Hey gang. Still with me here?
Haven't posted in a long time, mostly because I thought the old "guess what I did at the gym today/new vegetable I ate" routine was getting a bit boring. Well, I have something I need to write about today. I went to bed in a rage, I woke up in a rage, and apart from the sweet relief from lifting heavy things up and putting them back down with Ms. Muscles today at lunch (sidebar: I have this vein in my right arm that bulges whenever I lift weights now, and it is TOTALLY AWESOME. Also, lifting weights while extremely angry results in having a great workout. Wide grip chin ups? Yes please! Huzzah!), I have been walking around in a rage all day. Frowny Eyebrows, Fast walking, Rageaholic Music on the ipod, the whole 9 yards. Clearly, I need to spew this out somewhere, and the interwebs is it. Since I have resigned myself to being completely unproductive today, let's do this.
As a grad student who makes 10% less money than a broken vacuum cleaner, I have picked myself up a nice part time bartending job. The job is actually pretty sweet. Easy, friendly environment, and despite outrages prices, people actually seem to tip. In the not so distant past, I have been told that I suffer from a lack of niceness. In many situations, I would agree. It's something that I sometimes think about working to remedy. However, after work yesterday, I think I may realize where my lack of 'nice' these days comes from. Actually, just kidding, I'm going to go ahead and scold myself today for being TOO nice yesterday. There's something to be said for not being particularly friendly. Why? Because it seems I got fooled by Schrodinger's Rapist.
To put the situation in a nutshell, I experienced some legitimate, textbook, sexual harassment in the workplace (at my new job, not at school). By a co-worker who is roughly old enough to by my father. [Disclaimer: I now have to admit to a horrible anti-feminist belief I used to have but have now revised (bear with me). I used to think that sexual harassment in the workplace was still 'kind of' a problem, but that it always going to be a "pretty girl" problem which I would never have to deal with, and therefore didn't have to think about. Besides which, "pretty girls" have it so easy anyway that whats the big deal for them? They have men after them all the time so what's one more? I know. HORRIBLE BELIEF SYSTEM.] Now that I am in said situation, the emotional complexities of this very real problem begin to emerge...
Ladies, you know that on a regular basis we may encounter a variety of wierdos of various ages, dispositions, and dental hygiene who may try to hassle us. These, provided their comments are not too gross, are usually disregarded with relative ease. This creepo though...this situation has been eating at me. This creepbag brought on The Rage. I have not been able to ignore it.
I do NOT expect to show up on my FIRST DAY at a new job and have to deal with this BULLSHIT.
Creepface, let's call him, has been working at this place for 17 years. He knows everybody and their mother. He seems well respected and genuinely liked by everyone at work. I was doing some on-the-job training with him yesterday. Things were going well. Friendly old dude, conversation flowing, being productive, making money. A few laughs. He finds out I used to have a really cool job. He used to be in a related field in another country. We get off work earlier than anticipated, and he says lets have a cup of tea, I want to ask you about your old job. Um...okay. I didn't really want to, but being brand new and needing to play nice at work (more friends = more shifts maybe? I really, really, really need the money), I agreed to a 1/2 hour tea break at the second cup across the street and he seemed like a good contact to have around that place. Harmless, harmless, cuppa tea.
Not quite. 5 mins (probably less) into the conversation, Creepface blurts out that what he'd really like, is to hug me and was that okay?........
I gave him a funny look and said that it wasn't. But I am truly embarrassed that in that moment my words were carefully selected to avoid hurting his feelings, and were chosen for their intent to convey that I didn't get where he was going with this. "umm...i dont know you well enough...for that....yet?". In hindsight, now would have been the right time to throw my hot tea in his face and get the fuck out. Instead, I politely declined his creepy fucking hug, and then I froze.
Being a big, strong, girl who is into martial arts, there's a pretty good chance that if push came to shove I could bring some serious pain to this scrawny old dude. But, the first rule of martial arts of any kind is don't use what you know unless you absolutely have to. A rule, I have to admit, I have disregarded on several occasions. Usually against someone bigger than me, and always while drunk. However, this time, while older, allegedly wiser, and stone cold sober, I for some reason chose to abide by this rule and extend it to my entire vocabulary when in hindsight I wish I hadn't. Or I at least wish I hadn't been so fucking nice to the pervert. Instead of ripping him a new one literally or figuratively, I politely declined a hug, and changed the topic of conversation to HIS WIFE AND KIDS hoping to subsequently slurp down my burning hot tea and get out quickly. It persisted. He loved my eyes, my lips. Was that okay? He's sorry. Thought I had a great "spirituality" (? boy was he way off...I'm an athiest). Persisted in offering me a ride home (NO). Told me how attractive he thought I was. Oops, he's sorry for being inappropriate again, he just can't help himself....
