I’m just taking a break from this very busy thing called life to remind you of something very important: It is exactly one week until my birthday. You may now commence preparations for extravagent gifting.

Other than that, I’ve been working a lot, sleeping a lot and lusting over my car. She’s still at the dealership, since part of the deal was to take care of a few maintenance-y things she needed. I’m hoping to have her in time for the weekend.

Also, if you’ve been missing me immensely, show up to the blogger meetup thingie tomorrow night, and you’ll likely see me there.

I just bought the car.

Gasp.

Details to follow.

For now, I’m going to hyperventilate, then consume large quantities of alcohol.

Working at the Local Spelunking Club has made one of my pet peeves blatently obvious: Women who are afraid of their bodies. Or more specifically, afraid to use their bodies. Frailty is not sexy.

Spelunking is a very technical sport, requiring coordination, sureness, and strength through the entire body in order to perform at any level of proficiency. It requires pushing your body to its limits in terms of reach and flexibility, and moving confidently between those points. Above all, it requires working with your body and the equipment, and trusting both of those things to work at an optimal level in order to succeed.

Men who are new to spelunking will usually go one of two ways: either use their bodies to work with the equipment (these are the ones who “get it”), or try to muscle against it (which ends up being fairly amusing, and ultimately useless).

Women who try the sport will all too often seem afraid of their bodies, and the equipment. They have no sense of strength or confidence when trying to propel themselves, or using the equipment to do so. Their grip is light and unsure - tentatively touching things with their fingertips instead of using their hands to firmly grasp anything. Their arms and shoulders form a weak shawl around their bodies and their backs and necks curl inward, instead of adopting the strong posture that is not only required for the sport, but also shows that they believe they can stand up straight without breaking into tiny pieces (ok, the “spelunking” analogy is kindof falling apart, but just go with it).

And it’s not only in spelunking that this comes across. I see it everywhere. My old roommate who wouldn’t close her hand fully around a hammer, rendering it useless for actually driving a nail into some MDF. The girls I see around town who can’t seem to open a shop door, or whose larger-than-teacup-sized dogs seem to be walking them. Or the ones who shun any sort of activity where dirt may be involved, because “Ew - I don’t do messy, I might break a nail.”

Yah, it all annoys me - but most of all it disappoints me. Who taught these women that they and their bodies are anything less than capable of being strong and confident? Being a woman is not synonymous with being weak. In fact, I would suggest it’s anything but. A real woman has the strength to open the door for herself, and the grace to have it opened for her. The “Girl Power” movement started in the mid-90’s, and has been going strong ever since, so who’s still perpetuating the myth that girl = powerless?

But every once in a while I’m lucky enough to see a woman come into a Learn to Spelunk class who knows exactly what her body is capable of, and pushes it to achieve that. She intinctively feels the flow of movement, and her body and the equipment move in absolute sync. And she is a goddess. And my faith is restored.

The car inspection report is back.

There are issues. Many small ones that don’t merit much consideration, and a couple larger ones.

I am not amused at the larger ones.

I obviously need to turn up the hardass and give the salesperson some hell.

Maybe after a nap.

Damn. It’s like This Fish has a probe in my brain or something - lately she seems to post the most oddly relevant things. And puts them into words so much more beautiful that I could ever hope to write.

What do I mean to you? It’s not something we’re cool about asking each other. It’s something we’re supposed to read between the lines, figure out through the context of conversations, emails and facial expressions.

You make my life better.
I think you’re funny.
We are temporary.

An unreturned phone call and sideways glances may read, You’re replaceable. While a tender pat on the head from the same person can say, To the moon and back.

I wish it were always as easy as asking. I wish the answers were obvious. What I have learned is that it takes a great deal of inner peace and acceptance to turn down the noise and be open to the answer - because when you least expect it, it will whisper quietly in your ear, and tell you everything you never knew that you already knew.

1. The Car is being inspected today. Please send her some good juju so I don’t have to feel guilty about buying her anyway if I find out something is terribly wrong (because I just can’t go through all of this again).

