LHB Blog

A girl, a blog and a cactus named Pudding

Tag: Ashtanga

The Lotus Pose

Alternative title : I achieved my life goal of becoming a pretzel and now I can retire to live by the sea and eat sand or some other shit that happens when life-goals are conquered … Wait, is eating sand part of a balanced diet now? Which food group would it even be in? Argh! 

Brain : “Stop! Where are you trying to put that foot?!”

Me : “Over by my thigh … ”

Brain : “Over by your … What? Why?!”

Me : “I’m trying to go full Lotus here!”

Brain : ” … What the heck is wrong with you?”

Me : “There. See! We managed it! We managed full Lotus! Aren’t you excited? This is awesome!”

Brain : “If I had a mouth I would have been sick into it … How has the knee not popped or … Actually it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to know. Don’t come crying to me if you’re now stuck you absolute tool”

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Hello World!

Alternative title: Testing, testing … Is this thing on? Hello? What’s that? We’re live you say? … Hell to the yeah! Ay up lovelies, LHB Blog has internet again! Woop woop! Are we ready to talk about boobs and Yoga? … Yes? Fabulous!

As you read this chances are I am in Ashtanga class, learning how to breathe through boobs, during a shoulder stand … I should point out that they are my own boobs, not those of a stranger, because that would be one very weird (and wrongly advertised) Yoga class. Nobody ever mentioned that going into a shoulder stand would mean I was suddenly going to be eye to eye with nipples so it’s been a bit of a shock to the system (mostly for my windpipe)! How do ladies who have substantial boobage manage those poses? Even with an industrial strength sports bra I’m finding that Pinky and Perky have a murderous side when tipped upside down! (Especially Perky … That one is the leader, I’m sure of it!)

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Grab a cuppa – it’s time for a catch up

Alternative title: As we head into the start of the Euro’s Ruebi and M are still without Internet … They are starting to believe they will never again experience the wonders of Netflix, of Youtube and of FML. They are also starting to believe that watching the cat take a crap is far more exciting than the various soap dramas that bombard their senses from “normal” TV channels. Seriously, less sex takes place in brothels than it does in those programmes.

As the lack of internet is cramping my social media style I thought I’d give you an update as to what the heck has been happening when I haven’t been crying face down on the floor because I totally have no idea what’s going down in “Pretty Little Liars” … In fact, I haven’t even started watching it yet, I just know all the characters quite intimately from all the conversations my work colleagues have been having about who is bumping uglies with whom and who is a “total bitch”.

They don’t seem to have a “spoiler” filter at that place!

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Yoga Maybe?

Alternative title: The last time I went to Yoga I had the unfortunate situation of being placed on the mat behind a 60 year old dude who was wearing shorts…During one move I ended up playing a horrifying game of peek-a-boo with his ball-sack. That image can not be bleached out of my brain…Nor can I look at dried prunes in the same way again.

 

“I should go back to yoga” I sigh as I stare at the very sad looking mat in the boot of my car.

“Why?” My brain chirped up, positively repulsed by the concept.

“Because it’s good for us. It makes us…Well…Bendy I guess”.

“Good for us? Really? Ruebi you try and manipulate your limbs in ways that, quite frankly, are terrifying while listening to some gassy so-and-so releasing their daily dose of green juice in such a way that the local sewage works smells like a rose garden in comparison and let’s not forget the time you managed to smash your knee into your nose with such force we ended up using a sock to stem the bleeding! Honestly, running the wrong way down the motorway while blindfolded would be a safer hobby”.

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