I took it all in with silence like a chump because I couldn't do anything else at the time. Ladies, you are all welcome to delude yourselves into thinking you are better women than I am because you would have done [insert really great shaming scenario here. Bonus points for witty lines.] but the truth is I felt I could do nothing in that moment, and I feel sick and powerless for it. I do not know this man. I do not know what will embarass him or make him angry and what he might do if he gets to be in either state. So I smiled. I gently indicated I was uncomfortable. I appeased his apologies. I laughed his inappropriate comments off. He told me that for him it was a "once in a lifetime" thing for him because I'm "special" and he thought he should just take the chance, you know? NO. I DO NOT KNOW. Are these supposed to be compliments? Am I supposed to feel good about this? Instead, I coyly 'heard my phone beep' and oops! I miss the gym for one night and all my training partners are wondering where I am, ha ha! I'm a competitive brazilian jiu jitsu and submission grappling fighter (ahh can you feel me stretch the truth...) , cool huh? I train, like, every day (biiiiggg stretch...) , ha ha! Oh look at the time...gotta run!
You might think you are welcome to accuse me of being naive/dumb/bringing this on myself for going for a cup of tea with him in the first place but you are wrong. Sure, maybe if he had been wearing a sandwich sign that said "hello, my name is RAPIST", but he appeared for all intents and purposes to be a kindly older man who was interested in my line of work and might be a valuable ally to make at my new workplace where I clearly know no one else. You might also accuse me of blowing this out of proportion. But the point is, it's not fair that women should have to roam around in constant suspicion of every kind gesture for fear of being made to look like the whole thing was our fault if things go awry. It's not fair that I should feel the implication hanging in the air that because he bought me a cup of tea and a biscotti (maple biscotti from second cup. I recommend.) and told me I was pretty that I'm supposed to go and fuck him now. It's not fair that I have to debate whether I should report this at work. IT WAS MY FIRST DAY. He's been there for 17 years. Who are they going to believe? It's not fair that I have to debate in my head whether this incident is "bad enough" to report. I don't even know who I would report it to. It's not fair that someone meets me and pretends to be interested in my intellect and accomplishments when it's all just a big cover. The dimension of it happening AT WORK, a place I need to go in order to make money to feed myself adds a whole myriad of levels of creepiness that I can't begin to tease apart.
And that is why I am in a rage today. Schrodinger's Rapist gave me rabies.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Food Torture.
I read this quote supposedly said by Eva Longoria in the wake of her divorce from sports star whatshisface:
"I remember after my divorce, I was so thin and everyone kept saying how great I looked. It was probably the most unhealthy place I've ever been," she said. "So it was funny what people would see as 'healthy.' In my worst time, people were saying I've never looked better."
There's something witty and profound to say about our culture there somewhere, but I think I'll leave it alone for now. You know where I'm going with this.
It's kinda true, no? Not only about how people said she looked fantastic when she was wasting away, which they did, but in the aftermath of emotional turmoil, isn't the very thought of eating properly and caring for ourselves impossible? At least it is for me. This weekend, instead of celebrating the end of what was a fantastic globe-trotting year and welcoming in a new one full of excitement, I spent almost all of it punishing myself with the most accessible instrument of torture available to me: fooooood. But unlike dear Eva there, my particular brand of self-torture with food doesn't involve not eating it.
To say that last week didn't result in emotional hell would be an understatement. In a fit of Christmas Cheer, I decided contacting ex-boyfriend to see if we could just put this mess behind us and be friends was a good idea. Unfortunately, "let's be friends" translated very badly, even though the only language either of us know is english, and my little attempt did nothing less than blow up in my face like one of those can 'o worms, except the worms were lit on fire and covered in excrement.
I won't give you the play by play of the carnage, but after some of the shrapnel had died down I spent a solid 3 days becoming 'one with the couch' in front of the TV at my parent's house (did you know pop up video is back?!), and shoving garbage in my face. Ice cream - that's breakfast right? chips and dip? dinner of champions!! deep fried anything? GGGGIIIMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. ugh...mix that with some "it's 5 o'clock somewhere" booze time, and a little smattering of sleeping pill induced excessive sleep (i'm a pharmacologist! I'm experimenting!) and you have........... one complete mess of a person.
ANYWAYS...moving on. re-group is happening. enough of that shit. self-torture phase is over.... I promise now I will only torture myself with good things, like front squats.
