body and no one can tell you differently! Except maybe the super toned, beautiful, racially ambiguous class instructor who keeps correcting your downward dog. But maybe she just wants to touch my body. Yeah, that is definitely it. I practically am a downward dog.

Oh hell yeah, girl. You should be teaching this class. Quit your day job and just become a Pilates instructor who feasts on berries and tempeh protein shakes. Get rid of your cell phone and solely communicate through fuchsia energy waves. You could easily fall off the grid into a hammock on a Costa Rican coffee bean plantation and just live your life with a purpose only those who do Pilates can understand. Can you believe some people eat processed foods? It makes me so sad for humanity. 

Okay, wait, shit. This is really hard. You have tipped over the crest of that good-vibe wave and it is a serious wipeout. Pilates is not fun. The fear mongering liberal media has infiltrated your sweet baby brain to make you afraid of things that don't even exist like cellphone waves and osteoporosis. You are just a pawn in their long term plan to run this country on patchouli oil.

Fuck this noise. I'm gonna go home and watch some porn after this. That'll be more enlightening.

~NAMASTE~

Supermodel (You Better Work!)

Ladies! Put your hands up! Put your hands down! Put them up again! Down! Up! Down! Okay, you can count that as going to the gym.

This morning I was walking back from a really great coffee shop, feeling jazzed, mostly caffeinated, and a little sweaty and I saw this VERY attractive guy. And he was rocking those like, hip, urban, ear plugs, and strolling his beautiful, slim, bike along with him. He probably ran the coffee shop I had been at, or like, works in an urban garden, or stretches leather for saddle bags for underprivileged kids.

Anyways, my immediate reaction when I saw him was to somehow walk more attractively and overall just emote my interest towards him through an intense stare/affectionate amble. But as soon as you start thinking about how you walk or try to actively make your walk sexier, it turns into the exact opposite of that. Also, it should be said, that there isn't really a way to walk incredibly sexy. It usually has to do with the mood, or the lack of clothes you have on, or the dim lit candles you've strategically placed around you.

So, because I had run out of my on-the-go candles, and because it was 34° outside and I will never love anyone enough to be cold and uncomfortable by my own will, I decided to just try and walk sexy.

But as it was mentioned, that is impossible. So what it really was, was me kind of rolling my shoulders and and angling my torso in his general direction. I'm sure NatGeo could do a whole half hour special on Kady Ruth's failed flirty body language, complete with narration by David Attenborough.

It probably looked like a slow motion, sensuous, electric slide. Yeah, and I guess that wasn't really his thing. Because he didn't stop his walk to come over and start dancing with me. He did however, notice me. But that was because I sort of shimmied into oncoming traffic and a car honked at me. (Though, I think this was my subconscious way of creating a Damsel-in-Distress situation.)

Hopefully I'll see this mysteriouso maestro again, and this time I'll have my candles or something seductively foolproof like rollerskates (jk those actually fall on my list of unacceptable accessories: along with neck braces and toe socks.)

If anyone has advice for sexy walking or how to instantly attract a stranger who is standing approx. 5yds aways, 1) let a sister know, and 2) patent those moves and write a book like this.

Bonus video:

The Sorority Arm

Happy New Years you beautiful baby back ribs! Did you kiss who you wanted at midnight? And by that, I mean did you drunkenly eat a Banh Mi and whisper delicately "You are the only one who loves me."

Well, I hope you did. I also hope you reconstructed the events of your evening through photos, tweets, and text messages. I, for one, decided to retweet a lot of people I don't know very well at midnight. So I guess some part of me was excited that that girl from my English Major Sophomore seminar's resolution was to exercise more. (We were ALL waiting for that one.) (jk)

Anyways, if you did Sherlock & Holmes your night by looking at photos, or you are a respectable human being and didn't have to, I'm willing to bet money that you or a lady in your party caravan was guilty of...the sorority arm.

THE SORORITY ARM! You know what it is. Made popular by Miss Universe Swimsuit competitions and The Little Orphan Annie.

