the knights of the night

In the days of Yore, chivalry refered to the medieval institution of knighthood and was often associated with the ideals of knightly virtues, honor and of courtly love. But in a fast-paced and independent society like ours, is chivalry really dead? Some would think so, including a famous singer who once sang that, "Roses are red, some diamonds are blue, chivalry is dead, but you're still kinda cute." But is she right? I mean, yes, no matter what anybody says, full-sized of half-sized, I am totally "kinda cute," but is chivalry really dead? And if so, what killed it?

Thursday afternoon, I was blog surfing when I came across a post by my blog friend K. In a beautifully written post, K talked about an Australian ice cream parlor in the East Village. The gooey, rich and velvety concoctions, gilded with designs and infused with teas and other subtle flavors was all I needed to read, before I decided I needed an ice cream of my own.

That night, with 20 bucks in hand, I convinced my mother and brother Collin to walk with me to Dairy Queen. We could have driven and arrived to our destination within three minutes, but there was something appealing of a summer walk. That and the fact that I was not about to waste my money on gas. That's what parents are for.

Walking back home with our Blizzards in hand, we first had to pass the Berkshire Shopping Center and the 24-hour Taco Bell. It was there, we came across the shortest, three-foot, ghetto, Emeniem-actin', South Pole-wearin', trash-talkin' midget ever.

MIDGET: Yo! Mommy! Ditch these punk-ass bitches and take a ride with me!

Was he really hitting on my mom? I mean, yeah, she did maintain a size four waist after giving birth to three sons and she was looking more mid-30's than early 40's, but my mom wasnt hot. Parents are never hot. Was this foo' trippin'?!

A big believer in the phrase, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me," my mother ignored the whistles and cat-calls coming from the long-lost eighth dwarf, Idiot. My brother Collin, on the other hand, wasnt such a big believer and instead, walked straight to the midget and stood his ground, staring at him straight in the eye. Which would had been easier, if the midget had stood on a step ladder.

COLLIN: Dude, dont talk about my mom like that.
MIDGET: What? Got something on it?
COLLIN: I aint got nothing on it, dude.
MIDGET: Fuckin' shut your mouth then!
ME: Collin. Dont.
MOM: Collin, please stop.
MIDGET: That's right! Best step back! Cuz you know I'll beat your ass!
MOM: Collin, come on.
MIDGET: I got my boys right here dawg! What you got on it?! I got my boys and they will beat your ass!
ME: Collin, dont listen to him...he's a midget. The world already shuns him like a leper.
MIDGET: Yo! Shut your face!
ME: Let's just leave.
MIDGET: Yeah! Listen to your ugly-ass looking brother!

I had just about had enough of this little gnome-creature and before I knew what was happening, I was throwing my medium-sized, Reeses and Cookie Dough Blizzard ice cream, with full force, aiming at the midget's head. And while trying to duck the flying ice cream the midget fell on the black asphalt. I rushed over to the fallen midget, and instead of lending out a helping hand, I gave him my foot. In his ass. Following my "great" chivalrous example, my brother threw his Cookies N' Cream Blizzard and together we kicked and beat the fetal posistion-layin', knee-high man.

COLLIN: Dont. Talk. About. My. MOM!
ME: Yeah. And. I. Am. Not. UGLY!

The midget's boys from the Lollipop Guild never came to his defense, and it was probably because they never existed. Which was sad, because it meant no one had his back. Unlike my mother, who left smiling, because she knew she would always have her children around to defend her. But me? I left feeling like an ass. Did I really just beat up a midget? If he was covered in muppet fur, it would have been like knocking the stuffing out of one of Jim Henson's creations, but this was a real human. Was guilt the real reason chivalry died?

bye-bisexual

Nicolas Cage and Lisa Maria Presley. Renée Zellweger and Kenny Chesney. Britney Spears and that guy she was married to for 55 hours. Sure, we all laugh at these blink-and-you'll-miss-'em marriages and chalk them up to celebrity flakiness, but it does make you wonder...was it really love at first sight?

