Category Archives: Being single

The Requisite Quarterly Drunken Posting (Hicc)

So, I’m drunk. It’s been forever and a day since I’ve drank and blogged, so you’re owed, dear reader, you’re owed.
Of course, there’s about 60% chance that this posting will suck, but I’ve given you the “I’m drunk” caveat and I’m good if you are. πŸ™‚ Mm, wine!
It’s a cheap and dirty Californian Burgundy. I know, “They have Burgundies in California? It’s a region, you know… Burgundy? Like, in France? Hence the name? Like, French?”
I know, I know. I know. Hey, it’s $6.99. It’s probably one of those proverbial 99-cent bottles of wine from the great Sunshine State. Whatever. It’s all right. I find, sometimes, that life’s just so much simpler if you opt to lower your standards a notch or two, and open your mind. There’s only something wrong if you choose to notice it, right?
So, I says: Fabulous. Tasty, that. I had one of the lofty government liquor store employees recommend me something tasty and light that would work with sauteed salmon. I say it works with getting drunk, that’s what I say.
I decided a second ago that I needed candles and some music, so I’ve opted for Elton John Live in Australia, and lit four candles. And I had a moment… just then. On my quest, I flicked on the light and caught my gaze in a mirror. And this toned, getting tanned face was looking back at me. My face has been lost in an overgrown bad haircut for more than a month… and I’ve lost about 15 pounds in that time. Tonight, wow. It shows. I hadn’t seen that yet, and I cycled 30km today. And to catch myself off-guard, you know?
Maybe you don’t. When you’re in a process of change like I think I’ve been in, just hitting it hard, and working to lose the weight — not relying on a diet plan or something like that to get you through, but sweating hard for six, eight, ten hours a week on top of full-time work, doing the whole “I cook and clean for myself” thing, and maintaining a life, a blog, all that, you get absorbed in life, you know? Months go by when you’re conscious you’re changing a bit, but all it takes is something completely new to enter the picture and you suddenly realize how much change there’s really been from then to now. A haircut shows new face angles you’ve not noticed, or a new outfit betrays new hot curves. Doesn’t take much. But it can blow a mind, baby.
So I’ve had my moment. Sure, I’m drunk, but I hope I remember it. Heh. Or else I get a two-fer and I have the same epiphany when I wake up and get sober. “Holy shit! I’ve lost weight!” Awesome. A two-fer! On a Saturday morning on a four-day long weekend? Fuckin’ a, I’ll take a two-fer. πŸ™‚
Ahh, well. Here’s a promise I make you, readers. I’m stewing on a few heavy, heavy postings. To come in the coming weeks are possibly an entire series devoted to Teen Sex in America Today… or at least my take on it. That will segue into a story or two on the state of AIDS in the world today. I may tackle a sociological story on the demise of the tradition of abdication of femininity of Albanian women who wish to become the clan leaders for their family, a really interesting change in society that’s brought entirely about by media and the new chicks in the spotlight worldwide, an interesting story I’d like to weigh in on.
And, fuck, I can’t forget the long-awaited rise of gay marriage in California, now, can I? More importantly, but less covered, is New York’s decision to start legalizing the recognition of gay marriages performed in states where it is legal. Performing one isn’t legal yet in NY, I don’t think, but they’re opting to legally recognize ones performed elsewhere, so that’s fucking huge, man.
It’s been a really important month in sex and politics, but I’ve sort of needed to take some mental time off.
Tonight, drunk though I be, I feel really, really keen to start tackling some of the harder stuff.
The sex with teenagers thing in America, man, that’s just so depressing, and so very, very scary, and why the mainstream media isn’t covering it more when there’s four months before an election just baffles the fuck out of me. And I’ve been holding back, because when I let go on it, it’s going to be in several back-to-back postings. It’s important. When one in four girls who are 14-16 has an STD under an administration that has pushed abstinence-only education, something NEEDS to be said. 25% of mid-teens are carrying an STD, and it’s not a major issue?
HELLO? Scientists in Antarctica are given condoms on the government dime when sex with coworkers is considered sexual harassment, but kids aren’t taught about condoms in school? Like, what the fuck? Sure, the Wii is fun, but I’d much rather be playing with the cutie from Biology, you know what I’m saying? Can’t get drugs, can’t buy booze, but the bodies are there in the offing? “Duh.”
So, all right, I’ll be tackling that very, very soon. Fuck it, this weekend, even. It’s time, man.
I digress: Before my decision to drink a bottle of red wine (I have a glass in front of me still), I had cycled around much of the fabulous city of Vancouver this evening. About 30k. Gorgeous. It’s the night before a heatwave. In fact, it’s nigh on midnight and all my windows and doors have been open since eight, and it’s hotter now than when I came home. Still, I love me a heatwave and have a notion to do a long, long ride when the bitter hot-hot-hot kicks in tomorrow afternoon, after I scoot around town for the fine fixings for a great weekend from an assortment of farmers’ markets. I can’t afford big things, but I can afford locally-grown organic lettuce and farm-fresh potatoes, and isn’t that something fantastic right there?
I get to babysit a friend’s cat tomorrow night, which is really to say I get to babysit his Wii. My centre of balance is apparently dead centre, says Wii. I rock. Methinks I’m getting drunk again. I mean, if I’m dead centre anyhow, right? I’ll just make sure I move that glass coffee table to a galaxy far, far away…
Fuck, now I want to watch Star Wars and visit galaxies far, far away. Sigh. Great cheap red. I think it’s a hallucinogenic. God knows we loves our hallucinogenics.
My drunk ass needs to be elsewhere. But I feel fantastic! It’s going to be a fun few days. Ahh, cheap red wine, how doth my cheap ass love thee. Expensive red wine I also love, and can appreciate, but I just know how to slum when it’s necessary.
And, believe me… everyone needs to slum it some of the time. It makes the rest of the time feel spectacular. Still, for $6… I bet I feel richer than you right now. It’s good to be me. You have yourselves a fabulous weekend. I might be getting lost in the world a little. Shouldn’t we all?

