Oh yeah, it's Friday Hi-5 Time

I'll cut to the chase. I didn't go to zumba class on Wednesday. Or abs class on Thursday. And I'm definitely not going to the gym tonight, as I'm pretty sure they don't serve the red wine I've been craving. Rather than beat myself up about my lack of motivation/dedication/willpower/general interest, I've decided this week has been my resting week. Next week will be different. Next week I will get my shit together and - if necessary - brave the cold winds in pursuit of physical fitness.

Any bets on this actually happening? Why is it so hard to motivate oneself in the winter? At this point I'm going to have to resort to taping up pictures of Victoria's Secret models in my room, which will definitely illicit some questions from my Roomies.

It's not just health I'm having trouble with, but motivation in general. Waking up in the middle of the night confused about what time zone I'm in can't be helping, but how long can I blame jet lag for my disinterest in most activities? I don't even want to write this, I'm just in the habit of doing it at this point. Maybe I'll have an exciting adventure, an awesome epiphany, or an unexpected disturbance this weekend to shake me up. Or maybe I'm just keeping secrets, and don't know what to write about because I'm focused on something else entirely...only time will tell! Unless I'm struck down by a car on the way home today, in which case you'll never find out. Sorry.

But for now, while we're all still here, I bequeath to you my Friday Hi-5:

^ This one is from my recent vacay, had to sneak it in! 

  

On The Plus Side, My Fingers Aren't Fat Anymore

So I am back from the other side of the world. Back at my job, back at my house, back to real life. It's not fantastic. I mean, I missed my roomies and I'm happy to be back to my full selection of clothing (I really need to learn how to pack like a reasonable person). But generally...I'm not pumped. However, I have come to learn that this is normal, according to Wikipedia: "A person may suffer from Post Vacation Blues after returning home or to a normal routine from a long vacation, especially if it was a pleasurable one...Post vacation blues may result in tiredness, loss of appetite, strong feelings of nostalgia, and in some cases, depression. Jet lag may intensify the post vacation blues." Seems simple enough, and it makes me feel better for laying around the house in my sweat pants for the past 3 days, eating Nutella on animal crackers and crying intermittently. 

But it's time to pull up my socks! Or, more appropriately, my stockings. It's officially autumn here in Calgary, which means no more bare legs. I somewhat-happily donned my leather pirate-chic coat with fur collar this morning, and pulled my woolen leopard print mittens out of storage. I hope I can wear my vintage mink coat this winter, as last year it didn't get cold enough. Before you start thinking 'Cruella DeVille' let me just stop you and say...you know, I actually have no supporting argument. I love fur. Sorry. (I'm not really sorry). 

So this is what it has come to, counting on my love of animal skins to pull me out of PVB. Well, there are worse things. Probably. And on the plus side, my hands aren't swollen from the change in air pressure or whatever happened there. Tonight, we zumba!!  

Excitement VS. Expectation + The High 5

Do you remember when you were a little kid, and your birthday was coming up, and you were so pumped because you just KNEW that it was going to be the best damn day of your entire life?!? Then the day came and your friends didn't want to play the party games, you were cranky from not sleeping well the night before, you had a tummy ache from all the cake and instead of getting a Holiday Elegance Barbie you got a shitty green-haired knock off from the dollar store.

Expectation is a tricky thing. On the one hand, I expect to be treated with a certain amount of respect at work. That's good. On the other hand, I expect to be able to eat ice cream every day and never go to the gym, yet still have the body of an 18 year old. That's stupid. Realistic expectations are something I have always struggled with, and I often confuse them with excitement. If I'm planning a trip or looking forward to an event, I'm probably excited about it. But then I start imagining specific scenarios, detailed down to what shoes I'm wearing. And that's when things get complicated.

Talking with a friend this past week, about the fundamental differences between men and women in this regard, he mentioned that he's planned trips before with girlfriend's of his. It could be six months away, and all is well, everyone is excited and happy. But as the date approaches she starts getting weird, questioning everything and worrying about obscure little details. In his mind, nothing has changed. They planned a trip. Now they're going on a trip. It'll be fun. But in her mind...and I can speak from personal experience here...there is a circus of second-guessing going on. What does it mean? What if something goes wrong? What if we have nothing to talk about? What if it's great and I fall in love with him? Am I ready to fall in love? Can I see myself marrying this person some day? Seriously. It's nuts.

This topic arose because I am, in fact, going on a trip. And I did, of course, start down this path of questioning a few weeks ago. For some reason (I'm giving credit to finally learning from past experiences) I stopped myself. I determined what was a rational, legitimate thing to be worried about, and what was not. I talked to the necessary people. I allowed myself to be excited without all the stress of having expectations. Of course I'm nervous, I don't really have any idea of what to expect. But I refuse to set myself up for disappointment before I've even started packing. So, off I go! No blog for the next week and a half or so, I suggest baking a flan in the dull hours you'll have to fill up without my constant ramblings. Also, Happy Thanksgiving!

And here's some pictures I found amusing:

 Bonus Round:

Angry...or Hangry?

So I went out for a couple drinks with some co-workers this week. I told myself I would only stay out for one or two, but four hours later I was at a local pub yelling about racial discrimination. At one point someone I've worked with for over a year said to me "wow, Brittany I have never seen you like this. It's great to hear your opinions and your viewpoints. Why don't you talk about this stuff more?" To which I responded, "they don't want to hear my opinions at work, they want me to be pretty and answer the phone. Get with the program." A heated debate ensued, that I only half remember.