Saturday night, I attended the engagement party of my friend Sean and his bride-to-be, Brittany. As far as parties go, this one was, well, odd. There was food present and drinks-a-plenty were present. The only thing not present was the bride. At least not physically. She was still 864 miles away, give or take a few miles, in Oakland, CA. But thanks to the internet and a couple of webcams, the fiancée du jour was present and projected onto a stucco wall. Which was a real shame since the bumpy wall gave the impression that the blushing bride had a horrible acne flare up.

As I made the rounds, I realized, not a single person there gave hope to the quickie marriage. Of course, most of the people there were Sean's old boyfriends, who, like my blog friend Ms. Bees Knees, believed in the age old saying, "Once you have cock, you never go back." But there was one optimistic hopeful in attendance.

MACKENZIE: So...how long do you think it'll be before they get a divorce?
ME: I dont know. I'm starting to think this isnt a joke.
MACKENZIE: Yeah, me too. It really is love at first sight.
ME: I dont know if it's so much love at first sight as it is, two people who had really great sex the first night and thought, well, if it's this good now, imagine ten or twenty years from now.
MACKENZIE: You're funny. But no, I still think it was love at first sight.
ME: Really?
MACKENZIE: Yeah. I totally think that you can find eternal love in those first few seconds it takes to land your eyes on someone.
ME: But then, wouldnt that be called, lust at first sight?

In a room full of non-believers, I wanted to believe that maybe there was such a thing as love at first sight. I mean, is it still possible? Could Sean and Brittany really be in love? For a swift, whirlwind wedding between a converted bi guy and a straight gal, the whole thing was creating a lot of questions for everyone, but the groom and virtual bride.

The next morning, waking up from a tequilla-shooter haze, I drove with Sean to the airport. He was on

SEAN: You know, David, I really appreciate you coming with me to the airport.
ME: Yeah, well I'm still a little drunk. I dont know any better.
SEAN: Well, anyways, I do. You know a lot of people dont think this is gonna work out.
ME: You dont say.
SEAN: Yeah. But I'm telling you it will. I just know it will. It's like...when you go to Disneyland and you know, no matter what, no matter how expensive the souviners and food are, no matter how long the lines are, no matter if a ride's down or if it's gonna rain, you just know that no matter what you're gonna have fun. It's more than a gut feeling, but I know I'm gonna be happy.
ME: But...you're bi! You used to have sex with guys! Like, arent you gonna miss that?
SEAN: Honestly? No...I mean, maybe down the road, I will, but I love Brittany way too much to hurt her. And if those old feelings come up, well, then I'm just gonna have to fight that much harder to stop them. Im not gonna give up that easily to temptation. I love her, dude. I really do.

So, maybe it's not that we're all cynical, non-believers in love. But maybe when it comes to matters of the heart, it's just that we havent experienced love at first sight, first hand. After all, doesn't it make more sense to believe in something that you've experienced more than once before then not believe in it at all? Maybe, we should all pay a little more attention to those first few seconds.

the beauty of books

They say, you should never judge a book by its cover. They say, you never know what kind of surprises are in store, when you look beyond outward appearences. They, are totally wrong.

Thursday afternoon, I was hanging out with my friend Ashley at The Downtown Flower Shop, when a picture of the Bradgelina baby popped up on AOL.

ME: Isnt she cute?
ASHLEY: Yeah, I guess...I dont know...I'm not really into that sorta thing.
ME: Babies?
ASHLEY: Celebrities. I could totally care less about them.
ME: Well, I'm not asking you to care about them. I'm just asking you to agree with me that she may very well be, one of the hottest kids on earth.
ASHLEY: David, that's wrong. Judging someone, solely on the basis of their looks?
ME: Oh, please, how else would you judge someone?
ASHLEY: Uh, maybe by their character. Duh.
ME: Ashley, nobody goes around, looking at people, saying, "My, dont you have a nice character soul?"
ASHLEY: Well, the point is, I could care less about looks. If you asked me what somebody was wearing, I wouldnt know, since I would only be looking at their face. In fact, I wish I were sometimes blind, since honestly, looks just arent that important to me.

