Me versus the crane fly

I hate insects.  They freak me out.  Seriously.  They’re so creepy.  Yes, I’m that girl who doesn’t let much phase her & is so independent but then there’s a giant spider on the wall and she’s completely helpless.  Well, spiders aren’t actually insects, they’re arachnids.  But you get the idea.  Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, I’m not completely helpless, I can figure out how to deal if I have to.  But I don’t go about it very well.  Most people can just get rid of an insect or a spider by hitting it with a shoe or getting it with a paper towel or some such tactic.  For me, there’s a lot more deliberation and freaking out involved.

I don’t have a problem killing insects.  I mean, if it’s easy.  If it’s stationary on the wall and I have something to hit it with then I will.  Or if it’s on the ground and I’m wearing close toed shoes, fine.  But I don’t want to touch it.  Once I kill it, I cringe at the idea of having to dispose of it, even if there’s a large paper towel barrier between it and my hand.  I don’t know what it is that I’m afraid of.  I just don’t like it.  Sometimes I randomly freak out because I feel like a bug is on my arm.  And then after flailing and looking down, I realize it’s just a strand of my own hair that has grazed me.  And then I feel stupid.  And then I get upset by the fact that my hair is shedding.

I really do have a problem with insects though.  And I feel like they have a problem with me.  I really do take this personally.  Pretty much every day, a fly with hit me in the face, usually in the eye or the mouth.  Sometimes several times a day.  That’s not normal, right?  I’m pretty sure this doesn’t just happen to everyone.  It’s like they’re flying too fast and have no time to slow down before crashing into me.  I don’t get it.  I mean, flies are attracted to garbage, and they’re constantly hit me in the face.  Are they trying to tell me something?  That’s just insulting.

Lately, around our home, there have been a lot of crane flies.  When I come home, there are a few of them on the door.  These things are massive.  They are like giant spiders with wings.  It’s horrible.  When I came home last night there were two resting against the door.  I had a lot of things to bring inside and tried to make my move as quickly as possible, so as not to allow them into the house.  I was in such a hurry that I ended up leaving my key in the door all night.  I think I may have tried kicking the door before opening it, in hopes that would get them to leave.  It didn’t.

They did not come in, but unfortunately, one of their friends was already inside.  In the kitchen.  Hanging out there while I was trying to make myself a wrap for lunch the next day.  Not cool.  It already creeps me out just by being there.  It’s just so much more disturbing for it to be there while I’m making food.  I saw it against the blinds at the window.  I didn’t want it there.  I had to do something.  But I didn’t want to touch it.  So I took out a bottle of Lysol and sprayed it.  Cause you know, that seemed like a good idea.  In hindsight, it wasn’t.  That just made the thing agitated and it began to move very quickly in all sorts of directions without warning.  I can’t imagine why being sprayed by Lysol would make it angry.

I briefly went out of the kitchen as I tried to figure out what to do.  My sister said she would get it if I gave her a shoe.  I said okay.  Maybe my sister would save me from this horrible creature.  I mean that would be really sad that a grown woman can’t deal with it herself, but whatever.  But then she realized she couldn’t hit it with the shoe while the crane fly was on the blinds and she might end up breaking something.  It came towards us and we left the kitchen once again.

It flew around in the dining room, and at one point went close to the floor.  There were shoes around, but instead I grabbed a baseball bat.  Yes.  And you thought the Lysol was a bad idea.  I tried in vain to hit it with the bat against the floor but to no avail.  The thing would just not die.  At one point I thought I very nearly had it but I was mistaken.  That tricky little things got away.  It’s even more unnerving when you suddenly don’t know where it is.  If it’s going to stick around and be alive, I would rather have it in sight so I know what it’s up to.  Once it’s out of sight, it can reappear without warning, and who knows what it might do then.

I continued to carefully make my lunch, all the while I knew it was nearby, sometimes I could hear it, sometimes I couldn’t.  At one point I nearly screamed as it came at me without warning.  Well not really at me, but near me.  Very near me.  And my food.  I wanted to call my sister to come and get rid of it for me like she promised, but by then she was already in her room.  I’m such a horrible older sister.  Apparently she’s braver than I am.  Or I’m just that much of a wimp.

