What Fresh Hell is This?

I'm glad you asked. It's my Friday, actually.

Okay, before I get into the groaning about the incredibly weird number of things to go wrong today, I will preface this with the fact that I have managed to stay in reasonably good humour most of the day, except for the moment I broke down in tears with my bank manager's voicemail and blathered like an idiot to my boss. Aside from that, I was pretty darn charismatic and upbeat. Just in a defeated kind of way every now and again.

Things started yesterday when I decided it was time to go ahead and swap out my iPOD battery. Again. (17 hours of playtime my ass.) I've done it before, I rock the iPOD battery change, babe, so yeah, I wandered into the Mac shop to get the battery and was helped by this so-adorable young thing. I went to pay as we chit-chatted and smiled and all that, and what happens? My debit card gets a "card not set up" message after I do the code-punching thingie and all that. Say what? So, I go to the bank, try to get cash, and it rejects my attempts with "see your branch" messages.

I talk to the bank, and the chick I'm talking to tells me everything's hunky dory and it all should be peachy keen, go try again. I do. Same dealie-o. I padfoot it back to my office, puzzled, and decide morning entails a visit to my branch to get the new card the chickie on the phone said was plan B.

I get up this morning, make myself the cutest I'm able at present, get geared up and head out into the way-too-cold "yeah, it's december" air and hoof it to the bank. I explain I'm having problems. The woman opens my account and says, "So, you withdrew $400 yesterday?"

"I did what?"

"$400? Yesterday?"

"I so did not. What the hell?"

"So, I guess you didn't withdraw $400 the day before that, too?"

"No, the day before that I spent $5 and 70 fucking cents at Wendy's, thanks." Looking now at the screen she's turned towards me, I further comment, "Oh, my god! I didn't deposit $900 in that city on Wednesday, either! ACK!"

"Okay, so you've been a victim of skimming. Here, let me go get some forms..."

Fuckety-fuck-fuck. So, long story short, these assholes deposited an empty envelope, claiming it was $900 cheque deposit. (I don't even merit them writing a fake cheque, it appears. I'm only of the empty envelope calibre, it would seem. :P )

Shortened long story longer, I was told all would be cool. Things would get reversed. I may not owe a lot of money, but my ass is overdrawn by about $1500. I freaked out, though, when I went to buy a $5 sammich and got an insufficient funds message. I checked out online back at the office and found it telling me I was now down $2300. It totally freaked me out since rent's due and is more than what would have remained after my payqueque was eaten up by the overextended overdraft. Then there's the small matter of my eating out too much this week and no groceries kicking around. Food's always nice on a weekend. So, I got panicky about the cash. Left a "started off competent" message on the bank manager's phone, and then got all "wah, wah!" about it pretty quick. Slumped off to my boss before she got cracking on paycheques and threw a teary hypothetical her way. (Had a promise they'd give me extra cash if needed. Coolies. My bosses rock.)

Things got a little ugly after that, and then they got fixed, and all is pretty well now.

Except for the iPOD thing.

See, in all my "I rock the iPOD battery" bravado, I somehow fucked up the battery install on my iPOD and while it seems the whirring parts whir and the playing parts play and the shiny thinkie parts think, it would seem I've somehow disabled the audio output.

I may have failed to properly plug things in. I'm goin' back in it tomorrow and I'll try everything out. Maybe it's just Today. There's no fucking way I'm touching it tonight. Things Were Off all day. Why tempt fate. I mean, even the tomatoes on my sandwich were too liquidy and turned my toasted rye all soggy. Just off! Not good. Not bad, but thank god it's 24 hours. Tomorrow's a better, different day.

On the upside, though, it was a decent weird day. I had to spend about 90 minutes watching sex at work, which was kind of weird (yes, paid work) but somebody's got to do the dirty jobs.

Walking to work was good, for instance. I had my camera for a change lately, and passed by a wall of cell phone ads, all postered up in a construction underpass. Somebody graffitied something and I laughed my ass off, snapped the shot (I'll upload it sometime, has to do with a cellphone, 6" person, and a "dick") and sallied on. Grabbed a coffee (and free, which was nice) and came out and saw a woman sitting with a dog and her camera. I work in a chichi part of town, so her little shitzu's all trussed up in a doggy jacket. Naturally, I looked at it.

The little fuckin' rat dog-shitzu dog's wearing a customized doggy jacket that reads "I eat pussies".

So, I stop, ask for say-so, then snap a shot of him, and starting chatting to the chick, both of us cracking each other up. I took a gamble, pulled out my camera and showed her the graffiti shot and she about died laughing and demanded to know where it was. She wanted to get the shot, too. Ha.

All in all, it was a bad-ish day since having my iPOD die right as I'm being relegated to pedestrian and transit person kinda really fucking sucks, man. If I ressurrect the iPOD tomorrow, then all will be right in my world. If I fail, then it means I reprioritize it on the list of things I planned to get in the coming weeks, which means my wishlist 80 gig iPOD will become a 4 gig nanopod to make it happen now (meaning in two weeks) instead of when I get $400, but whatever, man. :)

I will say this: I have been getting a surprising amount of attention from guys in the last couple of days. This bussing thing might just be the thing the doctor ordered. And I'm trying to decide whether I'm going to attempt to chat up this cute boy again sometime from the shop. Maybe I need more computer upgrades and he's the only one I can trust for a hard drive. Hmm.

Anyhow. My day was still a good-ish day, too. Just... weird. And I'm sending out bad juju to the motherfucker that stole money from me. (Oh, and how do you like this for weird gets weirder? GayBoy had his account hacked the same day, same amount. I got hit two days in a row, though. Fuckers. So, big operation. Weeeird.)

Now... to show this red wine a little more attention, and find me something to eat. I see granola in my future.

THE NEXT DAY:
Tee hee! I ROCK. I fixed my iPOD. Turns out that one of the ports from the, I guess, audio output thingiemabob had come loose. I slid the battery out so I could see the weird angle where this port thingie is, and finally got it jammed in good after about three tries.

But it works! And with a new battery, is gonna love me long time! Woo! Off to brekkie with friends and food shopping, ooh, fun.