2. Despite the awkwardness in heels (because really, even real women have trouble with them), the freakishly large hands, and the adam’s apple, that tranny on the skytrain this morning might’ve passed for a woman if only he’d shaved this morning.

3. All of those free-newspaper hander-outers that accost me every morning can go straight to hell. I see you seeing me, with that glint of recognition in your eyes -you obviously know who I am. And I ALWAYS politely decline the pre-litter that you’re waving in my face. Isn’t that a hint? I didn’t want the paper today, I didn’t want it yesterday, I won’t want it tomorrow. Though if this continues I may take the paper one day just so I can BEAT YOU SENSELESS with it.

4. I got in to work this morning, and had NO new voicemail. I’m taking this as the first sign of the apocalypse.

I’ve been having issues lately with the time-space continuum. Mostly when it comes to remembering what day it actually is when I wake up in the mornings. And this happens EVERY MORNING - only the names of the days change. My internal dialogue goes something like this:

Alarm: *midi of Knight Rider theme*
Brain: MOTHERFUCKERI DONOTWANTTOGETUP!
Body: hits off button and waits for alarm #2

10 minutes go by

Alarm: *midi of Cheers theme*
Brain: damn.
Body: turns off alarm

Brain: I guess it’s time to get on with Thursday.
Brain: OH MY GOD IT’S ALREADY THURSDAY! I HAVE SO MUCH WORK LEFT TO DO THIS WEEK.
Brain: Are you sure it’s Thursday?
Brain: Wait no, it’s Wednesday
Brain: HOORAY FOR WEDNESDAY! PANIC DOWNGRADED!
Brain: Aw damn. It’s only Wednesday… so many days left until the weekend…

In addition to all the regular stuff I do all of the time (eat, sleep, work, work out, be social, clean house, have crazy roommate, try not to go crazy myself) - I figured “self, that’s not nearly enough challenge! Let’s add something new!” But one new thing isn’t insane enough, so lets add two!

Lets try to get two of the most frustrating things in the world taken care of AT THE SAME TIME. Start dating someone new, and buy a car.

And funnily enough, they are not as different as one may initially think!

The Marketplace
Finding a car and finding a man are equally frustrating. You’re trying to find one that’s just the right blend of flashy and reliable, that you’d feel equally comfortable showing off to your friends as your family. No rust, no dents, no trouble under the hood waiting to spring up as soon as the warranty runs out. Temptation is high to give in to the frustrations and just pick one and say “That’s it, I’m settling, you’ll do.” However in both situations that’s likely to leave you stranded at some point, waiting under a streetlamp for roadside assistance to show up.

The Negotiations
You’d think that for someone with a degree in such things, I’d be a lot better at Communication. But you’d be wrong. It’s not that my skills in general are lacking, but if there are two things that will make me clam up and forget that I have any intelligence at all, they are cute boys and car salesmen. I always walk away from situations knowing what I should have said - yet totally didn’t because I was so tongue-tied. Being completely adorable usually works to my favour in both scenarios - however a few kisses and perhaps a light grope only helps me get my way in one of them - I’ll let you decide which.

The Terms of the Deal
I am not normally one to dally. I may take a long time to run through options before I finally choose a car or a man, but my choices are quick and dirty. I usually have a pretty strong idea of whether it’s a “yes” or a “no” by the 2nd date, or the test drive. I either want it or I don’t. I dislike leasing with the option to buy. Unfortunately, neither men nor cars are quite that easy to secure for meaningful, strife-free long-term endeavors.

The Aftermath
As it stands right now, I’m currently in “negotiations” with both a dealership, and a guy. Thje uncertainty in both situations is totally killing me - but in the interest of “closing the deal” I’m currently trying to keep my cool and stay mellow about it all. Sometimes in life, things will just happen in their own time, and there’s not much you can do about it but cling to your favourite coping mechanism (mine’s currently Stella Artois) and hope for the best.

Rude Cactus mentioned he’d like to see some Monday Haikus in his comments. I’ve left one there, but thought I’d share it with everyone here as well:

two short days away
returning, what do i find?
shit happened. uh oh.

And now, in the spirit of the haiku, I must to and try to clean up this mess. Happy Monday!

