Italian Men

Unafraid to wear yellow pants.

The Only Limerick I'll Ever Write

These poems are said to be fun

So why don't I try to write one?

No rhyme scheme can scare me

But what rhymes with "scare me"?

Oh, someone please hand me a gun

Being Petite

Being petite means more than being short, though short I am, at a respectable but below-average five feet two and a half. (One never says "six feet two and a half," does one? Unless one feels awkward at six feet three.) My wrists are too small to wear bracelets, and I add an extra hole to my leather watch bands and have links removed from my metal ones. Most rings slip off my skinny fingers, making street fairs less than fruitful. Unless I am lucky enough to find a "petite" style that eschews frumpiness, every pair of pants I buy needs to be shortened. I cannot wear shirts or dresses that are loose-fitting unless I want to resemble a little girl playing dress-up with Mommy's clothes. A hat pulled down properly on my head will likely cover my eyes. Shopping for sunglasses has become, in this era of gigantic sunglasses, a humiliating process for me and my petite face.

And that's just fashion. Only recently have I begun to wonder how my petiteness has shaped my personality, my relationships, my choices in life. A favorite pastime in my youth was the piano; I didn't have the singing voice to be a pop star, so romantic notions of concert pianism tickled the ivories of my imagination. When did those notions go quiet? When I found myself unable to play the most difficult jazz and classical pieces because my hands couldn't span the distance between notes? I tend to walk behind people rather than lead the way; could the shortness of my stride have conditioned me to do so? Would my relationship with my boyfriend be different if I weren't looking up at him all the time?

Sun-kissed cheeks make me feel healthier and more attractive. A fresh-out-of-the-salon haircut adds some extra sashay to my step. Sporadic periods of muscle tone bring with them sporadic spikes in self-confidence. Has the mind-body connection also caused the size of my frame to frame my view of the world? If so, I resolve to focus on the positive:

• I can fit into narrow seats between large people on the subway.


• Sometimes I can buy capri pants and wear them as full-length pants.


• Animals and children like me, perhaps because I'm close to their level.


• It would be relatively easy for me to hide unnoticed in a closet if a psycho killer broke into my home.


• If I were tall I would always see the world from above, the big picture--but I might miss the details that cluster low to the ground. And climbing high into the Umbrian mountains to look down on vast, magnificent views might have felt a little less magnificent. A little. If I weren't petite.

Yoga for Neurotics

Me, over here, I'm new. No, not new to yoga, just to this class-- Up front? If I'd wanted to sit up front, I would have placed my mat up front. Bitch. Fine, now I'm up front. But I'm not new to yoga. So don't put your hands on me.

Why do they let so many people into this room? Those women came in eight minutes late; the rest of us should not have to shift our mats all over the place to fit them in. That's not fair. And it takes five minutes from our workout. And they look so happy and unapologetic. Why isn't this class in a bigger room? I always end up next to some hairy guy who's too wide for his mat and needs half of mine, too. His girlfriend probably makes him do yoga. He does not want to be here.

Oooooohhhmmm. Shoulders down. Shoulders down.

Are yoga teachers always this serene, or only in class? Does she always speak that way? I've never heard such a serene voice outside a yoga class. What bullshit. There's a reason that yoga teachers are always depicted in the movies as being full of shit. Shoulders down.

I used to be that flexible. Well, not that flexible, but I could flatten my hands on the floor without bending my knees. How much are my knees bent? I can never see that in the mirror. What if they're bent a lot? I'll look so out of shape. I can also never tell whether my back is perfectly straight and parallel to the floor. How is a person ever supposed to know that her back is perfectly horizontal without a three-way mirror? Stop, Christ, it doesn't matter; it's yoga class and I'm supposed to just "move in that direction" and no one's paying attention to me because they're all trying to straighten their own backs. Just close your eyes and inhale up, reach to the sky. Whoa, head rush.

Okay, when in downward-facing dog, I'm supposed to point my middle fingers forward, distribute my weight evenly among my ten fingers and my palms, straighten my arms, turn my upper arms out, straighten my legs and lower my heels toward the floor--shit, they're not touching, but probably they'll be touching after I loosen up, that always happens, relax--push my tailbone toward the sky and chest toward my legs, let my head hang... but I never know whether my eyes should be open or closed. A yoga teacher I had years ago told the class not to close our eyes during practice. I think some of the perfect women in my yoga videos close their eyes, but I can never frickin' see the TV when I'm in downward dog. I see only my legs, and the space between them, which always distracts me from the whole relaxation thing because it's such a weird thing to be looking at, so maybe I should close my eyes. But what if that teacher had it right and closing my eyes prevents me from being fully yogic? Oh shit, they're already in plank.

Focus on a point. Focus on a point. Focus on a point. Does everyone have this much trouble balancing in triangle pose? Just breathe. String extending from my left hand to the sky. Another string extending out from the top of my head. Strings pulling me in all directions--no, not in all directions, wrong image, just up, up. Stop wobbling. Oh please don't come over here now. Please don't touch me. If you make me fall over I'll kill you, bitch. What do you mean? My shoulders are rela--whoa. That is amazing. I am a wide-open, floating-on-air triangle.

Why are no one else's legs shaking? Please don't let anyone be looking at my legs. Maybe the shaking is one of those things other people can't see. But that makes no sense. Is my eyesight better than everyone else's? Do my optic nerves recognize my legs as my legs and not someone else's and concentrate just a little bit harder so the shaking comes into focus? Maybe everyone else can see only their own legs shaking, too. Please make it stop. I've got Parkinson's. I can't believe I just thought that. I am a horrible person. And... relax.

I love shoulder stand. She's right; it really is a healing pose. Something about being upside down makes me see the world from a whole new perspective. If only my ponytail holder wasn't digging into my neck. Shit, I can't move my hand to fix it without falling over. Why do I always wear a ponytail to yoga when it's impossible to lie comfortably on one's back with a ponytail? It's okay, just observe the band digging into my neck, let the thought of it pass in and out of my mind, and... breathe.

Oh god... Oh god... rest. This is the most important part of the whole workout. Which means if I don't lie flat on my back correctly, the past hour has been a complete waste of time. That music is nice. Where's she padding around to now? She's walking around the room. Doing something to people. Please just leave me alone to rest. What's that smell? Incense. Incense makes me want to gag. Great. I feel like gagging during the most important part of the workout. OH she's touching my neck. Okay, that feels nice, but it's not nice to sneak up on people whose eyes are closed. Bitch. Move on so I can relax. There. I feel that space between breaths! I feel it! No, it's gone. It's gone because I thought about it. Damn.

Okay, I'm going. Can I take a minute to roll up my mat properly? Is that a problem for you and your rebounding friends? Jumping up and down on a trampoline, how sophisticated.

Wow, I love that post-yoga feeling. I am at peace with my life. All these other people on the street envy me and my yoga mat. I am a warrior goddess. A warrior goddess in noisy flip-flops. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

Out-of-Context Headline of the Day

"Most in Survey Can't Find Heart"