Notes from the Red Bird House

I vehemently dislike yoga. There I said it. It's not the first time I've been vocal about my disdain. I once even said, in this Blog, that "it didn't  matter how pretty she was, I wouldn't do it". That's a strong statement when you consider the things I've done in my life simply because there was a pretty woman involved. Why not, Stacee? Why won't you do yoga? It's so good for you. You'll love it. You could use some flexibility.It would help your tennis game. Hot women do it.  Blah, blah, blah.  Ok, I get bored watching TV, while reading  a magazine, while listening to music in a half hour on the Elliptical at the gym. And you want me to spend how long? 60 minutes? 90 minutes? maneuvering my body in and out of various intricate contortions? With no TV, music, or magazine to keep me company? Maybe if there was a ball involved. Maybe.  But probably not.  ~ Last week I approached one of the personal trainers at my g

In case you think that this blog is going to be definitive source on how to attain a bullshit free life, guess again. Fuck me, I wish it was. Why? Because then I wouldn't be mired in bullshit. I think I'm writing now as therapy. Pure therapy. I'm angry and incredulous. And not just about one thing. I've got at least couple bullshit producing issues splashing all over me. God as my witness (that probably doesn't pack as much wallop coming from an atheist), I try to avoid it. I don't court it. I don't covet it. I don't hang out with it. About a year ago, I made a few changes I felt I needed to make in my life. As a general rule, people = bullshit. People, whether they try to or not, propagate bullshit at an alarming rate. So, I separated myself from almost everyone in my life. I have never had as few friends and acquaintances as I have right now. Aversion to bullshit is the reason. But I'm on Facebook all the time? Yep, I am and I have 525 FB '