Help a Girl Out

Hey, people. My links are woefully out-of-date and I intend to weed through them in the coming weeks, but I need new, cool blogs to introduce to my surfing regime, so please send me links to either your blogs or blogs you think I'll love. Thanks!

My Thursday Morning Moment

I'm sitting here on my couch with cold barefeet touching my chilly hardwood floors, sunlight gleaming off the frosted roofs in the neighbourhood, traffic droning past. I'm thinking today would be a good day for the scooter -- sunny, cold, but a continuing forecast of clear for this day. Snow is forecasted for the weekend, and being a scooterist/pedestrian means planning ahead in seasons like winter so I'm not doomed to shop only at the overpriced stores in my 'hood.

So, maybe I'll swing by the market and get some meat and veggies today before the weather nosedives. Snow is called for this weekend, which is not very good because I had a lot of things I wanted to do this weekend, including a neat morning weird experience Saturday and breakfast on the far east side of town with a crew on Sunday. This city, however, is infamous for sucking ass in the snow, so having things you need to do in the snow is never a good thing, especially first thing in the morning. It's much better to just roll with it all. I can roll with snow. I just hate giving up my plans in order to adopt a laissez-faire approach when they're plans I was keenly anticipating. Nonetheless. I can roll with it, peeps.

I am, however, investing in my first full-month bus pass ever on Friday. I will be at one with the transitting masses, my friends.

It's interesting. I'm going to take a few minutes later this week and buy myself a shiny new notebook for writing in (yes, a paper-and-pen type) on the bus. They say the best places for creativity are the bath, the bed, and the bus. I concur! (The Three b's of Creativity, they call 'em).

God knows my creativity needs a boost.

When the bus pass happens this week, everything changes. I'll start getting out after work more, heading to shops and cafes, taking the ambler's route home and enjoying more of what my city has to offer. I already have plans in my mind of building more walking into my routes so I can simply ramp the walking up to 5+km a day for those times when it's hard to get to the gym at this time of year, too.

Anyone who reads me knows I love my scooter. What can I say? There's a lot to love. Now, though, is when the scooter starts becoming very, very antisocial. Weather's always meaning dressing in scads of warm clothes and rain gear. Who wants to drop off and see a movie or grab a bit when it means undoing the great furled scooter rider? Not me. (In the summer, though, hop and go! The world is my oyster in the summer and I see far more of it than my car-driving friends.)

The bus and skytrain are not only practical, they're filled with people I don't know. People I can chat with, make eyes with, and experience just a moment of life with. It's fascinating. Yesterday I got to make eyes with a couple cute boys, which makes me think this bus thing has some promise. One thing I can do is try to dress up a little and be cute and flirty, something I certainly can't do on my bike.

So, life is changing yet again. Funny how it's always headed someplace, this life of mine.

Time for some coffee and granola before I tango with the world again. And, hey, look. It's Thursday. Fantastic! And sunny! KILLER!

Methinks this blog's going to become a record of just how rapidly my life is going to change in the coming months. On the slate this weekend is shoe shopping. Nothing fancy because my budget can't go there, but my budget can handle practical yet cute. And "practical yet cute" is, well, at least cute, and still practical. Ooh. What a winning combination. :) Have a great day, people.

From Here to Infinity

I'm a big believer in starting with the little stuff and just going with it when it comes to writing because, like building a snowman, it can be surprising as hell when you see it take shape.

I was doing just that just now, writing about the weather and the fact that I'm all cushy, blogging from my big-ass 1830s camelback armchair on my laptop for the first time ever... had it for more than three years and only finally afforded wireless hardware this weekend. Money's been that tight for that long.

'Course, I never had the best of priorities, either, but let's face it, I lost a lot of work over several years, what with several accidents, and insane amounts of illness and injury, and I've just never had throwaway money or cash for indulgences.

Until now. Now things are starting to change.

See, I had gotten to this point just now, writing, and it hit me that my (recent/past) lack of money is what's been keeping me from trying to date. Sure, you scoff when I say "well, I have nothing to wear" but you fail to realize I'm telling the truth. No matter what I do of late, I feel like a loser, and I know there's only one reason for that: I hate my clothes.

Everything either doesn't fit right -- too tight, too loose -- or else it's thread-bare or torn or about to come apart, and it shows. I'm not saying I need to be wearing Prada, but I need to not look like I just don't care... and right now, it looks like I don't care. The truth, however, is anything but.

If there is nothing else I am, I am proud. I'm a fierce, strong, fighting woman, and I've got attitude, edge, and personality. I am not a woman who should look frumpy, nor dishevelled, nor out-of-size.

I deserve to match externally to what I feel internally. It isn't that I don't have taste, I just haven't had money, and I've not really bought anything new, now, for about 2 years. All I've gotten of late is used shit that I must've been smoking crack to buy because I can't get how I thought it worked. One shirt's like 3 times too big for me, but I fucking love the colour. I'll never, ever wear it, of course, because a good breeze might pick me up and launch me into a America's Cup-calibre sail across the Pacific, but I'm making a mental note that wine apparently doesn't just taste good, but looks divine on me.

I have whittled my wardrobe down over the the last three or four years and there's been more and more gradually turfed until I got down to what was the essential to keep. Now it's imperative I replace it all because it's been in heavy rotation longer than I thought it would be.

But I'm seriously at that point now where I feel I look so awful in everything I wear that I just don't want to go out anymore. I don't want to date or meet people. I don't want to be social. The first day I bought my new coat and pants, I 'dressed up' and went for a walk and coffee for no other reason than to be seen. I do like to be admired. I want to feel sexy. I know I can work it. I wanna work it. Lemme work it!

I mean, I had this epiphany moment when I watched "What Not To Wear" on the weekend and Stacy London said something to the effect that it was a terrible thing that someone should allow their clothes to hinder them from experiencing life.

...clothes! Wow. Yes, what a terrible, stupid, dumb thing.

And sitting here, now, in this big-ass chair on a Wet Coast night as I listen to the splish-splash of cars cutting through cascading rivers of rain and snow on the street nearby, I'm filled with a weird contentment that hits me as this -- this simple act of being able to type on a laptop, online, in my living room in the ambient silence -- is the actualization of one of the goals I've had for three or more years now.