GFCI Conversion

Originally uploaded by peechie.

Finally, a Saturday to myself.

And what did I do? Installed an electrical outlet of course. No zapping myself, no terrible mishaps, not even a broken nail (though there was a lot of cursing for a short period when the back plate wouldn’t line up).

I am woman, hear me roar.

Watching these shorts was definitely 15 minutes of my life I’ll never get back.

“Trapped” is a five-part musical soap opera about a guy who wakes up after a one-night stand and has to hide in the closet when the woman’s husband comes home. The song was designed to be released bit by bit as a radio teaser leading up to Tuesday’s release of [R. Kelly’s] new album, “TP.3 Reloaded” (Jive Records), which includes a bonus DVD with a “Trapped in the Closet” film.

But if you have nothing (and I really mean nothing) better to do, it can be kindof entertaining.

I think it’s what would happen if Suge Knight and Telemundo had a bastard love child.

The Evite for my rockin’ birthday shindig has gone out. July 29th. Be there.

If you didn’t get it, it’s probably because I don’t have your email address handy. So if you want it, comment. The more the merrier

If you’re looking for happy and fun, try clicking on the Blogroll link and reading some other bloggers. This post is dedicated entirely to being cranky.

First, to my old friend Burnout - I haven’t missed you. Please pack up your stuff and don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. I know I invited you in with the long days and late nights and over-extending myself. But I’ve had enough. See, if you insist on sticking around much longer, I’m afraid your partner in crime Panick Attack will miss you and show up to make it a 3-some.

Also, an apology to my fridge. The fact that you’re kinda stinky these days is not lost on me. In fact, I would like nothing more than to toss out the science experiments that are developing in your many nooks and crannies. In addition to that, it’d be really great to fill you with something other than beer, the brita filter, and mustard - but that requires both cleaning you out, and going foraging for sustinence - neither of which sound particularly appealing right now considering the above.

And to my dream car: I know you’re out there somewhere! I promise that I’m really trying to make some time to come find you so that we can finally spend our carefree days cruising through the non-bus lanes as a gas-guzzling single-passenger polluter. I would like nothing more than to abandon the grip that public transit has on me and my schedule right now, but it’s a bit of a catch-22. Having a car would free up so much time that I could really use to go out and find a car. But soon, my precious, soon we’ll be together!

Finally, to that gigantic mountain of laundry hiding in the closet and waiting to pounce - I’m coming for you. When you least expect it, I’ll be there to tackle your baskets full of machine washables. If we could strike a deal though - I promise to follow all the proper washing instructions, if you promise to keep all the socks present and accounted for - that would be super duper.

So yah. Busy doesn’t even start to describe it. Though I do have a birthday coming up in a few weeks… Any of you want to pitch in for a clone so I have some help around here?

Can I please have another weekend to recover from my long weekend? It’s honestly all a bit of a blur. At one of the (far too many) BBQs I attended, there was a talking bottle opener - and I heard the following many, many, many times. I think it sums up the weekend nicely:

(Homer) No Beer Makes Homer Something Something

(Marge) Go Crazy?

(Homer) DON’T MIND IF I DO! WOWOWOOWOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOWOWOW

I am sick of being the Turnaround Girl™.

What is the Turnaround Girl™ you ask? She’s the one who is a really fantastic catch herself, and seems to end up with nothing but idiots. This is because of her innate ability to make her partner feel fabulous about himself, and in return, he turns into a fully datable member of the male species.

The problem is, while Turnaround Girl™ is dating a guy, she’s putting up with all the bullshit he came into the relationship with. The jackassery, the low self-confidence, the baggage, the complete lack of skill in bed. But instead of seeing all this and running screaming like so many before her, she sees the diamond in the rough. And polishes it up. And by the time that is done, she’s usually so covered in coal dust herself, that the diamond has lost any appeal.

But he’s completely turned around and is a fabulous catch for whoever dates him next. Great. Most of the time he even calls a few months later to thank her for making him realize what a better man he’s become.

Can’t I just have someone after they’ve had their turnaround relationship? Someone who knows what their best self is, and wants to be that for me? Is that too much to ask?