I get American politics, but I don’t get American politics. I mean, it just seems like it’s so much work to be democratic in the USA. (I mean small-D democratic, not big D.)

You people have to vote all the goddamned time. Tomorrow, here we go again, another big American vote. Jesus Christ. How about voting on election day and only election day? I’m a big fan.

I just wanted to say this to my American friends: Enjoy this while it lasts. This is about to be the most interesting presidential race in three, maybe four decades. Everyone around the world is watching you.

We’re inspired by the choice available to you. (Except the creationist, Huckabee. Not again.)

The thing we, the rest of the world, sort of think about America is that a) it wants to be the biggest country in the world, and be needed by everybody but b) hates it when we pick on ’em.

So, here’s the deal. Americans wanted to be the biggest, most important country in the world… well, now they are. So now when it appears the USA is coming apart at its seams –the Fed is slashin’ rates like it’s a Boxing Day sale, new jobless rate hikes last month are a “surprise” even to the fearmongering economists out there, and a war that just keeps droning on and on while more people die and more money’s spent…

…Now is when we, the rest of the world, want to remind Americans: You are the most important. The health of your country isn’t just relevant to you, it’s relevant to me, and possibly billions and billions of others. You are the most important country in the world. Your democracy is a precious asset that people around the world would weep to receive. Your economy profoundly affects much of the world. You cannot let Bush’s legacy be longstanding. His work, almost all of it, needs to be undone by people with bigger visions and greater accountability.

I’m not going to say who I want to win, because I like both Clinton and Obama, and, hell, liked Edwards too. I know this is just a primary, the whole Super Tuesday deal, but it’s the start of when Americans get to push their agendas and demand politicians discuss issues with the levity and insight required to run The Most Powerful Country on Earth.

I’m not saying Canada’s voting record is anything to be proud of, it’s not. It’s disgusting. But what’s more disgusting is the voting record for the country that stands as the poster child for freedom. What would happen if 90% of Americans showed up on voting day? What would happen if 90% of Americans were truly invested in changing, growing, and improving the country? Wow. That’d be an America I’d love to see.* I mean, nothing like having the affluent and white deciding all the issues for the country. How about all classes, all income brackets stand up and get votes counted in the Most Powerful Country on Earth? Let’s stop empowering the already powerful, and start spreading it around. All starts with a simple little vote.

*It’d be a Canada I’d love to see, too, if we all got a little more involved in issues that shape who we are.

I’m almost truly at a loss for words. I’m on the verge of great emotion, and I don’t really know what to make of it.

I’m also on the verge of a fresh new hell, a work week, so I don’t know if I’ll properly get to resolve these feelings any time soon.

But let’s at least set a scene for you. The scene is here, my apartment. My trusty digs, my long beloved pad. I love my apartment. Say whatever you want about the decor, it’s an original. I’ll share pictures this weekend when I’m all done, but trust me. Lots of bookshelves, antiques, cool knickknacks, great art.

And somehow I’ve let it all go over the last couple years. I stopped caring about my place and maintaining it became the unruliest of chores.

This past weekend, all three days of it, were spent in conquering the clutter and the excessive packrattish attributes, and rediscovering that long fabled quality of “order”.

And now my home looks better, more organized, less cluttered, and more ready to entertain than it has looked in years. In fact, it has never, ever been this organized, and I’m not even entirely done yet. I understand how to finish it now, and if what I see already is any indication, by the end of this week, I will have dramatically changed my life.

I had this thought right before this posting began that I want to explore more but now’s not the time. It occurred to me that I now have nothing left to hide behind. This place is straight up, simple, and open. Just like I’m trying to become again.

I’ve managed to purge about 15% of what I own over the weekend. A lot of shit. I’ve probably hiked up and down the four flights of stairs about 20 times this weekend, carrying as much as I could on every single load. I’ve taked at least five trips of scooter-laden stuff to donate. All of that 15%’s been recycled or donated, and I’ve only created one bag of trash. (An accomplishment in itself there.) But what I’ve been getting rid of, and there’s more ridding to do, isn’t really important. It was just stuff. (Still, I’m about 90% done in my apartment, and the stuff that’s left is easier to do.)