So as it stands now, crane fly 1, me 0.  Yes, I’m only awarding it one point for it’s victory over me.  I’m not really sure what happened to it after that.  I’m hoping it went out the window, never to return again.  When I came home today, there was only one crane fly on the door, and it was smaller than the others I’d seen.  This gives me hope that they might leave us alone and let me be at peace.  But I fear that same one I battled yesterday may still be lurking somewhere, just waiting make it’s presence known.  Well Mr. crane fly, I have my Lysol and my baseball bat ready.  Bring it.

Wingwomaning fails

When I think of wingmen, I usually think of Barney on How I Met Your Mother.  But when I try to think of a good wingwoman, nothing really comes to mind.  A wingwoman is basically the female equivalent of a wingman.  Sometimes girls need help too.  But sometimes trying to get a little help from your friends makes you even worse off than you would’ve otherwise been.

I told my friend the other night that an ideal guy for me would be like Adam Scott’s character from Parks and Recreation.  Because he’s cute, funny, and awkward, and not typically the type of guy you would really go for.  But you grow to like him.  She asked me if that kind of guy would even go to a bar.  I think he would go, but reluctantly.  She told me I should look for a guy who looks out of place and as if he just came from work.  No such guy was to be found.  Everyone at the bar was just drunk and obnoxious and wearing a whole lot of plaid.  I know, you’re thinking, what did I expect?  My friend proceeded to point out to me what she thought was the closest version of Adam Scott for me.  I nearly threw up a little as I glanced at the weedy, nerdy hipster who was only awkward because he was so drunk.  She failed at knowing my type.  She failed at being my wingwoman.

I had also promised another friend that I would try to be her wingwoman.  And who does she pick out?  The guy in the house band.  Who just happened to be the hottest guy in the bar.  How can you call dibs on the hottest guy in the bar?  That’s just not fair.  Some other random chick gave him her number.  A lot of random chicks probably gave him their numbers.  He’s the kind of guy who probably has tons of girls throwing themselves at him all the time.  There’s something sexy about a guy in a band.  Especially when he’s a great guitarist in a great band.

I’m generally not the biggest fan of house bands, but they were really great.  I loved all the songs they played and their versions of them were great.  I danced and sang along  whenever they were onstage (which was probably insulting now that I think about it, as I am neither a good dancer nor a good singer).  I just wish I’d had a bit more personal space.  Or any at all for that matter.  It hinders your ability to enjoy yourself when you’re constantly being shoved by the masses in the crowd.  At times I fought the urge to punch someone in the face (I figured I may not fare so well in a bar fight).  There was a fight near us of one point and some guy got put in a headlock and kicked out the door.  Not sure what he did.  Maybe it’s best not to know.

So we danced whenever the house band played.  And we danced close to the stage.  A little closer each time they went on.  At one point we were right by it and the hot guitarist moved closer to the edge.  He held out his guitar pick and gave it to me.  And then motioned for me to strum his guitar for the duration of the song.  I have no musical talent whatsoever so I’m not even sure if I strummed in time with the music.  I don’t even remember what song it was that was playing.  But yeah.  I just remember being happy.  And then I remembered that my friend liked him.  And that I had failed as her wingwoman by falling for the same guy as her.  That’s why you don’t call dibs on the hottest guy at the bar.  Things will never go well when you do that.

So yeah, now I’m sort of in love with the guitarist from the house band at Joe’s Apartment.  I mean, as I looked around at all the drunk obnoxious guys that were filling up the place, no one could compare.  And if I couldn’t have the hot guy, I didn’t want to settle.  I’ve heard that they do play there regularly, so I could always go back.  That wouldn’t be too creepy stalkerish, would it?  I mean I like the music they play, that alone is reason enough to go back.  And if not, I always have the guitar pick to remember him by.

Mom’s advice

Last week was kind of a horrible week for me.  I can’t really explain why, it was just bad.  We all have bad days and bad weeks every now and then, some more than others.  It happens.  I tend to get stressed out a lot and easily agitated.  I’m not sure why.  I swear I can remember a time when this wasn’t the case.  I used to be a lot calmer, more care free, nothing really mattered so much.  And I don’t know when or how or why, but at some point life became stressful.

It’s weird, because I used to have multiple jobs, multiple classes, and multiple volunteer positions.  All at the same time.  And somehow I survived that.  I suppose I did get a little burned out but somehow I managed.  And now school has finally been eliminated from the mix.  But somehow even with one job, I find myself busy all the time although I can’t figure out why.  And things bother me more than they used to.  I used to not care much about a lot of things but now I do.

