I am now officially a hockey mom. This is my 7 year old son's third year in hockey but this is his first year where he actually gets to play games, for points, where someone notices who's won and who's lost. It is a big deal.
It is a big deal for most of these little boys who have been practising and learning to skate for at least two to three years prior to their first real game. Further to that, it's a big deal for their mothers. A bigger deal than I might have imagined. A bigger deal than I might think is normal or within the realm of common sense and decency.
I don't think I'm cut out to be a hockey mom. I like hockey. I like my children. You would think, therefore, there wouldn't be a problem. Wrong. See I generally am not a fan of small talk. I also am not a fan of those who 'put on airs'. I am not a fan of women. Don't get your panties in a bunch. I have some really good female friends. Oddly enough though, the three women I have at sometime or now still do consider my best friends, are women who generally get along better with men than women. My best friend ladies swear. They are direct. They are intelligent. They, I am quite certain, know the measure of importance that should be allotted to a Novice 'B' hockey game. For those of you unfamiliar with hockey, the Novice division is for 7 year old children.
7 Years Old.
This is important to remember for a number of reasons. Some of these children, it could be argued, are playing hockey because their parents want them too. Some of these children are playing hockey because they love it and have dreams of the NHL. Some of these children are playing because it's fun.
I do believe their mothers fall in the same category. I am not intentionally picking on moms. They are just who I'm spending time in the stands with at the rink. I have heard horror stories about the dads too and I'm sure in the years to come I will have those observations to share as well.
Some of the moms have encouraged their sons to play hockey because they love hockey or their husband loves hockey or because it's just what boys (in Canada, at least) are supposed to do. Some of the moms are supporting their sons playing hockey because their child loves it and is having fun. Some of the moms are supporting their children playing hockey because it apparently, in some way or another, defines who they are as a woman, a mother and human being.
These are the women I take issue with. The woman who sat in the stands at the very first game last weekend and literally screamed at her seven year old child and his team. She didn't scream anything that warranted intervention but one could surmise it was fairly intense and unnecessary at this level (or any for that matter) of hockey. And one other woman did surmise this. How she found the time to come to this realization is beyond me as she spends the better part of her time at the rink applying lip balm. It comes in handy when you kiss as much coordinator ass as she does. That being said, she did notice and instead of moving or choosing to ignore immature behaviour, she told this woman to "Shut up!" Apparently this was not well received.
SAH-PRIZE, SAH-PRIZE.
I have a long road ahead of me folks. Which is good for you because I don't foresee running out of material anytime soon. Reese is only 7. There is a lot of hockey ahead and he loves it. Rhett is 4 and wants nothing more than to be like his brother, so yes, more hockey. More lunatics. More perms.
I fear I will not make a lot of new friends. I fear I will end up a permed screaming lunatic with chapped lips if I am not careful and do not plan accordingly.
So here it is, I will maintain friendships outside of the rink, I will have hobbies, read the paper and watch TV. I will ask my hairdresser to sign a contract with me vowing never to perm my hair never mind how much I beg (wash and wear would be such a breeze with early ice times though...). I will save my screaming for adult sports events. I have yet to kiss ass and really don't think the rink is the place to start. What if my lips get frozen to coordinator ass?! It's a risk I just can't take.
All I ask from you is if you see my slipping, if you notice a change in behaviour wherein I simper in front of hockey 'royalty' (read: coaches, coordinators and whoever else could be deemed as all powerful by the Hockey Gods) or I suddenly don mom jeans and blue shadow, step in, please.
I mean, I need to stay in top form for at least the next ten years and then I will be all set for our first NHL draft.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Better
I need to be in a good mood. I have phone calls to make and aside from that, if I injure one of our dogs, on purpose, people will frown upon that.
What did the dogs do?
Nothing.
Neither did the kids but they are in harms way too. As in anyone who takes offence to "colourful" language because if it gets anymore colourful around here I'm going to start puking rainbows.
You guessed it, I have been possessed by hormonal fluctuations turning me from my usual feisty self to a something a little more akin to murderous/dangerous rather than "spirited".
The day started out okay. I went to Costco and walked away from some snowman solar lights. I carried them around for awhile but then used self-control and walked away.
