I wrote a posting not too long ago, I guess, about wanting to get back to dating, et al. This was around when all the shit came down with my dad, so I’ve had a lot of time to think about things since.

A reader had commented something to the effect of, “Yeah, I hear a lot of talking, but what are you actually doing?”

I didn’t respond, but I’ve been giving it thought. Truth be told, I wasn’t doing a lot about it. I placed the Craigslist ad in the hopes that it would all magically work out and I’d suddenly stop wanting to isolate myself and work, but I’ve now realized the timing was off. I was telling myself I was ready for a relationship and now I think I wasn’t as ready as I’d like to be.

Not that there’s any kind of magical right amount of readyness. But I know I didn’t really have it. I’ve had a lot of self-doubt lately and a lot of questioning going on inside. I’m a little lost, to tell the truth, but I’m starting to feel like I’m finding myself again. Thing is, it’s been a tumultuous year for me and it’s hard to get your footing when the rug keeps getting pulled out from under you. And sometimes it’s easier to lie to myself about just where I’m at than it is to tell the truth. This being-human-ergo-fallible thing sucks ass.

In the past month, I’ve gained weight. I’m not happy about this. I’ve had a lot of stress and I just stopped exercising. I doubt I’ve gained much through eating, but still. I was pissed when I could no longer pretend that I hadn’t gained weight earlier this week. This is the first time in a couple years I’ve put any weight on. And, I’ll tell ya something, it ain’t staying put.

So, you wanna know what I’m doing then, do ya? This week and next are for recalibrating myself. I started a new fitness plan yesterday and by the way my muscles feel now, it’s working already. Later, to the beach for a walk. Monday, a new hairdo. My place is getting into the kind of condition where I’ll finally enjoy having company, which means it’s time to meet men. In the next week or so, I’ll get an ad up on Plenty of Fish, and I’ll see how things are going. I’m going slowly into the realm.

The Craigslist thing is difficult to do. It worked well the last time I did it, I guess, ’cause a familiar face emerged and I didn’t need to really try to pick and choose through 200 guys for who might make the best date. It’s VERY overwhelming to have all that interest at once. I tried to set up a few different dates, but I was being open and saying that there were a couple people I just wanted to meet and see what was happening with. Didn’t work. I should lie more, it would seem. I just can’t. I’m so fucking honest that I definitely have limitations in some ways. Keeps me out of some games. Whatever. I didn’t enjoy the Craigslist thing this time. I’m having some negative “men are such cowards” thoughts these days, so I’m hoping to put those to bed before I jump into the Plenty of Fish pool.

So, I’m going back to the online dating thing indeed. It’s more of a manageable flow. And I really think I need to get into more light, non-committal dating for a bit. I don’t know if I want the emotional intensity of a deeper relationship. That could just be fear of getting hurt talking, though. I suspect somewhere inside I’d probably really enjoy one of those deep and trusting relationships that have all those secret doors left open or at least ajar.

I do have to confess: It’s about time I gained some weight. I’ve lost a lot and without much effort, which is a good thing and a bad. If you don’t have to try and yet you’re losing weight, it’s easy to take food for granted. This scare with my dad kind of sent me eating bad for a bit, and now I’m trying to make up for it. It’s not like I’ve gained that much, but all the shirts that were just becoming lose have ceased and desisted the looseness and some even got a bit tighter.

But exercise is something that I tend to be excellent at if I can keep it up. I’m a strong girl. Big girl, but strong. This is probably the most intense a workout plan I’ve ever undertaken, but I absolutely loved it yesterday and felt great all day. And my endurance is pretty damned good when I get going on a workout plan. Like the Energizer Bunny, babe.

As soon as I have that feeling-great feeling every day, I’m totally all-in the dating game. But there’s no sense dating when you don’t feel sexy. And I haven’t been. Felt pretty cute yesterday though! I think, in hindsight, I was trying to provoke myself into being ready. I do that. Kinda faking myself out a bit. What? It works. Especially when some reader comes along and calls it like it is.

