The Curse of the Yoga Ball
**Warning**: Thanks to my tendency to CHOKE on random beverages because of laughter while reading blogs/comics (you know I mean you @dogeatdoug!); I thought I’d say to put the soda down as this is one of those you might laugh at and…yeah. I’m hyper. I blame the sugar cookies with the cute little shamrocks on ‘em that are really, really yummy but probably not the best thing I could have eaten today.
So, anyway! This one time….
Did anyone have to resist the urge to smack themselves when they had to end that phrase with “at band camp” in their heads or-even worse-aloud?
Good. It’s not just me. Do me a favor, will you? Smack yourself since I’m not there to do it for you. Just a good palm to the forehead should do it.
And, Ian, honey, just try to do it a second time; don’t give up! ^_~
Anyway! On one particular day much like any other in early 2006, my dearest friend, who fellow Twitter-ers…um…Twitterers…uh..Twitter users… WTF do we call ourselves people?? Well, @honeydew_kiwi (known IRL as Sarah) and I were lounging around in my room. Discussing various odds and ends-shoes and ships and sealing wax, cabbages and kings, and why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings*1*, while we were not really watching the Food Network as she was laying on my bed and I was precariously balanced on my yoga ball next to the bed.
Now, our rather mischievious friend Ian (yes, the same as mentioned above) had just gotten out of the shower and had/has a tendency to want to randomly scare people. So, Ian, in his infinite wisdom, tried to yank open the bathroom door to scare us. FAIL. It was locked. Briefly laughing, she and I continued our conversation about everything and nothing, ignoring the possibility of Ian being silly and trying again. However, the tenacious lad took it upon himself to wait until we had forgotten about his first attempt and burst in again, this time with a scream worthy of a 1970’s B-grade horror movie damsel getting her internal organs repeatedly punctured by a sharp implement while simultaneously reading that month’s roaming charges on her cell phone bill after an unplanned trip abroad and text message cost totals at 25 cents a text, while getting a bikini wax with magma.
….
Now isn’t that a pleasant mental image? *blerk* I think I just traumatized myself a little. ^__^ Skillllls.
Anyway! Ian burst into the room and let out his shriek, and two seconds later (literally, there was a bit of a delay between his outcry and the response to it) my dearest Sarah lets out this eardrum-shattering screech of surprise which startled me more than Ian’s rather loud entrance did.
Recoiling backwards with my own squawk of shock, my yoga ball and I rolled rather quickly, said silver ball bouncing off of the still-flabbergasted Sarah, then the small television, followed Ian’s adorable Shih Tzu Princess (she wasn’t hurt) before it wedged itself SOMEHOW between my fallen form , the bed frame, and the dresser. Both Ian and Sarah paused a moment in shock at the demented impromptu game of pinball the yoga ball seemed to play before bursting out laughing. What was the real killer?
I. Got. Stuck. Bloody cursed yoga ball.
I was wedged firmly in between the dresser and the bed; both of my companions laughing far too hard to actually be of assistance. And I had to be careful since I didn’t want to bounce the damned ball off Princess again.
Our levity continued until the three of us were all red-faced and gasping for some much needed oxygen, words completely lost in our amusement and the barking of the rather upset, but still unharmed, Princess.
Now, if this was the only time I somehow met the floor but escaped major injury due to the yoga ball, I would think it a fluke. But at that time, I was known for being quite well acquainted with gravity and not on fair terms with grace. I tripped, stumbled, fell and otherwise ran into things at random quite often in those days, and it seemed that the most recent rash was due-in some part at least- to the presence of the yoga ball. And so, my clumsiness and the “cursed” yoga ball became something of an inside joke between my friends and I. One I readily share with the internet since I’m contemplating purchasing another one, non-cursed this time, if I can manage it. Heh. I think it would be funnier just to be able to say something simple like “I fell prey to the cursed yoga ball once more” or “Yoga ball + me = ROFL!” and actually have people know what the hell I’m on about.
And thusly does my regaling of bygone days come to a close for now.
Yes, I just used “thusly”, “regaling”, and “bygone” in a sentence. Yes, I actually talk like this. Deal with it or get a dictionary, I don’t care which.
*1* If you didn’t get the reference, it was the poem “The Walrus and The Carpenter” from Lewis Carroll’s wondrous stories about Alice. The exact text (since I am no longer cool enough to state that I have a rather old and color lithographed edition) was found on this http://www.jabberwocky.com/carroll/walrus.html If you STILL don’t know what the hell I’m on about, first of all, find the nearest flat and hard surface to thunk your forehead against as you are far beyond my power to help. Next, reference the Disney classic from 1951. Then: READ THE ACTUAL BOOK. If your attention span is too short to read the book, you probably should not be trying to read my blog as I have a tendency to run off at the mouth (a phrase stolen from a friend, but true none the less! ^_^)
So, anyway! This one time….
