In An Effort To Make An Effort

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

Well, you know those rowing classes I mentioned last post? Well, we had a sort of ‘newbie’ regatta over the weekend and we totally killed it. I can’t begin to express how dumbfounded my entire team was, as we were utterly prepared to lose and lose big.

Because I have been getting a 'whaaaa' face from friends when I say rowing…. That would be the long, skinny boating kind, with the oars and the seven other people, each attached to an oar. And I have to say; I really, really like it. Like really like it! I have been meaning to row for a number of years but never got around to it because, well effectively, I was too scared. All I can say about the anxiety of trying something new….I wish I had done it sooner.

So, our team, rocking the shit out of the regatta.* As I said, we were prepared to suck, because our lessons had digressed into just two of eight of us into getting any sort of feedback from the coach, none of it good. Essentially, our boat resembled Bambi on ice, with oars going willy nilly, but at impressive speed, I must say, and the boat tipping perilously close to tipping us into the drink.

There was the promise of beer to lure us to the finishing line, and that, dear internet, is the greatest of motivators! We were all so stunned when we won the whole lot, that there was no cheering, no high fives and no acknowledgement of the winning until we had that celebratory drink in hand.

Where old meets new and vice versa

I had KB come to stay for a week a while ago. And, while it wasn’t a traumatic experience as such, it certainly wasn’t the most enjoyable time. I’m pretty confident when I say, too, that the previous statement applies to all parties.

I don’t want to write too much about the whole experience, aside from advising my future self that is NOT a good idea to have dinner with your new boyfriend, old boyfriend and his current girlfriend** under any circumstances.

My final on-line remarks about this: I am witnessing the end of a friendship, KB’s and mine and, needless to say, I am inexpressably sad about it. Even though my feelings romantically didn’t run as deep as he wanted, I did value him and what he contributed to my life. I am truly sorry that KB is no longer a part of it.

The Weather, as reported by Anna:

This weeks forecast is rain, with a chance of dry periods, though that is not to be expected. Make sure you don’t get sucked into bright mornings, and dress inappropriately, because on your way home from the office, you will encounter a rain of biblical proportions. So make sure you bring that umbrella, in fact, surgically attach it to your body (go go gadget umbrella!), and try not to drown in the enormous puddles.

Though it is tempting, don't bother doing hair or make up, or anything even vaguely reminiscent of Making An Effort, as all good works will be undone in approximately 14.6 seconds, courtesy of Zeus and his thunder stick.

That is all, Anna.

*not literally, that was the other boats….hahaha….bitches!

**of whom, I know far too much about…most notably from disparaging gossip from KB.

Here and Back Again

What is that I hear you* ask?

'Where the eff have I been??' Here and there and nowhere in particular.

Life is good at the moment, and when things are good, it would seem that I have nothing at all to say. So, to summarize, Good Life = Boring. And even I don't care to read about the ordinary days of myself, so I have refrained from posting.

Or, perhaps, I'm simply uninspired. I set this ridiculous goal for myself and even wrote it down, on actual paper with an actual pen, and though it's niggling in the back of my mind, I have managed to successfully ignore it. That goal being to write a little bit, every day, up to and including this here blog, which has been sorely neglected.

So, now that I've started wiping out the cobwebs of this journal/diary/log/whatever, I have to run. I've started rowing classes, you see, and I don't want to be late.

See you back here soon!

-A

*You, of course, being the extremely interested and slightly nosy internet

In Which I Contemplate, Extrapolate and Masturbate

Black Day in the Office

Henceforth to be referred to as the Den of Industriousness (Ha!). We’ve just had some new ‘improvements’ to our internet connection and technical stuff in the office that I frankly don’t understand. These ‘improvements’ to my gateway to the outside world has resulted in corporate blocking of sites such as Facebook (typical) and its ilk as well as blocking any photos that are remotely interesting.

In addition to this travesty, the connection has slowed to a sails pace. It’s almost faster for me to write letters longhand and post them now. Dealing with a slow connection, like back in the ol’ dial up days, is the equivalent of sitting in traffic. There is nowhere to go (because that whole regular paycheque thing is kinda boss), there is nothing to see (because the screen is stuck on white until it’s reached it’s intended destination), and nothing to do. Perhaps I’ll try working tomorrow.