Now what I have is a home with space and openness. A place where I can finally find the peace I need.

And I cannot convey to you this incredibly mixed cloud of feeling and this emotional exhaustion I feel as I look around with pride and think “this is my home“.

I think this is what has been missing, what has prevented me from enjoying being single — whether single alone or single in the company of men.

After all, my home’s always been a great card to play in the friendship game, or even the dating game. Anyone walks in here, they instantly see there’s a lot going on behind me. Men absolutely love my apartment. I don’t know what specifically does it for them, but that’s the one thing I do know. They love my apartment and love to hang out here. And men or women, there’s nothing that amuses me more than watching people react to all the little things they find when they start looking my place over.

There’s nothing that makes one realize how little pride they’ve had until the pride returns en masse after its long absence. That’s just one of the curious new emotions I’m feeling this morning.

But most of all… it’s exhaustion. I could sleep all day. Instead, I’m off to work. And way to go, Giants. One hell of a last-minute play! Damn that was a great finish. Believe, man. Believe.

I don’t get into the whole cult of celebrity thing much because I think we give them a little too much attention. They’re doing a job. When the cameras shut off, leave ’em alone. Those are my thoughts.

But I’m gonna comment on two things.

One: Ohmigod, no, Heath Ledger went to a drug party? GASP. I think the more surprising news, given that he was a major celebrity, would have been he went to a party that didn’t have drugs. Come on! Rich, famous people do drugs. Not all of them, but if you’re at a party, there’s gonna be drugs, man.

Apparently he fesses up to smoking five dubes a day. Oh, wow, you evil pot smoker. Okay, smoking five joints a day, about the biggest crime against humanity you’re going to commit is forgetting to return disc four of The Wire to the DVD shop, man. Get serious. If that’s Ledger’s definition of “serious” drug use, I’d say the kid deserved a medal. Pfft.

And CNN’s marketing the shit out of it as “the mysterious death of Heath Ledger.” Uh-huh. For about, what, three or four more days, until the coroner weighs in. Christ. I’m still hoping for a heart defect that explains his persistent insomnia before his death.

Let’s wait and see, rather than speculating the shit out of it. And this is why my journalism degree is naught but a sheet of paper. I can’t stand the bullshit deemed “important” by big-biz media today.

***

Two: Britney Spears.

Okay, we’ve established that she’s lost her fucking nut. Know what? In my darkest hours, had cameras been everywhere, I’d have been a real fuckin’ case, too. Nothing like Spears, no doubt, but enough that I’d feel awkward if anyone saw the video.

I suspect the majority of us have moments when we’ve been fuckwits, and most of us lucked out and had our most shining moments before cell phones equipped with video cameras were a standard and YouTube became some new rite of passage.

Just give the woman some goddamned space and let her get her shit together. She was a Mouseketeer who killed the perfect relationship with Justin Timberlake, only to spiral down to the lowly KFed realm, then began to look bad against him as her career tanked post-Madonna kiss, and she lost her kids to the gold-digging, absolutely unemployed Federline.

Um, yeah, nuts isn’t a big surprise. Now let’s encourage the media to back the fuck off. I read the stories because I’m hoping for good news. I’m pulling for her.

Can’t stand her music and I’m not a fan, doubt I’ll ever be… but I’m pulling for her. No one deserves that 24/7-pulic-eye shit when they’re going through the darkest period of their lives. No one says “Hey, I wanna sing songs… and, sure, why don’t you record my every breath as my life comes apart at the seams and I lose everything I ever wanted, in, oh, nine years?”

Fuck, man. Anyone wonders why everyone likes the media, but no one ever trusts it? Go figger.

So, I’m half-watching the premiere of Cashmere Mafia, which turns out to be an all right “chick” show.

