I Resolve To Seek Resolution...

Here we are, end of December. How in the hell did this happen? How did we get from halfway through summer to here all of a sudden? My last post was almost two months ago. And here I had resolved to start blogging regularly. Which really shines a bright light on a more consistent problem. Let's see.. Post #1 had me resolving to exercise more regularly and work on my blogging. Post #2 had me resolving to spend more time with my husband. Post #3 I resolved to remain even-tempered and not respond to crappy people and their crappy attitudes. In Post #4 I became a teetotaller (wasn't that cute?).

It's year end, time for New Year's Resolutions. So, let's take stock. Not so much success on all fronts. However, I am determined to keep on pluggin away. Basically it seems that all I need to do is read my last four posts and voila, there is my list of resolutions. Pretty easy, huh?

New Year's Resolutions:

1. Drink less and eat healthy. Clearly I was still inebriated when I made that resolution back in November because there is no way you can live with a Maritimer and stop drinking. Or maybe I am just deflecting the responsibility to another party and really it's my own fault. Maybe. Probably. Regardless, it would be wise to try and cut back a tad, like maybe only a couple of glasses a day and no rye with lunch.
2. Exercise more regularly. OK, honestly.... I have put in a valiant effort. Am I where I should be? No. Have I made progress? Definitely. I even bought a gym membership and, heavens, even enjoy it. I joined a women's gym up here in Squampton and it's great. After my car accident, my back is really messed up so the controlled weights are good for rehab. I should be going more often, I should be less fat, but at least I'm going at once per week, which is a sight better than the hours I would spend thinking about going before. I resolve to attend the gym at least twice per week in the new year.
3. Be nicer to people. Actually, let me define that a little bit more. Be nicer to strangers. Strangers who are rude. I think I do an OK job of being nice to the people I know and respect. It's the morons out there who don't know me from Adam (what does that mean anyway?) that choose to be rude and obnoxious. I struggle so much to be nice back. But what if it made their day that someone was nice? Would it hurt me that much to try and lead by example?
4. Spend more time with my husband and friends. I'm a workaholic. I take too much responsibility for the things that need to be fixed. My new job and other responsibilities keep me busy and away alot. Since I work in one city and live in another, I spend 3 hours a day in my car, leaving little time to get out an enjoy myself. Maybe we need to move to the city, but that would hog our quality of life. We love it up here and that's the tradeoff. However, I can certainly carve away time on the weekends to pay attention to my relationships.
5. Read more and learn more. This is a hard one. After going to the gym, not drinking, being nice to people, and seeing those close to me, when I am not busy I am going to read. I have over ten books stacked up, waiting to be read. I earnestly want to and crave it, I know I need to expand my horizons and perspectives. Here's my solution: audio books. I have downloaded a number of books and they are available in high quality from audible.com. Since I spend 3 hours a day in my car, why not turn that into 3 hours of "reading"? My only concern is that I am going to have to listen to a narrator with a really annoying voice. What if she sounds like Latoya Jackson or something even worse? I'm going to give it a shot. So far, I have downloaded a couple of fiction books, a non-fiction commentary on modern religion and a couple of "Learn in Your Car" language series, although I am not certain how those are going to work as I tend to be more visual, but we'll see. What a limited franchise that would be though... Learn in Your Car: Cake Decorating. Or maybe Learn in Your Car: Popular Mechanics. I guess the humanities and such are more appropriate.. Learn in Your Car: How Capitalists Ruined the Modern World.
6. Get pregnant. Not sure if I need to expand on this one...I hesitate to include it as a personal resolution, given that I only have so much control over the results, and it's not something I can really do on my own. I just spent Christmas with my sister's family which includes an 18-month-old and a newborn and they really have their work cut out for them. I might say I'm a little less anxious to jump to it right away, but nonetheless will try. Practice makes perfect, and my husband is very intent on a rigorous practice regimen.

