Lost my tail again.

A wedding reception recap is coming, I promise. It really and truly is. But first, I must share this valuable lesson:

Never take a yoga class on game day.

I cannot stress this enough.

Let me back up. The reception on Saturday was wonderful, as you will learn when I can think clearly enough to write about it. Wonderful and exhausting. Afterwards, I dropped my friend Jess off at the airport, went home, and (I think) went more or less right to sleep. We may have made popcorn and watched an episode of Mad Men first. I have no idea.

By the way, I missed two days of yoga. To be fair, they were the days I sort of expected to not find time to practice, due to reception insanity. Friday, Jess and I split a bottle of wine after setting up a million tables and chairs, and I wisely decided against drunk yoga. Saturday—well, I just told you about Saturday.

On Sunday, Red and I woke up very late and slightly out of sorts from all the organizing and cleaning and family-wrangling and partying. We’d probably eaten too many vegan desserts, as well. I decided that a yoga class was the perfect thing to soothe my tired muscles and get my head back to normal. There was a community class (read: cheap) late that afternoon, and I looked forward to it all day. There was also a football game, but whatever. Traffic was fine, and I was feeling confident and peaceful.

Until the street was closed.

To be clear, I’m pretty sure that street is the only way to get to the neighborhood where the yoga studio is located. And it was closed. Because of football. Oh, I was livid. In my frustration, I misjudged which street to take next, and ended up back on the freeway. Cursing a blue streak (how yogic of me), I gauged that I had enough time to get off the freeway and try again. I did, and: FAIL. For all my efforts, there was no way into that corner of the city. It was completely walled in by asshole drivers, rabid football fans, and unsympathetic traffic cops.

I was so looking forward to class, too. I drove home, feeling like Eeyore. I told Red my tale of woe, then sulked a little. Had you been there, we probably would have had a conversation like this:

Me: I hate the fucking Ravens.
You: I can tell.
Me: I hope they lose.
You: Actually, they won.
Me: Go screw.

I tried to salvage my practice by doing a short online Yoga Journal core sequence, which fell sort of flat because I only had one block and needed two to do the arm balances. My abs were sore the next day, though, so it worked on that level.

Moral of the story: my city goes insane for football, and woe betide her who tries to pursue her own agenda on game day. Oh well, as least the Ravens didn’t sign Michael Vick.