Friday afternoon, Ashley got her wish.

I was back at the flower shop, helping my friend Madelaine de-leaf and de-thorn 600 red and pink roses, for her dance company. It was long and arduous work, stripping the stems clean, while avoiding the red sharp thorns. It was a total war of the roses and I totally got the battle wounds on my fingers to prove it. Why did roses have to have so many thorns? Was it a natural defense mechanism they had as a way to stop people from picking them? And was it all worth it?

As it turns out, it was. But not because of how the roses opened up to perfection, once we were done. But because I got to work next to Alice's sister-in-law, Laura. Laura was an extremely attractive girl who had mastered the half-closed, dreamy bedroom eyes look to perfection. Not too thin, not too fat, not too tall, not to short, just totally perfect. If there were three bears eating porridge, I swear I would've thought I was in a fairy-tale. She was just hot.

MADELAINE: David, dont say that! She's 15!
ME: She is not 15. Did you see her boobs?!
MADELAINE: Yes, David. She's bigger than me, I get it. But I'm telling you, she's 15. You cant date her.
ASHLEY: Yeah, it's like an unwritten cardinal rule. Thou shall not covet they friend's boss' husband's sister.
ME: But she's hot.
ASHLEY: I dont know. She looks like she's about to cry or something.
ME: No, that's just a look. You gotta admit it's still hot.
MADELAINE: Nothing's hot about a 15 year-old with a 36 Double D bra size. And plus, she only looks bigger, because her waist is so tiny.
ASHLEY: Madelaine, you were looking at her boobs?
ME: How could you not? They were right there!
ASHLEY: Sorry! I wasnt looking down there. I dont notice those type of things. I told you already, I could care less about looks.

And that's when it happened. As we were cleaning the flower shop, Ashley's left eye began to itch. At first, it was nothing big, but as Ashley continued to rub her eye, it began to swell up. According to Ashley, it felt like something was crawling inside and it was really starting to bug her.

ASHLEY: David! What's wrong with my eye?!
ME: Ew. I dont know! But it's growing!
ASHLEY: David, shut up! What if I iced it?
ME: Do something...I'm not even lying to you! It's like you're trying to grow a third eye.
ASHLEY: Shut up, David! You're not helping me!
ME: Dude, I'm sorry, but you're eye is freaking me out.
ASHLEY: What the hell did I touch?!
ME: Well, who cares, right? You said looks arent important, right?

Ashley left the shop looking like the deformed, inbred child of Quasimodo and that weird guy from the basement in The Goonies, while I left the shop wondering if Ashley would change her ways and admit, that deep down, she was just as shallow as the rest of us. And here, she wanted to be my date for New Years Eve. Ha.

the people we pick

Friday morning, during a heated soccer match between Angola and Mexico, I was on the phone with my friend Maria, trying to understand the point of a soccer game.

ME: Now, why am I interested in this again?
MARIA: Because! It's the world cup! The entire world stops to watch the game!
ME: You know...I think Green Acres in on right now...
MARIA: Whatever, David. You just dont understand. You didn't grow up in a country where soccer was everywhere and everything.
ME: Yeah, you're probably right. The only soccer I played was in seventh grade in PE. That was horrible.
MARIA: Why?
ME: That was when we had that really hot spring, remember? And all Mr. Cota-Robles kept screaming was, "Kick the ball! Kick the ball!" The only balls we wanted to kick, belonged to him.
MARIA: David, hold on, I'm getting another call.

Seven minutes later, with no goals being made or a chance of Maria ever coming back, I hung the phone up, only to pick it up again.