Geez. I have my work cut out for me. It's exhausting really. I wonder if I chose resolutions such as "Become independantly wealthy" or "Solve world hunger" if I would have more success? Like my hubby says, if there ain't no stakes in the poker game, noone's going to care about winning. Or some such thing. Essentially, if you've put nothing on the line, it's hard to put effort into achieving it. So I guess I need to have some skin in the game to be successful. It feels like I've already donated skin AND all my internal organs. It's just that there's no market for them. I think I need to become an entrepreneur and take more control of my schedule. See next year's resolutions.

Goodnight, dear diary.

Bad Behaviour Starts With A Bottle

I'm never drinking again. Ever. Ever, ever, ever, ever.

Maybe a glass of wine with dinner, or perhaps something nice to sip. But full on college-style? Nope. Not only am I 31 years old now - far too old to act so young - but my body and mind can't recover so well. What part of our brain goes off when it gets duped by alcohol? I mean, really. Must be some part that has to do with good judgment or maturity.

It's not really the drinking part that I have a a problem with per se - some people can enjoy the buzz and keep it all together. It's not the crazy sick feeling the next day - that definitely is a downer but can be tolerated with the memory of a really fun night. It's really the painful immaturity that overtakes me after a few that I can't handle the day after. I become an attention-crazy rendition of those girls I could never stand at bars. Or I become biting and sarcastic (more so than usual), alienating more than I probably even know about.

Either way, the outcome sucks.

We had a party last night - a little last hurrah for the wonderful company that used to be. A few years of nostalgia fuelled the cameraderie, and a few weeks of bitterness drove us to push the alcoholic envelope within a short period of time. We were gagging for it - a little release. I must say we did a superior job of making the office look like a historic slum... the carpets reek of beer, there are remnants of ash from various unnamed combustible substances peppered throughout the boardrooms, enough empties to start our own recycling plant, and unidentifiable foodstuffs ground in by so many heels. Classy. What's really overwhelming, though, is the musty, nauseating stench of old beer and sweaty smoke. Sick.

I recall a few activities that are really tearing at my heart strings, including wine bongs, beer chugging competitions, pole dancing on a door frame and so many terrible, embarrassing conversations. I may never regain my dignity. At least not in my mind. I understand everyone was on their game and had a few such moments, but I'm personally responsible for my own and feel quite disappointed to have let it all hang out. I was rewarded by a migraine and extreme fatigue today because of course when I got home I couldn't sleep from the spins. I think I watched an episode of Junk Brothers where they renovated a bed frame to make a bench but it had this really strange big mirror thing on the back and I found it really confusing. I found the instructions to make my instant soup pretty confusing as well so I guess that's saying something.

Anyway, from here on in it's sobriety and a stable exercise regime. No more college antics, no more hangovers. Straight and narrow, in shape, lots of sleep.

Right.

It's Not My Fault You Hate Your Job...

If you hate people, don't put yourself in a position where you have to talk to customers. Lock yourself in a basement and work on a research project that you've been dying to take on since third grade. Become a line worker in a quiet factory. Do something... just for heaven's sake get out of the line of fire that will inevitably come your way every time you have to heave yourself into the public eye and interact.

Not everyone is born social. Not everyone is born happy. Not everyone has communication skills. It's okay. I can accept that. The world turns because we are all different... well actually I think it has to do with some type of gravitational gobbeldygook but whatever.

However.

When you CHOOSE to apply for a job that requires social interaction, and you just know you're going to struggle, maybe it's best to rethink that. I have a knack for being served by those people who have chosen to make their lives more miserable in a customer-facing role. You know, the ones that look at you like you are the weight of the world and you're about to jump up on their shoulders to join the others that evidently already reside there. I'm not talking about shy people, or those who may be just a bit uncomfortable in a social situation. I'm talking about the downright nasty, miserable people who for one reason or another consider it an offense to be expected to smile or be courteous.