And it's just a start. I can't wait to see what happens when I can buy a few new pieces of clothing that make me feel like the cool fucking chick I know I am inside. It's been a long time, and the woman I am now is a whole world away from the girl I was before this endless parade of adversity came beating down my door. I'll be dressing a woman this time. No girl anymore. And someone who's got her insecurities in check, and now wants to show off areas she'd always hidden. I'm ready, man.

It's nice to be ending a year with such a feeling of optism about where the next year might be headed. I've no idea what the map heading says, but I think I'll like the direction.

Now... time to head off in the rain-snow mix and help my friend decorate his Christmas tree as we smoke some ganja and eat a ridiculous amount of tacos before we watch Heroes. May you find a little optimism in your night, too, minions. Have a kick-ass Tuesday.

Giving to Get: The Spread of Gratitude

Part of my changing my life and improving who I am, my major project for the next year -- reconciling who I want to be with who I am -- means giving more to other people.

That got started today with my joining Kiva.org after seeing it on Oprah this morning. The principle of it is this: You take a small amount of money -- anything between $25 and 500 -- and you LOAN it to someone to start their dream business. It's a loan, not a gift, and more than 99% of the loans are repaid.

You log on, choose entrepreneurs from a region of the world you're interested in helping, do your donation, and wait and see as it all comes to life. You get repaid monthly, and you can either take the money back or use it as "Kiva credit" to keep the ball rolling by helping someone new.

There are those who believe small programs like this are how we're going to change poverty in our world. I signed up and helped begin changing someone's life in less than three minutes.

It'd be awesome if some of you could contribute to others on Kiva, especially in the spirit of Thanksgiving down in the States today. This is the woman I started helping today with just a small loan of $25, what I can share right now, and she needs another $525 to make her dreams be realized. Why not change a life today?

(Ed. Note: It's 10 hours later and the woman below has received all her loans! She's in business! KICK ASS. If you contributed after reading about it here, please tell me so I can feel warm and fuzzy inside!)

Film Chickette: Westward the Women, 1951

I'm a film geek.

I once mentioned to a colleague (keep in mind I work in the film industry) that I had finally bit the bullet and seen Casablanca, which I had the good sense to see (and have since loved) at an independent film house that ran in first-run in the Dirty '30s. He asked me if I'd taken film appreciation in school and my retort was, "No, all my sentiments are my own."

But I love movies. I just thought I was well-versed but I went out with another geek last year who more or less proved to me that I've seen 80 or 90% of all the "best movies ever made". And a freakish amount of 'em on-screen, too.

So... it's not that often that I a) don't hear about a movie or/and b) get surprised by its content or performance. I'm pretty on the ball about flicks and there's few I'm not at least a little aware of. Geek that I am and all.

But tonight, I got surprised. I have just discovered a terrific flick for both men and women. For women, it'll be a "my time of the month" classic or something they watch to remind them of their ability to kick ass and take names. For men, it'll be a reminder of all the reasons women are worth going through the annoyance of knowing. Or something.

It's called Westward the Women, and it's from 1951, written by Frank Capra, so of course I had to like it. Capra's film gold. I mean, he has his own adjective! Capra-esque! Like Hitchcockian. Pretty rare air there.

Anyhow. A Californian town is in its birthing stage. Now it's just a valley populated by Roy Whitman and his 100+ pioneering men. The only thing missing from this West Coast paradise in the 1800s is wimmin folk. Whitman, in all his "I staked me Utopia, then built it" moral superiority, decreed that these women would be treated like the saints they were to give up their lives and travel west on the promise of a good life in a good land on a good man's good stretch.

It's about how 150 women come to decide to make the wagon train trip some 1, 500 miles across the American landscape, and the really amazing tragedies and trials that befall them on their journey. They're told in the outset that some third of them would die en route as the wagons crossed some of the toughest land any man -- and definitely woman -- had ever seen.

It's smart, it's funny, it's historically accurate if not a little cheesy, yet witty, well-shot, well-cast, and very, very watchable.

Now, I'll confess I like the occasional Western. Loved the remake of 3:10 to Yuma bust still can't get over how well Christian Bale ran for a guy with a wooden leg. Well done, Christian.

This, however, didn't feel like a Western. It's just a crazy-assed look at what happened from time to time in the Old West, filled with tragedies and touching stories and funny humour, and very little pandering to women. Tough broads who were women throughout but encountered some great adversity.

I lived up in the Yukon and knew a great story I should rewrite for here, about Diamond Tooth Gertie, who made the death-defying voyage from Seattle to the Yukon for the Gold Rush, succeeded where some 90% of the men failed, in getting to the Gold Rush after all. It filled me with great admiration, just imagining some of the things women like that had to overcome when crossing a continent on foot and wagon.

To see that heroism depicted in a movie like that, where the fact is that dying en route to the West wasn't entirely uncommon in the 1800s, a century and a bit before 4x4 would be invented. Two words: Wooden wheels.

For something entirely different, go for Westward the Women. Before butch knew what butch was.

And, hey, look at the coinkydink of reviewing a pioneering movie on American Thanksgiving. Happy Yankee Thankie Day, Americans. May all your turkeys be good turkeys. And god stuff us every one.

Checkin' In, and a RANT about Fat Stereotypes

I'm just rushing out for breakfast but I wanted to check in quickly. I'm in 'adjusting to world of pain' mode right now as I'm ramping my fitness up by several degreees, thanks to learning that my knee's finally able to handle an elliptical trainer at the gym. (I've blown it out a few times and "unstable" is the watchword. Elliptical trainers always had my kneecap clicking and wiggling by 5 minutes in. Did 10 minutes the first time ever last Friday and 25 minutes yesterday. Yay!)

And now my horrible right shoulder's in its own world of pain, but whatever. I'll swim tonight and then I'll hurt everywhere, so the shoulder won't seem so bad. :)

Anyhow. I don't have a lot to say... when I'm trying to focus on one area of my life, it makes the other areas get a little neglected, like blogging. Blogging's really suffering though because I'm avoiding writing the probing look at How I Got Fat that I've promised to write. I really want to get into the emotional issues behind being overweight, because I'm real fuckin' tired of hearing all these "fat's catchable" or "fat is genetic" or whatever other new "shocking discovery" du jours I've been seeing on the news lately. Simple fact is, if you're fat, there's got to be areas of your life you're not happy with, and food's filling the void. And you're probably ignorant about how to eat properly. I really believe that, but I'm apparently in the minority, and because I'm fat myself, I'm probably viewed as a bit traitorial.