In the pilot on tonight, there’s this moment when a very, very Waspy sorority kinda gal gets her first kiss from a woman. They’re both really successful business women in their mid- to late-30s. The waspy never-been-kissed gal gets all giddy and squeamish and bubbles up as she heads to her car after the kissing-woman leaves.

And, I’m thinking, “Gee… this lesbianism thing is catching. Guys really have to up their game now, man.”

After all, it’s not just your average bull-dyke out there competing for your femmes’ attention. Now there are some pretty hot, svelte lesbians out there. Some lookers to the nth degree. And unlike your average guy, most of them actually enjoy communicating. They’re even sensitive and know how to be tender.

I mean, I’m calling to mind an email I received a little while ago about a guy in a locker room and how he overheard other guys bragging about the pounding sex they’d had of late, as if chicks only wanted to be ridden senseless.

Makes me think it’s time I write a few more tips of use for public consumption. But that’s another posting for another time. Suffice to say, being tender? Definitely needs to be a card in your deck of tricks, boys.

Point is, I think there number of women who might consider a same-sex relationship (or at least experience) is growing. I think it’s part of this new feminism. We’re all sort of seeing that what we are is sexier than we might’ve thought, and we’re seeing that beauty around us a bit more, I think.

We’re celebrating ourselves. The average woman’s finding value in herself. Vibrators are in. Seems a certain segment of men are a little confused about these new women these days. A little wowed sometimes. I don’t really see this new femme-on-femme adulation thing waning any time soon, but rather taking a bit stronger hold.

It’d take a pretty spectacular mix for a woman to woo me, but it could be done. I suspect that the number of rather stoic heterosexual chicks like me who are opening their minds to the notion is what’s significant and new about this era we’re in.

I’m not really sure what to make of it myself, but I find it kind of excites me. I want to be excited about being a woman, something kina new for me. I want other women to feel excited about who we are, what we are, too. I want to celebrate our strengths. I want to explore that more. I want more female friendships in my life now.

I don’t think men have anything to be concerned about as far as women still prefering men on average, but I don’t think it’s ever too soon to stop taking people for granted. There’s a groundswell growing across age brackets of people who just aren’t putting up with bullshit in relationships anymore, who are realizing they can have more than what they’ve been settling for. Naturally, there’re a lot of women in that crowd.

I don’t know, it’s an interesting time in relationships, all the way across the board. I’m confused about where “the modern relationship” is going. Everything’s changed a lot in the last 15, 20 years. All the rules are different. Don’t let anyone kid you… no one’s really got a handle on where the modern relationship’s headed. Things are being redefined, but in a totally undefined way. Power’s shifting. Gender roles are expanding. It’s surprising and fun and unexpected..

The more everyone’s willing to roll with the flow, the more interesting this ride might just get.

In the meantime, I guess the big bit of advice I have for men is that they remember the brilliant line of Margaret Atwoods: “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.”

The key is, if you’re not needed… you better be wanted. So. Be wanted.

Seems the cosmos is just toying with me. Batting me about like its little chew toy. And we are amused.

Found my iPOD. Where? This is weird. Inside a pair of shoes I never wear. So, if I never wear ’em how do I find it in ’em? Well, seeking my ugly eaten-by-bog-way-back-when sneakers for confronting a Definitely Muddy Westcoast Snow Day, I tossed the other pair aside and my iPOD catches my eye with a glint of light refliecting off of it.* Tucked oh-so-snugly into the toe of the shoe. What the fuck? Weird!

You cannot imagine my happy dance. I giggled and snickered and fell over on the floor and got up and happy danced and ran and stuck it on the charger. My first thought? “And I was so looking forward to an 80gig one.” Ha! But I love my mangled, thrashed first-generation iPOD mini. And I’m as content as hell to settle for it for a while longer. Sometimes size doesn’t count.

*My best CSI guess of it all is, I had my iPOD in my backpack after a day for the gym (this part I know) and chucked it in the closet. iPOD must’ve fallen out and slipped perfectly into the toe of this shoe. And it conveniently somehow became unplugged from the headphones so that no cord would lead me to my beloved green machine. Insert Twilight Zone theme here. COOL.