I remember a couple years ago, I was really stressed out and complaining about school and work and various other issues in my life.  My mom turned to me and said “In 70 or 80 years, you’ll be dead anyway, so who cares?”.  My response to her was “You really think I’ll live that long?”.  These words of wisdom from my mother were funny but also very helpful.  It allowed me to put things into perspective and really think about how important something really is and if I should allow it to stress me out as much as it does.

Last week, I randomly thought of that conversation with my mom and I smiled because it is still relevant to me now.  I mean taking it word for word would imply that nothing matters at all.  But that’s not the case.  Obviously there are worthwhile things in life that matter.  But a lot of things, a lot of tough situations and stressful events, in the long run, don’t.  And sometimes I find myself getting lost in my own sense of distress and forget to put these things into perspective.

I feel like maybe I should write that quote down somewhere as a reminder to myself.  It would be helpful to me in dealing with a lot of things that I face.  And I don’t agree with my mom about a lot of things but I do think she’s right about this.  Although, 70 or 80 years is a long time, and I still doubt that I’ll live that long.

My blog title

I spent about two years contemplating whether I should start a blog.  I took a career counselling course last year and when I mentioned that I’ve always wanted to be a writer, the instructor asked me if I’d considered blogging.  I said I’d thought about it but was never able to come up with a good title.  He strongly suggested I start a blog so that I could continue with my writing.  I very nearly took the advice, but the title just would not come.  And so it took a year and a half later for me to finally get this thing started.

Things also got to the point where I began to update my facebook status an obnoxious amount of times everyday.  I remember back when it would only be a couple times a week.  Then it became every couple days.  Then daily.  And now it’s several times a day.  I can’t help it, I have a lot of thoughts which are just dying to be expressed whether people want to hear them or not.  I don’t update my facebook status because I want to, I update my facebook status because I have to.  A fair amount of people told me in person that they liked my updates and so I allowed them to continue.  But I guess at some point I felt limited by one or two sentences at a time.  I felt I needed something more.

But the damn title.  I was never good at those.  I was never good at beginnings or endings.  I’m good at filling in the in between.  Like I could never manage to put together a coherent story, but I always had a hell of a lot of good ideas that could be randomly dispersed throughout.  I wanted to be a screenwriter, but instead of writing the whole screenplay, be a line writer.  Be in charge of providing random witty lines here and there that would make the story that much better.  But sadly I don’t think such a job exists.

I wanted to just called this thing “Dominique’s blog”.  But for some reason my friend told me I couldn’t do that.  She didn’t explain why, she just didn’t approve.  I also thought of “Too lazy to think of a title”.  Or “Blog without a title”.  Or “Stuff”.  Or “My thoughts”.  Yeah, you can see how much I suck at this.

So where did my title come from?  Well, despite the fact that many people like my facebook statuses, there are always those that are highly critical.  One of my friends one day pointed out that I update my facebook status a lot.  He joked that he would block them from his newsfeed because there were just too many.  I remember I had a status that was something like “They no longer had the bacon cheeseburger deluxe at Mcdonalds so I had to settle for a mcdouble, which wasn’t nearly as satisfying”.  Yes, I will admit that was definitely not one of my better updates.  But yes.  Upon reading that he asked if I thought that was really newsworthy.

The stuff I tend to post is also pretty random.  And not just on facebook.  I send random texts to people all the time, just things that I think are funny or that they will appreciate.  Random thoughts are constantly going through my head and some of them I feel the need to share.  But not everyone appreciates my humour.  But that’s okay.  Enough people do that I can justify it.  A problem I had is that I have no specific category.  Some people blog about food, or travel, or movies.  Mine really are just completely random.  Anything goes.  I am not confined to any one topic.  I love being random.

And so I realized that most of what I write is both random and unnewsworthy.  Some people like it, some people don’t.  And that’s fine.  To each their own.  The things I talk about really aren’t newsworthy, they are not essential, no one really needs to be informed about my thoughts.  I am simply here to provide entertainment to those who happen to be interested in what I have to say.  I’m glad I finally found myself a blog title.  The hard part is over.  Now I just need to come up with a title for each new post I write.  Damnit.


If you tell me to do something, chances are likely that I will do the opposite.  I guess it’s a bit childish, I’m like a little kid acting out.  But that tends to be how I respond, especially to authority.  I don’t like being told what to do.  But then I’m also very indecisive and have a hard time figuring out what to do in the first place.  It’s quite a dilemma really.  A lot of the decisions I end up making are counterintuitive.  I’ll have the facts, the evidence, and the reasons why I should act in a certain way.  And yet I will go and do the opposite.  Why?