Whatever.

Speaking of fat, I wrote this rant yesterday and can't tell you what provoked it because of non-disclosure agreements and all, but I can share the rant. :) Enjoy.

________________________

If I have to see one more movie where the "fat" bad guy just sits around chewing things, his brain entirely disconnected to his mouth, and completely lacking of any kind of grace or dexterity at all, I'm gonna beat someone to death with a goddamned 48-pack of donuts.

Just fucking try me.

I mean, what, you hit 30% body fat and your brain suddenly ceases to function and bubbles instead with sugar-filled foam and vapidity?

And the fat guys always JUST eat. They're always CSI exhibits of every fucking meal they've eaten in the last week. Yep, barbecue sauce crusted in the left quadrant of the (of course) horizontally-striped shirt, there's cheese sticking out of their pocket, a donut's surgically attached to the left hand until the guy starts chewing on his knuckles. Whenever he talks, his mouth is spewing food. When he chews, he smacks and sucks and slurps, as if making extra noise somehow conjures cosmic bonus points of tasty goodness.

I mean, how is the cliche fat-guy-who-talks-while-chewing-and-never-stops-eating at all funny anymore? Hasn't this joke been beaten into fucking submission?

Yep, I can hear the joke over there now -- crying out for help and whining about its inadequacy as it languishes in dark corners of unexplored creativity.

And what about the reality that most morbidly obese people tend to do their eating in secrecy because they're so fucking tired of being stared at and mocked and humiliated? Like they just sit there pounding back their betcha-can't-eat-just-one Lay's potato chips or whatever, allowing themselves to be further humiliated and pointed at. Yeah, that's right, they're doing their bit to keep the rest of the world entertained as they sit there willfully eating everything ever placed upon this good Earth, oblivious to the snickers and derision being enjoyed by the onlookers in the food court.

Yeah. I'm getting really, really tired of seeing this stupid-ass writing passing as something witty and funny. Come on, writers. Cough up a fucking quarter and send away for that Cracker Jacks "how to be a writer in 17 easy steps" toolkit or something, wouldja?

Get a fuckin' real job. Cliche-spewing dumb-ass hacks. No paycheques for you.

A Recipe! My Thai Peanut Salad Dressing

I'll share my newest culinary creation with y'all. I'm getting prepared for a week of salads with roasted chicken in 'em, and I've just come up with a nice new salad dressing. Last night I made spring rolls for the first time ever, baked ones. (Not bad, but I know how to improve them next time.) And I made a Thai peanut sauce for dipping them, which I'm quite smitten with. I more or less used this recipe here, and it takes less than five minutes to make. Just awesome. Not even remotely close to the commercial peanut sauces one buys.

Here's the thing, though. For supper tonight and tomorrow night: spring rolls with an Oriental-style salad. Mixed greens, bean sprouts, pea shoots, grated carrot, peppers, red onions, etc... and here's the AWESOME little dressing I've come up with, that I am *so* putting into rotation as of now:

Steff's Thai Peanut Salad Dressing

3 tablespoons homemade Thai peanut sauce
2 tablespoons rice wine vinegar
1 tablespoon honey
2 tablespoons chopped cilantro

Mix, and get happy. You could even kick it up with some hot sauce in there, if you like. So tasty, and a source of protein. Love that.

Reader Asks: Why Do I Keep Hurting Her?

I'll have to go back and find this email to share with you all, but a longtime reader sent me a deeply personal email in which he more or less explored the realms of self-loathing as he told me about how he's gone around fucking up the lovelife of this girl he cares passionately about. His question, more or less, was, what do you do when all you can do is hurt the one you love?

There is a young woman whom I've known for over three years, whose smile alone melts away every fear and worry I have. ...I knew ahead of time, based on past experiences, that I break stuff. In this case, I was subconsciously sabotaging their relationship. ...It's been quiet and awkward between us ever since. We will stumble upon one another, but the hugs have stopped. The smile is still there, but I don't know if it's sincere anymore.

...And this is what I've done. For three-and-half years, I have hurt this girl. I have, directly or indirectly, negatively impacted her life. In a way, I want to walk away, hoping, feeling, that maybe, it would be the best for her. ...Yet I am deathly afraid of losing her. I've come to terms with losing her to another man, but the idea of her being out of my life entirely... scares me. How can you love someone so much that it tears you apart from the inside when they're unhappy and yet you continually find ways to hurt them?

Well, there you have it. See, he's hating himself like he's some kind of monster brought forth from Dante's Inferno or something. To protect his identity, I'm omitting more specific infractions. But tsk, reader. Tsk.

I wrote him back and just cleared up any misconceptions that I'd be writing something sunshiny in his favour.

Thing is, I can't go all medieval on his ass, either.

See, love makes beasts of us all, goes some old saying. Let's update it. You know, a little more politically correct and equality-minded. It should say, "beasts, bastards, and bitches".

After all, every single one of us has done something duplicitous or slightly unkind in love. Who's kidding who? One of those dirty little secrets we all keep tucked away in hidden pockets. Me, I've occasionally been duplicitous, manipulative, and unkind. I'm human. I have the "fuckin' up" gene built-in and far too easily accessible, thank you very kindly. Hell, I think the gene's on auto-pilot at this point. Fuck, man. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, like the Jesus guy once said. We do dumb, even bad shit, but then we learn to do better. You're done the doing bit, now it's time to do the learning bit.

Yeah, you're being an asshole, reader. You are. You deserve a moralistic kick up the ass, but that's just stating the obvious. We're better than obvious. We're intelligent.

So, whilst being an asshole, you're also being an incurable romantic. And a really lousy little coward. Actually, a really successful coward. Full marks for you, friend.