[This posting is brought to you in part by Getting Your Head Inside The Game. I’ve been having trouble doing that for the last couple weeks, and saw a feature in the NYT a couple days back that made me think about my motivations with weight loss again. Christmas was a huge fucking hiccup, and getting back into swing has been far harder than I expected, but this week has been instrumental, and I’m now finally in the headspace to get the game back on. Here’s some thoughts on that.]

I’ve been really torn of late. On the one hand, I’m trying to get myself back into the mindset where I’m ready to take on a broad spectrum of healthy new foods and activity. On the other, I’m trying to remind myself that I have to love myself for who I am along my whole path — before the changes occur, while they’re happening, and after it’s achieved.

Much easier than said, on both counts. Then there’s another area, where feeling “torn” starts to come in, and it’s complicating things. I feel like I’m letting da fat girls down by becoming one of those “must lose weight, feel better” parrots they often feel are taking over the world, who seem to have it in for ’em.

I was always one of those who glared at the skinny types who eat so perfectly, or the sexy beast of a man who orders an egg white omelette. I always sort of felt they were taking it over the top. I always thought they had to be joking with the portion sizes listed on boxes. It’s only been in this reeducation of Steff process that I’m realizing, uh, no, skinny people really do have to eat that well to stay in shape, and, yeah, I’m going to need to match it if I’m going to be in that kind of shape, too.

This learning about how my bike runs, too, the mechanics? That’s been somewhat helpful in the eating-right mindset making, too. Know why? I’m starting to realize that I never think of my body as a machine, and it might be an obvious thought to healthy-skinny people, but it’s illuminating to me. Cause-and-effect has never been so prevalent in my thinking as it’s becoming now. Cool.

As a ‘fat girl’ myself, when I read articles like this in The Times, I start to remember how I used to always think I was eating healthy and exercising. I told myself I was trying really hard, so why wasn’t it working? Well, I was doing it wrong, and I wasn’t doing near enough. And I no longer believe that some people are just “made” heavy. I now understand that weight loss is just science, and if you stick to the science, you will have success. I haven’t successfully stuck to the science a lot yet, but the little I have, the results have wowed me.

The more I learn about nutrition values and portions the more I’m amazed at how little I really knew. These people saying what I was always saying, “I want to lose weight but I hate counting calories”, need to realize that the ONLY way to lose weight is by counting calories. It’s math, man. That’s weightloss summed up in one simple word: Math. Don’t want to count calories? Enjoy your weight, then, because I’ve discovered it’s the only way it works. You don’t need no fads, no trends. You just need to count. Add. That’s it.

Here’s the thing. I don’t want anyone feeling horrible about their body image when they’re reading about my struggles to change my own. Do whatever it takes to make you feel happy, all right? But don’t kid yourself, is all I’m saying. Don’t be too hard on yourself, either. Just be honest and accept YOUR truth, don’t fight it, and let it lead you on a new journey.

There are women who are truly happy with their heavy bodies, who feel like sexy kittens, and I hope to god they stay feeling that way always. For the rest of us, though, who have health issues, or who don’t feel 100% about who we are the way we look, the status quo needs to change.

I don’t want to stay fat and tell myself I’m happy with myself this size anymore. I want to be that chick who’d do wild road trips, who lived in the Yukon, who took chances (who did ’em all while being fat). And then I want to ramp her up into the chick I always thought I had inside: adventure girl who stares death in the face and snickers at it. That girl needs to be fit. Does she need to be 127 pounds? No. But she needs to be able to kick some ass on a mountain bike, she needs to eat healthy to have the energy to live a fuller life day by day.

I wanna be that chick that beats guys in races on my mountain bike. I want to snicker with derision as I leave them choking on my dust, because that’s fun, because I’m competitive, because it’s about fucking time.

This isn’t about fitting anyone else’s perceptions of where I need to be, it’s about actualizing something inside of myself and making it my new priority, I guess.