I don’t think I’m the only person who acts this way.  I think we all do it to some degree.  I just maybe do it more often than the average person.  I generally don’t take criticism well and I guess people telling me what to do could be taken as a kind of criticism.  Giving me advice about a certain issue somehow implies that I’m not capable of reaching an appropriate plan of action for myself.  But sometimes it does seem like I’m not capable.  But I’m always capable, I’m just burdened by a mixture of indecision and procrastination.  A bad combination.  I put off making a decision.  I take a long time to make it.  Then once I make it I put off carrying it out.  It’s a wonder I ever manage to get anything done.

My university life was counterintuitive.  Psychology was by far my worst subject.  So did I try to find a different subject that maybe I’d be better at?  No, of course not.  Naturally, I decided to major in Psychology, despite my lack of ability to do well in any of the courses.  And then there was Philosophy, which everyone said was useless.  So of course I picked that up as my minor.  Working in retail for five years was also counterintuitive.  People asked why I decided to work in customer service when I hate people.  Maybe hate is a strong word.  But I understand what they meant.  And at one point I took a job working for UBC Athletics, when I’m really not a big fan of sports.  That one, I will admit was a mistake, as it involved picking up trash outside after football games.

I generally respect people’s opinions, I just don’t always accept them.  One time I went shopping and found a pair of shoes I liked.  My friend gave her honest opinion that they were too expensive and not that great,  So I ended up not buying them.  But then, plagued by what I refer to as non-buyer’s remorse, I went back the next day without her and bought them.  And then told her I did so just to spite her.  Well, not to spite her, I just wanted to prove that she was wrong, and that I would wear them.  And I have worn them.  Probably not enough yet to justify it, but I still have time.  Maybe I will wear them tomorrow.

With my Psychology degree, I am still considering the possibility of pursuing counselling.  I don’t want to be a Psychologist, that’s way too much school.  But I could always do my masters in counselling and see what options that brings me.  I have never been to a counsellor myself, although some would say that I should.  I’ve also heard that it’s a good idea for counsellors to seek counselling themselves to see what it’s like.  But I’m very reluctant to do so.  I don’t need to tell a stranger my problems (that’s what this blog is for).  And in the past, I haven’t believed in counselling, I was under the impression that you should be able to help yourself instead of tell a stranger about your everyday problems.  I’m all for it if you are in pain or truly need help, but not for random everyday problems like mine.  And then I thought, why the hell do I want to be a counsellor if I never really believed in it?

Are decisions still counterintuitive if you can back them up in the end?  I suppose you can back up any decision though really.  Is there ever really any “right” decision in life?  Whenever I’m trying to decide on something, someone will suggest making a pros and cons list.  I gave up on those years ago, because they always just end up evening out for me.  For every pro, I will force myself to list a con, and vice versa.  You just can’t win with that.  Nothing ever gets solved.  But it’s okay.  What if my intuitions are actually wrong in the first place?  And my counterintuitions are actually right?  And all this time I’ve actually been doing what I should be?  Is that possible?  If you tell me that it is, chances are I won’t believe you anyway.


It’s stupid.  It makes no sense.  It’s a major waste of money.  And yet we do it anyway.  Why?  Are we stupid?  Maybe it’s just me who feels this way.  I’m a major hypocrite.  Much of what I do in life is highly counterintuitive and clubbing happens to be one of those things.

I remember one day I was having a conversation with a few of my older coworkers.  They were recalling a time, not even that long ago, when they could take $20 to the bar and get plastered.  Upon hearing this, I sat there upset, with a “this is so unfair” look on my face.  If I were to take $20 to the bar today, I wouldn’t even be able to get in anywhere.  Some clubs have a cover charge of $21 now.  Why?  Why such a random number like that?  I remember when I heard that I thought, wait, 21, is that the cover charge or the age you have to be to get in?  It’s dumb, you can’t even give them a $20 bill, you have to fish in your purse for change.  I feel like in this case, it should be acceptable to give them a twenty, and then throw 100 pennies at them just for the inconvenience.