This has nothing to do with the fact that I can go there again tomorrow, if I want, and buy them. Nor does it have anything to do with the fact that I didn't get a cart and had to set the lights down so I could carry a flat of water.
Nothing at all.
Then I had Wendy's for lunch because there is not enough salt in the free world right now and Wendy's fries are de-lic-ious.
Then I was on time for a workshop I attended this afternoon. It was held in a very nice boardroom with an educated intelligent woman at the helm. It was useful information and fed into the small longing I have, at times, to still be a part of the "professional" world. Not that I am not part of it now but given I work from my home and clean up cat vomit and occasionally have to wipe an ass other than my own, this was a real treat.
The commute home began the downhill trend. I had to pee. A lot but was much later than usual picking up my boys and my husband was working and so I was trying to hurry home...
oh wait, my 7 year old just spotted the "B"s my four year old decorated our off white couch with this weekend. The four year old immediately owned up to in the sense that apparently it was an "accident". There are roughly four "B"s, an "R" and some other random scribbles. Big accident.
Anyway, my bladder was ready to burst and my left eye was under assault from my contact lens and the sun was in my eyes and it all. sucked. a. lot.
Then we came home to feed the four ravenous animals awaiting us and then the kids. Then listen to arguing over who got more or better treats after supper. I luckily was awarded a free box of Halloween candy for spending an exorbitant amount of money on groceries on the weekend so after supper each boy got three treats. Except Reese got a peanut butter cup and Rhett didn't. Rhett chose different treats but lost his freaking mind when he realized he hadn't gotten a peanut butter cup. I did not give him one but chose to deal with this by having my own three (seven) treats.
My lamp died on my desk, I forgot to send back a skating permission form and the teacher put a note in my son's agenda and I NEVER forget stuff like that and my work area is cluttered and crowded and so after searching the house for a working lamp and bulb, I decided I best cope with the clutter and disorganization by writing this post.
And you know what? I feel better.
Not as good as I will feel after having few (the rest of the box) more treats, but better all the same.
What did the dogs do?
Nothing.
Neither did the kids but they are in harms way too. As in anyone who takes offence to "colourful" language because if it gets anymore colourful around here I'm going to start puking rainbows.
You guessed it, I have been possessed by hormonal fluctuations turning me from my usual feisty self to a something a little more akin to murderous/dangerous rather than "spirited".
The day started out okay. I went to Costco and walked away from some snowman solar lights. I carried them around for awhile but then used self-control and walked away.
This has nothing to do with the fact that I can go there again tomorrow, if I want, and buy them. Nor does it have anything to do with the fact that I didn't get a cart and had to set the lights down so I could carry a flat of water.
Nothing at all.
Then I had Wendy's for lunch because there is not enough salt in the free world right now and Wendy's fries are de-lic-ious.
Then I was on time for a workshop I attended this afternoon. It was held in a very nice boardroom with an educated intelligent woman at the helm. It was useful information and fed into the small longing I have, at times, to still be a part of the "professional" world. Not that I am not part of it now but given I work from my home and clean up cat vomit and occasionally have to wipe an ass other than my own, this was a real treat.
The commute home began the downhill trend. I had to pee. A lot but was much later than usual picking up my boys and my husband was working and so I was trying to hurry home...
oh wait, my 7 year old just spotted the "B"s my four year old decorated our off white couch with this weekend. The four year old immediately owned up to in the sense that apparently it was an "accident". There are roughly four "B"s, an "R" and some other random scribbles. Big accident.
Anyway, my bladder was ready to burst and my left eye was under assault from my contact lens and the sun was in my eyes and it all. sucked. a. lot.
Then we came home to feed the four ravenous animals awaiting us and then the kids. Then listen to arguing over who got more or better treats after supper. I luckily was awarded a free box of Halloween candy for spending an exorbitant amount of money on groceries on the weekend so after supper each boy got three treats. Except Reese got a peanut butter cup and Rhett didn't. Rhett chose different treats but lost his freaking mind when he realized he hadn't gotten a peanut butter cup. I did not give him one but chose to deal with this by having my own three (seven) treats.
My lamp died on my desk, I forgot to send back a skating permission form and the teacher put a note in my son's agenda and I NEVER forget stuff like that and my work area is cluttered and crowded and so after searching the house for a working lamp and bulb, I decided I best cope with the clutter and disorganization by writing this post.