I too have been a coward sometimes. It is what it is. Easy, is what it is. Easier to somehow never rise up and face the challenge, and decide "It's better to know now how she feels, and then I can move on... either way." The irony is, living in fear's so fucking hard, and it makes us all become the people we'd sooner not be. But we are. When we deceive ourselves in that way, we're those bitter, sad, underwhelmed people not chasing after what they really want. And it's all because we're too cowardly to face the truth and learn a little.

We would rather live with the possibility of there being that chance but living under the shadow of doubt and worry, while we play our little manipulation of keeping them close without having to come clean... because to find out definitively that they're not interested in us would be devastating.

To know means having the power to move on, either way. You've simply never, ever admitted to how you felt, and instead sought to manipulate her life. If you couldn't have her, then she shouldn't be able to be happy with someone else. It's almost like a Hollywood cliche. Dying villain-hero, raging against the world, "If I can't have you-- nobody can!" But you got weird and started insinuating yourself into situations you shouldn't have entered, and as such are now dealing with The Wrath of Scorned Lovelorn Woman.

Yeah, good one. But you know this. I don't know, what do you want me to say? You stop hurting people if they matter to you. We all hurt people we love. Most of us don't do it as a matter of course, though. It just happens sometimes. You think you love her? Stop hurting her. Be honest. Tell her how you feel. Tell her you've been an ass. Tell her. Beg her forgiveness. A thousand apologies. And a good gift never hurts. Start the communication and see where it goes. Don't be surprised if there's a "Fuck you" somewhere in the mix, but there's always the chance that the cosmos will align in your favour and love's swift arrow pierces her offended exterior. There's always chance. I believe in chance.

But the truth is, you continue doing what you're doing and you will find yourself both without a lover, and without a friend. That's almost a certainty. End it, be a man, and there's hope something better can come of it.

Now go say 10 Haily Marys like you really mean it.

Kickin' Ass and Takin' Names

As part of the blowback from eating a little badly of late, in spurts with goodly, and a fear of weighing myself, I am now entertaining the notion of joining a kickboxing cardio class in the 'hood.

I mean, kickin' ass and takin' names sounds like a good way to kick my own ass and sculpt a ghettolicious bootay. I'm just chewing a few notions, but this one's really striking a chord of "cool" yet "hardcore"-ish. Why not get a psychological boost from the simple doing of something akin to one's mindset? Kickboxing kinda suits me to a t and it might be high time I remember such things.

Methinks a regimen of stairclimbing at My Nemesis (highrise) down the street, Pilates and yoga at home, swimming once a week, and a couple doses of kickboxing down at the gym each week would be an incredibly good mix of activities. Throw in a hike now and then, and shazam.

Back when I ate asphalt and flew off the scooter, landing on my head and fucking up pretty much my whole body, I had been swimming, cycling, hiking, and doing Pilates, and the doctors accredited my ridiculously good and quick healing with my varied activities in the preceding months (and acupuncture). I think I'm on path to have that kind of resilience this year.

It'd be awesome if I can get to the level of fitness I want to be at by, say, February 15th. I'd love to do something wild on my mom's anniversary of them finding her cancer and her birthday, which fall in the same week. Learning to surf or snowboard would rock my world, but I'm not doing it if my body ain't strong. Good thing is, I know my potential, and if I do this shit, it's the natural end result. And wouldn't that be cool?

Now, when I say level of fitness, I don't mean having lost a certain amount of weight. Weight's a factor, but it's that "Bah! I'm indestructible!" feeling you get when you're pushing yourself on a regular basis. I want the mojo. Got that, then I'll give it a go.

This is a better way of motivating myself. Reward. Every little thing like this that one accomplishes after really putting their mind to just doing it winds up playing out like another piece in the puzzle of You has fallen into place. It's like you come home to finding that you're more like the You you wanted to be so long ago, and what took so long, anyhow?

My goal is that I'll finally have a handle on all the change and weirdness that is my life of now, and things'll settle down just in time for the new year. My new year's resolutions are already made: to have a year in which many moments like that I've just described come my way; that many pieces of the puzzle of Me will fall into place this year, and I'll be fully aware of them all.

Maybe getting the fight outta me is exactly what I need. I suddenly feel the urge to watch a double bill of Girl Fight and Fight Club. Kickin' ass and takin' names. Some part of me wonders if some of my life choices of late haven't amounted to me basically wanting to pick fights with anything, something. I've sure been fighting like hell for no reason. Now's a good excuse to be a bit more practical about it, eh?

'Course, this means I need to buy me some cute workout gear and kicks now.

The Facebook Reunions: Round One

You ever have those times you run into someone from your past, hook up, get a glimpse of what your life might've been, and then have a headtrip kinda night?

Behold the power of Facebook. Hooked up with someone from the old days yesterday. She still lives in the 'burbs, has that laid back kind of life centred around the family and probably not a lot beyond that. But she's happy, right?

I'm truly my mother's daughter. She should've been one of those happy-to-be-happy kind of suburban moms who gave up a lot to be a good mom and an acceptable wife. And she was, for a couple decades, and then it hit her, her incredible unhappiness, and she ended the marriage. But the thing that set her apart from all the other suburban moms was that she raised me in the city. We'd have lunch on Robson Street, shop in Chinatown, and play in Stanley Park. Other kids stayed in the 'burbs and had the once-a-year exposure to the city I was getting monthly or more. And it wasn't because we had money; we didn't. We had public transit and cheap sandwiches in fancy joints. But we got out there and saw our world.

Growing up, I was surrounded by those people who loved their suburbs and kept to 'em, but I was indoctrinated to the love of the city by my mom. When I returned from the North after a year at 21 and had to crash with the mother unit, she'd actually sold her suburb home and moved right into the city, just a couple clicks from all the action. Best gift she ever gave me, y'know. I don't know if I'd have moved to the city with her doing so before me. Everyone I knew was in the suburbs still.

So, the inevitable after-15-years Facebook reunion was yesterday, and it was interesting, you know? She's probably a lot like I would've been had I stayed in the suburbs and married the Safe Guy who foolishly asked me for my hand years and years ago.

There are days when being single involves a lot of "How much longer am I staying single this time?" kinds of questions, days when the novelty is wearing off a little too much for anyone's good. So it's interesting for a perenially single gal, like me, who's actually hearing the ticking of her biological clock* of late, to be faced with the married-with-kid standard-issue nice-suburban mom unit.

