Introduction- This Book is Not For You

I know what you’re thinking. Most authors actually want people to read their books. They spend a lot of time and money promoting them. They even go on book tours which makes it hard to hide the fact that they actually wrote a book.  With a career in sales, I spend the majority of my time convincing others they would be an idiot not to buy from me, so I get your confusion.

But a mostly true memoir requires a different sort of sale; the one where I give you the chance to opt out because you get a sense of what’s about to appear on the pages in front of you and it offends your sensibilities so much you’re either going to hemorrhage disgust or send me a very uncool email. Neither of which I want. So eyes wide open people, here’s where you decide.

This book is not for you if you have an issue with swearing. I try to be judicious and only swear as a means of punctuation, exasperation, or to make a point that just wouldn’t be complete without it, but sometimes I feel compelled to drop an f bomb, and often feel much better for it. If that offends you, walk away now.

If the language of hyperbole is confusing or disorienting, you might want to reconsider going any farther. And if you have an undying loyalty to the exact truth, consider yourself warned. That’s why it’s a mostly true memoir. Oprah would appreciate the distinction.

Writing about yourself is fairly daunting, especially when you vacillate between levity and accuracy. Because as much as I’m a fan of (funny) revisionist history, there are stories that deserve the honest light of day. And those are the hardest. Reframing one’s life story in way that’s both truthful and palatable is for sure one of the most daunting tasks I’ve ever signed up for, but here I am. Huge credit to Jenny Lawson, Allie Brosch, Amy Poehler, Caitlan Moran and all the other brave women who told their stories in ways that were both amusing and allowed them to stand in their own integrity. I am inspired.

Other landmines you might encounter: Deep discussions about my lady parts, scatological humor and a few painful inflection points that I just couldn’t make funny. I have done my best to broach these unfunny moments with as much grace and compassion for all those involved as I can, but be warned. It’s not pretty.

Still here? Awesome. Strap yourself in and enjoy the ride. 

Yoga Concerns Me

I have a love-hate relationship with yoga. I’m definitely on board with relaxing and getting more flexible, but there are certain.... how shall I say this… concerns I have. That are actually well grounded and I’ll tell you why. True story:

I’m in yoga class with my boss, of all people, who happened to be male. At this point in my life I’m in pretty decent shape, so I figure this is a great time to show off how talented and flexible I am, which I’m hoping he’ll see as a metaphor for why I should get a promotion. I work through most of the poses like a mad Yogi Ninja until we get to Malasana, a squatting pose, also known as “garland pose”. It looks like this:  

Apparently the purpose of this pose is to open up your hips, thighs, and groin but the “garland” part still confuses me since( there’s no strings of beads hanging off my body anywhere.) Now, if you’re a woman, you know damn well what can happen when you “relax” your groin: first a loud sucking sound happens, followed by a squelching sound similar to passing gas except THAT’S NOT WHERE IT’S COMING FROM. And in some yoga classes (Bikram, I'm looking at you...) this is not only acceptable but encouraged; however, this was NOT one of those classes. As soon as that squeaker escaped my lady hole, I immediately looked around in confusion and disgust, as if to say, "Who would do such a thing?!" Sadly, my boss was not fooled. And I'm pretty sure no one else was either.  And I'm not saying the two incidents are related, but I didn't get the promotion.