Let's discuss Ms. Front Desk from yesterday. Somehow the hotel's website had double-booked my reservation and as a result I showed up and Ms. F-D presented me with the keys for BOTH my rooms. When I explained to her that I didn't need two rooms, she proceeded to spit at me that I had MADE two reservations and that was that. I suggested that clearly there had been a mistake and since their website was delivering errors , perhaps there had been a problem there. Well Ms. F-D sighed heavily, rolled her eyes and stared at the room keys for the better part of five minutes, shaking her head all the while. Finally she said to me, pretending I was her pet terrier because that makes it so much easier for her, "Fine. I will cancel your reservation THIS TIME, but NEXT TIME..." at which point I stopped her and asked for clarification. "Next time? I'm sorry, but I am not sure this is really my fault..." and she interrupted with "THAT's why I am cancelling it THIS TIME, but NEXT TIME..." with a warning tone like she was punishing a kindergarten child.

Let's break this down. What could she have been deducing about the mistake? Clearly in her mind I had been bored on a Sunday afternoon and created not one, but two reservations on her website, grinning like the Grinch after a snowstorm, anticipating eagerly how much I was going to tick her off with my double reservations. I mean, it really doesn't get much better than that for me. Or maybe I was some political activist funded by CABW (Consumers Against Best Western) and this was another consumer terrorism tactic directed solely at her establishment.

Well really, who knows what she was thinking? All I know is that next time I tried such irresponsible tactics she wasn't going to let me off so easy. My friend suggested that I tell her "THIS TIME I will stay at this hotel, but NEXT TIME...". However, I am not as smart as him, nor as witty, and probably would have delivered it with the grace of a drunken casino player from down the street.

Next let's consider Ms. USA Airport Security and her little friend.

As I approached the USA security gates (you know, the area where they make you take off your shoes and look very serious as you empty your pockets and turn on your laptops to prove they still work), a young woman sat perched on a table looking extremely bored and smug. Beside her was a friend who, while dressed in a uniform similar to hers, was clearly on her dinner break as evidenced by the pile of fast food cartons and related litter sitting on the table beside her. Actually, I think Ms. USAAS was also chomping down on a burger when I approached. She considered me briefly, appearing about as insulted as possible with my inconsiderate breach of her snacking, and asked for my boarding pass and ID. I handed her my passport (which has expired but hasn't yet been replaced) and she looked at it, looked at me, looked at it, looked at me and then scrawled across my boarding pass "NO ID".

Well isn't that excellent? I could just imagine what would happen when I tried to pass with that. Hello, yellow alert, cavity search, maybe a dismantling of my luggage. I suggested to her that I did have ID, which she had just reviewed, and she said "It's expired!". We bantered a little bit about why that was even relevant, and she suggested it was actually illegal to carry (not true) and I said, "Well it's still me!". She spits at me "Well don't even show it to me!". Anyways, I asked her if she would like to see my other ID and her friend chimes in with a grimace "Oh, is that expired as well?". At which point I realized the gauntlet had been firmly placed on the ground and she had moved her unwilling body clearly across a line. I opened fire (against my better judgement) and explained with clarity exactly how I felt about their less than dismal attitudes and marched along without waiting for either of them to approve my admission.

Now let's contemplate Ms. USAAS. Perhaps she was feeling irritated because her blood sugar just rushed from the culinary masterpiece she was devouring. Maybe she was in the midst of a discussion about her 49-year old deadbeat boyfriend and his wife. Maybe she was too young and unworldly to realize how mature she could appear if she were even the slightest fraction of professional. Maybe noone around her cared. Maybe she didn't like my suit, or my shoes, or it made her feel big to make me look small.

Whatever the case, she made herself look foolish, but I suspect she didn't care. Certainly she and Ms. Burger Chomper had a sneer about it shortly after and confirmed that I was indeed a stupid beeyatch and they felt strong together for having a common enemy. Whatever the case may be, I hope they got something out of it for all the energy they expended being intolerable.

I have concluded that it takes more energy and strength of character to maintain an even keel and pleasant demeanour in the face of all circumstances. Those individuals who are able to master this talent usually become promoted into more senior positions that don't involve customer interaction and therefore the leftover position is filled by one of the Nasties.