Things I Love to Do, and Can, 'Cause I'm Single – #17

Leaving work early, like I have something important to rush off for, but, really, all I want to do is have a dinner date with myself: Get to a local Farmer’s Market before it closes, buy ingredients for a as-yet-undecided very in-season gourmet meal with fresh local Coho salmon, heirloom tomatoes, a bottle of wine, and some artisan bread. Then, cooking the best meal I know how, with my incredible just-harvested organic produce… and getting a little drunk. Hicc.
[I blogged about my culinary adventure on TLD.]
(Check the comments for the complete list, amended with the latest reader additions. Leave a comment with your own thing you love to do when you’re all alone, single or not. You never know, it might inspire someone you’ll never meet half a world away. Gotta love the Web.)

Things I Love to Do, and Can, 'Cause I'm Single – #14

I think I’ve started something here, so I’m now compiling a complete list of these, including reader suggestions for additional points. See the comments on this posting for the complete list. Have your say and get on the list, if ya like. Have at it.

Having a four-day long weekend planned with exciting things to do with myself, by myself, before a crazy two weeks begins:
An afternoon at the beach, a long ambling bikeride to an old independent theatre for an afternoon matinee, a sleep-in and a DVD day, and a day packed with to-dos to scratch off the list. A bottle of wine. Maybe even two. An expensive steak, a fancy meal. Maybe 2. Maybe 4. Hell, maybe 10. All for me. Because I’m worth it. Because life’s short.

Things I Love to Do, and Can, 'Cause I'm Single – #7

Note: If you’re wondering why the list started at #6, it’s because I thought “sleep in, get drunk, masturbate, burp, and wear pajamas for the whole day” were really obvious as a solid lock for the top 5. I mean, really, come on. They’re universal. We’re not proud that we like to be that way sometimes, but we secretly love to do ’em all. And on the same day? Ha, yeah, score. It’s the Catholic way to sin: In a bunch, so you can be penitent all in one shot and get the guilt over with sooner. I thought it only fitting I take a moment to acknowledge what should be obvious but, in the Puritanical age we sometimes seem to live in, may well not be obvious, in tribute to the dear departed George Carlin, who I know would really understand.