For all I know I've given up, sitting here in my trendy apartment with reasonably clean floors, sunshine pouring in the windows, clean laundry of the verge of happening, before I wander off to a cafe for a breakfast and coffee... I certainly enjoy these rare perfect mornings where I have no one -- NO ONE -- else to answer to, and a good book to read.

Yeah, sharing your life is wonderful and nice. Maybe you can indeed live on love alone.

Sometimes, though, not sharing is a fucking blast, and actually BEING alone is just what the doctor ordered. It's a beautiful fuckin' morning. :)

Renovation Week Begins

I've been wanting to get social again for a long time, but the thing holding me back was my wardrobe. I've been really fucking tired of my clothes for a long time, long enough now that they themselves are looking tired, too. I just haven't really had the money to go shopping -- it's hard to go out and spend $40 or $50, get one thing, and go "well, that's this month's mad money budget blown", and you know you're barely making rent.

The last couple of years, spent way underemployed after a series of questionable judgments by yours truly, resulted in most months being pretty hand-to-mouth. "Extra money" was one of those things of myths, like unicorns, flying pigs, and good government.

Now, though, things are finally easing up. The new problem? Losing weight. Not gonna invest in clothes that'll become so emotionally valuable to me that I stop losing weight so they don't start looking frumpy. No way, man. Instead, I have discovered something I've not done since college years: The almighty Value Village!

Th king of thrift stores -- a privately owned chain of thrift brilliance. This weekend I paid them a visit and gave myself the $40 I can afford to spend (after buying a couple used DVDs, new undies, and new bras, which I bought from a fancy department store, of course, new) on new clothes. What'd I get from VV? Cute new tan-and-cream pinstripe straight-leg trousers, a great cream structured chenille mock-turtleneck sweater, and a very academic looking 3/4-length hooded duffle-type caramel-coloured coat. Total? $37.09. (No signs of wear or stains or snagging on any of the clothes, like they're frickin' new! $9.99 on each the sweater and pants, and $14.99 on the heavy winter coat that makes me wanna take a long walk on a snowy night!)

Next week? The half-off-everything sale. I already have a sale-beating strategy that I'm keeping to myself, but I'm aiming to spend $100 or more, which, if I'm lucky, will yield a very sophisticated and sleek new me. Someone I've felt like for a while on the inside, and really resent not matching on the outside.

Now, if you're one of those "it's what's inside that counts" rainbows-and-kittens rose-coloured glasses types, let me say this: Great notion, unlikely in reality. Yeah, you have to love what's inside, but there's so much to gain from loving how you look, and not feeling like your image is some kind of rebellious statement you have to feel all defensive about. Feeling defensive is no way to life. Love how ya look, do it the way you wanna, and if you feel great, then that's what it's about -- not about fitting in with the fashion cogs of the world. But you have to be able to work it, you know? And I haven't been working it for a while now. Starting to... but haven't been.

I'm also buying two pairs of shoes, which I'll shop for after I get a new wardrobe. And I'm going to give myself caramel/red highlights. It's the makeover-myself week I've deserved for a long, long time. I have great taste... I've just been broke off my ass and all my once-nice clothes are showing their age. It's hard to feel like hanging out with people or meeting new people when you're not happy with your exterior. It's not cool.

And I'm SO cool. I've just been hiding it or something. My hair's cute and textured short, boyish looking right now, and I'm losing the weight (18 lbs last weigh-in, and I'll weigh myself next weekend again... expecting a good week there) and getting energy back again, so... it's time. I figure for about $300 to $350, I'll have a whole new me. It'll be great. (Including cute new workout clothes and sneakers, is the plan. And yes, "new" workout clothes. Used clothes are one thing, but used "get sweaty time after time" clothes? Icky!)

Yesterday was an awesome day. I did the shopping thing, got the clothes, got new bras I've needed for a long, long time (which is a posting in itself; another time!) and panties, and the first real winter coat I've had in about three years or so. And I did a great hike, some photography, a nice breakfast out, a visit with a friend, shopped the public market, and put about 85 kilometres on my scooter. Who says you can't have a full day being single and alone? Excellent day. This feeling like my "old" self thing is really working well. And being single's finally getting fun again. It's a beautiful thing.

Workin' For a Livin' Every Night and Day

I'm having one of those red wine-epiphany kinda Fridays. I've had a long week and have a three-day weekend, so staying in and chilling makes a whole lot of sense. I have two more weeks of OT coming at me, but it's helping me take care of long-time needs that really ought to be rectified with cash as quick as I'm able.

But I'm having a great week of work, despite the overtime and difficult shows I've worked on this week. I don't really want to get into the specifics of my job and will never discuss any of the shows I work on, as I'm bound by confidentiality agreements and all that bullshit. What I can say is, what I do, which is captioning for film and tv (subtitling for the hearing impaired), involves a lot of thought about language and its finer points... grammar, truncation, phrase construction, verb conjugation, et al. Then I also have to consider math... words per minute and how it gets divided and time-stamped for display rate for the at-home viewer. Every shot gets a time stamp, and when a hard shot change (ie: picture to picture with no fading in between) happens, I need to find that time code down to the 1/30th of a second (the frame) and manually create that t/c and flag it as immoveable.

It's a complicated job. I work for a company with really exacting standards and a work quota. It's a difficult balance and a challenging job.

I worked there for much of seven years, then left for the spell I spent at the job that nearly drove me to exhaustion and depression. I was always a good, loyal, hard working employee. But I've never been as good as I am now. I've returned with this clarity and focus I've never before had.

I'm pretty fucking impressed with myself right now because I feel I've been very creative, precise, and right with my judgment at work of late.

And how sweet it is.

I finally realized that unhappiness went a whole lot further than work, and that the work I'd left was far better, more fair, and more balanced than it'd be anywhere else. Like my good buddy Gayboy commented not too long ago when I'd been stating how I think I left for all the wrong reasons, and that returning was one of the wisest choices I'd made. He said, "Yeah, like, I can see why you left, but... I don't know why you'd leave" or something like that. :)

I mean, I show up when I want to. I ask for a day off and 85% of the time or better, I get it. I work anywhere between 35 and 45 hours a week, often of my choosing. I don't have to answer phones. I don't have to talk to customers. My colleagues don't talk to me. All I do is sit there with headphones, a TV, a television show or movie, and play with words.