As I was trying to figure out which club to go to last night, we were trying to weigh the cover charges, length of lineups, etc.  One thing I hate is when pubs suddenly start charging cover at night.  I don’t want to pay money to be able to be at a pub.  If you think about it, it really doesn’t make much sense.  I’m going to pay you money, to allow me the privilege of being able to spend more money once inside.  And then there’s coat check which goes up to like $5.  And then you get creative, shoving your jacket into your bag so you can check them both together, or saying, no, I don’t need a jacket even if it’s cold and raining, I’ll be fine…  Or risking it and leaving your jacket/bag in a corner, under a table, hidden, assuming no one will take it, because it’s the decent and honest people who frequent the clubs…

In the end, it’s probably not even the money that’s the biggest problem.  It’s what you’re paying for and what you’re getting from the experience.  What I usually get is stepped on, shoved, drinks spilled on me, creepy people staring, ugly guys hitting on me, and my personal space invaded.  I remember telling a friend once that I hate crowds.  And then he said, but you go clubbing all the time.  And yeah, I couldn’t explain myself with that one.  I don’t know why I keep going back?  Maybe it just seems like the appropriate thing for someone of my age to be doing?

But really how I justify it is that I like dancing.  And it’s more socially acceptable to dance badly when you’re at a club.  I mean I’m not the worst dancer in the world, but I wouldn’t say I’m great.  So-so maybe, at best.  I remember a few years ago, my very conservative aunt and grandma had a conversation with me about clubs and how they were bad and I shouldn’t go to them.  My aunt said that girls in Vancouver go to clubs because they’re looking to hook up.  What’s funny is that at that point in time I had only been clubbing a couple times.  But after that, I began to frequent them more.  Maybe because I was told not to?  Who knows?

But yes, I go clubbing because I like to dance.  I’ve learned that clubs are an awful place to meet guys.  I mean I’m sure it works for some people but not for me.  I don’t go there for that purpose.  It’s just unfortunate that more often than not, the ugliest guy in the club will be the one to express interest.  And if you want to go and just dance, couples tend to ruin your experience by surrounding you and getting in your personal space.  I’ve realized that gay bars are better, because you don’t have to deal with the creepy straight guys.  Although, the creepy straight guys have caught on that us straight girls have become fans of gay bars, and now they show up there too.  They’ve gone and ruined a good thing.

So will I continue to go clubbing when it never really turns out the way I had hoped?  Probably.  Simply because I tend to do things that are counterintuitive.  And because I can.  And because I just want to dance?  And people say I may as well go while I’m young and still can.  At some point in time I suppose I will just suddenly stop being able to?  Although every time I go, there’s always the one lone old person on the dance floor, probably desperate to feel young again, pretending as if this is where they belong.  Maybe someday that will be me.  Maybe I don’t appreciate what clubs have to offer right now, but when I’m old and lonely, I will see the value…

I fail at clothes

Yes, that’s right.  I know what you’re thinking, how does a 23 year old woman fail at clothes?  Little girls can start dressing themselves from around the age of 3, maybe not well, but good enough.  So what the hell is my problem?  It’s not like I’ve ever forgotten to wear them or anything, it hasn’t quite come to that just yet.  Maybe when I’m older and senile.  But nevertheless, I do have problems with clothes, other than my obsession with buying them.

Rarely do I ever dress weather appropriate.  It’s not like I do it on purpose.  Well, maybe sometimes.  But generally I try really hard to be compatible with the weather but 90% of the time I fail miserably.  The weather and I were just not meant to be.  I thought maybe we could try to make it work but this relationship was just doomed from the start.  I can’t trust it anymore, it’s lied to me too many times and is just too crazy and bipolar for me.  I refuse to make an effort to cooperate with the weather when it doesn’t treat me right.

A couple days ago, it rained.  And it was cold.  Very fall weather.  While I was on my way to work, the girl ahead of me had on jeans, boots, and a jacket.  She was dressed perfectly for the weather.  And what was I wearing?  Shorts, a t-shirt, and flip flops.  Because I somehow thought that that would make sense.  I did have a sweater, but it was very light.  I don’t like dressing for cold weather.  People always ask if I’m cold because I don’t have a jacket on but I tell them that I don’t get cold.  I mean sometimes I do, but for some reason I like to fight it.

The weather is not my only enemy when it comes to clothes.  Sometimes I guess I’m my own enemy?  Or maybe it’s the clothes themselves that are against me?  Not quite sure.  Sometimes I would wear a thin t-shirt, only to realize after leaving the house that it’s see through and that you can see my bra.  Or the shirt I’m wearing is too big for me which causes it to fall too low in the neckline.  Or my leggings have holes in them.  Or the outfit I’ve put together doesn’t exactly match.  Well, you get the idea.