Saying “My holiday can’t end this soon!” and sleeping in till 8 on a Monday, then casually cycling to work at 11 after an eggs-and-sausage brekkie, and getting home at 8:30, with supper getting on the table around 9:30. Like I did today and tonight. πŸ™‚

And Then There Was Sloth

Behold! What is that slow-moving mostly-horizontal creature on yonder horizon?
It be Steff! Yes, yes. Embracing the spirit of “r and r” to the, well, letter, yes, here on day four of the vacation. Yesterday I cycled. Today, I’ll do yoga. And a little light cleaning. I’ve done dishes. Faced the ugly bits-of-food sink-clogging drama that I so hate. I blame the chickpeas. I’ve taken out some trash. Laundry. Bleh. But at least I’m moving around and doing things.
Saturday: I blogged. The rest of the day? I was too tired to even go choose one of my DVDs to watch. I could have been entertained by a test pattern. Then I went to bed at 10. How’s that for exciting?
After months of go-go-go, I stopped. I barely even cooked. Yesterday, I finally cycled. And I remembered why all the go-go-go, as hard as it was, often felt completely, totally worth it, if only in little tiny moments.
Cycling was awesome. Beautiful breeze with salt in the air, just hot enough. Mostly empty trails. Not too dusty yet. Spring air. Great scenery. It was one of those brief but indelible “Nobody anywhere is having a nicer time than I am at exactly this minute. This is contentment” moments. They don’t come around often, so it’s nice to do like I did: Stop the bike, take a look around, and say “Yes, life is sweet”. I took a deep breath, grinned, and played “No Rain” on my iPOD and carried on. I just loved the whole experience from start to finish. The perfect ride.
I caught a snippet of a show not too long ago, Serious Andes, a BBC reality show with kids where 8 preteens from 12 to 14 are taken on an expedition up the 20,000-foot Cotopaxi volcano in the Andes, a journey that would cripple most adults, and, on top of that, they were to build a massive enclosure for endangered bears being returned to the wild, as their final stop before the wild. This 12-year-old, Josh, at the end of building the massive bear enclosure by themselves, mixing thousands of buckets of concrete by hand at high altitude, and doing fencing, in freezing ice rain, for nearly a week, at 2am in the morning, dead tired, just stops, looks around, turns to the camera, and goes, “I’m taking a moment to remember how great this moment feels, because I have to remember this for the rest of my life.”
And I found myself wondering just how many adults are wise enough to consciously stop in the middle of truly great moments to make a note of how THAT feels so you can draw upon that memory, that bliss, through all your moments left to live in your life. Do you? Do you really realize your memory of THAT moment needs to stand up for 30, 40, 50, 60 years in your mind? Do you?
I do. I’ve been this way, since, fuck, I don’t know. I was a kid, I guess. I’m totally fine today, but as a kid I had a rare kidney condition and spent some time in the Children’s Hospital, on the cancer ward, ‘cos my condition was serious at the time. I was in the room with Lisa, a 13-year-old with lung cancer. She was awesome. Funny, beautiful. She was 13.
And I woke up after a few days of bunking with her, and she was dead. Alarms had blared. Something happened. She died, and now the gurney squeaked as her body was taken out. I think I realized then how small we all are in the scheme of things, how quickly things pass and change.
I haven’t used that lesson to the best of my abilities, but at least I use it. I don’t live every day with reckless abandon, hedonistic “today’s the first day of the rest of your life” fervour, but I certainly find it in me to celebrate moments. And there, alone, under a blue sky by a rushing river, no one around but the ducks, I felt about as alive and grateful as I’ve ever felt. Didn’t cost me a cent, didn’t require anyone’s interaction, didn’t even need me going on a voyage. Just an iPOD and a bike and there you have it. Life, and the meaning thereof, served on a platter, if only for the briefest of moments.
Why are here? ‘Cause we lucked out. What are you gonna do about it? What’s the meaning of life? I don’t know, but I’ve long since decided giving it meaning is the next best thing to knowing.
And clarity may only come in the briefest of moments, but if you stop and enjoy it, the briefest of moments is all you really need.
So here I am now, enjoying my old new wave music, bopping around my apartment, doing nothing… because, right now, nothing feels like everything.

Rant: Tired of Defending a "Party of One"

As a blogger, nothing gets me going better than comments. It’s when people comment that we know we’ve said something not only worth reading, but worth considering, and sometimes even worth arguing.

