Bangles and Back Handed Compliments.

On my lunch hour today, I had to have some bloodwork run.  The nearest lab to me is in Chinatown.  I love Chinatown, but it's always a bit of a funny experience at this lab, where there are literally no waiting room magazines in English, or signs in English, or fellow patients to chat to who speak English.  Ah, Canada.  Ah, multiculturalism.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

Anyway, I'm wearing some beautiful bangles today that I picked up at


, a little boutique in Gastown.  These bangles are a personal triumph.  You see, my wrists have been too fat to wear bangles for quite some time, but now that I'm losing weight - over 50 pounds down now - all sorts of fashion avenues are opening up for me: knee-high boots, skinny jeans - and BANGLES!

The technician, who was Chinese, admired my bangles while she took my blood.

"Those are beautiful," she gushed.

"Thank you," I said proudly, twisting my wrist this way and that so they jingled.

"Chinese people like those," she said.  "It means you should have gold and diamonds.  I can't wear them - I look too bony."

"Oh really?" I murmured, not because I necessarily cared, more to be polite.  I was actively trying to ignore the giant needle in my arm at that point.

"Yeah.  I'm thin, I can't wear them.  Old Chinese people - they like people like you, people more plump.  It shows you're prosperous because you eat too much.  It's good that you got a bit of extra flesh."

And, smack!  Cue the back-handed compliment.  Serves me right for being so smug about my bracelets.

In Which I Once Again Find Myself At the Yoga.

Here's the thing about yoga: Shmeh. I get why it's good for me and stuff, but - it just doesn't really get my exercise mojo going, you know? I always start with good intentions, go to a few classes a week, and then months go by before I get back to the studio.

On Monday I went to Westcoast Hot Yoga in Yaletown because lululemon told me so. No, really. I'm training for the SeaWheeze half marathon and my training app told me I had to do hot yoga that night. So off I went to WCHY, mostly because I'd been there before (pre-renos). I booked myself in for a random class and found...




This man, yoga teacher slash singer slash makeup impressario, in black eyeliner and peacock feathers, made me sweat like I had never sweated before, except in a sweat lodge, but then - well, nevermind. I sweated alot. And he played Leonard Cohen before our class. And didn't whisper. And made us sing "Row Row Row Your Boat" as our mantra as opposed to singing some words in Hindi I don't know. And he talked about Lady Gaga. And made us hug each other. And do yoga in a line, like rockettes. And only do one goddamn downward dog, which I totally hate anyway. And he said so many life-affirming things (like "own it before it owns you" - "it" being that feeling/fear/person/habit bringing you down) that I was literally yelling "Amen" along with him as he preached from his self-styled "yoga church." And then, when he belted out "Any Dream Will Do" from Joseph at the end of the class, Broadway Styles?! Well, this musical-theatre-nerd-turned-reluctant-yogi found her Yogi Master.

Is $24 pricey for a drop-in? Oh, probably. The studio's nice, your admission gets you a towel, a mat rental, and tea afterwards, but really? You go for the people. And as long as Will's there, I'll be going to WCHY. Even if he makes me do downward dog.