And you know what? I feel better.
Not as good as I will feel after having few (the rest of the box) more treats, but better all the same.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Assholes & Cowards
I guess somewhere along the way I missed a memo. You know, the one that says adults should bully one another in the wake of someone else's passing. The one that said e-mail is an effective form of said bullying with Facebook being a close second. You see I thought this sort of behaviour only existed among the pre-teen and teenager crowd. Little did I know it's a new phenomenon among the Baby Boomer set.
My uncle passed away last month. For those of you who follow along, you know this. I spoke at his funeral. I wrote a eulogy and shared it. In said eulogy I spoke of his generosity, kindness, coolness, sense of humour, and maybe most importantly at present, his non-judgemental demeanour.
See some of these people he treated with such kindness and tolerance and not to mention generosity of the grandest kind, have chosen to act like complete assholes since his passing and in direct relation to his passing. They have chosen to bully.
They are not bullying me. Nope. And I'm not sure if it's because I'm still viewed as a child by these people who've known me since I was a child or if it's because I'm not an easy target. Or at least not viewed as such.
I would actually prefer if these cowards directed their dick-less sentiments towards myself as I am more equipped and prepared to deal with them than others. I don't like it. I don't like shaking and then weeping from anger. I don't like feeling like my life was sort of settling down and back under control only to have to manage another shit storm, but I will do it. I will do it because nobody deserves to be bullied.
I will do it because I can.
I will do it because I want to.
I will do it because there are far too many people on this Godforsaken planet that think it's okay to victimize, bully and disrespect rather than engage in open discussion, respect and tolerance. They would rather judge without knowing. Blame without thinking. Hurt without caring.
Even though it is no longer my profession to protect vulnerable individuals, I will continue to do so as long as I'm able. Should those individuals be related to me, expect me to come at you with force.
My son recently wrote an assignment for English where he likened me to a mother lion. It made me laugh at the time but there is truth in that. I will go to great lengths to protect and defend my own and anyone who chooses to willfully and knowingly hurt them, physically or emotionally, will not go uncorrected.
My uncle, as I said, was kind, generous, patient and without judgement.
I am kind, generous and without judgement in the grand scheme of things. I am not patient. I am not tolerant of assholes but more importantly, I am not tolerant of cowardice and lately, I am faced with both of these attributes much more than I might have ever imagined. At least among the supposedly educated, spiritual and mature individuals presenting in this manner.
It is exhausting, disappointing and frustrating but then again, so are assholes and cowards.
My uncle passed away last month. For those of you who follow along, you know this. I spoke at his funeral. I wrote a eulogy and shared it. In said eulogy I spoke of his generosity, kindness, coolness, sense of humour, and maybe most importantly at present, his non-judgemental demeanour.
See some of these people he treated with such kindness and tolerance and not to mention generosity of the grandest kind, have chosen to act like complete assholes since his passing and in direct relation to his passing. They have chosen to bully.
They are not bullying me. Nope. And I'm not sure if it's because I'm still viewed as a child by these people who've known me since I was a child or if it's because I'm not an easy target. Or at least not viewed as such.
I would actually prefer if these cowards directed their dick-less sentiments towards myself as I am more equipped and prepared to deal with them than others. I don't like it. I don't like shaking and then weeping from anger. I don't like feeling like my life was sort of settling down and back under control only to have to manage another shit storm, but I will do it. I will do it because nobody deserves to be bullied.
I will do it because I can.
I will do it because I want to.
I will do it because there are far too many people on this Godforsaken planet that think it's okay to victimize, bully and disrespect rather than engage in open discussion, respect and tolerance. They would rather judge without knowing. Blame without thinking. Hurt without caring.
Even though it is no longer my profession to protect vulnerable individuals, I will continue to do so as long as I'm able. Should those individuals be related to me, expect me to come at you with force.
My son recently wrote an assignment for English where he likened me to a mother lion. It made me laugh at the time but there is truth in that. I will go to great lengths to protect and defend my own and anyone who chooses to willfully and knowingly hurt them, physically or emotionally, will not go uncorrected.
My uncle, as I said, was kind, generous, patient and without judgement.