For the Love of Orange

I don’t know exactly what it is about fruit, but I struggle to eat it. I am a champ at buying it, ace at letting it sit in the fridge for a week or two until the stench of rotting food causes me to do a full fridge purge which sends me into a tail spin of guilt for all those malnourished kids in the world who would have enjoyed that bag of apples I so callously waste on an alarmingly regular basis.

That being said, I awarded myself a gold star this afternoon when I chose the orange over the chocolate bar. Unprocessed food, for the win! And, I have to say, it was satisfying and incredibly delicious. When I have fruit that’s as tasty as it was today, I wonder at my reluctance to eat it. I have two more oranges and a bag of grapes that I will endeavour to eat before their respective use by dates.

What Is That?

Apparently, I got dressed in the dark this morning (on reflection, I think I did). And when I got to work in the morning, I noticed this:

I have no recollection of eating any blue food, nor did I use Windex this morning, so I can only surmise that it is Smurf spooge.

-Going to watch smurf porn, Anna

If You’ll Indulge Me

Urine? You’re Out!

I have a few complaints that I would like to lodge with my body today, most of which have been plaguing me for the better part of the week. The foremost of these being peeing.

I don’t drink ‘enough’ water*. ‘Enough’ being the required 8 cups as recommended by water experts the world over. There are a few reasons (none of them good) for my lack of water drinking, one of them being frequent bathroom visits that are just really, really inconvenient. I’ve found that the more water I drink, the more I have to pee. Makes sense, right? Volume in equals volume out. What doesn’t make sense to me is the intensity and immediacy of need to pass water (as my grandmother would say). Excess water pees (or EWP) are sneaky, sadistic pees that will demand attention the minute they make themselves known, and I’ll go from not needing the loo to going to burst in roughly 12 seconds.

What I am finding unsettling for the last couple of days is that my number of bathroom visits has increased by quite a few more trips per day. But get this…My fluid intake has not been increased. What the eff, bladder, what the eff? Perhaps I am sleep drinking, like I sometimes do with chocolate, drinking litres of water while I am comatose. Very interesting. I will have to investigate this phenomenon.**

Crickles and the Back Spasm

I think that will be my new band name, if I ever start a band. Mmm, maybe RockBand name would be more accurate as my musical (dis)ability should only be forced on those that love me and not the public at large. My back has been aching for the better part of the week. Mostly in between my shoulder blades and, well, it’s just uncomfortable.

I suspect it has something to do with ‘Iron Hands’ Hug giving me a back rub over the weekend, during which he attempted to crush my breasts into the floor. I think that he’s had more experience massaging men, than women, so I’ll forgive him this time. But, honestly, if I had implants, I think they would have burst their saline seams.

The crickles are another (probably) after effect of the massage treatment. That or osteoporosis, but being an eternal optimist (HA!), I choose the back rub, ‘cause having brittle bones sucks hairy balls. The crickles aren’t too bad, actually. They just surprise when, for instance, I sit down heavily and feel that pop in my spine, which isn’t un-satisfying as such.

Kitchen Wonders

A couple of years ago, when I was a stay at home girlfriend, I was really, really bored and thought that I would try my hand at making pasta because I was hearing everywhere that it was SO!EASY! Despite my limited kitchen supplies, one crisp day when I was energised by possibilities, I made pasta. Or rather, tried to. Making the dough was pretty easy, if messy, but I ran into problems with the rolling. What I lacked in rolling pins, I more than made up in wine bottles and figured that a clean skin should do the job just fine (Resourceful!)! Except that I was afraid of pressing too hard on the bottle, in case it should shatter and turn a pasta experiment into a pasta nightmare***. So I rolled, and rolled (and rolled) for about an hour until I estimated that it was thin enough, cut it into strips and boiled it. Verdict: Pasta FAIL! It was so thick and doughy and chewy and weird that I wasn’t really interested in ever attempting homemade pasta again.

Until Sunday. I bought a pasta roller a million years ago, before I went traipsing around the world, and it's been with the mothership for roughly 5 years until I moved to Vancouver and the minx packed it in my belongings. Since then, it’s been sitting in the back of my cupboard, ever neglected and unused.

It was a joint effort between Hodge and myself, and after one false start, we made fresh, homemade linguini (or whatever). You know what? It was SO! EASY! I can’t wait to make it again, it was so delicious and EASY!