I guess my point is this: I don’t want to make anyone feel bad about themselves. I want to empower them. I want people to ask themselves if they’re happy with who they are because they’re doing their best, or if it’s just an easier path of less resistance.

Because change is hard. I’m still wavering and having to talk myself into the game some days. I’m scared. I’m scared of failing at my attempts to become a better me. I’m scared of achieving it and becoming that person, and then having to live up to it every single day. I’m scared of not having excuses anymore. All of this scares the hell out of me. BECAUSE it scares me so much, I know it’s what I have to do. Does that make any sense? Did I mention I’m fucking terrified? Right, yeah. That.

So, I gotta do it. If I’ve made it tougher for some overweight woman out there to tell herself she’s happy just the way she is, I’m sorry. But if I’ve made her wonder if she, too, can have more in life, then I hope I’ll have her answering a hearty “yes” to that before long.

Now, back to my regularly scheduled granola. Have a fucking awesome weekend, people. Drink something for me.

I’m broke off my ass, but bought a bottle of wine last weekend in my ignorant bliss, and opened it tonight because it’s the first work night I’ve been home before 8 since about, well, 2007. A big bowl of hearty (and cheap) lentil stew, some shaved parmesan broiled on a bit of baguette, and my wine… temporary poverty done very nicely, thanks. And what do I find running on the telly?

Kinsey. The movie about Alfred C. Kinsey, the famed sex researcher, the dude that said gay & straight was measured on scale of zero to six, rather than being a black-or-white simplified issue. Me, I’m about a one or two (on the straight side). I’d be into chicks if they were more like guys. Like, my favourite L-Word girl (as if I watch it, though… holy fucking stereotypical melodrama, Batman) would be Shane.

A little thing you likely don’t know: The movie Kinsey is what prompted me to start this blog. My parents were very repressed sexually. My walking in on ’em having sex when I was 12 probably scarred them as much as it scarred me. My first encounters with arousal? I kept thinking I had to pee bad. I had no idea. Took me years to clue in. I was raised Catholic, once wanted to be a nun, was devastated when the guy I thought was “the one” and slept with wound up being “the one I shoulda overlooked, but didn’t”, and felt guilty for loving bondage among other less than average encounters.

There’s a scene where Kinsey reads to his wife from this religiously right book that says hands should never be used for excitation and oral sex brought through to orgasm was “possibly injurious” and would harm future reproduction. He says “It’s morality disguised as fact.”

It’s no secret, I’ve hated the Bush administration since day one. I started this blog in 2005, before the economy started to tumble, when people got distracted from Iraq, and morality was the trump issue for Republicans in power under a Born-Again Christian Commander in Chief. I was sick of it. I was sick with my leftover Catholicism driving me to guilt and shutting me down in my desire to get laid after a ridiculous dry spell, like I was some sex-craved addict or something. I was tired of feeling bound by morality and just wanted to shrug off the binds… voila, le blog was born.

My thoughts then, I guess, aren’t really all that different from my current motivations… to push myself into an era of self-learning and use the blog as a record for doing just that. It required a lot of thinking on matters of the self, still does. I’m grateful for that. The “blogging’s cheaper than therapy!” joke gets a little tired, but it never becomes untrue. I’d rather spend my therapy money on red wine and do me some blogging.

I think who we are in relationships, in sex, depends massively on who we are when we’re alone when the lights are out. Like the old saying goes: Character is who you are when no one’s around.*

You want to be comfortable in sex? Be truly comfortable and loving of yourself when you’re alone. Then, and only then, will you really be able to not only give but truly, truly receive in sex. In other words: Get over your hangups, man. Then, you’ll really dig someone else digging you, ’cause you’ll understand that they should be digging you. Dig?

This blog’s been me learning to really dig myself again. Since day one. Still is. As my life happens, the blog happens. I’ll get tired of this no-sex thing very, very soon, I’m sure, and the circle of blogging will continue for me. My life’s gonna be full of sex no matter who I am, no matter what size I am, no matter where I am. I’m a sexual person, and that’s just reality. But I’m also happy to be alone, because, most of the time, I really enjoy being in my own company. Some times more than others, but that’s just how we roll. (Mankind, that is.)