MARIA: David! You're not going to believe who that was!
ME: Who?
MARIA: Skye! And do you know what he just told me?!
ME: That he's gonna swallow another bottle of Advil?
MARIA: Brenda got married!

Brenda Lewis. You cant really describe her, you just had to know her. Brenda was a sweet and funny person, who held the best all-night house parties. Or as she used to call it, the weekend. Through training wheels and training bras, Maria and Brenda had been the best of friends. I was introduced to the BFF's in high school, through a mutual friend, and together they helped make my senior year one of the greatest years of my life.

Then, one night last year, after a series of unfortunate and too long to explain events, Maria and I had parted ways with Brenda vowing to never again speak to her for as long as we lived. Or at least until she called and apologized.

As Maria told me the surprising story, I realized it had been over a year that we hadnt talked to Brenda. Was our friendship really over? Did we all despise each other so much we were willing to deprive each other from sharing our delight? Or was Skye playing games with us? I mean, after all, Skye was the same person who told us he met Paris Hilton at his work, when she drove through town during the second season of The Simple Life. But Paris doesn't dine at Boston Market...does she?

The next night, boneless buffalo wings and potato skins from Applebees, were the perfect antidote to Skye's anecdote, as Maria and I sat in a parked car at the De Anza Drive-In. Unfortunately, before we could see The Breakup, we would have to sit through an hour and a half of pure agony. Or as I like to call it, The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift. Luckily, the dialouge was brief and predictable, giving Maria and I a chance to vent about the marriage of our old friend.

MARIA: I mean, we talked about getting married. Like what we were gonna wear, who was gonna get married first...all that stuff.
ME: Who was gonna get married first?
MARIA: Well, I was supposed to go before Brenda...so I guess that means...if Brenda was before me, I'm next.
ME: Wow, good job, Ray!
MARIA: Whatever...its just sad that this is how life is gonna be from now on, you know? I mean, I looked up to Brenda. She was like so awesome. And it's just sad that we cant even share our happiness with each other.
ME: Yeah, I know, it's sad. I miss being her friend too. But we dont need her approval to be happy. I mean, if she wants to hold grudges, that's her problem. The way I see it is good friends support each other after something bad has happened. Great friends act as if nothing happened.

As Maria pondered over my words, I turned to the giant screen to see if I could place Nathalie Kelley's accent. I couldnt. So instead, I mentally congratulated myself on being such a good friend. It was Brenda's loss if she wanted to continue harboring onto anger. Maria was a good person who totally didnt deserve to be sad. She was smart, funny, loyal, and she was picking her nose. From the corner of my eye, I saw Maria really going at it. It was gross. It was disgusting. It was weird. How could someone be that comfortable with themselves? Stuck in the car with my oddly confidant nose picking friend, I wondered...how could I pick a nose picker for a friend? How could I be friends with someone who had disgusting habits?

If I was a child, I would totally call Maria out on it, with maybe a finger point and fake gag. But being that I'm a mature and responsible adult, I took the grown-up approach...complete and utter denial. It's just...what do you do when the one person you look up to, lets you down? I know people arent perfect and I know there's that chance of being let down by those we put on a pedestal, but how do you cope?

matters of the head and heart

Once upon a time, an Events Coordinator from California took a trip to North Dakota. Heidi was attractive and bright and immeadiately fell in love with a local cowboy. It was all so wildly romantic, and like so many before her, Heidi's foolish heart took over. Unfortunately, theirs was a love that could not be, and Heidi returned back to her real life in California.

After reading of Heidi's adventures, from the postcard she sent me, I wondered if Heidi had missed her chance for true love. Sure, maybe falling in love and running away from home wasnt the smartest choice, but if you're following your heart, isnt it a chance worth taking?

Here's my reasoning: Not everyone can win the lottery. Not everyone can be super rich, or skinny. And not everyone can wear orange. Sure, most people want to be skinny, lottery-winners, who can wear orange without looking like an inmate from a state prison, but not everyone can be. But if there was a chance you could be one of those lucky people, wouldnt you take it? I used to think so, but maybe I was wrong.