In fact, I shall bid you adieu and try again.

-Anna

*Just doing my part to save the world again!

**I have just foolishly googled urination, and there are 36 - 148 causes for frequent urination, up to and including diabetes and cancer. Fun.

***Blood in lieu of tomato sauce. How macabre and dinner of terror like! PS. Don’t drink the red wine!

The Long Overdue...

ed note: I wrote this at work last week and didn't post it, due to requisite 'marination' time. However I took a super long weekend to recover from my two day work week, and, as much as I continue sharing the minutiae of my life with you, I was NOT going to pop into the office to post this. Here's to more responsible posting in the future.

Jolly Old England:

I loved London. There were the nasty bits, of course, that I didn’t appreciate – the crowds, the huge chunks of time that were spent in commute, the early closing of pubs – but overall, I really enjoyed myself. Certainly much more than the guy that was trying to fish his supa drunk girlfriend out of the gutter she’d passed out in on Friday night.* I bet that was a rough Saturday!

It helped that we were really central and everything was so accessible, if not walkable. I didn’t walk nearly as much as I do in Vancouver, which contributed to the roughly 12 kilos that somehow attached themselves to my midsection during the trip.

I have to gush about Hodge’s family, too. They were so lovely and welcoming (even if I was called by his ex-girlfriends name on more than one occasion [which would be three: cringe]) and generous with their time and space. They really made the trip incredible for me and I hope to return the favour when they’re in Vancouver next.

Re-Affirmations:

I don’t like talking in the morning. Or noise. I’m just not interested in chatting until I have drunk my requisite morning coffee(s) and I take offense to those who try and pull me into pre 10 am conversation. Some may say that I am cranky, I say, I’m simply accepting of my limitations.

I don’t enjoy mass transit. In theory, it works, much like communism, but in practice, it’s bound to fail (in my eyes). Also, public transportation in a new city causes so much anxiety, that I fail to see any of the merits of using the systems (like lower carbon emissions, cheaper [usually] than other modes of transport, faster [sometimes]) and I’ll have a panic attack and call a cab. Irresponsible? Definitely, but rest assured that my guilt and I have a terse discussion before, during and after the trip. Xanax, anyone?

I find it exceedingly difficult to sleep on airplanes. And, as an addendum, I burn with bitter resentment at those who do. If you are one of those people, like my mom and my boyfriend, then I am truly sorry, but we can’t be friends. In fact, if you could send me a lock of your hair, I will begin construction on your very own voodoo doll. Lucky you!!

Big, Big T*ttays

I have a love/hate relationship with shopping. I typically enjoy shopping for tops over pants, because, let’s face it, there isn’t anything that can destroy your self-esteem more than having to try on a larger size pant because your thighs are too big for the skinny jeans. Or having the outfit that you’ve envisioned for months dashed because it just looks … wrong on you, due to the unsightly bulges, tightness or sacklike nature of the item on your figure, etc ad nauseum.

Saying that, I was really looking forward to shopping in the UK because the media, at least, seems to be obsessed with ‘larger’ women and turning the screws of shopping outlets to stock larger sizes and have ‘realistic’ shaped mannequins on display in lieu of the size zero models designed to crush your spirit. I assumed that there would be shirts and pants to fit around my generous bust and hips.

I did find a shirt that I loved. Like, really loved. It fit really well, nicely swaddling my hips in creamy linen, flattering at the waist, but so tight in the bust that I feared I would bust open the seams if I breathed too deeply (read: at all). That, and they were squished together and propped up just south of my chin in a manner that was wholly unflattering and not particularly comfortable.

I know this seems counter-intuitive to mainstream society these days, but I would really, really appreciate smaller breasts. I find it really unfair that my boobs are an extra large while my waist is a medium. Not cool, genes, not cool at all (I’m looking at you, mother).

Tourist Time in LonDon

1. A bus tour of London. I went on a Friday afternoon with Hodge and his sister, Podge. We stopped over to get a live tour guide on the bus, and had to wait a bit, with much confusion over which bus we would be using. While the perspective was nice, getting to look around and up without feeling like an enormous tool in the crowds, the traffic was really bad and it took us two hours to navigate from Hyde Park to the London Eye (which I opted not to do – the Eye that is, the traffic I was stuck with). Our tour guide, Chris, was a relatively old guy, who seemed to be more interested in pointing out the pubs than the sights (in anticipation of a foamy drink post work?), and was slightly less than charming. Overall, I scored them a 4/10.