Which I did already today *pats self on back*. I dug out an old workout from Ms. Muscles in the bottom of my gym bag and went to town on my quads. I tired pretty quickly, probably because I've filled my gas tank with nothing but sewage, but I front squatted anyway. While I realize the mirrors are there for a functional purpose, I sort of wish they werent there most of the time. No one looks good making their "one more rep" face...it's like, extreme constipation face.
In OTHER news (of the good kind), I caught up with an old friend who now lives in South Korea but was home for the holidays. She was regaling me with stories of cultural differences and general life in Korea. We went for mexican food, and almost went out for new year's (yes, I was going to drag my ass off the couch, I was looking forward to it actually, but then I couldn't get back downtown to party hardy :( ) It was great, and I look forward to having her back in Canada!
There was more I was going to write here, but I'll be damned if I can remember it now.
Hope you are having a lovely day wherever you are.
xo
"I remember after my divorce, I was so thin and everyone kept saying how great I looked. It was probably the most unhealthy place I've ever been," she said. "So it was funny what people would see as 'healthy.' In my worst time, people were saying I've never looked better."
There's something witty and profound to say about our culture there somewhere, but I think I'll leave it alone for now. You know where I'm going with this.
It's kinda true, no? Not only about how people said she looked fantastic when she was wasting away, which they did, but in the aftermath of emotional turmoil, isn't the very thought of eating properly and caring for ourselves impossible? At least it is for me. This weekend, instead of celebrating the end of what was a fantastic globe-trotting year and welcoming in a new one full of excitement, I spent almost all of it punishing myself with the most accessible instrument of torture available to me: fooooood. But unlike dear Eva there, my particular brand of self-torture with food doesn't involve not eating it.
To say that last week didn't result in emotional hell would be an understatement. In a fit of Christmas Cheer, I decided contacting ex-boyfriend to see if we could just put this mess behind us and be friends was a good idea. Unfortunately, "let's be friends" translated very badly, even though the only language either of us know is english, and my little attempt did nothing less than blow up in my face like one of those can 'o worms, except the worms were lit on fire and covered in excrement.
I won't give you the play by play of the carnage, but after some of the shrapnel had died down I spent a solid 3 days becoming 'one with the couch' in front of the TV at my parent's house (did you know pop up video is back?!), and shoving garbage in my face. Ice cream - that's breakfast right? chips and dip? dinner of champions!! deep fried anything? GGGGIIIMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. ugh...mix that with some "it's 5 o'clock somewhere" booze time, and a little smattering of sleeping pill induced excessive sleep (i'm a pharmacologist! I'm experimenting!) and you have........... one complete mess of a person.
ANYWAYS...moving on. re-group is happening. enough of that shit. self-torture phase is over.... I promise now I will only torture myself with good things, like front squats.
Which I did already today *pats self on back*. I dug out an old workout from Ms. Muscles in the bottom of my gym bag and went to town on my quads. I tired pretty quickly, probably because I've filled my gas tank with nothing but sewage, but I front squatted anyway. While I realize the mirrors are there for a functional purpose, I sort of wish they werent there most of the time. No one looks good making their "one more rep" face...it's like, extreme constipation face.
In OTHER news (of the good kind), I caught up with an old friend who now lives in South Korea but was home for the holidays. She was regaling me with stories of cultural differences and general life in Korea. We went for mexican food, and almost went out for new year's (yes, I was going to drag my ass off the couch, I was looking forward to it actually, but then I couldn't get back downtown to party hardy :( ) It was great, and I look forward to having her back in Canada!
There was more I was going to write here, but I'll be damned if I can remember it now.
Hope you are having a lovely day wherever you are.
xo
Friday, December 16, 2011
Nerd shopping, and other unrelated things.
Today is full of suck-age.
I just wrote the worst exam of my entire life, I shit you not.
To numb the pain, I did a little nerd shopping. I bought myself a genetic testing kit to see what diseases/weird abnormalities I may be predisposed to. Am I a fast acetylator?! predisposed to heart disease?! we will find out in a few weeks. Stay tuned, friends. I can't wait.
On a completely unrelated topic, I have been meaning to share this with you:
http://www.stumptuous.com/run-like-a-girl-interview-with-mina-samuels
Its an interview with a writer of a book I'm meaning to read now. If you are interested at all in women in sports, health/fitness, or think you would enjoy listening to two awesome women have a great thought-provoking conversation, then I highly recommend. Lots of "YEAH!!"'s went through my head while listening. Enjoy, friends. It's about an hour, but worth every minute of your time.
- G
I just wrote the worst exam of my entire life, I shit you not.
To numb the pain, I did a little nerd shopping. I bought myself a genetic testing kit to see what diseases/weird abnormalities I may be predisposed to. Am I a fast acetylator?! predisposed to heart disease?! we will find out in a few weeks. Stay tuned, friends. I can't wait.