I have also concluded that reacting to a Nasty really doesn't make me feel much better and in fact I kick myself later, realizing what a chump I was. But man it feels good at the time to just stick it to the man, or woman, or whatever.

Busload of Faith

I've been travelling all day. Well, it feels like it anyways. These one-day offsites in another country feel a little more than a commute. However, I am as equally impressed at the transportation infrastructure that allows me to put in a full day's work 1000 kms away and return home to my bed that night, as I am totally exhausted by it. So I'm tired, stuck in a construction road block and hungry. The perfect environment for a mushy brain, and that is precisely why I was contemplating the simplest sensory stimulation at that moment - the song playing in my CD changer. I didn't have to work for it, it presented itself to me whether or not I tried.

I remember one day my girlfriend got all excited while we were driving and turned up the radio to blast Sheryl Crow's Soak Up The Sun, chirping "Oh my gosh! This is totally my theme song!", and she looked like she had a whole brainful of memories that made that a perfectly reasonable assertion. Admittedly, I wasn't feeling it, as much as I dig Sheryl, and kind of rolled it over. But from that day I have always thought that I would like a theme song. Why couldn't I find a theme song? I tried SO hard to have one. You must know that DMAT sufferers can't have a theme song - they have many.

Anyway, tonight the song playing as I stared at the lightless hatch of the neighbouring Saab was Busload of Faith - a live rendition by Lou Reed. Well I tell ya, something about it - maybe Lou's nonplussed muttering, maybe the stick-it-to-the-man bass line, maybe the surrendering tone of the lyrics - made it my theme song tonight. Yep, you need a busload of faith, sister. A whole busload. That's lots. That's like 40 screaming kids worth of faith. I shook my head at the dry resolve of Lou's words as if I could see him doing it too. The only thing, Lou, that will make me finish this drive home is my busload of faith. You know, it. Sing it for me. Uh huh, you know I feel you, brother.

So I got to thinking... what would I say to Lou if I actually met him in person? Would I be totally cool and collected cause, you know, he's just another guy? I think he'd respect me if I just pulled up a chair for him beside me at the picnic table, offered him one of my cigarettes and continued to stare straight ahead of me, contemplating whatever I was deep in thought about before he interrupted me. Letting him join me for a little while, but on my terms. I think he'd respect that. It's a nice fiction... except I don't smoke. And I probably wouldn't recognize him on the street anyways.

Maroon 5 is playing now. Live, unplugged. They do a version of Closer (Nine Inch Nails) that is pretty different. What would I say to Adam Levine if I met him? Actually, I thought I did see him today at the Portland Airport. Of course. Because that's totally where he would be... sitting in some dumpy airport bar swigging back Coors Lite. Alright, Self, I'll play this game with you for a little while longer. Adam Levine. I would say to him, "Yeah, hey... I really dug that video with Kelly Preston. The whole Mrs. Robinson thing - nice story line." I'm so interesting. It's shocking that anyone can bear a conversation with me for more than a minute.

OK ... Madonna. She's on now. I wouldn't be able to help myself. I would fall at her feet. Maybe not because she is such an amazing songstress with deep and moving lyrics, but because her business acumen and her ability to actually start new fashion trends is mind-boggling and worthy of some kind of material girl respect. Seriously, she's got this crazy tuned eye for what everyone's dying to make the next bit thing. And then she just does it in this no-nonsense, why should I apologize for anything fashion. Not that I am particularly trendy or fond of trendy things, but I'm pretty interested (in a stamp collecting kind of way) in popular culture and the forces that drive it. Rarely is a single individual capable of manipulating an entire industry all on her own. But she does it. She's not scared of it. Of course she has abs like the side door of my car so I wouldn't stand in her way either. So Madonna would render me a silly shrinking violet.