I am kind, generous and without judgement in the grand scheme of things. I am not patient. I am not tolerant of assholes but more importantly, I am not tolerant of cowardice and lately, I am faced with both of these attributes much more than I might have ever imagined. At least among the supposedly educated, spiritual and mature individuals presenting in this manner.
It is exhausting, disappointing and frustrating but then again, so are assholes and cowards.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Remembering
This will not be funny. Sorry. Earlier today I was starting to put together a funny post but in light of this evening's events, I've opted for something of a more serious nature.
My uncle died on September 1st. He was only 49 when he died. His death was not entirely unexpected but that doesn't make it any easier and I'm sure anyone who's lost anyone can attest to this.
My uncle was a quadriplegic and had been for nearly 30 years at the time of his death.
For those of you who don't know what that means, it means he was paralyzed from the neck down. Actually, he did have some range of motion in his shoulders so he could operate his power chair, feed himself, type, etc. However, for many people this would not have been enough. This would have given them every excuse to be a bitter hateful and angry person.
Steve was the opposite of all of these things.
There is nobody I tried harder to be funnier around and secretly swelled with pride when something I said did make him laugh. He was so fucking funny. He was smart. We took one University class together and it was another of the proudest moments of my life. I kept up with him in class and took great delight in this. Not out of competitive spirit, well maybe a little, but mostly out of pride and the sheer desire to make him proud of me.
And I know that he was because he told me.
This was a man who rarely had a negative word for anyone unless they truly deserved it and in the end he usually could find something good about absolutely anyone. When I think of how negative and critical I often am, it makes me feel badly that I'm not as generous in spirit as he was.
Music makes our world go round in this house and that is due to two people, my mother and Steve. Steve bought me my first record-Michael Jackson's Thriller. He bought me cassette tapes for my birthday and gritted his teeth when I chose Milli Vanilli and agreed only to buy it if I got Belinda Carlisle as well.
He was a better writer than I can ever hope to be, which is clearly evidenced by this post. Thanks for bearing with me through my memories.
Our family is not functional and we don't even come close to putting the "fun in dysfunctional". There is nothing fun about it. Especially this evening.
There is only hate and pettiness and hurt.
These are words I would never associate with Steve but tonight, someone else chose to invoke those exact sentiments with their words.
I miss my uncle terribly. Heartbreakingly so. Today though, I had a better day. I started to feel like life was resuming some normalcy. And not thirty minutes ago I sat in front of this very computer vibrating with anger.
It was one of those moments where I was tempted to use my phrase: "I hate people". Something, again, Steve wouldn't say but tonight, it's how I felt. Only people work as hard to hurt one another as badly as possible and in this case, as publicly as possible.
To do that right now though, when maybe our best has been lost? Is beyond my comprehension.
All I can do is my best not to do that. At anytime. Unless called for...
We all remember my penchant for mafia and retaliation, right?
If not, I once was delighted to receive my very own limited edition of Scarface for Christmas from my husband, then another Christmas it was The Godfather Trilogy. I loved the Sopranos and now I have a club of motorcycle enthusiasts after my own heart in Charming (Sons of Anarchy, keep up, won't you?) Bottom line is, while I do not endorse the murder or any other illegal activities, I do endorse protecting your own and making those who hurt yours, pay. I'm not going to shank anyone or anything like that. I've always been much better with words. And words, I will use and with more effect, style and strength than he could ever hope to.
In closing, I choose to believe in Heaven. A Heaven where Steve walks and runs and dances to all the greatest music this world has to offer. He is up there having a great time with my uncles Ken and Doug. And I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm even a little jealous because he gets to be with his dad, my Grandpa, again. Losing Steve has only been second to losing my Grandpa for me and now they are together. Trying to outdo one another with their humour, wit and maybe even playing some dirty pool. I would say may the best man win, but in this case it can only ever be a tie.
My uncle died on September 1st. He was only 49 when he died. His death was not entirely unexpected but that doesn't make it any easier and I'm sure anyone who's lost anyone can attest to this.
My uncle was a quadriplegic and had been for nearly 30 years at the time of his death.
For those of you who don't know what that means, it means he was paralyzed from the neck down. Actually, he did have some range of motion in his shoulders so he could operate his power chair, feed himself, type, etc. However, for many people this would not have been enough. This would have given them every excuse to be a bitter hateful and angry person.