On a completely unrelated topic, I have been meaning to share this with you:
http://www.stumptuous.com/run-like-a-girl-interview-with-mina-samuels
Its an interview with a writer of a book I'm meaning to read now. If you are interested at all in women in sports, health/fitness, or think you would enjoy listening to two awesome women have a great thought-provoking conversation, then I highly recommend. Lots of "YEAH!!"'s went through my head while listening. Enjoy, friends. It's about an hour, but worth every minute of your time.
- G
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?
Know thyself.
Don't underestimate the power of this statement.
Ask yourself: How well do you know yourself, really? Much like you (probably) I would say most of the time, me, myself and I are a pretty tight knit group. I spend a lot of time with me. We're buds. We tell each other everything. I could rhyme off innumerable fun facts about me. I know what to buy me for Christmas.
But how do you know if you know yourself? It became clear to me today that the" knowing of thyself" is something of a moving target. I am a moving target.
Since coming home from my Worldwide Adventure, I have wrapped myself up in a beautiful delusion, a delusion where I think that I am somehow more "enlightened" and "self aware" now than I was before, because now I have traveled (oooohhh ahhh). No doubt, in many, many ways I am richer for the experiences I had and I wouldn't trade them for anything. But even though this past year really was about finding this "self knowledge", spending quality time with me, figuring out what makes me tick, learning to read my own emotions better, and to understand why I behave the way I do, it seems that I am no more "self aware" now than I was before I left. Dang...
Not to get all Oprah on you, but I do think that at least for a short while on the road, I attained a heightened sense of awareness about myself. When I had nothing else to worry about but my own happiness, I like to think I got me pretty down pat. It was a great time. But sadly, it turns out there was an expiry date on that state of self reflection. The "me" of only a few short months ago I knew so well....well, she isn't "me" anymore.
Allow me to put this philosophical rant in a little context. Today was an ordinary day. Sure, I'm having some stress about an upcoming exam, and I have a paper due that I am having serious mental block trying to write, but this amount of stress and demand is not anything that this kid hasn't handled before (and then some....no, and then lots). Actually, I would say today was less stressful than most days. I went to hot yoga in the morning, worked on my paper for the afternoon, and went to jiu jitsu at night. BJJ was even great. I had lots of energy and got in some good rolls. Then, on the walk home, I decided to call my parents just to say hi. My dad answered. I yelled at him, and then burst into tears.
......excuse me?
I've been trying to figure out why I've been a cranky pants for the past nearly-month. It's not just school. It can't be. This is the life I have chosen for a variety of very good reasons that I am pleased with myself for. School-related stress can't account for the venom I feel bubbling inside me every single day. It can't account for wanting to yell at old people for walking too slow, for the way I have been treating people around me who have done nothing wrong, or the elaborateness and specificity of escape plans I have been hatching in my head to run away again (only this time I would never come back). It can't account for me not wanting to celebrate my birthday at all this year (nor can being 'old' because I'm not old). For the past few weeks, I have chocked my rampant bitterness and terrible mood up to fluctuations in hormones (or rather, to put it delicately, "woman problems"), but I think that excuse has effectively expired now.
It's funny how the people close to you see right through your bullshit excuses and reasons you give yourself for acting a certain way. So, after my dad apologized for pissing me off (although remaining thoroughly baffled as to how he had managed to do that in less than a minute thirty) he mentioned ex-boyfriends name as a potential source of my horrific mood. BINGOOOOOOOOOOO. (sorry, no prize)
Bam. Crash. *Cue Niagara Falls*. Waterworks for hours.
I thought I'd been doing too well with this.
(Apologies now for breaking my promise that this blog would not be an outlet for spewing over the shrapnel of my failed relationship. I newly promise not to make this a regular thing, or to go on for too long about it.)
Yes, it hurts. Yes, I want to, in an alternating fashion, call him and tell him I think he's [insert explitive laced diatribe of your choice here] or call him and tell him it's okay I forgive him let's just forget this silly mess (but nonetheless still call him). Yes, I had already correctly identified that I am hurt and angry and sad about the situation. But apart from the initial aftershock, where have the tears been? Apart from the occasional revenge house-egging fantasy, how have I been able to function (relatively) normally? I've been trying to liken my reaction to this breakup to the downfall of my last major long-term relationship, the aftermath of which saw me morph into a bumbling self-destructive idiot with little appreciable self esteem, and not a detectable shred of dignity. I cried myself to sleep for months. And hey, isn't that what they do on TV, anyway? If it's on TV, it's normal! So why hasn't that happened this time?