2. The London Dungeons. Also on a Friday afternoon. It was good fun, actually. They have actors that lead the tours around (you can’t proceed without them), and all of the parts are really well thought out and executed (HA!). The only criticism that I have of this trap is the waiting. There was a lot of standing, shuffling, rocking and waiting for the next part to proceed. If you’ve got good, supportive shoes, I heartily recommend a visit to the dungeons. They got a score of 8.5/10.

3. The Tower of London. We arrived just in time for a tour from one of the Beef Eaters, who happened to be one of the most charming people that I encountered in the UK, the family of Hodge and Podge excluded. A tip of the hat to you, sir, way to make history fun**! I didn’t check out all that there is to see in the tower, because it’s huge! I imagine that it would take a full day or two to really discover all that this place has to offer, and I have a limit on how much sight seeing I can do in a day. I would urge a visit to the vault to check out the 532 carat diamond that is in there, just because it is so ridiculous and covetous! The Tower scores 8.5/10.

Until the next, Anna

*true story...gutter troll!

*Nerd! Erm, that would be me, not him. He was lovely!

The (almost) International Edition

I had sort of hoped to write a post while I was away, but it turns out that when you’re visiting a city as big as London for the first time, there is no time for sleeping, much less writing. Particularly since I was jet lagged enough (but in serious denial) to be suffering from unpredictable bouts of crankiness, violent restless leg syndrome and suffering from short term narcolepsy, which has yet to leave me.

In the meanwhile, watch the video, because I love it. And if I love it, you shall love it! Go Rusty!!

A bientot, Anna

Posts from Last Week

What Just Happened?

I’ve had a bit of a whirlwind week so far. And I think it will continue until the end of the month. In fact I know it will continue until the end of the month, because I am going to London. Just bought the tickets yesterday, we leave in exactly one week to the hour. The hour!*

I’m sure that this isn’t cause for celebration for a lot of people, but this girl, this one right here, typing her excited little heart out, she’s never been. I’ve been through Heathrow a handful of times, but have never stepped out of the airport boundaries, ever ever ever. And I’m 96% confident that I am going to lurve it.

What about the 4% internet? I’ll tell you about the 4%:

1% - Rick. I'm missing out on seeing a really good friend, one that I haven’t seen in far too long by 6 days. Six days, universe! What a cruel mistress you are. As much as I would like to curse karma, or whoever it is in charge of shitty schedules (also responsible for public transit, I am confident that one day, when we’re grey and wrinkly that we’ll manage to organise a real life date. It is now officially on my bucket list. or would be, if I had one. I will start one today and ammend to list. Can a bucket list have only one item??

1% - Hodge’s friends. To be absolutely clear, I am not too concerned at all about meeting his friends. They seem like a cool bunch and I’m really looking forward to meeting them. What I am concerned about is my liver. I have been told three times since we booked the tickets 12 hours ago to make sure I pack my drinking boots, ‘cause we’re going to see the inside of a lot of pubs. I like pubs, but I like not drinking too. But, once I'm in a pub, I am incapable of ordering a non alcoholic beverage. It's the rules.

1% - Hodge’s sister. They’re really close and I think that if I don’t get the stamp of approval from her, then we’re done. So, that’s exciting! I don’t think any part of my future has ever been held in the palm of a peer, particularly someone I’ve yet to meet. Kill me now!

1% - Sleeping arrangements. They have an apartment in London where we’ll be staying. The spare bedroom, has two single (!) beds, is where the kids will be sleeping – Hodge, his sister and myself - …huh? Is that weird? It’s really his sisters bedroom, because she lives there full time, so we’re really invading her space, but Hodge thinks that we’ll put an air mattress in between them and he’ll sleep on that. I’m stuck on the idea that people still use single beds. I thought they stopped making them years ago, when the collective realised that the bigger the bed, the happier the soul. I don’t know if I will fully realise the dorm room-ness of bed-time will be fully realised until then.

So that’s that. I’ve genuinely given myself pause by writing that last paragraph and will require a very stiff drink to come to terms with that whole birds nest. (anxiety level up at least 5%).