I've come to realize two things about myself over the past few months, as I have cut down on my drinking/Frittany appearances. 1) It doesn't really matter how much I drink, 4 glasses of wine or 7 shots of tequila, I will have black-out patches. 2) I am angry.

But what am I angry about? The thing is, I can't really put my finger on one source of my shouting and ranting and glassy eyed glares. We could safely say that I'm satisfied and pleased with my approach to life at the moment; in a general sense I am very happy. Upon closer inspection there are things that get my blood boiling. Things such as: women's rights, racism, US politics, materialism, people who don't recycle, our growing dependency on technology, our increasing inability to form a real meaningful connection with other humans...etc. On a more personal note, I'm angry about how I've been treated at certain times in my life, things that have happened to me and worse - things that I have allowed to happen to me. Moments when I didn't stand up for myself, moments when I didn't share my opinions or tell the truth. Moments when I wasn't angry.

So I suppose I'm pretty angry about a lot of things. Don't let that scare you though. Sitting here right now, sober as a youth pastor, I'm not overly concerned about anything. I'm just typing away and eating a grapefruit. So the possibility has crossed my mind that maybe I'm just hangry (hungry + angry) when I have these outbursts. (I did some research, it's a real thing.)

However, I know that the short burst of nostrils-flared rage I get right before lunch time when I realize my blue pen isn't on my desk is very different than the deep, smoldering indignation I feel when a stranger out at the bar grabs my ass as I'm walking by. Yet if I turn around and knee the offender in the groin, somehow I am totally insane. I realize that it's not cool to be angry, especially as a woman. People jump to the conclusion that you're PMS-ing, you're sexually frustrated, or maybe just having a bad hair day. I know that all of these things can lead to irrational behavior, but I don't think that having sex with someone will make me feel better about the fact that friends of mine can't get in to certain establishments because of their skin color - though bouncers or owners would swear on their life that it's a dress code issue.

I think that we, as a generation of people living in a liberal community, are simply not angry enough. I absolutely do not agree with the recent Muslim attacks on US Consulates, but think of this - when was the last time you felt so strongly and passionately about something that you actually did something about it? I'm not saying start fires or set off bombs, that is not the solution here. What I'm saying is, we no longer know how to properly feel anger or express it. It seems we are either so angry that we are irrational, or we convince ourselves that 'this is just the way it is and I'll have to accept it, no use getting all riled up about it' and essentially that means we roll over and give up.

I think I'm trying to find a medium with my anger. I don't want to inflict pain or suffering on anyone, I just want people to start thinking. Start feeling! There are plenty of things to be angry about going on today. Maybe more people should be shouting about them instead of pretending they're not happening. Get riled up, have a discussion, who cares if the people around you think you're nuts. But make sure you have a full stomach before tearing into an issue, just to be safe. I'm also working on expressing myself more when I'm not drinking, when surely my arguments will make more sense, or at the least I'll remember what I've said.

Family Matters

Coming from a traditional Ukranian background, my (extended) family and I don't see eye to eye on a few issues. I thought I had permanently stopped any pressure about "settling down" after getting married at 19, divorced at 20. However, as I noticed at a family wedding this past weekend, little comments have started creeping up. Inquiries about my love life, why I haven't brought anyone around to meet the fams in over 4 years (has it only been 4 years???), hints at starting a family. In my opinion, my Baba (maternal grandma) already has 4 great grandchildren and I think my uterus and I should get a free pass. Maybe they are just concerned that I am a lesbian, which is understandable given my penchant for cross dressing and facial hair.

Anyway, my evolving feminist ideals could come crashing up against these traditional [narrow-minded] values and potentially cause everyone some grief, but mostly it would result in people gossiping behind my back. So I bite my tongue. Unless I've been drinking and mistakenly say 'my lover' instead of 'my boyfriend', which did happen and was mostly ignored, aside from some raised eyebrows. How do I explain to my Aunts, Uncles, Grandparents and younger cousins that I don't identify with the boyfriend/girlfriend terms right now, and I find 'lover' an acceptable and progressive alternative. Of course, explaining it that way makes me sound like a hippie. Also that term shines a huge spotlight on the elephant in the room trying to hide under a coffee table - sex. It is a talent of the older generations, to simply not acknowledge things they find disagreeable. Instead they ask about my work, my education plans, my hobbies. And when it's time to go I get a whisper of "I'm praying for you."

I don't hold this against them (well, I try not to). It's true that to a certain extent I feel I can't be myself around most of my family. But really, who can? And even if I don't agree with their methods, the expression of love is still there. Baba is concerned about the state of my soul, Gido (grandpa) is concerned because my parents split up, everyone else is probably concerned that I am anorexic (before they saw me attack the dessert table, that is). And if that interest in my well being comes across as smothering, well, that's what family is for I suppose.

After a full day and a half of family bonding, it was starting to grate on me, and I wished I was still sleeping off my hangover from the wedding reception, like my brother. I made my rounds, hugging everyone who was still visiting after breakfast. My cousin, the bride, who I haven't actually talked to in years, thanked me for coming. Then she said, to my surprise, "by the way, I read your blog. I really enjoy it." I thanked her and again congratulated her. My Baba hugged me goodbye and said "by the way, there's homemade cinnamon buns for you in the fridge. Be safe. I'm praying for you." And although I don't always agree with how they love me, I very much appreciate the fact that my family does love me. And maybe they know me a bit better than I thought.