I seem to have completely missed some obvious key elements. I missed the obvious that was so obvious to my dad. "Me" circa now is a WILDLY different creature than "me" circa that other relationship. This relationship was a world apart from the last. (also obvious - MY LIFE IS NOT TV). Why did I expect my reaction to stay the same when none of the variables are even remotely similar?
I am an excellent liar when it comes to lying to myself. I guess I don't tell me everything. How did I not connect the dots? My new health/eating awesomely/fitness/lets-get-the-body-I've-always-wanted regime? while not without its obvious merits and benefits (and I am enjoying the ride), it is a thinly veiled cover for me not dealing with my feelings about breaking up. It's a means to exert control over my situation because I had no control over my now defunct relationship. I lied to myself by thinking I could just carry on as if nothing was wrong. But I am clearly not carrying on as if nothing is wrong. I am wrong. I'm an angry, bitter, awful mess, and its not the fucking hormones (although they don't help) - it's him.
I'm surprised it took itself this long to manifest, but hey - now I know that I don't know where this is going. New me, new variables, different situation, I can't predict how I'm going to handle a break up this time around. It's uncharted territory, man. At least maybe now I can stop pretending I know what I'm doing?
Apparently, me calling my parents "just to say hi" is secret code (secret yes, even to me it seems) for I WANT TO EXPLODE AND I NEED TO CRY. Thinking back, I've done this before. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents and know full well that I lucked out in that lottery, but calling "just to say hi" is not something I do with them regularly, for whatever reason. Usually because my mom calls me at work a lot so I speak to her often. But the few times it has happened, it goes exactly like it went today. I call, nitpick about some innocent thing either one of them says, then burst into tears about something that has nothing to do with either of them. Who does that?
I guess I don't know this me as well as I thought I did. But now that I know enough to know I don't know, I'm looking forward to experiencing all the new shenanigans I get me into.
She's obviously not perfect, but she better be cool. I'm stuck with her (for now).
xox
Don't underestimate the power of this statement.
Ask yourself: How well do you know yourself, really? Much like you (probably) I would say most of the time, me, myself and I are a pretty tight knit group. I spend a lot of time with me. We're buds. We tell each other everything. I could rhyme off innumerable fun facts about me. I know what to buy me for Christmas.
But how do you know if you know yourself? It became clear to me today that the" knowing of thyself" is something of a moving target. I am a moving target.
Since coming home from my Worldwide Adventure, I have wrapped myself up in a beautiful delusion, a delusion where I think that I am somehow more "enlightened" and "self aware" now than I was before, because now I have traveled (oooohhh ahhh). No doubt, in many, many ways I am richer for the experiences I had and I wouldn't trade them for anything. But even though this past year really was about finding this "self knowledge", spending quality time with me, figuring out what makes me tick, learning to read my own emotions better, and to understand why I behave the way I do, it seems that I am no more "self aware" now than I was before I left. Dang...
Not to get all Oprah on you, but I do think that at least for a short while on the road, I attained a heightened sense of awareness about myself. When I had nothing else to worry about but my own happiness, I like to think I got me pretty down pat. It was a great time. But sadly, it turns out there was an expiry date on that state of self reflection. The "me" of only a few short months ago I knew so well....well, she isn't "me" anymore.
Allow me to put this philosophical rant in a little context. Today was an ordinary day. Sure, I'm having some stress about an upcoming exam, and I have a paper due that I am having serious mental block trying to write, but this amount of stress and demand is not anything that this kid hasn't handled before (and then some....no, and then lots). Actually, I would say today was less stressful than most days. I went to hot yoga in the morning, worked on my paper for the afternoon, and went to jiu jitsu at night. BJJ was even great. I had lots of energy and got in some good rolls. Then, on the walk home, I decided to call my parents just to say hi. My dad answered. I yelled at him, and then burst into tears.
......excuse me?
I've been trying to figure out why I've been a cranky pants for the past nearly-month. It's not just school. It can't be. This is the life I have chosen for a variety of very good reasons that I am pleased with myself for. School-related stress can't account for the venom I feel bubbling inside me every single day. It can't account for wanting to yell at old people for walking too slow, for the way I have been treating people around me who have done nothing wrong, or the elaborateness and specificity of escape plans I have been hatching in my head to run away again (only this time I would never come back). It can't account for me not wanting to celebrate my birthday at all this year (nor can being 'old' because I'm not old). For the past few weeks, I have chocked my rampant bitterness and terrible mood up to fluctuations in hormones (or rather, to put it delicately, "woman problems"), but I think that excuse has effectively expired now.