My most recent clothing fail occurred last night.  I have this skirt that has a zipper in the front that goes all the way down to the bottom of the skirt.  I love zippers.  But apparently they don’t love me.  While at Kerkis Greek Taverna for our bookstore rush party, I got up to get a drink.  And it was brought to my attention that my zipper was broken, causing the skirt to be open at the bottom.  Brought to my attention by laughing and pointing and inappropriate jokes.  Luckily, I was wearing spandex shorts underneath.  I’ve totally worn that skirt to work without the shorts before and had it broken at that time, I’m not sure what I would have done.  I’ve also worn that skirt in other public places before, including church.  That would’ve been bad.  At least if it had to happen, it happened in a dark restaurant.  I tried to fix it but to no avail.  Someone asked the waitress for a safety pin but she never came back with one.  Eventually, I just took off the skirt altogether.  It was just easier that way.

I didn’t go home last night because I live in Richmond, it was late, and my skirt was broken.  All a bad combination.  Having crashed at my friend’s place, I had to make my way home today.  In my spandex.  Apparently walking around without pants is less socially acceptable during the day than it is at night.  I can’t imagine why.  It would have helped if my sweater was just a bit longer, but sadly it was not.  It also would have helped if it was a hot day today, then short shorts wouldn’t have been so bad.  It’s too bad it wasn’t the day of the underwear affair run or something.  The shorts weren’t that bad, but I didn’t fit in with all the people wearing long pants.  As I made my way home, I could sense people giving me looks but I pretended not to notice.  I pretended as if I was one of them, my pants wearing companions.

So what have I learned from this?  Nothing really.  I will continue to fail at clothes.  That’s just the way it is and I have come to accept it.  I really loved that skirt and it being broken has caused me to feel broken.  I never have any luck with zippers but this will not stop me from continuing to wear things with them that could easily break.  If I were a celebrity, my wardrobe malfunctions would be caught on camera by the paparazzi.  But since I’m not famous and no one knows who I am, I will just blog about it.

I can’t explain it

So why bother trying to blog about it?  When I can’t even explain it?  That seems rather useless, doesn’t it?  Yes.  Yes it does.  I guess I just want to express my frustration because I am usually good with words and good at explaining things to people in a way that makes sense.  I can deliver facts and information and details and give a generally good depiction of things to a third party.  Usually.  But some things you just can’t explain, no matter how hard you try.

Have you ever been in a situation where you have been wronged but you can’t really even explain what it is that has transpired?  You know all too well that something isn’t right but you are just incapable of putting into words what the problem is.  You have it in your head but it’s kind of all over the place.  You may think for a brief moment that you have it, and try to express it but to no avail.  It won’t come out.  At least it won’t come out right.  And as you try in vain to express yourself, you are faced with blank, confused stares.  And you feel alone.

It is extremely frustrating.  I think that we’ve all been there, to some degree.  We all have moments and experiences that we would like to express to another person, for understanding, for validation, for reassurance.  But sometimes even the most compassionate, intelligent, or sympathetic person simply just won’t get it.  And it’s not their fault.  And it’s not your fault.  And it leaves you both frustrated.  How can this be remedied?  I don’t know.  Trying to figure that out is almost as difficult as trying to explain the unexplainable.

It’s confusing.  You end up lost in your own head.  You wish there was someone, at least one person who could truly understand where you’re coming from.  At least having validation from someone to prove that you’re not crazy would lift the burden just a little bit.  Now I sound like I’m talking about depression.  I guess I don’t really know what I’m talking about exactly.  Remember, I can’t explain it.

It’s kind of like trying to explain an inside joke to an outsider.  Except that it’s not funny.  It’s quite the opposite.  And so you give up on trying to explain it and just accept the fact that no one understands.  But maybe it’s okay that no one understands.  They don’t need to, not really.  It would be helpful, but it’s not essential.  If you’re strong enough to have put up with problems, then you are also strong enough to overcome them alone.  It would be nice if you could explain it to someone.  But in the end, you understand it and you know.  And you don’t need to explain it to yourself.

Why do we stay?

In bad relationships.  In bad friendships.  In bad jobs.  In bad situations.  Why?  Why do we do this to ourselves?  Often times it almost seems as though some people actually enjoy being miserable.  I think that I may be one of those people.  But do we actually enjoy being miserable, or do we just happen to find ourselves in a lot of miserable situations, which we are too lazy to bother to get out of?  It’s hard to say.