[Ikea instructions for Sorority Arm: Face Camera, Shift your body so it is perpendicular to the lens, The arm closest to the lens is placed on hip with elbow bent, Make sure leg closest to lens is moved forward in a toe tapping pose, Hide intake of Swedish meatballs,]

It's the one size fits all arm slimtasticer! It's like, I'm at a casual kegger but also on a Milan runway.
It's like, please don't confuse me for Gisele Bundchen, I'm just her body double! It's like "Oh, who me? Fine, Okay!" *pose**pose*.

Sorry, I'm a hater to the nth degree.But I too have been guilty of that hand/hip action. Sometimes I just want the internet or the instagram to know just how many five pound weights I've been lifting during a Say Yes to the Dress marathon. (That sentence didn't make sense because I only lift two weights, but I lift them A LOT OF TIMES.)

I guess I'm just not crazy about it because no one will ever look at a picture of a line of ladies doing the sorority arm and nostalgically say "Aw, that was such a fun/crazy/adventurous night." They are going to be like "Bah, should have worn spanx!" or "Why did we all get matching upper arm tattoos??"

Overall, it really does make the subject look sassier, Michelle Obama-y, and in control of their environment. So, sorority arm it away. I guess, just don't sorority squat. Because that is actually the most unattractive and strange thing in the entire world and it makes it look like you peed yourself a little! Happy 2013!

2013

Happy New Years, you dorks!

In a few hours you are probably about to embark on the most overhyped open bar you've ever spent $75 on, but you know what, get it. It was probably a shitty year for you, in which case, flirt with that bartender and wear a see-through belly shirt.
Dance to a culturally insensitive pop song and check your phone for updates on Kimye's baby AND Hilary Clinton's health. Both are important.

Roommate's beautiful apartment decorations!

But as shitty or awesome as things were this past year, they can always get more shitty or more awesome in 2013.

I have one piece of advice/suggestion going into this unlucky year, and that is to stop 'playing it cool.'

Stop playing it cool. I know it's cliche to say, but life is short, and isn't measured in instagram filters or like all-fucking-natural cigarette butts or the length of your ombre. Be bold and poignant with your thoughts and feelings. Try to surround yourself with people who are interested in your ideas. Question your use of irony. Don't be afraid to dig into ugly things.

Like last year, I hope you kiss a bunch of people, remove toxic people from your life (after kissing them a whole bunch), have a few nights in eating plain pasta from a mixing bowl while watching Pawn Stars, and maybe get a new exciting haircut or something.

For myself, I'm hoping to have a few more reasons to shave my legs!

Dream big, love big, eat a big sandwich! 2013! Rah rah rah!

Guitar Hero

So sometimes you have a crush on a boy. And he is cute and interesting and reads good books and maybe has a favorite sports team that you'll check online to see if they are winning their sports game from time to time. And then maybe he also is a musician, but actually just owns a guitar.

And there isn't anything wrong with that. In fact, it might be a little sexy. He has an artistic side, a sensitive side, or maybe he just is a Glam Rocker from the eighties at heart and you know what, you can still have a crush on him.

But there is something that happens and it needs to stop. And this is a PSA for the following situation because it is weird, and strange, and I don't want to deal with it anymore.

So you are on a couch, or maybe his ~*bed*~ and you guys are chatting or maybe just ~*staring weirdly into one another's eyes*~ and he picks up his guitar. You all are still chatting but then slowly and very subtly he is playing all the scales on his guitar and his responses to your conversation turn into "yah, uh huh" "yah, uh huh" and THEN before you know it you guys aren't talking and you are just watching this dude jam out on an acoustic guitar in silence.

Boys, men, ladies who are also guilty of it, please stop. Or at least place a little disclaimer before you go all Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock (wo0o0oo0o) on the person you are wooing. You can simply say, "Baby, listen to me play" or "Hush, words will only ruin this tension."

YOU CAN FILE THIS UNDER: TIPS FROM A GIRL WHO DOESN'T REALLY DATE, BUT SOMETIMES DOES