What’s interesting is, this movie makes it pretty clear that, whatever else sex is, it requires incredible amounts of trust, of vulnerability. It suggests the more you’re willing to be vulnerable, the more you’re likely to experience. I guess I realized that those statements are entirely true about life as a whole. Life gets better the more you trust, the more you allow yourself to be vulnerable, the more you give into the flow of give’n’go.

Trust, vulnerability, openness. Three of the most important things you’ll ever possess in your life. Three things that’ll never cost you a dime but’ll change your life in every way. Trust yourself, trust others, trust instinct, trust timing, trust serendipity. Be vulnerable to others, be vulnerable despite fear, be vulnerable quid pro quo others’ vulnerability. Be open to spontanaeity, be open to suggestion. Be open for bizness, babe.

Sadly, in my experience, those three states also very, very difficult to not only administer… but to administer judiciously, or even just right. And being wrong about it… whew. Bring in the damage control, man.

But, fortunately, with there being 24 hours a day and at least 365 days per year and an undetermined amount of years, I think there’s plenty sufficient time for do-overs (and more do-overs, and more do-vers…).

So, this is what, take 7, 423? Let’s make it a good one, then. [clapboard strikes]

*Re: Character being when no one’s looking, I had this moment when I got to the bus stop the other morning. I literally slipped on a banana peel, and about 10 steps later, went back and picked the thing up, moving it to the trash so no one else would slip (and, unlike me, maybe fall). No one was around, I could’ve left it, but I didn’t. I sat down at the bus stop and I had a moment where I thought, “Cool, so I’m that girl. Good to know.” Sometimes we beat ourselves up for stupid shit, so it’s nice to take those rare moments of self-love and celebrate ’em. Couldn’t help but share. Incidentally, I’m not always that girl… but I want to be. It’s an ongoing project. 🙂

PS: A reader wants to know what he should listen to during sex. I have my tastes, but what are yours? What makes you feel like getting hot’n’heavy? Doin’ the dirty? Do tell. I’ll post a compendium of what everyone says! Thanks!

Changing your world doesn’t come easily. It’s a constant mental challenge. I find myself constantly fighting my insecurities and fears. Anything that happens, my first instinct has been to conjure a worry or to see the worst of it rather than the opportunity it presents. It’s habits like those that are the first I aim to change this year, and it means stepping outside my cozy little box and doing things that are perhaps not something I’d ever consider the right “fit” for me.

…But in realizing how unhappy I really was with life last fall, I realized that all the things I thought “fit” my life weren’t fitting me at all. So, like buying clothes, part of my challenge this year is to try a whole lot of things that are outside my perceived comfort zone, and then I’ll hone my experiences to things that I now know fit me.

That, however, is easier said than done, particularly in a week like I’m having. Actually, there’s just been one bad day, that was Monday. No great days, but only the one bad day. Mentally, though, I haven’t been beaten. But let’s not get ahead of things here, and back up a bit.

On Monday, I thought this week might never end. It was the Monday that Just Kept Coming. Between crap breaking and getting lost, I figure I’m out about $500. Yeah, GREAT start to the week, thanks. We’ll just take this week’s salary and throw it right out the window. What fun! Who needs food anyhow?

But I got up when I planned to, I did my yoga, and I kept my head in the game all day. At day’s end, I attributed my ability to stay positive with having a good breakfast and doing some yoga so I had become a little more “conscious” of my day. Yoga’s not just exercise, it’s learning how to mentally flip the page on attitudes, and I’m really embracing that part of it.

That said, I’m not really into the yoga again yet. I think one needs to do it a week or two before it feels comfortable. It’s harder than it looks. Nice being able to do MyYogaOnline in all my glorious suckiness. Real classes will be nice one day, but not until I’m possessing more grace than the lumbering elephant disposition I currently have. God knows I’m trying. Grace shall be mine.