But don’t you go gettin’ ideas now. I see the light and I’m getting my shit together. The Further Chronicles of Steff will surely have some new fodder in the coming weeks. I will say this: I don’t believe in New Years’ Resolutions, but every Christmas Eve, I find some time to myself, do some writing, and take stock of who I’ve been in the last year and who I’d like to be in the coming year. It’ll be nice to have momentum before the calendars change again. Kinda fun. 🙂

Life has thrown me yet another hurdle, and I’m presently percolating, just taking it in and figuring out my next step. Despite all the stuff that’s going down, I’m much more even-keeled than I’ve been in a year or two. I’m sure it’s being off the pill that’s making me better able to process events. Yay. More later. I gotta get into the mindset of writing again. Chores, chores, they never end.

***

Three years ago, one of my two bestest friends got hitched. Naturally, I was bummed. I think when your formerly rebellious friends settle down and get mature there’s this “god, I’m getting old” reaction that’s pretty natural. This was one of these.

I was, however, touched when I learned that the two of them wished for me to do a reading of my choosing at their wedding. Reading, I’ll have you know, is not something I take lightly, especially the kind done aloud in public. And while I may not desire wedding bells in my near or even distant future, I fully appreciate the importance and magnitude of declaring your love to be another’s, and for life, in front of everyone who means anything to you.

So, it was something I considered for a long and hard time. What would I read? What could possibly capture the magnitude of this choice they’d made? The Christmas prior, when he emailed me to say he proposed and she accepted, I responded “How surprisingly optimistic of you to ask at all.” He’d never been a big believer in marriage, you see. We can all change.

Inevitably, I discovered my answer was under my nose the whole time. Since childhood, I’d always seen the boxed special edition of Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet on the family bookshelf. When my mother died, it moved in with me. Gibran was a poet and philosopher who was born in Lebanon and died in 1931, and The Prophet could rightly be described as his masterwork.

Easily a dozen or more people approached me after the services and at the reception to find out more about the author. I think it’s a great statement about committing to another person in any way, and thought I’d put an excerpt here.

Then Almitra spoke again and said,
And what of Marriage, master?
And he answered, saying:
You were born together,
and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together
when the white wings of death
scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together
even in the silent memory of God.
But let their be spaces
in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens
dance between you.

Love one another,
but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea
between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s cup
but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread,
but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous,
but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone
though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts,
but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life
can contain your hearts.
And stand together
yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple
stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress
grow not in each other’s shadow.

Really, I was just trying to explain that I still needed hang-time with my friend. Ha.

Here’s this week’s Sugasm. Party on, Wayne.

This week’s best of the sex blogs from the bloggers who blog them.

This Week’s Picks
To Tell or Not to Tell… (http://lipstickexplosion.com)
“Jane Falling claims it’s best not to tell, and she writes, ‘my identity as a prostitute is too serious a secret to trust with near-strangers.’”

Anti-Anti-Pornography, Part II (http://www.teen-porn-site.com/blog)
“One question I would like to ask them is – were there any rape or child abuse cases *before* the invention of pornography?”

To Shave or Not to Shave (http://www.model-chat.com)
“I stayed full bush for about my first two weeks as a live adult host.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Silence is better than bullshit (unless you’re a Gold-level member) (http://sugarbank.com)

Editors’ Choice
Pillow Talk: Interview with Razor Ryan (http://adelehaze.com)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

50 Sexual Things About Me (http://dirtytalk.wordpress.com)
Fun With Futanari (http://shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)
I’m So Tired (http://hard-and-fast.blogspot.com)
Rediscovering the Secret to Great Sex (http://www.taratainton.com)

NSFW Pics (& videos)
Alison & Peachez (video) (http://hotboxbabe.thumblogger.com)
Chelsea (4) (video) (http://ipodteens.ilovejulienight.com)
Hotel Rendezvous (video) (http://myhotbox.blogspot.com)
Jennifer Kotwal (http://desibabes.blogspot.com)
Mistress Natali Demore (Awesome ass!) (video) (http://www.thebootcam.com)
Nora Marlo (http://eroticandy.blogspot.com)

Sex Work
A Soft Click (http://radicalvixen.com/blog)

