I know you have substantial market share in the dating app world. But y’all don’t have anything on Words With Friends. Apparently.
There’s plenty of middle-aged white dudes trolling WWF for ladies.
It’s a new frontier.
What is up with that?
It’s only been in the past few months that I have noticed this situation. (See here and here for recaps.)
But in the past week or so, it has gotten out of control. Here’s slideshow of my personal rogues gallery. (Names/faces hidden JUST IN CASE they are real people, which I doubt.)
Occasionally, I am fortunate enough to have a post from a guest blogger. Today is my lucky day (and yours too)!
I present to you the story of goat yoga, a strange phenomenon sweeping the nation. Sounds like something I would try. Alas, Bingo Lisa tried it first. Here is her account (edited slightly for blog voice and flow).
I’ll be back with a Words With Friends dating update later this week.
Love, Beth
This kind of yoga really got my goat*
Guest post by Lisa W.
I’ll admit I was a bit excited about being invited to a baby shower where there would be goat yoga. I’m not a big fan of women-only baby showers. Unless I’m sure there will be alcohol, I usually avoid them.
My friend Trina, my 6-year-old daughter Cali and I drove out to the sticks in Ridgeland, South Carolina, to celebrate our friend Jessie and her baby boy’s approaching arrival.
I’d seen pictures of goat yoga online and all of it looked happy. People holding poses and nuzzling baby goats or having them on their backs.
Preggo Jessie (left) and a family member pose with four-legged friends.
Dorothy planned this event. She could not be more thrilled.
The yoga was supposed to be outside, which I now know is ideal. However, the weather was misty so the yoga class was moved inside into our host’s sunroom. We unrolled our mats with anticipation for the nearly ceremonial releasing of the goats. Oh, rabbits too. And chickens.
However. These animals are not potty trained. My expected serene yoga event turned into a literal shitshow.
The releasing of the goats quickly led to the goats releasing their bowels.
So much poop.
I attempted child’s pose and lowered my head per the teacher’s instructions. A baby goat then ran full speed at me and tried to head butt me. I realized I couldn’t let my guard down for a second.
Here’s Lisa on high alert.
The actual yoga lasted maybe five minutes because everyone spent the time either holding the goats, picking up their lovely presents, or trying to keep them from eating our mats.
We passed around tiny shower cocktail napkins to pick up nuggets and sop up pee. I joked that this was great training for the mom to be. If only those goats had worn diapers.
The goats show Jessie how she got pregnant, in case she didn’t know.
It seemed like most attendees had a great time.
Sara (left) and Trina appear to be having a blast.
Cali loved it too. Me, not so much.
Cali pats the bunny. Meanwhile, Lisa reports that her face looked like this the whole time.
I just couldn’t. I was counting the seconds till the end of goat yoga.
Bye Felicia.
When I got home, my husband Rob and I had this convo:
Rob: How was goat yoga?
Me: There are three yoga mats in the bed of your truck that belong in your work dumpster.
Rob: That fun, huh?
Never again. Thankfully, I needed a new yoga mat anyway.
Lisa
*Don’t blame Lisa for that headline. It’s all Beth.
At least I did not think it akin to life or death when my friend Lisa noticed the ad for the event.
I’m at the point in my life where my motto is “absof—inlutely.” I say yes to many adventures.
Lisa says yes too. So that’s how we found ourselves at the American Legion on Tybee Island for Bingo Night. My other friend Amy and her husband Brian said yes too.
From left: Lisa, Amy and Brian prepare for the rollercoaster ride that is Bingo Night at the American Legion.
We allowed ourselves to be upsold to the party pack (whatever that was). A “dabber” of one’s own sold separately.
Meet my very own dabber. I chose red to represent the blood I planned to spill on the gaming floor. (Just kidding. They didn’t have blue, my favorite color.)
When the event began, all thought of a fun night went out the window. Bingo Lady was very clear that there would be NO TALKING. AT ALL.
Bingo Lady does not suffer fools.
Lisa knew that this would be problematic for the two of us. All we do is talk. Especially when the Legion sells plastic cups of Merlot for $4.
Lisa realizes we may be in trouble.
Besides the fact that we were not allowed to speak, the game itself was very stressful. The numbers came fast and furious. Luckily, the woman on my right liked to repeat every combination twice.
Notice the intensity Amy and Brian exhibit. Shhh … they are concentrating.
It almost paid off for both Amy and Lisa: They each were one or two squares away from the loud groans and golf claps that accompanied each shout of “Bingo!”
I was surprised at the amount of people who turned out for the event.
How did I fare? Let’s just say I got more satisfaction from the cheap Merlot.
Not even close to winning a cover-all.
So thanks for an interesting night. I’m glad I went, but I’m not sure I’ll be back. Y’all are too much for me.
There was a line to get in you. A line! I haven’t waited in a line to get into a club in … OK, a week, but still. This was the longest. Ever.
Once inside, it was clear why the bouncer had the strict “one in, one out” policy. The fire marshal must be on retainer. Sardines in a can have more fin room.
Also, I am intrigued by the demographics. The swath appeared to be 25 to 75. I’ve never seen grannies grinding grandpas on a dance floor before, but there they were in all their glory.
And what’s happening here?
She looks like she came straight from her son’s soccer game or a book club meeting.
Anyway, anyone who goes out with me knows my nurturing instinct kicks in hard at some point during the night.
