And Baby Makes Three

Yoga proved to be trying on several different levels. Emotionally, physically, and even socially despite the fact that it is 90 minutes of disciplined silence. I owe you an explanation about all of this but it will have to wait for another time. Let's start today with just the social aspect of yoga. The Funky Buddha is a place of relaxation. People are generally friendly and helpful, and they swear often during instruction which makes me feel at home. It was at The Funky Buddha that I met Jacqueline. We hit it off instantly, she was wearing tie-dye and complaining loudly about the unnatural ways our bodies were being forced to bend. We bonded over this being our first month, how easy yoga seems but how difficult it truly is, music festivals, college, anything really. She divulged about her roommates, and I told her about the girls back home; we compared notes. She was apparently part of an eclectic mix of girls with different interests and personalities, who against all odds, became best friends. I knew that situation because I lived it. I assumed, if there are no limitations on personality, surely her friends would want to add one tiny, foul mouthed Greek girl to their clique. We arranged a date: coffee, that following week, before yoga. "Give me a call" she said, as we clumsily exchanged numbers. I couldn't believe it! A date! A date with a girl! It was all I had wanted for months, I had been living here since September and had failed to connect in any real way with someone, and here was this perfect opportunity to finally score a best friend.

Well, that week came and went. Unaware of how cruel and uncaring the dating world can be, I made excuses for her. She must be busy, college can be taxing, I understand. She stopped showing up to yoga. I stared at the door longingly, eyes wide and tail wagging. Nothing. It would be fair to say that I was damaged, gave up hope, whatever. I spent the next month eating my feelings and questioning this exploration all together. By March, I'd hit an all time fat. I had plans to go home in April and worried what people would think, nothing fit right, I felt sad and lonely. The frigid weather didn't help, it only reminded me of the coldness in Jacqueline's heart.

Jacqueline vs. Kara: A diagram

In mid-March I returned to Ladies Fit Zone, the gym I had half heartedly joined sometime in October, in a futile attempt to change my life. Ladies Fit Zone is a festering dump of disappointment. For every machine that works, another three are broken, the magazines are out of date, the scale works sixty percent of the time, there is never any staff around, the towels are dirty and overused, and the people are a sight for sore eyes. I don't mean that in the dazzling, perfect picture kind of way. I mean that as if you had massive pussing sores on your eye balls and sunlight had a tendency to irritate them. I'll describe them according to age.

There are the Powerhouse Geriatrics. Three to five women, well over sixty, who tough out the entire class, resting only to remove their glasses in order to wipe the sweat out of their eyes. They are pure muscle encased in wrinkles, it's both inspirational and terrifying.

Followed by the MILFabees, a group of overtly cheery cougars who attend the classes only to shout things like "TEN MORE BITCHES" and "FEEL THE BURN LADIES, YOU GOT THIS." They wear matching outfits, and sport a tan year round.

Ranking only slightly below, are the Mom/Daughter Duos. I know they're together because they stand only a body or two apart, look identical, and skip out during abs (because when you're with someone you love, you don't have anyone to impress.)

There is exactly one crazy Asian woman. She has jet black hair, a super fit bod, and perfect complexion. She is one hundred percent out of her tree. She teeters between intense and uncoordinated, and every once in a while, when the time is right, she will merge these two conditions together and jump around violently in a circle, shouting curses in tongues. 

Additionally, there is a group of girls my age, who believe they are too cool for class. They also occasionally whore themselves--I mean work out, in the boys gym. Once they told me that if I stopped eating garbage my sweat would smell better, I proceeded to give them the bird and stick the upper half of my body in the trash can. I'll be a smelly goat if I want to be a smelly goat, damn it.

Finally, there are my friends. My friends, consist of Kara, Bre and Hannah, and like three or four girls who rotate in and out, whose names I do not know. They took me under their wing, and taught me that Ladies Fit Zone can be a kind and caring place, despite the health hazards and out of date inspections. They are funny, nice, and we have been compared at least once to "women at a salon who bitch about everyone they've ever come in contact with." So, I love them. 

Kara, is where this story begins:

Kara, has become both my Grand Rapids Best Friend, and my honorary mother, all in a matter of months. It originally stemmed from a girl crush because Kara is essentially everything I am not. Tall, blonde, coordinated, light on her feet, giant boobed. Basically, my dream girl. Kara is sure to include me in everything, she feeds me dinner seveal nights a week, reminds me when I need to be at the gym, asks how my day was. Sometimes I forget to call my own mother because Kara has done such a good job filling her shoes. But perhaps the best part about Kara is that she's married. Because in inheriting Kara, I also inherited Christian. 

Christian is an enormous, unrefined Belizean man, with a voice louder than thunder. He may or may not eat bones for dinner, he's that scary. My relationship with Christian is ever changing. Sometimes, he says in a voice not dissimilar to Rafiki's, "I'm happy my wife has you." Other times, he makes more troublesome statements like "every time I look at you, I want to cook you for dinner." Perhaps the most confusing of all in when he says in a voice barely audible "you could go do yoga down by the dock, that's where I'm going to drown you" but then shouts cheerfully "have fun little wizard, how I'll miss you in a few weeks!" These constant shifts are disorienting. I am never sure whether he loves me or not, and that is why he is the perfect Dad.

Saturdays with the Chan's are my favorite. When we run in the morning, Kara leads like a mother duck. I follow her steps diligently, but eventually end up lagging behind, coughing up blood, and limping alone. Around 1.4 miles, Christian brings up the rear, and gives me a good lash with the crop to remind me that I must press on. He becomes very worried, but does not refrain from treating me like cattle. Christian often reminds Kara that she has to check on me, because I could be dead back there. She rarely denies this fact. Maybe this sounds harsh, but I'll tell ya, I have seen results.

After that we normally go to breakfast before Kara has to work. When the check comes, I usually fish around in my wallet, feigning effort, while Christian takes the bill. They say things like "we're doing this because you drive" or "we just want to" which I appreciate, because what they really mean is, "you can't afford your life."

I stole this from their facebook.... what's mine is yours?

Our biggest issue right now is the soon to be separation. Much like my own parents a year ago, we are starting to have the "go if you must, but you really don't have to" conversation more often than not. I don't know that without them I'll stay as healthy or active as I have been, and I don't know that I'm okay with missing them as much as I anticipate I will. It took me nearly seven months to feel welcome here, and suddenly it's over. I can't say that I've felt at home in Grand Rapids, but I can say that I've met family and for that I am truly thankful.