Sex & Politics
RANT: Show Me The Pussy! (http://smutandsteff.com)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Buttered Up (http://thebutterflytemptress.com)
A Cure for Kleptomania? (http://thediaryofanenglishrose.blogspot.com)
Down the Coast, Part II (http://www.betweensheets.net)
Flying Buttons (http://bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com)
Frenetic (http://ambientstorm.blogspot.com)
A holiday to remember. (http://wanklog.blogspot.com)
A Little Bit of Madness (http://femmefataleteen.blogspot.com)
Mr Henry Recommends… (http://junohenry.wordpress.com)
Outdoor Sex (http://mandyseroticlife.blogspot.com)
Recipe for Suck Sex (http://dirtydetails.blogspot.com)
Saturday Night Fun a la The Wife (http://fourstate.blogspot.com)
Sharing her… (http://dirtylittlecockslut.blogspot.com)
Starfucker: My First Time Watching Sex (http://perverselypoly.blogspot.com)

Sexy Humor
5 Reasons Why Porn Made Sex Better (http://ylovesporn.com)

BDSM and Fetish
Correction (http://secretlifeofaman.blogspot.com)
Fiction or Not, You Tell Me? (http://psoprincess.blogspot.com)
He’s Got the Look (http://www.spankingwriters.com)
HNT: Have a nice day! (http://www.the-iron-gate.com/blog)
A Nawty Story: Kitten Comes Clean (http://anawtymouz.blogspot.com)
Retribution (http://nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com)
Sadism and domestic violence (http://www.bondage-guide.net)

Sex Advice, News, Reviews & Interviews
Free Shipping for your Holiday Shopping! (http://www.tarasnaughtyshop.com)
An Herbivores Guide to Safe Sex (http://blog.babeland.com)
Pillow Talk: Interview with Razor Ryan (http://adelehaze.com)
Revolutionary Cybersex (http://www.1trackmind.com/blog)
Threesome Advice (part 1) (video) (http://www.seskuality.com)

I did a thingie-thing on Show Me the Money, the blatantly sexual and sexist new gameshow. Someone commented that I should let it go, ‘cos sex has always sold, and it’ll never change.

So, you misunderstand me. I don’t care that they’re using sex to sell. I know sex sells. I count on sex selling. I beg you from my undersexed standing in life, please, continue using sex to sell. It’s all I’m getting. Hell, we’re all primal. We’re always going to love the idea of tossing convention aside and getting heavy, shagging like beasts. If I had a problem with that, it’d make me a hypocrite.

MY problem is an altogether different thing. My problem is using chicks as statues for no reason other than they’re scantily clad. My problem is that we forget that sexy can span many different looks and feels. A chick in a couple tight, layered t-shirts and tight blue jeans and 3″ heels is sexy, too. A sexpot smeared with automobile grease and wearing a grease-smeared coverall unbuttoned to the navel with a sweat-soaked tank on and a sloppy ponytail’s pretty fucking hot too. Then there’s Meg Ryan in City of Angels with her surgical scrub bottoms and her white tanktop and bare feet looking pretty goddamned hot, too. Why does it always have to be a fucking micro tube dress? Can’t we expand our perceptions? How about a sexy chick in cat-eye glasses, an open tuxedo shirt, black lace nylons, a garter, a loose bow-tie, and red silk bra and panties, standing there with a martini in her hand?

And the statues thing — they can’t really talk. They parrot cliched lines. They contribute nothing but aesthetic. That bothers me. I’m sick and tired of people forgetting that, as Pink says, sexy and smart are not oil and water.

I despise seeing mute cookie-cutter models. I want sexy brainiacs. I say bring back the naughty librarian. Overdue? You’re going to be punished. Bend over.

What happened to hot chicks with authority? Remember Nicholson’s controversial quote in A Few Good Men? “There’s nothing more sexy on this earth, I tell you, than a woman you have to salute in the morning. Promote them all, I say. If you haven’t had a blowjob from a woman that outranks you, you’re letting the best in life pass you by. Unfortunately, I have to settle with cold showers until the elect a woman in the White House.”

Instead, we have Barbies just standing there, looking pretty. If desire is about wanting what you can’t have, then let’s raise the bar for the women we have as sex objects. I should think a stupid bimbette would be far more attainable than a sexy, authoritarian, smart, bold woman emanating sexual confidence, wouldn’t you?