This occasion was no different. My first stray was Tanya.
Tanya had clearly had too much of a good time. I brought her into our group, where she was able to safely live her best life. She left to go to the ladies room. We continued dancing.
By this time, I had picked up another stray: Mark. We had helped each other bulldoze a path to the bathrooms. He was alone, so he joined us.
We were all dancing and suddenly Tanya popped back into our group. We couldn’t believe it; we actually cheered. And Tanya thought this was a karaoke bar. Here she is with her invisible hot mic.
Finally, we decided it was time to go. Things were getting sloppy around us. And Thankgod our Lyft driver was close. Literally “Thankgod.” Look:
And if that’s not a funny story close, I don’t know what is.
So Johnny’s Hideaway, thank God for an entertaining night. In the words of that great thespian Arnold Schwarzenegger, “I’ll be back.”
Here’s to your drink-free dance floor. (Now get rid of the cigs.)
Beth
Have I mentioned how much I appreciate you? You put up with my — how shall I put this — “projects.”
You know my motto as a writer: Bad decisions make good stories.
Take, for example, one of my most notorious adventures: The now-defunct Redneck Games in Dublin, Georgia. My posts about that event still get plenty of hits.
And then there were the chickens. Trish was the best pet, though, and I was very sad when she met her untimely end.
So when I said I was trying to plan a Southeast tour for a U.K. band, Jesse’s Divide, that I had seen and loved, all of you did your thing: a shrug, an eye roll, a sigh — whatever fit your usual shtick. But because you love me, you came out to support these chaps at one of their shows.
And every one of you said, “Beth! They’re really good.”
YES.
I KNOW.
Why else would I do something so crazy, so outside my comfort zone?
Don’t answer that.
Anyway, thanks to the JD guys and all of you for believing in me. I still can’t believe it really happened.
Here are Nick, Simon and Rob in my house playing Uno with my family and me. Surreal.
Now go listen to all their stuff on Spotify, iTunes, etc.
I’m sure you think it was very funny switching bodies with my 14-year-old son. Hee hee. Ha ha. You’ve had your fun. Now I’m ready to have Dominic back.
What’s this? It’s not you? He’s just a typical 14-year-old boy. There’s more where that came from, you say?
Oh no.
A Dominic selfie: “Feeling cute. Might delete later.”
I was certain he was inhabited by a demon Sunday (the Sabbath — oh the irony). He was so unusually awful that I told him I was done speaking to him for a while so I could preserve my sanity.
I didn’t say one word to him for five whole days. If he came into the room, I left. I’ve never done that before, but honestly, it gave me such peace.
At one point, Eddie and I had this conversation:
Him: When are you going to start talking to Dominic?
Me: I don’t know. It’s been kind of great.
Him: Maybe for you but you not talking to him means I have to, and he makes me want to kill him.
I felt like I had failed as a parent though. It was going to be my dirty little secret. But then I told another mom about it in confidence, and she said, “Yep. I’ve been there. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do for your own sake. They suck at that age.”
Emboldened, I confessed to another friend.
She said, “I’ve totally done that. I’ve even packed a bag and left the house to stay in a hotel for the night.”
That’s some Big Mom Energy right there.
It’s nice to know I’m not alone.
Or is it?
Do you have a special treatment (i.e., tranquilizer or the like) for such creatures? Or do I need to take that up with another entity?
Let me know. Things are tough here, which you might love, but remember that the 14-year-old might even be too much for you to bear.
Yours truly from HOTlanta (tee hee*),
Beth
* No one in Atlanta uses this term for real. It’s cringey. And we all immediately know “you ain’t from ’round here.”
God bless you, every one. How do you manage to find things to eat every day?
I’m sure things have gotten slightly easier for you (as more and more people make the choice), but it certainly is a challenge to find food that is completely free from animal products.
Eddie and I are hosting friends next month, one of whom is one of you. I’ve been road-testing recipes: shepherd’s pie, chickpea and avocado wraps, tamales, etc.
So I went to the vegan section of Whole Foods (aka Whole Paycheck). I found wonton skins, which will do in a pinch. Checked ingredients list to be safe.
So those wouldn’t work. I went to two other granola-people stores. No luck. In fact, one helpful cashier checked his supplier’s site to see if vegan wonton/gyoza/dumpling/potsticker wrappers existed. They don’t, apparently.
Back at home, I decided to make my own.
Oh yes, I did.
And that’s how I found myself up to my eyebrows in brown rice and tapioca flour yesterday afternoon.
I don’t have photos of the process because my hands were covered in flour for hours. I do have an image of the (uncooked) finished product:
As for the taste, I’d say they closely resembled my usual recipe. A little off, but not by much.
If anything, this little experiment has made me aware of just how many animal products we consume daily — even when we don’t think we are consuming any.
Wishing you all the best, and hoping you continue to have more and better options,
Beth
You and Christmas Eve are my favorite holidays. For you, I get dressed up and give out candy. For the other, I wait for someone dressed up to give me candy.
Luckily, my family feels the same way about you. Sometimes, we get other people to join us in group costumes.
It’s the one time of year where I let my craft freak flag fly.
Here’s a retrospective of costumes we’ve had over the years.
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Unfortunately, living in an apartment has its drawbacks: All my Halloween paraphernalia is in storage. Plus, I’ll be teaching tonight, so I won’t be able to go all out.