Did anyone have to resist the urge to smack themselves when they had to end that phrase with “at band camp” in their heads or-even worse-aloud?
Good. It’s not just me. Do me a favor, will you? Smack yourself since I’m not there to do it for you. Just a good palm to the forehead should do it.
And, Ian, honey, just try to do it a second time; don’t give up! ^_~
Anyway! On one particular day much like any other in early 2006, my dearest friend, who fellow Twitter-ers…um…Twitterers…uh..Twitter users… WTF do we call ourselves people?? Well, @honeydew_kiwi (known IRL as Sarah) and I were lounging around in my room. Discussing various odds and ends-shoes and ships and sealing wax, cabbages and kings, and why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings*1*, while we were not really watching the Food Network as she was laying on my bed and I was precariously balanced on my yoga ball next to the bed.
Now, our rather mischievious friend Ian (yes, the same as mentioned above) had just gotten out of the shower and had/has a tendency to want to randomly scare people. So, Ian, in his infinite wisdom, tried to yank open the bathroom door to scare us. FAIL. It was locked. Briefly laughing, she and I continued our conversation about everything and nothing, ignoring the possibility of Ian being silly and trying again. However, the tenacious lad took it upon himself to wait until we had forgotten about his first attempt and burst in again, this time with a scream worthy of a 1970’s B-grade horror movie damsel getting her internal organs repeatedly punctured by a sharp implement while simultaneously reading that month’s roaming charges on her cell phone bill after an unplanned trip abroad and text message cost totals at 25 cents a text, while getting a bikini wax with magma.
….
Now isn’t that a pleasant mental image? *blerk* I think I just traumatized myself a little. ^__^ Skillllls.
Anyway! Ian burst into the room and let out his shriek, and two seconds later (literally, there was a bit of a delay between his outcry and the response to it) my dearest Sarah lets out this eardrum-shattering screech of surprise which startled me more than Ian’s rather loud entrance did.
Recoiling backwards with my own squawk of shock, my yoga ball and I rolled rather quickly, said silver ball bouncing off of the still-flabbergasted Sarah, then the small television, followed Ian’s adorable Shih Tzu Princess (she wasn’t hurt) before it wedged itself SOMEHOW between my fallen form , the bed frame, and the dresser. Both Ian and Sarah paused a moment in shock at the demented impromptu game of pinball the yoga ball seemed to play before bursting out laughing. What was the real killer?
I. Got. Stuck. Bloody cursed yoga ball.
I was wedged firmly in between the dresser and the bed; both of my companions laughing far too hard to actually be of assistance. And I had to be careful since I didn’t want to bounce the damned ball off Princess again.
Our levity continued until the three of us were all red-faced and gasping for some much needed oxygen, words completely lost in our amusement and the barking of the rather upset, but still unharmed, Princess.
Now, if this was the only time I somehow met the floor but escaped major injury due to the yoga ball, I would think it a fluke. But at that time, I was known for being quite well acquainted with gravity and not on fair terms with grace. I tripped, stumbled, fell and otherwise ran into things at random quite often in those days, and it seemed that the most recent rash was due-in some part at least- to the presence of the yoga ball. And so, my clumsiness and the “cursed” yoga ball became something of an inside joke between my friends and I. One I readily share with the internet since I’m contemplating purchasing another one, non-cursed this time, if I can manage it. Heh. I think it would be funnier just to be able to say something simple like “I fell prey to the cursed yoga ball once more” or “Yoga ball + me = ROFL!” and actually have people know what the hell I’m on about.
And thusly does my regaling of bygone days come to a close for now.
Yes, I just used “thusly”, “regaling”, and “bygone” in a sentence. Yes, I actually talk like this. Deal with it or get a dictionary, I don’t care which.
*1* If you didn’t get the reference, it was the poem “The Walrus and The Carpenter” from Lewis Carroll’s wondrous stories about Alice. The exact text (since I am no longer cool enough to state that I have a rather old and color lithographed edition) was found on this http://www.jabberwocky.com/carroll/walrus.html If you STILL don’t know what the hell I’m on about, first of all, find the nearest flat and hard surface to thunk your forehead against as you are far beyond my power to help. Next, reference the Disney classic from 1951. Then: READ THE ACTUAL BOOK. If your attention span is too short to read the book, you probably should not be trying to read my blog as I have a tendency to run off at the mouth (a phrase stolen from a friend, but true none the less! ^_^)