I’m angry that stereotypes and cliches still dominate the landscape. I’m angry that we seem to be demanding less of sex than we used to. I’d rather us be exploiting women a la Foxy Brown than these gameshow cookie-cutters. Let’s put the sexiness back into the bitch slap and see if we can’t have a little more powerful women in these blatant sexual roles. I want more hot and vibrant women like the dynamite Sara Ramirez, who plays the smart, feisty, independent, sexually assertive, no-apologies Callie Torres on Grey’s Anatomy.

But, by all means, continue using sex to sell. Just don’t forget to add the smarts. We should demand more of our sexploitation. After all, isn’t it about revving up our fantasies? C’mon, dream bigger. Dream better.

***

Wow, two posts, one day. Woo hoo. I’m takin’ tomorrah off. It’s the Grey Cup weekend here (the Canuck version of the Super Bowl) and I have managed to secure a tellyvision for my daddy’s hospital room. I’m going out to watch the game with Dad. Should make his day, methinks!

I have had a hell of a couple of weeks, and I’m glad things are going much better. My dad should still be in the hospital this coming week, but he’ll be home in the next 10 days or so.

I’m giving myself a slack weekend, and then I’ll be getting cracking, back to work on things. I have trouble managing my time, so I need to find a way to get everything I need to do done in the best possible time-frame, because I need more do-nothing or wut-I-want weekend days in my life.

I need to make time available so I can find a way to get a guy involved in my life. I’ve been one of those people claiming I don’t have time for love for too long now, and it’s time I figure out a way to make that change. I don’t want to be single. I want to be a party of two for a little while and I think I’m finally ready to go that route.

I saw a show recently where a person said the best thing they ever learned was To not waste time. And it’s time I learn the truth of that for myself, I figure.

I was thinking about the podcast I need to finally get to when things settle down. I want to do a show about being single when you don’t want to be and the frustrations it brings. There are a lot of times I’m really cool with being single, and I think it comes from sort of knowing that I need the time to sort myself out or make changes in my life, and I’m all right with that. I can almost resign myself to enjoying it, really.

But there are times when we realize that it’s about as together as it’s going to get, you know? Moments when you realize that, hey, there’s always going to be a wrinkle in the fabric. That’s just the way it goes. And I’m a pragmatist, too. I don’t think there’s “one right guy” for me. I’m open-minded about people and try to see the best in folks, if they’ll let me. And because there’s no one right guy I also don’t suspect there’s one right relationship for forever and ever. I would hope I could find that, a person worth making that kind of commitment to, but I know the odds are sort of stacked against that.

Relationships are subject to variables and outside factors, just like gamblers’ odds. You have to acknowledge variables — money, status, geography, careers, medical issues, time constraints, responsibilities, and plain old luck — and you have to realize that any combination of variables could serve to bust even the most hardiest of bets. People want to think that a great combination of interests and compatibilities and even trust and communication are enough to sustain a relationship through hard times. But, no. Not often.

So, I expect most relationships to fail. A bit cynical, perhaps, but it’s just realism in my books. I accept things are liable to fail at the outset. I don’t try to stack the deck, though. I just watch with a bit of a removed stance. Look for variations and tells.

Relationships are a risk. And yeah, they often end not so well. But the point is to enjoy the ride while it lasts. Play the game for the game, not the outcome.

So, I’m feeling like I want to be stuck in a moment. And I know I got game. I expect I’m liable to get hurt or disappointed at some point down the line, yet it still seems like some fun could be had before that fact. I’m at the point now where I’m getting sick of being single, ‘cos I actually have got the nerve up to go out there and be vulnerable again. Whump! Hear that? It’s the sound of my guard dropping. So, we’ll see what happens. The Craigslist thing was a waste of time — too much has happened. I might have something in the works. We’ll see. You will be apprised of developments, to be sure.

Oh, wow. Just wow. Just when you thought primetime gameshows couldn’t stoop any lower. Have you seen Show Me The Money? I bet you haven’t. And you know what? That’s really okay. It will be minutes and minutes of your life that you will never get to live again, and that’s a price far too high to pay. After all, you could just go to Hooters, and then you’d at least get some wings and a beer with your t’n’a.