Earlier this week, I got an email from my good friend Sean. Sean was a screenwriter from L.A., who frequently came to Tucson to house-sit his mother's house, whenever she left for a business trip. Sean was a funny guy who so happened to be unlucky in love. He could never find a person to understand him. In every relationship he ever had, Sean was attracted to the person. And all the people he'd ever been attracted to, happened to be guys. Until now.

David, I wish you were online so that I could talk to to you. Anyway I am thinking about going straight, and I have said before that I am bi, but to say the turth, I am just tired of looking for mr. right, you know? The reason for this???? I have met someone (a girl, obviously) who gets me and will be flying to Spain to get married at the end of the month. yes, i know its real soon and I'm probably not thinking straight (better change that one LOL!) but i dont care. up until the end of the month, I will be alone for some time in which I will be going straight, (as best I can LOL) and was wondering if you wanted to hang out and maybe fly out with me. I sure could use a friend at the alter. but anyway thought I would throw that out to you. If you don't wanna fly that's cool too, and so you know, I will always be there for you as a friend.

Flying away to a whole other country to get married? Changing his sexual orientation? Who was this brazen woman that my friend had fallen in love with and was it all worth it? Sean's life was here...well, L.A., but, still. Could he really be that much in love? Could he really just leave everything behind? And could I really go to Spain, not saying anything?

When it comes to falling in love, is it smarter to follow your heart or your head? How can you trust either? They're both so completely fallible, and no matter what choice you follow, you're destined to leave with thoughts of sorrow. Still, a choice must be made, and when the time comes, how do you know which path to follow?

the illusionists

Late Friday night/early Saturday morning, my friend Maria called me, after getting off the phone with her boyfriend Ray (aka The Bad Kisser). They had just finished having, yet, another one of their dramatic phone calls and Maria needed someone to help her vent. Ray was spending the summer back in his hometown of Philadelphia with his family and I think the distance between them was starting to get to Maria. Of course, being the strong, independent person that she is, Maria would never admit it. She would just complain about it.

I was already half-asleep when she called, and was only half-listening, until Maria said, that I was actually the source of a lot of their problems. In almost every argument they she and Ray had, I was always brought up. Ray couldnt see how I could be friends with Maria without wanting to have sex with her. He couldnt see how people of the opposite sex could remain nothing more than just friends, without there being any sexual tension. He couldnt understand that sometimes, people move past the point of dating, and just settle as friends. And the fact that I really didnt wanna hang out with both him and Maria together, only added to his suspicions that I was after his girlfriend (apparently, Ray also couldnt understand he was a horrible public kisser, which really was the real reason for my absense).

Unsure of what to do, I decided to ask my friend Madelaine. It was Saturday afternoon and we were driving up to Glendale, on our way to go see Madonna in concert. After getting our groove on to Robert Holmes' classic summer song, Escape, Madelaine suggested that we both pose as boyfriend and girlfriend to help our good friend Maria. But could the simple pressence of a person on your arm, give the illusion of a couple? I wasnt so sure, but according to Madelaine, it could. Maybe by showing Ray that I was already "taken," he would be less threatened of Maria's friendship with me. And maybe, by arriving at the concert with a girl on my arm, I wouldnt get hit on, at was to be undoubtably the hottest gay spot in Arizona.

Totally worked like a charm. Though the concert arena was filled with the hottest people Arizona had to offer, not a single one of them flirted, talked or even gave us a second look. Wait. That doesnt sound right, does it? Hmmmm. The concert was a total eye-opening, jaw-dropping experience! As expected, Madonna turned up the heat, both literally and figurativly. After raising the arena to a boiling temperature of 90 degrees, Madge, in all her equestrian glory, descended from a giant, disco ball covered with $2 million in crystals, onto the stage. And as expected, everyone was pumped and sweating outrageously, grinding their crotches on one another. It was kinda like the softcore porn they show on Showtime. If it werent for the hard, chisled, adonis-like male patrons, the whole thing would have actually been kinda hot.