Steve was the opposite of all of these things.
There is nobody I tried harder to be funnier around and secretly swelled with pride when something I said did make him laugh. He was so fucking funny. He was smart. We took one University class together and it was another of the proudest moments of my life. I kept up with him in class and took great delight in this. Not out of competitive spirit, well maybe a little, but mostly out of pride and the sheer desire to make him proud of me.
And I know that he was because he told me.
This was a man who rarely had a negative word for anyone unless they truly deserved it and in the end he usually could find something good about absolutely anyone. When I think of how negative and critical I often am, it makes me feel badly that I'm not as generous in spirit as he was.
Music makes our world go round in this house and that is due to two people, my mother and Steve. Steve bought me my first record-Michael Jackson's Thriller. He bought me cassette tapes for my birthday and gritted his teeth when I chose Milli Vanilli and agreed only to buy it if I got Belinda Carlisle as well.
He was a better writer than I can ever hope to be, which is clearly evidenced by this post. Thanks for bearing with me through my memories.
Our family is not functional and we don't even come close to putting the "fun in dysfunctional". There is nothing fun about it. Especially this evening.
There is only hate and pettiness and hurt.
These are words I would never associate with Steve but tonight, someone else chose to invoke those exact sentiments with their words.
I miss my uncle terribly. Heartbreakingly so. Today though, I had a better day. I started to feel like life was resuming some normalcy. And not thirty minutes ago I sat in front of this very computer vibrating with anger.
It was one of those moments where I was tempted to use my phrase: "I hate people". Something, again, Steve wouldn't say but tonight, it's how I felt. Only people work as hard to hurt one another as badly as possible and in this case, as publicly as possible.
To do that right now though, when maybe our best has been lost? Is beyond my comprehension.
All I can do is my best not to do that. At anytime. Unless called for...
We all remember my penchant for mafia and retaliation, right?
If not, I once was delighted to receive my very own limited edition of Scarface for Christmas from my husband, then another Christmas it was The Godfather Trilogy. I loved the Sopranos and now I have a club of motorcycle enthusiasts after my own heart in Charming (Sons of Anarchy, keep up, won't you?) Bottom line is, while I do not endorse the murder or any other illegal activities, I do endorse protecting your own and making those who hurt yours, pay. I'm not going to shank anyone or anything like that. I've always been much better with words. And words, I will use and with more effect, style and strength than he could ever hope to.
In closing, I choose to believe in Heaven. A Heaven where Steve walks and runs and dances to all the greatest music this world has to offer. He is up there having a great time with my uncles Ken and Doug. And I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm even a little jealous because he gets to be with his dad, my Grandpa, again. Losing Steve has only been second to losing my Grandpa for me and now they are together. Trying to outdo one another with their humour, wit and maybe even playing some dirty pool. I would say may the best man win, but in this case it can only ever be a tie.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
One Bike & a Ball Short
Do optimists ever have days when they just say fuck it? Or do they truly look at every situation, no matter how shit filled and say, "On the bright side, it's solid shit and therefore easier to clean up than diarrhea."
I can't help but ponder these sorts of things. I've been feeling quite upbeat and positive lately but I keep hitting roadblocks and feel myself slip into the comfortable role of angry victim. Thing is I'm tired of being an angry victim and the people or situations creating that opportunity for the angry victim to emerge? Are not angry. Or victimized. Or even aware they are being assholes.
So why would I waste my energy on being angry and indignant when they're fucking sitting in la-la land thinking about what a great awesome better than whoever person they are. The same goes for situations beyond ones control.
Some things though, are in my control and I do believe it's time to start acting on them.
For instance, 40 year old men ogling my 14 YEAR OLD daughter, are going to fucking start feeling victimized. And angry. They will be angry I wrecked their bike when I hit them with my fucking Crossover SUV/minivan type of vehicle. They will feel victimized when I've lopped off one of their balls and placed it every so gently in their mouths while repeatedly kicking them in what's left of their diseased pervert penis.