Yesterday’s posting
inspired a bit of a discussion between a couple of readers, so I’ll excerpt those comments here:

Anon: “And that’s the secret about being single, it’s realizing life doesn’t have to only be in parties of two.”
Even when you realize it, you need to make a conscious effort to remind yourself of it every single day. We’re all being bombarded with that you’re-nobody-until-somebody-loves-you message 24/7, and it can be hard not to be swayed by it even when you know better.
CJ commented: I actually don’t find it all that difficult to ignore that kind of generalized message. I’ve come to really believe you can’t love somebody until you love yourself; stir in a general skepticism of ‘socially accepted’ concepts, with a dash of the cynical standby “people in large groups are stupid,” and it becomes surprisingly easy to dismiss whatever subliminal messages might be thrown my way.
Anon retorted: If you buck the pairing trend long enough, the messages become overt as well as subliminal. You may not agree with the ideals of society, but you still have to live in it & interact with it every day. Sometimes having to be constantly prepared to deal with flak for being alone gets old; sometimes it causes doubts. If you don’t find yourself occasionally susceptible to that, then good for you.

This is going to be a heated post, hence why it’s a “rant”. But it’s easy to think I’m aiming this at CJ, but I’m not. If you read the comments after this posting, I’ll expound in there. Long story short is, his comment just inspired me. Heh. For better or worse, hey?
I’ve always been the kind of person who would rather be single than fuck around swimming in a dating pool filled with less than desirable options. I go through dating phases, and either I find someone, or the search for someone begins to tire me and I think “All this bullshit energy I’m wasting looking for someone could be used to live my life instead, so what the fuck am I looking for, really, anyhow?” followed by a realization of, “I don’t even need this!”
Someone asked me the other night why I haven’t been at least trying to get laid, and the answer was simple, “A, my options for getting laid haven’t been inspiring, and, B, the only thing worse than not getting laid is having bad sex, so, I’m opting out for now.”
And because I think like this, you’d think it’d be easy for me to ignore the “You’re nobody till somebody loves you” old line that keeps running through society and crooners of an age gone by.
And you would be wrong.
I’m often finding myself feeling like a loser because I feel left out in love. It may happen for only 30 seconds, or it may happen for three days, but it happens. Why? Because I’m made of flesh and blood and I’m stuck in a world infinitely bigger than me. It happens. And it will continue to happen.
When people like CJ can flippantly say “Yeah, well, ignore it”, it makes me think of two things. Either he’s under 25 and hasn’t experienced the way flying solo feels when you get embroiled in your career, and life is full of long days and nights that become more quiet than not, and week after week after week after week, or he’s just never opted to fly solo long enough.
And it all changes after 30. When you hit 30 and you start opting to be alone, like the Anon had said, the messages get more and more overt. Especially if you’re female. Of course guys should stay single and play the field! He can get shagged by different women all the time! But if you’re a woman, you’re an old maid-to-be, or slut like Samantha from Sex and the City.
“Well, wouldn’t you like to settle down?” gets asked of us. Like it’s some big switch we flick on and just magically find the perfect partner. Oh, here, let’s just turn on that big shiny neon “MATE ME” sign on my forehead, right? It’s THAT easy to fall in love and spend the rest of your life nestled in those lovin’ arms. And it’s a green light from our desire to finding the perfect mate for us? Just like that? So simple. Sign me up! Yeah, sure. Right.
Or we get “Wow, I can’t believe someone hasn’t snapped you right up yet?”, which encourages mental retorts along the line of “That makes fucking two of us, genius” or “You shoulda seen who wanted to do the snapping”, but instead we smile sweetly and say something coy, like, “Why don’t you tell me?”
Then we’re told by the media, “Well, there’s so many people out there looking! Look at the popularity of eHarmony and Lavalife! Finding a mate has never, ever been easier! You just have to look! Whoop, there it is!
The trouble is, finding a mate is easier than ever, but so too is getting rejected and being treated like shit. The online dating world is fraught with inconsideration, it’s-all-about-me attitudes, and probably way more promiscuity than any of us really realizes right now. For every bit of its appeal, there’s just as much downside, and as easy as it is, it’s also like ordering a side of bullshit, too.
The further you get over 30, the more inclined you become in keeping to yourself, the more overt these messages get. God help you if you’re a woman in her 40s who doesn’t see the need to date. The media always has you pegged as desperate to take any date that comes your way. It’s always the woman in her 40s or 50s who’s got her ear to the ground for any moving-and-shaking in the newly-eligible-man category. Like, “Did you hear Larry just got divorced? He’s available again!”
It’s bullshit. There’s not a lot of acceptance for those of us who seem to think life’s all right with me, myself, and I. Instead, we’re painted as being damaged goods or just trying to make positive of a negative situation, when the reality is, we’re living the life we know can be good, rewarding, and fulfilling, and we’re just tired of shaking up the mix with unnecessary dating that seems to never go anywhere other than closer to a steaming pile of bullshit with a few orgasms thrown in for kicks.
What’s wrong with putting the brakes on and being that relaxed, carefree person who’s not worrying about the bullshit races that come with life? Why do we get made to feel like we need to defend our decision to not swim with the relationship tide?
Why should we even have to fucking ignore any subliminal advertising anyhow?
You know what I think? I think it’s because half the fucking relationship-forever people are secretly, deep down inside, in places no one wants to talk about, jealous as all hell that we’ve got complete control over our time schedules, and they just want us to be as consumed by obligation and lack of space as they are.
Yeah, well, you people ain’t fucking fooling me, man. I know my single life is a good one. Sure, relationships are nice. When they work. The rest of the time they should come with signs that read, “I’m so wrong for you, you should run like the fucking wind, honey”.
I’m going to keep my options open, and if someone fabulous comes along, I’m going there. Oh, absolutely. Going, going, gone. I’m not going to let opportunity pass me by. None of us should.
But I’m not settling for anything less than I’ve earned, and, until that day comes, book me in as a party of one. With no apologies.