Yeah. Such high stress. Really.

So, yeah, why'd I leave? I guess I had delusions of grandeur and the need to prove them in corporate ways. Whoopsy-daisies. I've seen the errors of my ways. I'd rather sleep to a reasonable time, live a little in the morning, and work sometime around 11. Call me crazy. I'm single and have no reason to worry about sitting in fucking rush hour and twiddling my thumbs... as it rains on my little scooter and me. Fuck that. I'll go when traffic's easing up and life's not as fucking annoying.

But to have this clarity not only of the job but ON the job, well, I'm really getting content with life again. I'm keen to see where this all leads.

I guess I'm just really happy that I get to remind myself every single day that work comes second, and the even better thing about that is, work thinks they come second, too.

I guess it's really a case of older/wiser, and I was just too fucking dumb to see it sooner. Later's better than never. Here's to the old carpe diem-moment siezing thing.

And don't fucking kid yourself. If you think work's just something to suffer through so you can live your life in the off-hours, then you got another think coming.

Work consumes 23.8% of your life. Hating what you do isn't doing you any favours. My job may not be my dream, but it's certainly a million times better than most of 'em. Pay's pretty decent, too. And I get to watch TV. Good stuff, too. Love that.

I Support TV Writers

I don't have a union job, but I work in the TV industry. I support the TV writers. And before you go off saying "Oh, boo-hoo, the poor rich writers", you should know the main thing they're striking for: to be finally recompensated for any work they're being made to do for the "new media", like the internet, cell phones, etc.

Fair's fair and the studios are getting rich off everything they're creating, especially now that the 'net has become such a tool for them. Writing's one of the hardest jobs there is, and to take advantage of it is just unfair. So, yeah, I support 'em. I'm happy to see actors refusing to cross picket lines. Maybe it'll get resolved nice and quick. Yet another bit of bullshit the studios finally need to ante up for.

Just Taking A Moment... Venting on Nancy Grace

Okay, I just need to vent: What the fuck is wrong with Nancy Grace anyhow? Like, it's not enough that news is news... there's always that stupid fucking card at the bottom of the screen that reads-- no, not "news", but "URGENT NEWS". Yes, all caps.

Jesus. And it's of a story about an 82-year-old grandma who got Tasered. Shitty, hard to believe, moronic, and a sign of the times, but is it really "urgent"? Does a huge massing of concerned citizens mean she'll somehow become unTasered? Is there a pressing concern for society at large? Like, "Ohmigod, I gotta get home before I'm Tasered!" Something like that?

Well, then it's not "urgent", then, is it? No. It's really just another day of news. Not that sexy, then, is it? But news hardly needs to be sexy. It just needs to be new. Kinda is what it is. Funny how much the media manages to complicate that. If it's new, tell us. If it's important, tell us. But don't fucking sell it to us. Just report the facts. Just the facts, ma'am. Like the story goes.

Anyhow, just to clear it up for the thick-headed types who can't separate my opinion from the meat of that sad-ass story: I am completely opposed to the Tasering of 82-year-old women. I mean, what kinda cop are you that you can't settle an 82-year-old woman down without having to risk inducing heart attacks? Gimme an M! Gimme an U! An S! And gimme a C! An L! And an E! Fuck, man. Get a real job, right? So, BOO and HISS to the dumb fuckin' cops, but Nancy Grace deserves dollop of common sense-- no, brains, period-- as well. Urgent my ass.

And people wonder why the public in the know is getting their news from the 'net.

Further Notes on the Adventures of Steff

(Someone left a comment to my last posting, asking what images I was blowing up for Christmas presents this fall. I can't do the shots of people themselves since that breaks one of my personal blogging rules, but these are some of the images of my own work from the last 18 months or so, that I'm blowing up for myself and a friend this holiday season, and I'll scatter 'em through this posting. If you're liking 'em and you want to buy Giclee quality prints for your home or gifts, drop me an email and we can talk!)

It's another rainy day in paradise and I'm hanging on to my coffee like it's the last thing protecting me from the world at large, and it is. When it's gone, then so am I.

I've agreed to do a lot of overtime this week and next, which means I'm doing a bit of a tailspin as I try to get my still-spiralling life under control. I guess the older I get, the more I realize I'm a creature of routine more than I'd like to be. This upheaval I've faced for god knows how long is still confuddling my mix.

An exercise routine is something I'm desperately trying to get together. I'm making progress, and I hope to be able to say by the weekend that I've definitively made progress. I did the stairs yesterday, but I dialed it back by 30%... The first time I did them, two weeks ago now, I was in so much pain for the next few days that it killed any desire to do it again, and strained my achilles tendon. Today, I hurt a bit, but THIS is just fine. This is manageable. So, tomorrow I'll do the stairs again and add another storey into it. Controlled growth. There's no sense excercising to the point that you're in 24/7 pain if it means you won't do it again for a week or more. Amazing how simple epiphanies can yield such amazing dividends.

Speaking of dividends, I'm getting freaked out by the economy these days. It feels like the end of the world when our dollar, the Canuck Buck, is one of the mightier currencies on this spinning ball in space. I mean, are pigs flying? All of a sudden we're trading at 1.10 US. Then there's the fact that the American economy seems like a pinata, with everyone's seeing just how many more hits it's gonna take before the whole thing goes flying open and it's a free-for-all.

In other end-of-the-world news, I was reading an interesting story earlier about plastics and potential links they have to obesity, birth defects, and other fun "I'll take two!" side effects that makers of convenience products and toys likely don't want you knowing about. Me, I've always had a skeptical look at things like plastic and styrofoam, and I don't even own a microwave because I don't want that shit around me 24/7, so I don't get too surprised when I find out there are fears that the off-gassing of things like plastic water bottles or containers getting nuked in microwaves are fucking with us on practically a molecular level.

But I thought I'd share for some of you rose-coloured-glasses types who don't realize that all the little handy plastic containers you're nuking your food in, the water bottles you're reusing well past the "hmm, my water tastes funny" stage, and plastic glasses and dishes you have at home are actually just your free ticket to a whole new somewhat chemically compromised you.