Seriously. I've started noticing this more and more lately. My daughter is a pretty girl. When boys her age look, I notice, am not thrilled, but I am not stupid enough to think they aren't going to notice and that it's not normal behaviour. But, if you are a 40 year old man, all "tatted up", tanned in a fashion to make Snooki jealous and have your greasy sick pedophile hair in a pony tail on the top of your head and you check her out once? You are sick and fucked and I really wish I would've just given you a gentle nudge with my minivan on steroids. But when you turn around to get a second look?
If only I didn't have the bare minimum of normals and impulse control I could handle this in a fashion to make Tony Soprano or Jax Teller proud and carry on with my day. And because I wish I was either affiliated with the mob (only in a fictional TV, Good Fellas sense) or some body's "old lady" (again, only in a SOA, again fictional sense), this is the way I will choose to handle any further over-aged leering at my daughter.
So anyway, while trying to find my positive inner self, I'm faced with obstacles such as the one mentioned above.
There are others as well. Too numerous and ultimately personal to mention. I am not one of those lucky bloggers who can write freely. I need watch my P's and Q's for the greater good. Apparently my old job was not for the greater good.
And I'm okay with that.
So I guess today's moral is, positivity is a state of mind. Assholes are generally not aware they are assholes nor do they care. And middle aged leering creeps? Shall soon be one bike and a ball short.
I can't help but ponder these sorts of things. I've been feeling quite upbeat and positive lately but I keep hitting roadblocks and feel myself slip into the comfortable role of angry victim. Thing is I'm tired of being an angry victim and the people or situations creating that opportunity for the angry victim to emerge? Are not angry. Or victimized. Or even aware they are being assholes.
So why would I waste my energy on being angry and indignant when they're fucking sitting in la-la land thinking about what a great awesome better than whoever person they are. The same goes for situations beyond ones control.
Some things though, are in my control and I do believe it's time to start acting on them.
For instance, 40 year old men ogling my 14 YEAR OLD daughter, are going to fucking start feeling victimized. And angry. They will be angry I wrecked their bike when I hit them with my fucking Crossover SUV/minivan type of vehicle. They will feel victimized when I've lopped off one of their balls and placed it every so gently in their mouths while repeatedly kicking them in what's left of their diseased pervert penis.
Seriously. I've started noticing this more and more lately. My daughter is a pretty girl. When boys her age look, I notice, am not thrilled, but I am not stupid enough to think they aren't going to notice and that it's not normal behaviour. But, if you are a 40 year old man, all "tatted up", tanned in a fashion to make Snooki jealous and have your greasy sick pedophile hair in a pony tail on the top of your head and you check her out once? You are sick and fucked and I really wish I would've just given you a gentle nudge with my minivan on steroids. But when you turn around to get a second look?
If only I didn't have the bare minimum of normals and impulse control I could handle this in a fashion to make Tony Soprano or Jax Teller proud and carry on with my day. And because I wish I was either affiliated with the mob (only in a fictional TV, Good Fellas sense) or some body's "old lady" (again, only in a SOA, again fictional sense), this is the way I will choose to handle any further over-aged leering at my daughter.
So anyway, while trying to find my positive inner self, I'm faced with obstacles such as the one mentioned above.
There are others as well. Too numerous and ultimately personal to mention. I am not one of those lucky bloggers who can write freely. I need watch my P's and Q's for the greater good. Apparently my old job was not for the greater good.
And I'm okay with that.
So I guess today's moral is, positivity is a state of mind. Assholes are generally not aware they are assholes nor do they care. And middle aged leering creeps? Shall soon be one bike and a ball short.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Darn.
Back to square one. It's been another 11 days since I last posted. It's not that I don't think about posting or write little random bloggish snippets in my head whenever something amuses, angers, frightens, or excites me, but getting the words out of my head on a consistent basis continues to be a struggle.
As does eating healthy. And exercising. Forever and ever I've only been able to manage, at most, three things effectively at any given time. At present this is my two jobs and my household. Blogging and self care are steadily losing ground.
I'm nearly at the point where I need to give my belly a name, a constant faithful companion is she. She has a newly discovered love of pop. For those of you not from Saskatchewan or North Dakota, that's 'soda'. I never used to like pop. I could take it or leave it UNLESS it was mixed with my other best gal pal, Vodka. Or, when I was dieting, I consumed copious amounts of diet pop in an effort to stop consuming copious amounts of cookies. It worked, sometimes.