The Mothership…

…has returned to her own neck of the woods and I am surprised and happy to report that she had a great time. This means, of course, that she wants to come back very soon, but I suppose there are worse things in life (like sharing bedrooms with strangers…what if I fart in my sleep? Anxiety +7 points).

During the weekend, I hosted not one, but two very successful dinner parties catered by Mama. They were delicious, I’m told – they were meat heavy, so I opted for vegetables – and well lubricated. Thankfully!!

I’ve also realised that by having friends over, I have increased my wine rack occupancy by 50%. I think if I were a good hostess, I would return the wine to it’s respective owners, BUT, I now consider the bottles abandoned and will do my duty as a surrogate parent to make sure they are well digested. Just give me time!

Birthday week!!

I had an early celebration on Friday, because everyone in the office is travelling for my (very important) birthday week. Since all of us are always up for eating lunch and drinking beer, we went to the pub.

And stayed there.

To the tune of 50,000 pints. Or near enough. I was quite drunk by 2.30 pm and took an early day, convinced my friends that we should go drink mojitos by the ocean, which led into a few other drinking dens of various repute as they night went on. And I had a great time. I think of it as my unofficial birthday party, because I have been equal parts lazy/busy/disinterested in planning an actual event, and I much prefer spontaneous happenings! They always turn out much better, don’t they??

Late last night

My super sweet and cool cousin T broke up with her long distance boyfriend yesterday. If it were anyone else, I’m sure that I would be complaining about how late it was and how long we spoke for, heartbreak and breakups, etc, but, it’s T and I’m crying with her.

The story is:

He lives in Seattle, she’s in Vancouver, which makes him an American and she a Canadian. Though they’re only separated by a 2 hour drive, the limitations on them making a further commitment to each other is hindered by the ugly beast called Immigration. T can’t work there unless she gets sponsored by a company, which is a big ask in ordinary circumstances, but is a huge ask in a flailing economy. S has a really great job and doesn’t really want to leave, because it’s what he’s always wanted to do for a career and he’s got a really good set up.

So where do they go from here? Personally, I think they’ll get back together and work out a solution together. That’s my hope, anyway. They’re really good people and so good together that I can’t help but want the best for them both, as a duo or separately, if that's how it's supposed to be. Watch this space.

And to lighten things up

I have joined a rowing club and I couldn’t be more excited!! I’ve wanted to learn to row for years, but it’s always slipped to the periphery of what I’ve been doing, until Bobo mentioned it to me a few weeks ago. He joined up and will be starting in May (in 5 short weeks) and I will be in the boat with him. Gold star to him for inspiration and motivation!!

This leaves me just enough time to hit the gym and use the rowing machine, because I will be damned if I am going to be the weakest link on the boat. I would simply die of shame, turn into a fish and get caught in trawler nets. It would be the WORST.THING.EVER. If I was the slowest kid.

I joined a boot camp class last year, and it was the worst thing ever. The class was heavy on cardio and light on circuit training, and my soul was crushed every Tuesday and Thursday morning when I practiced what I signed up for. Each class, we’d do a 2 km run to a destination, do some squats, lunges and planks and then jog 2 kms back to the gym, uphill**.

The thing with the running is, I don’t like it. I’ve earnestly tried and re-tried to give it a chance. I even went for a jog two weeks ago to see if I’d like it yet (I didn’t). I always get shin splints and there isn’t much that I dislike more than having sore shins for days following a run. And on the motivation front, I hated being the slowest in the class. There wasn’t much support for the slow ones, aside from occasional shouts of encouragement from an instructor who’d run back to cheer us on. So, after 4 classes, I stopped going.

I don’t want the rowing to turn into boot camp. But, I am pretty sure that there is a certain level of fitness that I should reach before I can be competent in pulling those oars for 90 minutes, twice a week. Fingers crossed that I can make that happen. Send me fit thoughts!

-Leaving on a jet plane (countdown is 32 hours…god…laundry…empty the fridge…take the trash out…) Anna

*I began writing this post last week, as the timeline suggests, so I thought to add a simple postscript, largely due to the lack of time I have to re-write. So make due with this sloppy post, internet.

*Not in the, 'in my day, we walked 40kms to school backwards, up hill, in the snow!' kind of way but in the, run to the park down hill, and finish with a 40% grade up hill run. Because that's a fun way to end classes. Jogging Fail!