How to Enjoy the Single (And Non-Dating) Life

Most places you look and read will have you believe that everyone who’s single dates all the time. Really? My friends and I have missed that memo.
So it’s easy to feel like you’re a loser when you’re the one who’s totally current on what’s happening on all your favourite tv shows, since you’re the one keeping the couch warm while every other person on the planet appears to have a life. “Thank god for entertainment,” you sigh.
Every now and then, dating patches occur. Some are good, some are bad. Even when things are good, first dates often occur peppered with awkward conversations once it’s obvious that there’s not much there beyond a little physical attraction, then comes the troubling dilemma of “sex or no sex”. You know, you’re at the gates of the promised land of the fabled orgasm. You could use a little servicing. You’ll never see them again anyhow, so, why not have a little visit through those gates to orgasmic bliss?
And it seems so simple and easy but somewhere in the throes of being serviced, silly little emotional flashbacks to all the good things that come with a sexual relationship start to confuse the issues. After all, the reality is, you’re just having a total NSA courtesy fuck and they’re going to be riding the highway to nada by 6am. And god help you so you don’t fall asleep and they rob you for every little fucking thing you have. Fuck me, please, but leave the television, right?
So it’s no great mystery that there are those of us who fall into complicated patches of life and start to entertain the notion that dating, for all the small joys it can contribute, really comes with its share of headaches, too. And maybe, just maybe, life without all those headaches isn’t so bad after all. I mean, there’s always your trusty hand to do the servicing.
God knows that’s the line of thinking I’ve adopted. Despite moments where “alone” starts to feel lonely, I ultimately also really love the sanctuary and freedom that comes with my simple single-and-solo life.
In yesterday’s posting, I commented about an upcoming date that, “if the date should flop and I’m left to myself and masturbation, that will keep life simple and manageable, too.”
Hell, yeah! Being a party of one is all right. Living a solo existence can be absolutely fulfilling if you know how to do it right. And masturbation is required!
The single life can be fantastic, when you’ve got the money to see movies, attend events you dig, browse bookshops, and enjoy cafes, and whatever else takes your life from “existing” to “full”. That’s what I’m really looking forward to when money returns to me: The joys of hanging out in cafes and movie theatres by myself. Sometimes I chat with other people, or maybe I just get to observe life unfolding. It’s great. And it’s what I love to do, so why must I wait for the permissiveness of being in the company of others to enjoy such things?
And that’s the secret about being single, it’s realizing life doesn’t have to only be in parties of two. Just because you’re single doesn’t mean you need to wait for friends to accompany you out in the world. All you need is the sense of entitlement that you, too, deserve to enjoy your place in the world.
If I haven’t been enjoying being single, it’s because I’m missing that small element of money so I can be out in the world in coffee shops and theatres, prepare lavish meals for myself, buy the bath bitsies that make me feel like I own my own spa… all those little things add up to me really enjoying being single and not dating. It’s about remembering to value yourself because you deserved to be valued, regardless of whether you’re in the mythical “party of two” so idealized by the media today. We all deserve to be loved and cherished, even if we’re going to bed alone at night.
There’s a comic strip that I wish I still had, but it’s the Baby Blues strip in which the couple is pregnant with their second baby and the husband asks the wife, “So have you told your sister yet?” and the wife frowns and says something like, “Oh, honey, I can’t. I feel so sorry for her, she’s all alone, so single, and we’re so blessed. I’ll call her later.”
Then the last frame of the comic shows the sorry-ass, so-single sister lying in a bubble bath with a glass of red wine, candles burning, and she’s reading a book. Yes, a sad and empty existence, but she’s the one with the time for a glass of wine in a bubble bath with a book, right?
Exactly. Being single is what you make of it. Embrace it for what it is: your opportunity to begin what Oscar Wilde calls the proverbial life-long love affair–truly loving yourself–or else you can sit around and wish you had anything other than what you’re fortunate enough to have… yourself.
Get that party of one started. Hell, stay in, cook yourself a fabulous meal, watch a great movie, and end the evening with a little self-love in the form of that evil masturbation. You’re worth it, and just because you’re keeping life simple doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a little indulging of yourself. After all, it’s why we sometimes opt out of the chaos of dating anyhow, isn’t it?