Now though, I prefer to have regular, fully sugared pop in addition to any number of other poor choices. I get winded from going up the stairs. My knee hurts.
I'm not Biggest Loser material yet but at 34, I feel like I really shouldn't have any physical ailments.
So do something about it, right?
Right.
Some of the problem lies in the fact I am never truly motivated to lose weight unless I am 100% belittling and demeaning myself and my gluttonous ways and have a full hate on for my body. That's not really fun but usually keeps me going.
Another problem is I am considerably more laid back than I was back when I was an employee of Hell. When I was there, I was miserable all of the time and so it was pretty easy to also hate my body and enjoy the punishment of a spin class. For those 55 minutes or so I didn't have to think about how much I hated my job, how underappreciated I and my co-workers were, how messed up the whole system is. I just had to focus on the burning pain in my legs, trying not to fall off of my bike and breathing.
At present, when I think about a spin class and think about how uncomfortable it was and how my legs burned? I think that I truly must belong on my couch watching Big Brother. Then when I can't read a bedtime story to my children without the aid of an oxygen tank, because I had to go upstairs first, I think it may just be worth it.
Stay tuned. Find out whether I succumb to the evils of exercise or the more comfortable, but equally evil life of a sedentary woman who eventually will be unable to shave her own legs without assistance thanks to growing girth and complete loss of core strength thereby necessitating bathing in my own filth while my husband shaves them for me. Sexy, no?
No.
Darn.
As does eating healthy. And exercising. Forever and ever I've only been able to manage, at most, three things effectively at any given time. At present this is my two jobs and my household. Blogging and self care are steadily losing ground.
I'm nearly at the point where I need to give my belly a name, a constant faithful companion is she. She has a newly discovered love of pop. For those of you not from Saskatchewan or North Dakota, that's 'soda'. I never used to like pop. I could take it or leave it UNLESS it was mixed with my other best gal pal, Vodka. Or, when I was dieting, I consumed copious amounts of diet pop in an effort to stop consuming copious amounts of cookies. It worked, sometimes.
Now though, I prefer to have regular, fully sugared pop in addition to any number of other poor choices. I get winded from going up the stairs. My knee hurts.
I'm not Biggest Loser material yet but at 34, I feel like I really shouldn't have any physical ailments.
So do something about it, right?
Right.
Some of the problem lies in the fact I am never truly motivated to lose weight unless I am 100% belittling and demeaning myself and my gluttonous ways and have a full hate on for my body. That's not really fun but usually keeps me going.
Another problem is I am considerably more laid back than I was back when I was an employee of Hell. When I was there, I was miserable all of the time and so it was pretty easy to also hate my body and enjoy the punishment of a spin class. For those 55 minutes or so I didn't have to think about how much I hated my job, how underappreciated I and my co-workers were, how messed up the whole system is. I just had to focus on the burning pain in my legs, trying not to fall off of my bike and breathing.
At present, when I think about a spin class and think about how uncomfortable it was and how my legs burned? I think that I truly must belong on my couch watching Big Brother. Then when I can't read a bedtime story to my children without the aid of an oxygen tank, because I had to go upstairs first, I think it may just be worth it.
Stay tuned. Find out whether I succumb to the evils of exercise or the more comfortable, but equally evil life of a sedentary woman who eventually will be unable to shave her own legs without assistance thanks to growing girth and complete loss of core strength thereby necessitating bathing in my own filth while my husband shaves them for me. Sexy, no?
No.
Darn.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
The Church of Penny Lane
This morning I had two visitors at my door. I wondered who the heck would be coming to our house this morning and using the front door, no less. I peered out the window and immediately figured out who and also immediately wondered why.
Nonetheless, I opened the door. I did not open the screen door but this did not stop the young man for launching into conversation. Turns out, as luck would have it, he was here, with his friend Ken, to tell me about God.
yay.
So Buddy (I can't remember his name) proceeded to let me know there are 36 churches in Moose Jaw and asked what I think God thinks about this.
My reply: "I don't think He minds."
This did not sit well with Buddy and he started to read to me from his pamphlet some shit about one true God and how this one 'true' God probably isn't thrilled with Moose Jaw and their penchant for choosing their own ways to worship. Those weren't exactly his words.
