Working on my Fitness

Yesterday I got home from work and I knew supper was a couple hours away. I wanted a snack. And there were so many goodies to choose from. I decided to be healthy and have strawberries. But you know what goes really good with strawberries? Two-bite brownies. So I had about four of those. (You know, making healthy choices is hard when you are out of the house twelve hours a day and don't have hundreds of dollars to spend on food! A McBurger satisfies my hunger and costs two bucks.)

Yesterday I got home from work and I planned on heading right back out to the gym. But I was exhausted, and cranky, and cold, and hungry, and knew the gym would be packed at six o'clock on a Tuesday. So I ate my strawberries and brownies tucked under my blankets in bed and started watching a new series about Zombies. And I was so cozy by the time the first show was over that I watched another one. The Zombie Apocalypse is so much more interesting than the treadmill at the gym. Of course, by then it was getting late and there was still dinner to make and chores to do before bed.

And then... the GUILT MONSTER Rrrraawrrr! It's hard to stay on the fitness wagon. Shouldn't I be able to give myself a break without feeling like a total failure? Nope! Not if I want to get in shape! Starting a gym membership makes you feel bad about yourself in entirely new and twisted ways.

Sidewalk Etiquette

First of all, if anyone has not seen The Oatmeal's Minor Differences comic about motorists cutting each other off versus pedestrians cutting each other off, you need to go check it out here:

http://theoatmeal.com/panel/minor_differences?f0=motorists-jpg&f1=pedestrians-jpg

While I'm not prone to road rage, I do get some sidewalk rage. Especially working in a busy downtown core, people sauntering completely oblivious to the flow of traffic can really grind my gears. Here's my shortlist: 

• Ping-Ponging: These people meander back and forth looking anywhere except straight ahead. They are impossible to pass without bumping into because just when you think they are far enough away on a diagonal trajectory to get by them, they suddenly swing back the other way inevitably cutting you off. (You'd think since they are looking around they would notice that you would like to get by, but nope, they don't.)
• Sidewalk Hogging: These people like to all walk side by side, even if there are three, four or five of them in a group (two large people is more common and just as bad). They also typically move very slowly - maybe you have to walk that slowly to stay synchronized. Also very difficult to pass. You may even have to detour slighty to get around them. (Or start singing the Red Rover song then burst through the line - I have not tried this.) 
• Sudden Stopping: These people have been walking along together having a conversation and realize they are about to part ways, or reach their destination, before the conversation is over. So, they stop. Suddenly. Right where they were walking. No moving to the side to make room for everybody else walking directly behind them who would like to continue on. It doesn't seem to matter that they are at the bottom of an escalator, or in a doorway, or right in the middle of the sidewalk/path/hallway etc. 
• Tail-Gaiting: This one might just be me, so I put it at the bottom. But I have a significant personal space bubble and nothing creeps me out more than someone walking right behind me. If they are passing me that is fine, but its when someone parks right on my heels and I can feel my hair move when they cough on the back of my neck... gives me the heebe-geebes. Plus I get really self-conscious that they are staring at my bum. There's lots of sidewalk - go find your own.  

Is there anything I missed?

**There may have been one or two incidents when I was practically climbing out of my car window to shout vulgarities at a fellow motorist, totally his fault, but typically I find that level of road rage just plain ridiculous. When I see people honking and screaming and ramming each other during morning rush hour I wonder - how can you be that angry already?? Its 7 a.m! There will be plenty of stuff to piss you off in the next 12 hours. Relax and drink your coffee. One time I cut somebody off, totally my fault, and he drove by me, for real no kidding, shaking his fist in the air at me. ("Shake harder, boy!") And then looked completely dumb-founded when I burst out laughing. It makes me think of this:

http://www.youtube.com/embed/GrCYX5lxVQo?rel=0



Forever Winter

I know we are all getting sick of the complaining, but I am so sick of this winter!!! Enough already!

Seriously, yesterday it occured to me, wearing a short-sleeved shirt outside is some completely bizarre and totally foreign concept. I saw them folded in my drawer, and I honestly wondered for a second why I have them. Do I wear these?? I have no recollection of a time when waking up and heading outside would not require at least three layers.

I'm trying to picture my trip to sunny Arizona next month (where it is hot Hot HOT!) and I actually can't imagine wearing next to nothing. Won't my skin be cold? I still carry around my mittens in my pockets.

A little S.A.D. anyone?