Those who know me will know that I like to complain.  A lot.  And there is never a shortage in my life of things to complain about.  The majority of my posts tend to be complaints, some of them frivolous, some of them serious, some of them in between.  Many a time they are trivial things that I really should just take in stride and let go of.  But I never let go of anything.  My complaints do vary though, sometimes I’ll be mad at translink because my bus was late, sometimes I’ll be mad someone for being blatantly rude or treating someone badly.

Some things in life we can’t control, others we can.  It’s puzzling why we often get upset about things that we do have a least some ability to change.  Maybe not change directly, but change in how we choose to deal with them.  If a person or a situation has gotten so out of hand that you are in distress, why stay?  Why not just walk away and be done with it?  There are always other options.  No one can force you to stay if trying to make things work is slowly killing you.  It isn’t fair and no one should be put in that position.

Sometimes we naively just choose to hope for the best and believe that things will get better.  Sure, on occasion things actually may turn around for you but more often than not people and things will be set in their ways.  This is why I think that maybe we enjoy being martyrs to some degree.  Maybe we’re afraid to leave a bad situation, because if life was suddenly a whole lot better, what then would we have to complain about?

It’s probably a matter of balance.  There will always be crap in your life that can’t be avoided.  A perfect life is not possible.  But a good life is.  We have to make difficult decisions, but sometimes the difficulty is our own doing, as we make situations more complicated than they need to be.  It’s up to us to make choices and try to figure out what things we are strong enough to put up with, and what things we are smart enough to walk away from.  But if you happen to make the wrong decision and end up miserable, you can always just blog about it.

Confessions of a gym enthusiast

Okay, well I can’t really call myself a gym enthusiast.  I’ve been to the gym a total of 5 times.  I’m not talking about this month.  I’m not even talking about this year.  Well, yes, actually, I have been to the gym 5 times this year.  But that’s also the amount of times I’ve been to the gym ever, in my life.  If you asked me a year ago if I wanted to go work out, i would have laughed in your face or assumed that you were obviously joking.  I considered myself to be probably the least athletic person in the world.  I can’t run to save my life.  The last time I actually “ran” would be gym class in Grade 10.  And I hated it with a passion.

So why, you ask, do I now have this sudden interest in frequenting the gym?  Well I guess it sort of started about a month ago, when I was sitting at Red Robin with my friend, eating my free birthday burger.  It was a Mediterranean lamb burger and it was amazing.  Red Robin burgers also come with “endless” fries.  My friend ordered a salad and informed me she was on a diet, at which point I felt bad for making her come there with me.  I feel like I ruined her diet, because we ended up having 3 whole plates of those “endless” fries.  After overeating and feeling full, she mentioned that she was going to be going to the gym regularly.  Since I had recently been stress eating more than usual, I said I wanted to come with her.

My first time at the gym, I was scared.  Not so much of the physical activity, but more feeling inadequate and judged by those around me, because I’m socially awkward like that.  We went to South Arm Community Centre, and my friend told me exactly what to do.  She took to the role of a trainer pretty well.  She set up the time on the elliptical machine for me and then said “Okay, don’t stop until it’s been 20 minutes”.  Four minutes in, I was already tired.  When I told her I might stop before 20 minutes she said “No, then it won’t work properly”.  So I decided to suck it up.  I was so relieved as I counted down the last minute, but to my horror, once that was over, it went to a 5 minute cool down.

The elliptical machine was the least of my worries.  I stupidly followed my friend when she went to the weight room.  Big mistake.  She told me which machine to use.  I could barely do it.  I have zero upper body strength.  But I tried anyway.  No one told me that stretching was an essential part of working out.  And so I neglected to do it.  Long story short, my arms were sore for a full week.  I haven’t used a weight machine since.  Cardio is all that my body can take.

I am now the proud owner of a 10 visit punch card for Kerrisdale Community Centre.  I have to go 6 more times in order to get my money’s worth.  6 more times and then never again.  At least not to that gym, cause it kind of sucks.  The machines are old and they stick and some are often out of order.  But I was not aware of this when I purchased the punch card.  Once this is over, I will either find a new gym, or give up on the idea entirely.  But with the amount of stress eating I’ve been doing, I think I’ll have to stick with the gym for a little while longer.