Breathe and *RIP*!

Before I start blogging about class today, let me sidetrack for just a bit.

Joy oh joy! My favourite waxing studio, The Strip, has opened an outlet near where I live. This certainly beats 20 minutes [or 30, or 40 …] of driving to Bangsar, scouting for parking and scouting for parking.

So I went to get my upper lip [yes, I wax my upper lip because I resemble my pets if I don’t. What? What?!] and poon waxed. Reasons to wax?

1. Hygiene

2. I prance around in bikini shorts every day for 1.5 hours. ‘Muff ‘Nuff said.

Today’s therapist was nice. But boy oh boy did she take her time in ripping the damn wax out. At one point I could’ve sworn she was going to rip my genitals apart. If she did, I’d rip her face apart. Twice. With my bare hands and a pot of HOT wax.

I miss my good ol’ waxing therapist in Bangsar 😦

The funny thing is, she’d ask me to “Breathe in” before she rips the cooled wax off. Seriously, you want me to do Pranayama while you’re trying not to mutilate me down below? And you’d want to wait the whole 6 [or 8] seconds while I fill up my lungs to its maximum expansion capacity? *RIP*

Therapist convinced me to let me leg hair grow out so I’ll get to wax my lower legs [both legs] for RM28. Some sort of promo going on. I don’t fancy bringing furry legs into the hot room, so we’ll see if I can last 2 weeks without running to the epilator and cuddling it before I bid farewell to Nasty Leg Hair.

OH THE HORROR AND PERILS OF BEING FEMALE. Again, it’s good to be  a guy. But I’d be gay if I were a guy. ’cause it ain’t macho to love pink and My Little Pony.

On another note, I just got approved for a credit card. Nothing special, nothing to shout about, I’m glad they got me a low credit limit. So, FUCK YOU VERY MUCH HSBC, the world’s local bank my LEFT TESTICLE. I get so damn annoyed when these overzealous fruit flies come buzz around me as I walk around a mall. So much so that I give them the finger or tell them to “FUCK OFF” when they approach me with the “Misss aaahh miss, you waaan edge ass bee see cledit cad?” pitch. I tried the “I’m a student” phrase, or “I was just declared bankrupt”. Once I jabbered to a fruit fly in Spanish. But since HSBC has rejected me TWICE [apparently I’m not cute enough for my mug to be on the card], I’ve resorted to the good ol’ FUCK YOU tactic.


K, rant over.


Day 6, Class 7, 6:15pm

I should probably do a morning class tomorrow, or indulge in a later class.

After having one too many rice enveloped in char siu [honey roasted pork slices – Hazel’s dream come true 😛 ], stuffed down my stomach with egg tart and chee cheong fun, I felt full and happy. As happy as a lark! As happy as can be! I dreamed I ate my favourite char siu from canton-i !!!!

I could’ve sworn I felt it moving in my intestines when I compressed it during dhanurasana (floor bow). That was the single most disgusting thing I have felt in my life. That and feeling something pop in my left ovary. DIS. GUS. TING.

Lesson #2 to repeat to my gluttonous self 340593486 times – NEVER EAT 3 HOURS BEFORE CLASS. 😦


p.s : Why am I so damn angry lately? I was a pool of calm only a week ago!


Posted on May 7, 2009, in Bikram Yoga, Fun fun, Malaysiana, Yuck. Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. hello, angerandyogamei! your anger has nothing to do with slipknot i see XD

    feeling things move in your intestine should be Pretty Damn Interesting. is it just the way u said that, or does yoga really give u that level of consciousness?

    • Hur hur hur, anger? Nevah! More like frustration and disappointment. Very different!

      After practicing for so long, I really think it has given me a new outlook on my body. Some months I can tell which side I’m ovulating from cause that side HURTS LIKE A BITCH ROAR.

  2. hello, its not edge ass

    its hesh (because malaysians pronounce the Hhaa in H)

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