But it’s really helping me keep my tactical mind awake about life this week. I’m looking at things more constructively than emotionally, which is good ‘cos the emotions have been a little unreliable given losing my beloved iPOD is part of what’s made my week precarious, especially since I’ve been doomed to taking the bus this week given the cold snap out there.

Speaking of transit, I had a strange moment last night on the bus. Remember how I was mentioning my decision to do things decidedly outside of my comfort zone of late?

Well, last year I received a couriered package and opened it up to find a top-quality Yves St. Laurent knock-off purse. I stared at it with confusion, thinking, “Wow. That’s so not me.” In the year that’s passed, it’s lain on the floor of my closet, receiving the occasion quizzical gaze from yours truly. It’s a fresh-off-the-boat Mainland Chinese knock-off of the best quality, just fantastic.

But it’s so chi-chi Uptown New York, or so very Yaletown here in Vancouver. There’s a certain kind of woman that carries that purse, uptown or not. I mean, as a math equation, it’d be something like:

I didn’t have the courage to try and play that role. Steff le chi-chi moneyed femme? Yeah. Okay then. I’ll just park my stickered scooter over here and hide my nine-hole boots.

Finally a couple weeks ago I decided I could be any kind of woman I wanted, since “trying before buying” is my lifestyle approach this year, and YSL or not, it was a knock-off. Sure, it looked like $1400, but it was a knock-off. How very punk. Sorta. And it supported local economy in impoverished China since it was bought there by my aunt. How very philanthropical of us, really.

And it’s big and well-made. So, I started carrying it once every few days. When I do, I dress the best I’m able, cuteify myself, and head out. I totally forget it’s some expensive purse lookalike and I tell myself I need to match my gear.

But then I had this moment last night when this middle-aged sad-looking Asian woman across the bus aisle kept looking at the purse, then me, and I could see her thinking “What’s she done to get that, and how come I’m not so lucky?”

Much to my surprise, I was foolin’ ’em. Then I realized two things. One, I could make the purse work which says something about my demeanour and appearance that I didn’t think was true, thanks to insecurities I’ve embraced in recent years, and has been an eye-opening but happy shock to me. Two, it was a reminder of just how much people can, and will, read into our appearance, and if there’s any one thing we have the power to do, it’s to control what it is they perceive about us.

I don’t know. I keep telling myself that I don’t know myself as well as I keep telling myself… that I’m stronger than I think, more versatile than I think. That I’m resilient in the face of challenges. That I enjoy learning about cultures and know how to make new friends fast. But I haven’t allow myself to face those challenges in the last few years, all because I thought I knew my limits.

The point is, too many of us pass up opportunity because we don’t think we can live up to it, or we think it’s not the right fit for us. Whether it’s trying bondage in sex or eating sushi, we want to think we know what’s going to work for us, instead of taking the chance to try and see whether it might fit after all.

I have a friend whose kid is but a year and a half old, and the kid’ll eat anything not once, not twice, but three times. Seriously, under two, and this kid will eat minimum three mouths full of any food you give him before he decides that he does or doesn’t like it. Once he’s opposed, you’re not changing his mind, but why would you bother… because you know he tried it, right? How smart is this kid, huh?

If only I’d had that mentality from birth, my life would be a world different than it is now.

Consciously trying to change my former tendancy to fear change in my life’s already been a pretty eye-opening experience, and I’ve done nothing but have breakfast with some folks, get a haircut, and carry a purse in the span of a week or so. Wait’ll the big things start happening later this year, hey? What fun.

So, way off topic?
When you buy something like, oh, say, mayonnaise, and it’s been on the shelf for nine months, and it has an expiry down to the DAY… how are you supposed to take this seriously? Oh, it’s 16/01/08, so this is officially bad now. Like the molecules just look up at some cosmic clock and some head molecule guy shouts, “Okay, boys… that’s a shift! Time to go bad, baby.”
Christ. I’m using the motherfucking mayonnaise, all right? You don’t hear from me in a week, send in the professionals. I’m having the motherfuckin’ mayo.