All that aside, I'm in a decent mood. Heh. I'll be writing more later this week -- the exercise and the making-of-many-lunches activities have usurped all my free time since Sunday. (I've made some 20-25 curried chicken wraps for lunch and have frozen them... 20 lunches for $25, and I don't have to make any effort to get it ready for the next three weeks or so.)

I may be working a lot this week and next, but the crafty me you love has still managed to cling to her beloved three-day weekend that's upcoming. Saturday's for writing better content for here, since you deserve that at the very least (as do I) and in so doing I'll be tackling a particularly tough reader question... and may tackle some of the ones that have fallen through the cracks these past few months, even if they're now obselete. Still. Better late than never, and hey, it's not like I get paid for this. :)

A Self-Indulgent Posting

I've caught the end of Desperate Housewives. Good time to mention: SPOILER ALERT.

It's the end in which Lynette finds out she's beaten cancer. She has this moment of total realization all that which she's escaped when she's in the back yard, soaking in the starry-starry night and the evergreen air and she glances down to see a dead rodent. Here she is, clean, alive, and it's very, very dead. Sounds overwrought but the portrayal of utter reduction that follows was pretty harsh.

And the end tag was, whatever doesn't kill us just makes us stronger. I'm going through this rather idyllic time where my troubles are just difficulties, and everything that faces me is overcomeable. If that's a word. Should be.

I've just been thinking of late how I wish that "wow, I survived, I'm blessed" sense I had after surviving what I had no right to survive, that PTS bliss, could come back for awhile. I can use that utter gratitude of loving to be alive and seeing the best of everything. It's something I'm fighting to resurrect of late. It was a change in attitude. With work, I think I can get there. I'm making progress, but sometimes more is more, you know?

I've been thinking of that of late and it was nice to see a dramatic representation of it. One of the nice things about TV. The big moments are such predictable plots that you can be sure your particular drama will get the primetime treatment somewhere somehow every TV season. Ha.

But I was also thinking earlier how this gratitude I have is starting to manifest in other ways. I have decided this Christmas that I will blow select prints up to 16x20 for holiday gifts, and frame them beautifully, for friends... and for myself. It'll be the first time I've ever concretely shown that I think my photography is work shelling a few bucks out on. It's hard to admit to liking my own work. It feels arrogant. But it also feels a little bit good. :) It'll feel cool to pronounce each print worthy of $80 treatment. It feels self-indulgent in a good way. I can't wait to see my stuff lookin' professional on my wall.

I'm planning to use two new prints as a reason to redecorate the living room. My new works will be the centrepiece of a new style of living room. I hope to buy a new couch next year before my back goes out permanently. Holy crooked support, Batman. And when I do, clean industrial lines to contrast all my big wooden antiques. Leather and metal versus wood. Sleek. But new art? My stuff framed all fancy-pants? This'll feel cool. Very. Going to buy a bunch of new frames and really embrace the feeling a bit... you know, that of being grown-up and sophisticated. I have a new colour palette of paints for the flat, exotic stuff like lavender and saffron and cranberry and aqua. I want to be surrounded by vibrance and passion and optimism. I figure bigger, bolder colours, 24/7 would be a great way to inspire myself to be bigger, bolder, and full of colour too.

I still need to pare more from my life. I think I will start stripping my bookshelves a bit. To store or to donate, that is the question. I need my place to feel less claustrophobic, and that means ditching more of the clutter.

I like that the winter's upon me and I might have more time for "projects" around the home. I do love to be handy. Oh, the fun of it all. I'm thinking of painting my lime green kitchen a sunny saffron yellow. How's that for change? And soon, too.

The State of the Steff

I'm going to sound like one of those people you hate if I complain right now, because I'll be honest, I'm still down on the weight. I've gone down to 17lbs off this fat ass of mine this month, but I'm disappointed. I thought I could've had a far better week. I mean, I've eaten chips, like a whole bag, too, and there've been those little chocolate bars around... Sigh.

It's not about the number, it's really not. If it was, I could sit here smugly and just go "I'm down 17 pounds! Nyah-nyah!" but it's not about the number. It's about being healthy. It's about not eating shit like chips. I know I'm gonna falter here and there, but I've faltered too many times this week, AND I'm not eating quite as healthily as I want to be.

However, I'm not going to continue riding my own ass about this. I'm going to let myself off the hook and go "well, thank god for the number!" A little easier to make lemonade out of this, right? But I gotta wonder how much I might've lost had I been as healthy as I wanted to be this week. PLUS, I've not been exercising. I'm actually pretty pissed at myself for that.

So, there's next week. Good. And no candy-focused holiday to fuck me up, right? Whew. Oh, and it's been my time of the month, too. That always helps. Okay, so it's through no small miracles that I'm still down another 3 or so pounds this week. That no-butter thing is pretty huge. I'm certainly more conscious of what other fats I have, and I'm pretty sparing on it.

I can improve. I will. This is a little reckonings of sort. And sometimes I plan to be bad on purpose, like the popcorn I'm intending to have at the theatre tonight. Die Hard and no popcorn? Good god! The travesties!

But dinner last night was oatmeal and fruit. Breakfast this morning, more of the same, with a side of vitamins. Lunch will be suitably restrained. Tomorrow I do the fun hike up and down from Wreck Beach a couple times, and expect a world of hurt on Sunday.

Tomorrow night I have a hot date with my nephew. Fun. The kid's staying over for a night of movies, a late sleep-in, and hanging with the aunt on Sunday. It's been about two or three years since he's stayed over... but he used to light up like a million watts when he'd show up for sleepovers at auntie's, and then the divorce/separation began with his folks, and now the only sleepovers he gets are at Dad's. Add to that that he's officially a pre-teen at 11, and I'm kind of dreading it and stoked at the same time -- I'm so out of touch with hanging out with him that I'm nervous my cachet's going to drop as he gets exposed to the inevitable truth: I'm just another grownup. But we'll see.

I still have something on my side that his parents don't have, though, and that's punk rock. You never know. That could be just the ticket. :)

Have a great weekend, people.