I’m sure there are young lesbians and boys everywhere just salivating over this show. I’m waiting for the Clearasil ads to appear in the commercial slots. That and Trojan condoms. For her pleasure.

This thing, man, it’s Reno, not Las Vegas, goes gameshow. It debuts Nov. 22, on ABC. They had a special preview tonight. Aw, gee. Special! Thanks, ABC!

Your host? William Shatner. Who, I might add, is all gussied-up like a ‘70s porn producer who has a side gig as Tony Bennet’s promoter. Black tuxedo shirt, red vest, black tuxedo suit. Shit-eating grin. Alcoholic’s doughiness.

His sidekick? Why, there’s a good dozen or so of ‘em! The Dancers! Yes, if that ‘80s institution, Solid Gold, mated with The Price Is Right, it would be this. Throw in a healthy dose of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? and Deal or No Deal? and you got yourself Show Me The Money. They’re all bombshells, too, and you just KNOW their cellphones have at least one plastic surgeon’s number in ’em.

This, quite possibly, could honestly be as low as it goes. I mean, you couldn’t have more blatant sexualizing of women that you’ve got in this fucking show. You got yer 13 dancers, and they’re all ho’d up with their red micro-tube dress with hollowed-out backs. They come in dancing like they’re fresh from their Girls! Girls! Girls! tour where they took on names like Fluffy Cums-a-Lot and Mi-Yung Cunt.

And they all take their places on the stage, which, I shit you not, has six or so “terraces” and each, heh heh, comes with its very own pole. Uh-huh. And all these girls do is stand there beside a scroll that’s sitting on a stool, and they wait until, yes, the “contestant” chooses them and has them serve their use. And then, well, they’re no longer of any use and they stand there looking pretty, until Shatner instructs them to dance.

Even the stage/studio is decorated like it’s a stripper club out of Beverly Hills Cop.

Good god. And you should see fucking Shatner! At the end of the show, his eyes practically POP with glee when he says, “Ladies, let’s have the dance for this-hot-young-sailor-from-the-Navy-but-I-can’t-remember-his-name.” And Shatner gets down and boogies with the girls on the stage, surrounding the sailor, who’s a fucking numbskull and lost $420,000 on a dumb-ass question. I veto his right to oxygen, all right? Paula Abul? Paula Poundstone! Fucking ditz.

The only thing I can possibly say about the show is that it’s about goddamned time that someone thanked Cameron Crowe for his “gimme” of a gameshow title, a la Cuba Gooding Jr. and his Scientologist freak of a friend, Tom Cruise. Hell. It took, what, eight years? It was only the most repeated phrase that year. Who doesn’t compute it to be a good name for a gameshow? Not a piece of shit like this, but hey, good name.

The premise of the game is too fucking complicated to explain in a nutshell, ergo the show probably has an unfortunate half-life of about 2/3s of a season. If that. But the premise itself? Not too bad. No brains involved, really, and far too many safeties built in, even though you know they’re prescreening the contestants, and it’s obvious they’re stacking the deck.

Don’t even get me fucking started about the dancers. Throw any old goddamned mix of feminist complaints in there and I’ll go “Yeah! That!” Treating women as sexual objects? They DANCE on FUCKING COMMAND! They’re USED ONCE and DISCARDED. They serve no purpose but that of looking pretty… suggestive. What they do, a chimpanzee – or a signboard – could do.

Yeah, you’re bloody right I find it offensive! I find it STUNNING to be happening so blatantly, and with few apologies, in a mainstream primetime slot! Fuck, man. It’s 2006. Can we please get the hell past Barbie?

I don’t know, man. How do you close with a “bang” on something so goddamned potent as this? A creepy old dirty widower who won an Emmy playing a redneck misogynist (if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, chances are…) and a dozen chicks who are trying to fuck their way into a better place in Hollywood, each of whom has their very own pole on primetime television (but – wink, wink – they don’t use it). I honestly am at a loss here. I’m really beginning to wonder if the whole women’s movement-success/advancement-of-women’s-issues thing was just a really dull, happy dream I had had that I’m finally waking up from. I mean, I just got to wonder.