Next we have... uh... this isn't my fault. Poison - Every Rose Has Its Thorn. I think it can stop there. I don't need to imagine talking to Ce Ce and the boys because I am not sure they can even talk, or if they do it will be in some high, squeaky voice because their neon green and black striped pants are way too tight.

My legs are shaking because I am so exhausted. I was up at 5 am in my ghetto hotel (my next post may be about CRAP customer service), flew to Portland, worked all day, got forced into a filet mignon dinner with my client, flew back to Van and then drove for an hour and a half home. Tomorrow morning I have to leave again to drop the hubby off at the airport. We are trying really hard to never see each other since we got married (my next next post will be about how awesome it is to be married).

We'll see if my busload of faith can help me get up in 5 hours to drive back down to the city.

The Chicken and the Egg

I have become an early riser.

Not because I like it, but out of necessity. I live an hour out of town and commute in regularly. Therefore, in order to avoid the throngs of lemmings creeping reluctantly into their day jobs in the city, I have to leave at an ungodly hour. I am clinically impatient and suffer physiological symptoms akin to a seizure if I have to sit for more than a minute inching along slowly to that big sigh of a day.

The average Vancouverite shakes her head in disbelief, thinking me at least a little off my nut for putting so much space and time between myself and this great city, moreso between myself and my daily responsibilities. Someone more wistful than myself might ask "what's it all for?", but I cringe at most signs of the philosophical and so I try to offer something a little more pragmatic.

Let me see if I can explain what got me thinking about this.

During my commute today (during which time I have alot of opportunity to muse), I did my daily sorting through my mind's agenda for the day and tried to identify where any little points of frustration were originating. I'm a relatively satisfied girl with no great demons, but I manage my frustrations like a To-Do list - what do I need to fix today? One of those little demons that had me thinking was my total lack of success at finding a way to introduce some regularly scheduled cardio-enhancing activity into my weeks. The frustration is not new. It's a nagging old friend looking on disapprovingly, more and more each year as I add some pounds on to what used to be a lithe frame, and feel less and less capable of that weekend jaunt up the backcountry trails (which I keep meaning to schedule).

Essentially this challenge is a symptom of a greater circumstance which is characterized by the driving need to fill every moment of each day with something productive and necessary, leaving little time and motivation left for activities that cause one to sweat and expend energy that is in short supply at the end of the day. Though I love the feeling of a good workout, my mind cries out desperately that tonight I just want to sit and watch TV, tomorrow we will start the good program to trim the thighs. And you know what happens tomorrow, of course. Just another day then I'll be fit. Well let's see... um, when was the last time I managed more than three weeks in a row of fitness? Years. Literally years.

So then I start marvelling at others who have managed to fit fitness into their lives. Should it really be that hard? Well, my friend, it all boils down to priorities, of course. Others make their fitness a priority - everything else takes second place. Fine, I get it. Priorities. Fine. I can dig that, but here's the problem. For me, Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs is more, er... a circle. Or maybe a spiral? Whatever, the point is that I can't commit to a hierarchy. It's totally and completely against my grain. My Hierarchy of Needs is trumped by the need to do everything, see everything, learn everything and then do it again. I am fundamentally unhappy without my fingers in every of life's proverbial pies. So therefore I can never be an expert at anything in particular. But... yeah you got it, I need to be an expert as well. That's something, isn't it?

I need the chicken AND the egg. Who cares which comes first because eventually they are both there. Maybe we should give it a name... Don'tMissAThing-itis (DMAT).

Is this a scourge of a Type A personality? Well sure, maybe. But I'm not pure Type A, it depends on my environment. Is there such thing as a Type AB? Type A in the day, Type B in the night? As a true DMAT sufferer, I would need to be both, wouldn't I?

I'm not sure my DMAT is curable. I'm not sure I want it cured. My internal value structure defines diversity as a priority so I guess I'm destined to be a living dichotomy.

While I was gazing at my navel there, I missed a whole bunch of opportunities to see something new on my drive in. Sigh. Next post I am going to choose something a little less innate.