The next afternoon, after a late-night-breakfast of In-N-Out cheeseburgers, I checked my answering machine, only to hear an unwanted familiar voice:

Hello? David? It's me. Paul? Yeah. Hi. Uh, I'm just calling to say that, I, uh, I get it. I get it, you know? I'm here at the Madonna concert and I just saw you right now with your girlfriend, and I get it. Yeah, so, anyways, I was just calling to let you know I wont be calling you anymore. Ok? Take care and...bye.

It was understanding at first sight. Maybe, there was some magic in Madelaine's illusion idea, after all. And if the presence of Madelaine on my arm could help make my ex-gay-non-boyfriend-stalker disappear, maybe it could help Ray get rid of his suspicions and understand that some relationships between people are more than just sex. Or is it wrong to help change people? After all if we can't accept who they are, how can we expect them to accept who we are?

the good lie

Monday afternoon, in a bundle of mail, one simple red and white postcard from Target stood out:

Hello, thanks for taking the time to apply with us.
While we're unable to off you a position at this
time, we do appreciate your interest in Target.

Collin didn’t get the job, and I, being the one with the mail would have to tell him. Damn. As I debated whether or not to show Collin the postcard, I was also toying with the idea of following through with my lunch with Zahqwandra. Did I still need to do it? I mean, I know I told my blog friend Buffy that I would, but saying that I would was just a meaningless expression, like "Let’s do lunch," or "I love you." But what if it was all a test? What if Zahqwandra was testing me to see if I was just using her to get my brother a job? I mean, in truth, I was trying to use what little connection I had, but I couldn’t let her know that.

The next day, I called Zahqwandra to confirm our lunch. Though I had mixed feeling about being seen with Zahqwandra in public, I told myself it would be all right, because I was doing this for my brother, for myself, for my blog friend Madame D, who got picked on for being a weird kid in school and for every kid that developed an eating disorder after being teased by me. Ok, that’s a lie. The truth was, I told myself that little white lie, so it wouldn’t seem as bad when Zahqwandra offered my brother a job and me a discount. And though they say that lying is never the answer, arent there some cases where a little white lie can help? They certainly help when you’re shopping with a female friend who asks, "Does this make me look fat?"

It was the day after 06/06/06, and I figured, if I could survive a day that was deemed unholy, I certainly could survive a lunch with a girl whose body odor was deemed unholy. Zahqwandra chose the Olive Garden because she was a huge fan of the $5.95 All You Can Eat Soup and Salad meal. I was a huge fan of being anywhere you could eat in the afternoon without being recognized. Two salads and a bread basket later, I had learned that Zahqwandra was actually turning into one of those loser-in-high-school-winner-in-life type of people. She had been accepted into some naval school in Virginia Beach, was advancing fast in her education, and was totally destined for great things. Unfortunately, I was not chosen to share her accomplishments.

ZAHQWANDRA: David…I already know that you like me.
ME: You do?
ZAHQWANDRA: Yeah. Ever since high school. Remember Lynette from Yearbook? Yeah, well she told me everything.
ME: Wait, what did she tell you?
ZAHQWANDRA: She told me, you would spray my backpack with your cologne spray, cuz you hoped the smell would make me like you.
ME: Oh. Really? She said that?
ZAHQANDRA: Yeah. And the thing is…I don’t see you in that way. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re a great guy and the sweetest person I’ve met, but I only see you as a friend. I’m sorry.