Don’t you?

Wow. Ever notice after a great period of stress, that when you’re finally able to relax, you’re just wiped right out? I am! I’m e-x-h-a-u-s-t-e-d. Whew!

But that’s because I know I don’t need to worry about Pops anymore. Saw him yesterday and the dude looks 15 years younger! His hair’s gone all grey now, which looks distinguished on him, and his complexion’s clearer than it’s been in about five years. Dad’ll still be in the hospital another week or two, but the scary stuff has passed now, and it’s just getting that last little bit of healing in that counts. But having spoken to Dad finally, with him now being clearheaded and with his faculties intact, it’s official: He’s got a fight in him. Whew. And his diet that he needs to go on to get his diabetes under control has gotten a great kickstart — he’s lost about 50lbs in 10 or 12 days. Yeesh. I gotta get me an IV bag and some 24-hour bed care, huh? Where’s a cute male nurse when a girl needs one?

Speaking of cute, he had the most adorable doctor. I think the guy was a gross between Dr. McDreamy and John Lennon. He had a wrinkly suit on and hipster kicks. More importantly? Dad loves him to death. My dad’s always gone with the underdog, even when it comes with his healthcare. I’m calling his doctor Dr. Pampers, because I doubt he’s even 30.

Sadly, I’ve been kicked out before the doctor’s come in the last couple times. No flirting. Sigh.

Sorry, kids, but I haven’t wanted to do any writing — I’m flat-out tired. I’m SPENT. Utterly. I did some photography on the weekend, but now I need to catch up on sleep and rest. Stay tuned, I’ll definitely be feeling like writing once this exhaustion hangover goes away. Yawn. Grumble. And, to think: I need to work. Ugh!

Hey, peoples.

Checking in again. There’ve finally been some positive developments on the Dad Front. Reports indicate the battle of the bad bacteria is being won by a triple-hit of broad-spectrum antibiotics. Infections appear to be retreating, but it’s too soon to tell if the revolt is going to settle entirely, or if the battle will be stretched out for a spell.

Still, positive developments and we’re keeping an eye on things.

So, Dad’s starting to improve, in other words. I’m a pretty pleased kid today, and this is my reconnecting with self day.

I’m about to head out into the rainy dreary Wet Coast Sunday and make a dash to the cemetery, where I’m going to get some moody weather shots with tombstones and stuff. I’ve always loved moody, atmospheric black & whites that use weather and the winter season to set the mood. This has been on my creative to-do list for a few years now. Cross that one off, Bertha. It’s done like dinner. Then, speaking of food, off to the public markets for good fresh foods for my isolation dinner. To hell with people — it’s a quiet night in before another day at the hospital tomorrow. And muchos sleep for the third night in a row. Rest is awesome. Maybe I’ll soon lose the dark bags under my eyes. How unsexy.

Thanks for your positive thoughts, people. It looks like Dad’s gonna have another kick at the can. Let’s hope he appreciates it and decides to fight the good fight against diabetes. If not, well, hey. I’ll make do with it as I can.

Soon, we’ll get back to matters of the heart. Reality breaks are needed from time to time. Speaking of cemetaries and matters of the heart, I was doing a little writing during Harold and Maude. I’ll get that up sometime.

Hi there, my good people.

I’m hunkering down for a storm that’s just now beginning to rage, and rage it will. Winds shall break 120 km/hr tonight. I think that’s 85 miles, for you metrically-challenged Americans.

It’s stormy nights like this that I enjoy not being single. Which I’m not. I’m single, not not single. Still. I did have a date recently, which I think we both realized wasn’t working out. Nice enough guy, but certainly no go. Lemme give you a very, very simple tip.

If your date can’t find enough time for you on the first date, and he/she keeps answering their cellphone, it may be an indicator that you’re not going to be priority one any time soon in the future, either. Don’t get involved and then wonder why they never have 100% of their attention thrown your way — it was made clear that was the case from day one.

Know those little things I’m always looking for? Just another example. Me, my cellphone gets turned off.

My date was cellphone-challenged. I’m not too keen on men who don’t focus their attention on me. Some careers require it, but most careers can come with, oh, a four-hour pause button.