The Existential Fall-out of just a Little Date

Three or four weeks ago, I had a date I’d been both excited about and worried about. He seemed like a really great, sweet guy with a big brain and a love for life, but I also knew he was overweight, and, personality wise, virtually a carbon copy of an ex I quite liked a couple years back.
The date disappointed me a whole lot of ways, mostly because I wasn’t really myself there and came off a little, I don’t know, bitter and whiney. It was a bad weekend for me, ‘cos it’s when my hand had blown out a little and I couldn’t even hold a fork. Going on a date was the least of my worries, and probably wasn’t wise, but I guess I exuded my stress, and I really hate it when I do that.
I suspect he probably read the stress wrong, and that’s too bad, because it didn’t have much to do with him. Had the date gone well, though, I’m almost certain I would have taken a pass on anything further with him. One, his similarities to my ex included the faults too, and, two, because he was morbidly obese. While I’m still obese, I’m fighting the good fight.
I’ve lost 37 pounds, but have about 50 to go, if I’m being honest. I cannot, I will not, get involved with anyone who does not exercise and who eats and drinks to excess. I would fall into old habits and then the self-loathing would return and I’d be back in the same vicious circle that got me in this jam.
Somewhere on that date, the thought of not wanting to fall into vicious cycles occurred to me, and I began to feel pretty badly about thinking that way about this fellow.
When you’re the person who’s been, you suspect, “decided against” on the basis of your fitness and eating, and you know what it’s like to think, “But you don’t even know me, I’m a fantastic person…” and then the table turns and you’re the person doing the deciding against…
It’s a pretty nasty head trip. I felt like such a hypocrite. Such a nice man. But I’ve fought so hard to lose my weight. I still lose battles against things like chocolate and butter and other delectable things I just love, love, love, and I know my weakness. Because I’m weak, I need someone that’s strong and living the healthy life, too. It sucks to think I’ll have to make the same kinds of judgements that once would hurt me.
But there comes a point on the journey of self, when you’re closer to a newer, better you, a better life, a better outlook, when you have to reevaluate those who are in your life and those who you choose to partner with, because your needs have changed as a person and you’ll need people who can better accommodate those. There’s no sense going into brave new worlds as a person just to find yourself the same old kind of people who enabled you to be that person who’s now in your distant past.
It’s one of the reasons I’m not too keen to get involved with men right now. I know I’m not feeling like myself–too tired, too stressed, too overworked–and the vibes I put out are wrong. I know things will sort out in the next few weeks as my money settles down, work picks up, and I get a handle on my energy levels. Besides, the kind of man I attract will change exponentially in the coming weeks and months.
I know that sounds really arrogant to say, but I don’t think it is. I know I have a lot to offer a man, hell, you know it too. I’ve always been told by the men I’ve been involved with that I’m an awesome girlfriend. Generous, doting, sexual, great cook, funny as hell, all those things. Right now, I don’t exude that. It’s the biggest surprise ever when a guy finds out how much I have to give, because I come across more guarded in life. Less so now, and that’ll continuing to lessen as weeks and months continue to pass.
When life gets hard for me, I do what I call “turtling”. I develop the hard shell, proceed slowly in realms of trust, and become very much an entity of and for myself. It really doesn’t make for being Little Miss Girlfriend. That’s a fault of mine I’ll be fighting to change until the day I die. I do not like my defensiveness and my urge to protect myself and not reach out in hard times. It was bred into me, though, and you know how hard it is to change some of our familial legacies.
So life is still hard for me, very. I may be constantly improving myself and making positive changes, but I still feel like life is as hard as it’s ever been, so my defensive modes are still in place, something I never realized until I had that date a couple weeks back.
Now it’s yet another thing I need to start working to consciously improve. Welcome to life, hey?
I still haven’t figured out that date yet. There was just such a strange swirl of headtrippings for me, everything from old hand issues and the emotional baggage that came with, to a very sudden realization at the end of a two block walk that left my companion huffing and puffing, and flashbacks of me having been a huff-puff girl, but knowing I’m so not her anymore, and never want to be again.
I have another date next week, but you know how things change. I’m amused that it’s with someone who doesn’t even live in town, and being the psychoanalytical type I am, I’m thinking “Gee, Steff, what’s this? You’re consciously going after someone you wouldn’t have to see often? Tired of having to actually work in relationships, are you?”
I mean, there’s a whole other way to look at distance relationships, and I’m so fervently opposed to them on principle, that my willingness to try a date out with this fellow just leaves me thinking “What the hell are you thinking?”
But, really, I know: Getting laid intermittently while keeping my me-time. Really. It’s a cop-out and I know it, but I also love it.
Of course, if the date should flop and I’m left to myself and masturbation, that will keep life simple and manageable, too. But if it works out, then who knows. All I know, is, it’s just a date, that’s all.
(This is why we say we’re “keeping things simple” when we don’t date, eh? Geez! πŸ˜‰