Daylight is dawning as a windstorm rages here on the Wet Coast. Light mist is getting blown sideways. It’s not a day for scooters. The prospect of work is not painting a smile on this face of mine, but smiling ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.

I’m finding this getting-a-life plan of mine is starting to limit my time alone, and I’ve realized the only way I can have the best of both worlds is if I start getting up earlier. Sounds easy enough, doesn’t it, but it’s a little more complicated than that.

Allow me a tangent, if you will. Breakfast yesterday was with some of the folks from the scooter club here in town (don’t knock it; they’re all into all the same stuff in life as me, but I think I need to get that tattoo I’ve been considering before I totally fit in, seriously). I was talking shop with one of the guys and mentioned how I had, at one time, considered doing some mods to increase speed, and he frowned on the idea. He mentioned how, when you’re modifying your ride and increasing performance, it’s totally a domino effect. Everything from the spark plug to the muffler to the rollers to the belt to the transmission needs upgrading in order for your ride to perform faster, better.

It’s the same dilemma in existential mechanics. Change can’t be done to one area of life without affecting others. When it comes to sleep, for me, that impacts everything. I’ll need to eat better, exercise more, and take my nighttime meds earlier to have the kind of energy I’ll need to maintain an earlier rising every day.

Yesterday’s breakfast hookup, strangely, will also assist me in getting life on track in every way. I’ve been trying not to whine about my scooter too much, but it’s had problems since last August. I made the mistake of running fully synthetic oil and my bike’s carb’s all jammed up, which means I putt-putt around town. A) It’s humiliating to barely break 30 clicks on hills, and B) it’s gonna get me killed with these fucking impatient drivers Vancouver has in our Olympics-construction dead-locked town. Seriously. Fearing for my life is my latest new past-time. Fuckin’ drivers. Leaving a foot between yer car and my ride does NOT constitute “safe passing”, thank you kindly.

Why it hasn’t been repaired is a long and sordid story involving AWOL shop owners, businesses closing and relocating, and possibly even fraud, so forgive me if I don’t clue you in on the chaos and soap-operaesque antics of As the Scooter World Turns. Convoluted, indeed.

…Suffice to say my bike needs a-fixin’. And this weekend one of the guys from the club is more than happy, he says, to not only fix my bike for me (which he concurs sounds like a clogged injector) but teach me how to do it, too. Yay!

Having my scooter RUN the way it’s supposed to will really improve my quality of life. That thing gives me so much control over my life, and when I don’t have it running well and I’m not riding, I’m at the mercy of the horrible BC Transit. Evil! There’s a big difference between 15 minutes to get downtown on the scooter (and, when it’s running, despite only having a max of 60-65 clicks, I get downtown faster than 90% of cars) and taking an hour with buses. The thing’s been verging on unsafe to ride, though, so I’ve been doing buses and feel like I have no time left for me, though I am well-read of late. Giving myself back that additional 60-90 minutes a day, PLUS getting up earlier will have a huge impact on how full my life can be.

AND I’m excited to learn something about mechanics. This is cool. That’s totally in keeping with the kind of chick I am — empowered. Gimme a wrench, man! I’ll show you some torque, baby.

Did I mention it’s nice to be meeting men again? Right, well, that too.

So, that’s where my week’s at. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m being a little self-indulgent with the posts on my world and changing my life, but to tell you the truth, my head’s spinning a little and I’m worried about achieving a good balance with everything. Plus I’m nervous as hell about being social again after taking myself out of the game so long. (But I did say something so funny yesterday that someone spat food out and someone else choked, so, that was nice. 🙂 It’s tough navigating new worlds, and I’m kind of concerned that if I take too much time to think about other things that I might get off my path. Changing the self and fixing what’s the existential equivalent of a leaky boat takes a whole lot of work, and a lot of courage at times. Whew.

Still. Loving the dividends I’m reaping already (did I mention my scooter’s getting fixed?) and can’t wait to see what else is coming down the pipes. (Yippee! Scooter! Vive le Eurotrash Girl!)