Anyhow. As it happens, single I am. Amazing what running a Craigslist ad and then posting something freaky about your dad’s health and the drama you’re facing can do to make men run like they’re in the streets of Pamplona, fleeing a herd of crazed bulls looking to trample them to death.

Not like I care, really. I just haven’t the energy to bother. I’ve had better results other times, and I think I wasn’t in the headspace anyhow. I think I wanted a good shagging, really. The rest is difficult to manouever at times, and my head’s been in the wrong fucking place on a whole lot of levels for a whole lotta time.

I’ll tell you one thing, though: Dealing with disease and the threat of loved ones passing tends to remind you that life’s too fucking short to put the living on hold.

There are many variations of the same saying, and my two favourite come from 1) The Shawshank Redemption, and 2) a quote by the highly controversial Ayn Rand. They are, respectively, “Get busy livin’, or get busy dyin'” and “Man’s greatest fault is is inability to realize that avoiding death does not equal living life.” Oh, and a third, from Virginia Woolf, “Look out! If you are losing your leisure, it may be you are losing your soul.”

I’ve had big wake-ups in my life and many, many of them. My near-death scenarios alone are enough to make me realize how precious this all is, let alone the deaths of those around me. Yet, like everyone else, I forget how important moments are, and how unique every day is. I fall into the drone of the routine. I am just another mindless soul shuffling down the city streets, just like you. And sometimes I manage to wake the hell up and stop avoiding death just long enough to live a little life for a bit.

I have been working like a dog for all the wrong reasons. I’ve not been enjoying my life. I don’t have fun with my friends. I don’t get shagged or date or smile unprovoked these days. Something slipped away from me during all my crazy, crazy months that have started and persisted throughout this dreaded year of 2006. Some good moments in there, to be sure, but it’s mostly been stress and worry, and for what? Has it all been worth it? The short answer: Not on your life. Certainly not on mine.

Now my father lies in ICU, his condition not changing, which is good and bad all at the same time. And I remember: I was always the smell-the-roses type. You know, I have previously planned roadtrips so minutely as to pre-arrange my positioning for sunrises. You know, on top of X mountain for sunrise, that sort of thing. I know how to live life. Goddamned right I do. I know how to indulge and laugh and be spontaneous. Hell, I wrote the fucking book on it. Yet I, too, have fallen victim to coasting through life on cruise control instead of grabbing the fucking wheel and just going, you know?

I suspect my father will get well. There’s no hard proof. Just hope and prayers and superstitious rituals. I know I’ll still be single when the windows start to clatter and the winds really howl as they rip through the gap between these two apartment buildings late tonight. I know that, no matter what happens tomorrow, with me, my father, my life, that I’ll still have a pulse and life will still be there, waiting to be lived by a girl with as keen a passion for life as I know I once had and will have again.

Anyhow. This is a meandering post, but I just wanted to check in, say hey, I’m still around, and yeah, life’s a bitch and a grind, but it is what it is, and even in the shittiest of days there can be pluses to be had. Just takes a little creativity and a whole lot of willingness to look at the finer points in order to find the good stuff. Somehow, I’m managing to do just that.

Meanwhile. I’m overdue for a nice hot bath. Enjoy your warm-bodied bed-buddies if you have ’em. This girl’s a low-maintenance party of one this evening.

As Canadians, most of the people I know were obsessed with the voting returns last night. I applaud the new Democratic House and I’m curious to see what the next couple years will be like. I’m also happy to see a female Speaker of the House. Wow. There’s a neat change in the U.S. Go, Nancy.

As for my father, ICU seems to be the perfect place for him. He’s slowly improving. Had some colour yesterday, and even though he was too weak to communicate much, he had a ferocious grip in his hands and squeezed my brother’s and my hands and looked on us with great affection that still makes me smile now. Who says you need words to know you’re loved? I’ll know more later this week, but I’m optimistic he’ll get past this and I can return to being a happy Steff. Stay tuned.

(FYI: My father’s taken a turn for the worse. Intensive care, life support. The news looks bad. I don’t know if he’ll make it through the next few days. This blog is not a priority, but it can be cathartic. I don’t suspect I’ll be a barrell of laughs for a bit.)