At this point, I politely, if somewhat coldly, shared I didn't want to waste anymore of his time and wished him a good day.
I don't even know if I believe in God but if there is a God, the one that I believe in doesn't care if you're Catholic, Lutheran, Buddhist or Mennonite. The God I would choose to believe in only wants people to live a life where they try their best not to hurt others, not to cheat, lie or steal and to be nice.
The God I would choose to believe in does not want Buddy & Ken coming to my house on an otherwise pleasant Saturday morning telling me that He doesn't like people going to different churches to worship. I'm not sure what denomination Buddy & Ken are. Jehovah Witness maybe? I'm not sure. I don't know enough about them to tell. It's a guess pure & simple. I only know they aren't Mormon because they didn't say they were Elders or refer to themselves as 'Brother'. I know a little more about our Mormon friends because my ex-husband took a super fun for all journey there for awhile.
To me, this sort of "God only wants one church" belief is akin to racism. I'm pretty sure God doesn't promote that either. Come to think of it, I should've told Buddy & Ken that I needed to go because my (fill in the race blank) Lesbian lover was waiting for me upstairs for a session of Saturday morning lovemaking followed by a Ouija Board session. I have a feeling Ken & Buddy do not support same sex marriage. No confirmation, just an inkling.
So to end today's lesson in Penny Lane Religion: I don't know if I believe in God. I do know I believe in treating people equally and fairly. I do know that I believe people deserve this equal and fair treatment no matter their age, sex, gender, race or sexual preference. I think, if there is a God, he feels the same way and if he doesn't?
I'll carry on just the same. I will speak openly against racism, sexism, and homophobes. I will teach my children to do the same. I will continue to respect those who choose to worship the God they believe in.
And, I will not hope Ken and Buddy get stung by wasps today, eat a bad 7-11 burrito and get the runs without a bathroom in sight.
Nonetheless, I opened the door. I did not open the screen door but this did not stop the young man for launching into conversation. Turns out, as luck would have it, he was here, with his friend Ken, to tell me about God.
yay.
So Buddy (I can't remember his name) proceeded to let me know there are 36 churches in Moose Jaw and asked what I think God thinks about this.
My reply: "I don't think He minds."
This did not sit well with Buddy and he started to read to me from his pamphlet some shit about one true God and how this one 'true' God probably isn't thrilled with Moose Jaw and their penchant for choosing their own ways to worship. Those weren't exactly his words.
At this point, I politely, if somewhat coldly, shared I didn't want to waste anymore of his time and wished him a good day.
I don't even know if I believe in God but if there is a God, the one that I believe in doesn't care if you're Catholic, Lutheran, Buddhist or Mennonite. The God I would choose to believe in only wants people to live a life where they try their best not to hurt others, not to cheat, lie or steal and to be nice.
The God I would choose to believe in does not want Buddy & Ken coming to my house on an otherwise pleasant Saturday morning telling me that He doesn't like people going to different churches to worship. I'm not sure what denomination Buddy & Ken are. Jehovah Witness maybe? I'm not sure. I don't know enough about them to tell. It's a guess pure & simple. I only know they aren't Mormon because they didn't say they were Elders or refer to themselves as 'Brother'. I know a little more about our Mormon friends because my ex-husband took a super fun for all journey there for awhile.
To me, this sort of "God only wants one church" belief is akin to racism. I'm pretty sure God doesn't promote that either. Come to think of it, I should've told Buddy & Ken that I needed to go because my (fill in the race blank) Lesbian lover was waiting for me upstairs for a session of Saturday morning lovemaking followed by a Ouija Board session. I have a feeling Ken & Buddy do not support same sex marriage. No confirmation, just an inkling.
So to end today's lesson in Penny Lane Religion: I don't know if I believe in God. I do know I believe in treating people equally and fairly. I do know that I believe people deserve this equal and fair treatment no matter their age, sex, gender, race or sexual preference. I think, if there is a God, he feels the same way and if he doesn't?
I'll carry on just the same. I will speak openly against racism, sexism, and homophobes. I will teach my children to do the same. I will continue to respect those who choose to worship the God they believe in.
And, I will not hope Ken and Buddy get stung by wasps today, eat a bad 7-11 burrito and get the runs without a bathroom in sight.
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