It's funny how the people close to you see right through your bullshit excuses and reasons you give yourself for acting a certain way. So, after my dad apologized for pissing me off (although remaining thoroughly baffled as to how he had managed to do that in less than a minute thirty) he mentioned ex-boyfriends name as a potential source of my horrific mood. BINGOOOOOOOOOOO. (sorry, no prize)
Bam. Crash. *Cue Niagara Falls*. Waterworks for hours.
I thought I'd been doing too well with this.
(Apologies now for breaking my promise that this blog would not be an outlet for spewing over the shrapnel of my failed relationship. I newly promise not to make this a regular thing, or to go on for too long about it.)
Yes, it hurts. Yes, I want to, in an alternating fashion, call him and tell him I think he's [insert explitive laced diatribe of your choice here] or call him and tell him it's okay I forgive him let's just forget this silly mess (but nonetheless still call him). Yes, I had already correctly identified that I am hurt and angry and sad about the situation. But apart from the initial aftershock, where have the tears been? Apart from the occasional revenge house-egging fantasy, how have I been able to function (relatively) normally? I've been trying to liken my reaction to this breakup to the downfall of my last major long-term relationship, the aftermath of which saw me morph into a bumbling self-destructive idiot with little appreciable self esteem, and not a detectable shred of dignity. I cried myself to sleep for months. And hey, isn't that what they do on TV, anyway? If it's on TV, it's normal! So why hasn't that happened this time?
I seem to have completely missed some obvious key elements. I missed the obvious that was so obvious to my dad. "Me" circa now is a WILDLY different creature than "me" circa that other relationship. This relationship was a world apart from the last. (also obvious - MY LIFE IS NOT TV). Why did I expect my reaction to stay the same when none of the variables are even remotely similar?
I am an excellent liar when it comes to lying to myself. I guess I don't tell me everything. How did I not connect the dots? My new health/eating awesomely/fitness/lets-get-the-body-I've-always-wanted regime? while not without its obvious merits and benefits (and I am enjoying the ride), it is a thinly veiled cover for me not dealing with my feelings about breaking up. It's a means to exert control over my situation because I had no control over my now defunct relationship. I lied to myself by thinking I could just carry on as if nothing was wrong. But I am clearly not carrying on as if nothing is wrong. I am wrong. I'm an angry, bitter, awful mess, and its not the fucking hormones (although they don't help) - it's him.
I'm surprised it took itself this long to manifest, but hey - now I know that I don't know where this is going. New me, new variables, different situation, I can't predict how I'm going to handle a break up this time around. It's uncharted territory, man. At least maybe now I can stop pretending I know what I'm doing?
Apparently, me calling my parents "just to say hi" is secret code (secret yes, even to me it seems) for I WANT TO EXPLODE AND I NEED TO CRY. Thinking back, I've done this before. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents and know full well that I lucked out in that lottery, but calling "just to say hi" is not something I do with them regularly, for whatever reason. Usually because my mom calls me at work a lot so I speak to her often. But the few times it has happened, it goes exactly like it went today. I call, nitpick about some innocent thing either one of them says, then burst into tears about something that has nothing to do with either of them. Who does that?
I guess I don't know this me as well as I thought I did. But now that I know enough to know I don't know, I'm looking forward to experiencing all the new shenanigans I get me into.
She's obviously not perfect, but she better be cool. I'm stuck with her (for now).
xox
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Update! Russian Mystery Reader is not real.
update:
Wanting to know more (and getting creative) I clicked on the link that Russian Mystery Reader supposedly found me through (blog stats are awesome).
It lead me to a website warning me about how the FBI is listening to us all through our cell phones.
EVEN WHEN THEY ARE OFF.
The internet is full of weirdos. Wah waaaaaaaaaaaaaah..... :(
Wanting to know more (and getting creative) I clicked on the link that Russian Mystery Reader supposedly found me through (blog stats are awesome).
It lead me to a website warning me about how the FBI is listening to us all through our cell phones.
EVEN WHEN THEY ARE OFF.
The internet is full of weirdos. Wah waaaaaaaaaaaaaah..... :(
Procrastination Nation
Hey gang.
you may have noticed (or maybe not) that the momentum for this blog got lost somewhere over the last few weeks. I know.
I attribute that to a few things - one being a genuine lack of anything interesting to say, and the other being my discovery of a genuine lack of any readers. I found the "statistics" button and learned that no one in fact reads my blog, except for someone from Russia (so big shout out to my Russian reader!). But I went out with Ms. Muscles the other night to to see some all female Muay Thai fights (totally awesome) and she assured me that she is an avid reader and "tsk tsk"d me for not updating it lately. So this one's for you, Muscles!
So what to say? Well, I think moods are a funny thing.