Kickin' Ass & Takin' Names: Back in Black!

I cycled to and from work for the first time in three weeks today. Three weeks today it felt like I’d blown it out a little. The next day, Thursday, I couldn’t even hold a fork. So, no cycling in three weeks, and today 24 clicks. A little kamikaze of me, yes, but that’s me being me. πŸ˜‰
My hand feels pretty damned good, surprisingly. The wrist-flex weightlifting work I’ve been doing has been paying off. As have the stairs, which I’m still doing 25 floors/650 steps on. Cycling ascents are suddenly much easier. I’d think that cycling 100 clicks a week would dramatically improve my cardio, but the stairs just kick my fucking ass every time I climb them. Nothing else compares for sheer leave-it-on-the-floor capacity.
I guess that’s why god made mountains to cycle, huh? Even still, you gotta work to get down the stairs, not cycling down a mountain, that’s just free riding. Awesome, but not work. The stairs take four minutes to descend and are crazy calf-muscle sculptors. My calves finally look ripped when I flex ’em. Whoop!
You know, I had cellulite last winter, but not no more. Alllll gone. Smooth skin remains. My thighs don’t rub together anymore. Nothing jiggles anymore. Life’s tough, baby. I’m going to weigh myself in the next couple days for the first time in 3 weeks, but I suspect nothing much has changed, since I was pretty bad for a week or so there. Gotta be bad sometimes. (Chocolate-chip peanut butter muffins! Shudder.) I’ll be bitter if I haven’t held to 35 pounds lost though. And I’d be surprised. Maybe in the morning I’ll kill the curiosity. God knows I’m not weighing myself at night!
Next week’s a week of adventuring, exercise, breaking in some new scooter engine parts on stupid-long unnecessary sunny spring country rides, sleep-ins, and foodie-heaven but on the cheap and healthy.
May be broke on my ass, but I’ll enjoy myself just dandy. πŸ™‚ And I can lose a couple pounds ‘cos I can’t afford the booze that I’d normally drink on holidays. Bah! Still, I’ll enjoy myself. I’ll be self-righteously sober. And broke. But probably tanned. Definitely relaxed. That’s got to be, what, 7.5 out of 10 for the week? Sure.
I just can’t get towed. πŸ˜‰
(It’s the next day, I’ve finally weighed myself, and I’ve lost about 37 pounds now. Yay.)