I could’ve told Zahqwandra the truth and that the whole cologne spray was a teasing tactic, but I decided not to. Somehow it didn’t seem right. She was successful and whether or not her success was based on truth or deceit, Zahqwandra totally deserved all the achievements in her life. I did wonder if keeping the truth from Zahqwandra was bad, but then I decided not. Every day we lie. We tell lies to protect ourselves and the reputation of others. Of course, every now and then, the day arrives when someone finally decides to tell the truth, but maybe we don’t need to know it, because sometimes isn't it the little white lies that are told not to hurt, but to help make life more pleasant, ok?

everybody has a laughing place

The great thing about being young is the lack of responsibilty one has when partying hard. As inhibitions are thrown out the window, recklessness...es...ity is welcomed. Because when you don't really think about the consequences of your actions, you're much more likely to have fun, fall in love, relax, have an adventure, or at the very least, laugh. But the bad thing about being young? The lack of funds.

Friday morning, I got a call from a Mexican tile company asking if I was interested in a sales posistion with their company. The truth was, I was a bit cash-poor, and since man can not live on credit alone, I went in for an interview. When I got there, I found out my assistance was not needed, as they had already hired the first candidate they interviewed. Depressed, I went to the mall to buy myself a little happy, and ended up at a party.

That night, in a hotel room by the freeway, I was ready to forget my gruesome day and so I toasted the night away with an assortment drinks and an assortment of friends. Everyone was bumpin' and grindin' to Nelly Furtado's Promiscuous, and having a really good time. No drama or drunken devotions of love...just highly intoxicating-induced fun. And for me, one drink turned into many, and before I knew it, I was sprawled out on a synthetic-fabric down comforter, with a bong in one hand and a shot glass in the other. I was drunkity-drunk-drunk. And high. And starving.

And so I did what any intoxicated-induced individual, in my situation would do...I went shopping for food. A half hour later, with my confident cooking skills (thanks to my blog friend Alicat), my friend Miguel and I were in the hotel kitchen, preparing to make the world's best tuna-fish pasta salad ever. It was yellow. It was smelly. And it was so good. Or at least I remember it being good. The morning after, my stomach told me a different story, and I had to agree that the contents of the cuisine from the previous night was not agreeable. I was sick, and still depressed about the whole interview thing.

So Miguel called me up and asked if I would be interested in attending a Hasya Yoga class with him and our friend Blake. I wasnt exactly sure if my friends were speaking English, or if they were sober, so I went along to find out. It turns out Hasya Yoga, or as it's more commonly known, Laughing Yoga, was a form of exercise that helped to improve your health and well-being, by laughing. According to the instructor, Mrs. Christine, the average child laughs at almost anything and everything, up to 300-400 times a day while the average adult only laughs about 15 times, if that. It's been proven that laughter is a cure for many things, like depression, aches and pains, stress, suicidal tendencies, mood swings and even loss of sexual drive. I wasnt so sure how laughter would help with my depression or the person who was sexually incompetent, (because when you think about it, isnt laughter, the last thing they need?) or how the class would manage with a broken AC, but I figured it was all worth a shot.

Twenty two beads of sweat on my mat later, I was laughing with my new friend Doris in our Hasya-turned-Bikrim-Yoga class. The heat had opened my pores and an entire night of mixed drinks began to seep out of me! Which would have been embarassing, had it been only me, but thanks to Miguel and Blake who smelled like vodka stingers, and Doris, who smelled like gin martinis, it wasnt. As we stretched out and shared our Ho-Ho's and Ha-Ha's, Doris also shared with me that she was taking the class, in hopes that her new approach to a good life, would help her approach a good man. Her last three relationships were all disasters (incarcerated, gay, missing), but Doris was not gonna give up. She was a true life trooper and decided that it was better to laugh at life, than to be spend all her time hating it and mising it.

Which really was an inspiration to all. In life, there are certain events that are just beyond our control and out of our reach. As Mark Twain once said, "Everyone complains about the weather, but nobody does anything about it." True, we could just bitch and moan when life doesnt go our way, but maybe the best any of us can do is not give up, play the hand we've been dealt, and laugh with everything we've got.