Zumba Zumba Zumba

You know what doesn't grind my gears? ZUMBAAAA!!

I went to my first Zumba class the other day with a friend of mine, who I was very grateful to have for moral support, and I had a BLAST!

I know I looked a fool, jumping and gyrating awkwardly, with sweat dripping down my back and a huge dumb grin plastered to my face. But it made me remember how much I missed dancing.

I don't go to clubs. Nowadays it only reminds me of how young I used to be. I end up feeling wildly out of place, or like some cougar trying to re-live my youth. I've had my party days and I have no interest in re-visiting them. (And getting hit on by some 19 yr old makes me feel like a perv.) But I used to love to grab a good friend, go out and just dance -close my eyes and feel the beat and dance and dance and dance. Its hard to explain the euphoria, but it was like nothing in the world mattered. And I had forgotten how much I missed that release.

I found it again in a small Zumba class led by the exuberant and flamboyant Franco, who could shake it in a way no man should be able to. And it felt fantastic.

Pregnant?

This one isn't just for me, but also for all my lady friends out there dealing with the same thing. The "oooooooh, maybe you're pregnant?" query that we all have to deal with anytime we are bloated/cranky/tired/nauseous/peeing/sore/wearing purple on a weekday etc... This one really gets my goat. Maybe that's why people like to ask it so much.

So here is a list of some "symptoms" people like to point out to me and their corresponding non-baby-related reasons:

Weight-Gain
-I have gained 20 lbs in less than twelve months. Its not baby-weight. Its fat. I joined the gym, leave me alone.

Frequent Peeing
-I was recently told I have 50% of the amount of water in my body that I should have. My anxiety causes excess sweating and increases the frequency of urination. Now I am supposed to drink 4-6 litres of water a day. It makes me pee a lot.

Nausea/Dizzy-Spells
-I am not a morning person - getting out of bed at six in the morning is enough to make me nauseous. Also: spending the next twelve to thirteen hours stressed out and running around like a mad-woman; eating irregularly or not eating at all; dehydration; low blood pressure; not getting enough sleep; depression; anxiety.

Fatigue
See above. In addition, at the end of every long day, dragging my expanding ass to the gym.

Forgetfulness/Mood Swings/Irritability
Depression; anxiety; stress; being too freaking busy to remember every single detail of every single thing and raging at anybody who makes this more difficult/adds to my to-do list/gets in my way.

(**Yep, as you can see, I'm pretty much the most desirable woman on the planet)

Hopefully my own personal reasons, and so so many more that somebody else might have which would be much much worse (infertility, recent miscarriage, use your own imagination), are enough to illustrate that asking somebody if they are "with child" is a very personal and potentially weighty question. And should not be considered idle chatter >> Do you know if its going to rain tomorrow? What are the intimate details of your reproductive system and current sexual relationship?

When somebody thoughtlessly and flippantly suggests, to me, the possibility that I am pregnant, without knowing anything about me personally at all, I am always tempted to respond with something along the lines of, "No, why? How often do you engage in unprotected sex?" Maybe I should go into exhaustive detail about my menstrual cycle, since that is really what they're asking about, is it not? Would they think that was inapproriate? Well so was the question!

Hello, I am not available to take your call....

... please (DO NOT HANG UP ON THE ANSWERING MACHINE!!!!!) ...leave a message and I will get back to you as soon as possible.

The worst part about going through the whole song and dance and riggamarole of checking voicemails is to make it all the way through the automated menu torture only to find that the caller has hung-up on my voicemail. Why would someone listen all the way to the end of the voicemail intro just to hang up after the beep?

If you don't want to leave a message then hang up before you are asked to do so. And if you don't want me to call you back, why are you even calling in the first place?

"Tramp Stamp"

There are very few places a woman can get a large tattoo on her body. Not many of us have big bulging calves or biceps to put a piece on. A chest tattoo is hard to hide, encroaches on the boobies, and will start to wrinkle and sag. A tummy tattoo will stretch and deform after pregnancy. A woman's back - a woman's back is a perfect, broad canvas on which to place a piece of art. And by far the most practical. But - in what I find to be a glaring testament that misogyny is alive and well - any artwork, portrait, drawing or scribble found on a woman's back is called a tramp stamp.