I say this because, the past few weeks I have been FUCKING MOODY. Like, wanting to punch kittens moody. My life has been a LOT of this:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/05/sneaky-hate-spiral.html
and a little of this:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2011/10/adventures-in-depression.html
And let me tell you friends, it is no way to live. I wish I could tell you that I've come up with some magic recipe for how to deal with this concoction of hormones/moody chemicals whizzing around in my brain and body, but I have not. Still working on it. Instead, I remain a bitch to deal with on pretty much every level.
So while not writing in my blog for the last few weeks, what have I been up to? Well, as per my rut status, not much. But I can tell you I think I have earned a Master's degree in Self Sabotage in the intervening time. No-dairy diet? pfft. Losing weight? haaaa. New outlook on life?!? not so much...I am nothing if not a slave to my moodiness - moodiness that seems to require me to stuff my face with corn chips at 10am on a Wednesday morning (meanwhile, paradoxically, making sure I buy the grass fed beef at the farmer's market). What is up with that? I keep wracking my brain for some funny and/or light-hearted anecdote to interject here - but crazy brain here keeps preventing me from thinking life's a peach.
Promise to update again when I think of something fun or interesting to write about. It's exam time - it's not like I don't have some procrastination to do...
xox
you may have noticed (or maybe not) that the momentum for this blog got lost somewhere over the last few weeks. I know.
I attribute that to a few things - one being a genuine lack of anything interesting to say, and the other being my discovery of a genuine lack of any readers. I found the "statistics" button and learned that no one in fact reads my blog, except for someone from Russia (so big shout out to my Russian reader!). But I went out with Ms. Muscles the other night to to see some all female Muay Thai fights (totally awesome) and she assured me that she is an avid reader and "tsk tsk"d me for not updating it lately. So this one's for you, Muscles!
So what to say? Well, I think moods are a funny thing.
I say this because, the past few weeks I have been FUCKING MOODY. Like, wanting to punch kittens moody. My life has been a LOT of this:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/05/sneaky-hate-spiral.html
and a little of this:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2011/10/adventures-in-depression.html
And let me tell you friends, it is no way to live. I wish I could tell you that I've come up with some magic recipe for how to deal with this concoction of hormones/moody chemicals whizzing around in my brain and body, but I have not. Still working on it. Instead, I remain a bitch to deal with on pretty much every level.
So while not writing in my blog for the last few weeks, what have I been up to? Well, as per my rut status, not much. But I can tell you I think I have earned a Master's degree in Self Sabotage in the intervening time. No-dairy diet? pfft. Losing weight? haaaa. New outlook on life?!? not so much...I am nothing if not a slave to my moodiness - moodiness that seems to require me to stuff my face with corn chips at 10am on a Wednesday morning (meanwhile, paradoxically, making sure I buy the grass fed beef at the farmer's market). What is up with that? I keep wracking my brain for some funny and/or light-hearted anecdote to interject here - but crazy brain here keeps preventing me from thinking life's a peach.
Promise to update again when I think of something fun or interesting to write about. It's exam time - it's not like I don't have some procrastination to do...
xox
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
CAAAARRRRBBBBSSSS....nomnomnom
Hey Kiddos.
Yesterday's training went well. Barf Class was awesome - and somehow I remained full of energy for the entire thing. Only one of the exercises was totally humiliating (walking mountain climber pushing things? I kept falling over because my legs would give out). Yay?
Usually I'm pretty good about not stuffing my face when I get home from working out, but yesterday roommate A had made some pasta, and he foolishly offered me the rest of it. As soon as those carbs hit my lips it was sweet, sweet heaven. I devoured that pasta, oh yes I did, and then proceeded to down a massive bowl full of sticky rice from dinner....from dinner made two weeks ago :( In the haze of my carb lust I paid no attention to best before dates. There was no stopping me. I am not proud. What's interesting though, is that I recognized this pig out as simply being HUNGRY because I worked really hard, and had nothing to do with eating for the sake of eating. If I was eating for taste or the sake of eating or wanting something tasty, I would have devoured the cookies and cupcakes on the table, baked with care by roommate M, but which I have barely touched. No. Instead I freely chose the 2-week-old white rice. Why?
Well, I've been thinking a lot lately about exercise and fitness and happiness. Forever, I have held onto the opinion that if I work really hard, stick to eating good food, get to be as fit as I want, and therefore look how I want, the happiness will follow because I will be hot and awesome and then nothing can stop me. TURNS OUT that's not how it works. When I was slaving away at my previous miserable job before I went traveling, I got to a point where I was eating pretty good meals, and training a lot, but I made a lot of mistakes and it was hard to stick to most of the time. I'd eat really well all day, then come home and "reward" myself with something delicious but bad for me a few times a week. On the weekend all bets were off and I'd eat myself silly, usually downing some sort of greasy pub food a few times. Although it wasn't out of control, I still used food and the concept of "reward" copiously to make up for how miserable, out of control, and belittled I felt in my career. I trained to support my crappy eating habits, rather than training to make my body work better.
Since I've come home from traveling, and I feel respected and valued in my new position, it's been remarkably easy to do good things for myself. I don't finish the day feeling like I want to punch kittens or just sit and zone out in front of the TV until sleep comes. Food, although clearly still one my greatest pleasures, is not a reward for having endured something terrible. It's enough of a reward to feed my body with good things that make me feel and function better. Working out is something I look forward to, rather than just some more torture I have to put myself through before I can reward myself with a bag of buffalo and blue cheese potato chips (those are delicious). Heartbreak notwithstanding, I'm happier now that I have been in many a-year. And for that reason, I think my fitness goals are going to come a lot easier than I expected.
I've already lost 5 pounds! :)
It is, however, a cruel joke of biology that the boobs are always the first to go, but never the first to be packed on. Mother nature can be so catty sometimes.
Today's workout will be training again with Ms. Muscles followed by some hot yoga. Did I mention Ms. Muscles and I are going to see the nutty bananas tornado of crazy that is the artist formerly known as the artist formerly known as Prince - PRINCE - this weekend?!?!? Wicked....we're going to party like its 1999. Except maybe a little differently, because I don't want to party like I'm 14 years old again. There was a lot of bad hair.
PEACE! :)
Yesterday's training went well. Barf Class was awesome - and somehow I remained full of energy for the entire thing. Only one of the exercises was totally humiliating (walking mountain climber pushing things? I kept falling over because my legs would give out). Yay?
Usually I'm pretty good about not stuffing my face when I get home from working out, but yesterday roommate A had made some pasta, and he foolishly offered me the rest of it. As soon as those carbs hit my lips it was sweet, sweet heaven. I devoured that pasta, oh yes I did, and then proceeded to down a massive bowl full of sticky rice from dinner....from dinner made two weeks ago :( In the haze of my carb lust I paid no attention to best before dates. There was no stopping me. I am not proud. What's interesting though, is that I recognized this pig out as simply being HUNGRY because I worked really hard, and had nothing to do with eating for the sake of eating. If I was eating for taste or the sake of eating or wanting something tasty, I would have devoured the cookies and cupcakes on the table, baked with care by roommate M, but which I have barely touched. No. Instead I freely chose the 2-week-old white rice. Why?
Well, I've been thinking a lot lately about exercise and fitness and happiness. Forever, I have held onto the opinion that if I work really hard, stick to eating good food, get to be as fit as I want, and therefore look how I want, the happiness will follow because I will be hot and awesome and then nothing can stop me. TURNS OUT that's not how it works. When I was slaving away at my previous miserable job before I went traveling, I got to a point where I was eating pretty good meals, and training a lot, but I made a lot of mistakes and it was hard to stick to most of the time. I'd eat really well all day, then come home and "reward" myself with something delicious but bad for me a few times a week. On the weekend all bets were off and I'd eat myself silly, usually downing some sort of greasy pub food a few times. Although it wasn't out of control, I still used food and the concept of "reward" copiously to make up for how miserable, out of control, and belittled I felt in my career. I trained to support my crappy eating habits, rather than training to make my body work better.
Since I've come home from traveling, and I feel respected and valued in my new position, it's been remarkably easy to do good things for myself. I don't finish the day feeling like I want to punch kittens or just sit and zone out in front of the TV until sleep comes. Food, although clearly still one my greatest pleasures, is not a reward for having endured something terrible. It's enough of a reward to feed my body with good things that make me feel and function better. Working out is something I look forward to, rather than just some more torture I have to put myself through before I can reward myself with a bag of buffalo and blue cheese potato chips (those are delicious). Heartbreak notwithstanding, I'm happier now that I have been in many a-year. And for that reason, I think my fitness goals are going to come a lot easier than I expected.
I've already lost 5 pounds! :)
It is, however, a cruel joke of biology that the boobs are always the first to go, but never the first to be packed on. Mother nature can be so catty sometimes.
Today's workout will be training again with Ms. Muscles followed by some hot yoga. Did I mention Ms. Muscles and I are going to see the nutty bananas tornado of crazy that is the artist formerly known as the artist formerly known as Prince - PRINCE - this weekend?!?!? Wicked....we're going to party like its 1999. Except maybe a little differently, because I don't want to party like I'm 14 years old again. There was a lot of bad hair.
PEACE! :)
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