I myself have a tattoo placed on my back. It is not a butterfly flitting out of my ass crack. It is not a name in hearts, it is not a dolphin circling my tailbone, or some tribal-shaped V pointing towards my bum. Instead, it is a rather large backpiece, about 7 inches high and 5 inches wide. It took over seven hours to trace, outline, colour and shade. In one sitting. And yet, it too, is generally referred to as my tramp stamp. I know men who have backed out or called it quits after a quarter of that amount of work. And many women with much more intense and beautiful work done than mine. Why can a guy get some half-ass, crooked, cliche, tribal/barbwire arm-band tattooed onto him and its not called a Douchebag-Band? But when a woman does the same thing, somehow the label 'tramp' comes into play?

Just another little example of how in our culture a woman's expression of self is immediately insulted, trivialized, and discounted. And we all just go along with it. Are we even consciously aware of it?

Turn Signals

This is something I noticed almost immediately when I moved out west. I think learning to use your turn signals wasn't a requirement for passing the driver's test or something. And it is extremely frustrating.

Turn signals are not meant to confirm that you, the driver, are turning. (Hopefully you know when you are turning.) It is meant to inform me, the other motorist, of your intentions, on account of me not being psychic.

I couldn't count, in the five or so years that I've lived here, how many times I have been sitting in my car waiting for somebody to drive by so I could turn out, only to see them turn onto a street fifty metres behind me. (I have drawn a diagram because that sentence made no sense and there was no better way to say it - see below.) Or I've pulled up behind someone in those lanes where you can either go straight or turn and I'm stuck behind them waiting at the light because although they intend to turn left they did not feel like informing any other driver around them of their decision.

There are so many other situations where this comes up in intersections and parking lots. I can't think of them all right now and it would take much too long to describe each one. But if you think about it, the turn signal is an ingenious concept and poorly under-utilized here. Its hard to trust other drivers on the road, because its hard to know what someone else is thinking. But this brilliantly simple system of blinking lights clearly and quickly lets other drivers around you know what you're doing, so that they can avoid smashing into you, or wasting their time waiting for you. Turn signals - use them!

The C-Train

I could make this one about public transit in general, but there would just be too much to say. Plus the C-train really grinds my gears. It also induces vomiting. (Okay, not so much vomiting as severe nausea.)

People ask me why I use the bus for commuting to and from work instead of the train. The bus can take up to three times as long, depending on traffic. The bus also costs more, since with the bus you have to use a ticket every time. (Our LRT operates on the honour system - you are expected to buy a ticket and there are random surprise checks to strike the fear of God into people. If, however, you travel during rush hour with 10,000 other commuters there is some safety in numbers and many people I know don't buy tickets for rush hour transit). The bus driver makes you show a ticket.

Here's why I take the bus:
On Monday I wanted to go to the mall by my house after work, which also happens to be my train stop. So at ten after 5, I squeezed myself onto the C-Train. As usual, we are packed in like sardines in a can. I had managed to make myself a nice little bubble until the next stop and a couple dozen more people crammed themselves in.

If you know me, you know I HATE the sound of snot. I hate sniffling, I hate nose-blowing, I just hate it. That I can visualize your gross snotty snot running all over the place just.. ugh! (Which is why, out of consideration, I will never blow my nose in front of you.)

Well the lady to the left of me cozies up to my ear and begins to sniffle. And I'm not talking shy little sniffles. I'm talking full on, nose brimming with mucous sniffles. In my ear. So I shift to my right slightly. The guy in front of me also has the sniffles. His sniffles are worse than he thinks, and his little polite sniffles are not cutting it because now he has snot running onto his lip. So I turn back to my left. The lady on my left decides once and for all, with one thundering sniffle, she is going to get her snot under control. In my ear. So I quickly shift back to my right just in time to see the guy in front of me (who is now looking down at his I-Pad) has a long thick stream of snot dangling from his nose. I could have vomitted on the spot. But since the unspoken rules of social etiquette are not a mystery to me, I did not throw up all over my fellow C-train riders. I gagged quietly to myself, looked at the ceiling, and tried to think happy thoughts.

You would think that the majority of the people on the C-Train would be people like you and I. Regular, decent, polite, not entirely socially inept, folk coming to and from work. Especially during rush hour. But this is not the case. There are countless horror stories that could be told about the hygiene, the B.O., the crazies, the gropers, and shovers, and backpacks and strollers. The bus might take longer, and sure there's always a drunk or two, but at least I don't have to throw elbows to fight my way on or off, and I have the space to sit unmolested and read a book quietly in my own seat. And if someone is dripping snot onto my lap, I can give them a dirty look and move to a different seat further away on the bus.