My Funny (Belated) Valentine

My week did not go as planned.

The demonstrations I talked about last week, or my part in them anyway, didn’t happen.  I blew out my knee during a conditioning class on Tuesday and severely strained my shoulder on Thursday, giving the entire right side of my body an overall useless vibe.  The rest of the gang went on without me, and I was left to nurse my injuries and totally miss out on at least $25 in tip money.

My tenuous hold on my confidence was shattered (again?) when one of the beginner’s classes was unexpectedly transformed into a jumping seminar.  I watched those tiny, springy jerks soar through the air as I struggled to break gravity’s vice-like grip on my tragically doughy body.  The coach noticed, and kindly but firmly expressed his displeasure at my lack of ups.  In that moment, I wished desperately to be a turtle so I could yank my head down into my shell and ignore the cold, cruel world.  Also, turtles are never expected to jump, so the whole situation could have been very easily avoided.

Lastly, but certainly not leastly, I still had to work at my same stupid idiot job that I hate so very, very much.

Overall, I was not feeling good.

But hey, Valentine’s Day, right?  And I have an awesome boyfriend!

On Thursday, the highly anticipated 14th of February, I looked expectantly at boyfriend as he drove me into work.  He didn’t seem to be noticing my enthusiastic gaze.  “Hey!  What day is today?”

He looked at me blankly for a moment.  His empty stare quickly transformed into a mild look of horror, then an enormous (almost too enormous) smile.  “I love you!”  He said with the utmost sincerity of a man who truly loves his significant other, but totally forgot about Valentine’s Day.  I smiled and returned the sentiment.  I couldn’t hold it against him, especially because our special day had already been planned for Sunday.

After the day’s painfully long shift at work, boyfriend pulled up in front of my office.  He smiled and waved frantically, and, as I approached the car, I saw that the passenger seat was full of goodies:  a box of candy, some freshly baked cookies, and a bottle of Souther Tier Creme Brulee Stout.

Seriously, this stuff is magic.

Beer and chocolate consumed, I was able to slog through the remainder of the week, dragging my aching joints and my damaged pride along with me.  When Sunday morning rolled around, the real celebration started.

Well, not exactly…  When Sunday AFTERNOON rolled around, the celebration started.  My sweet boyfriend allowed me to partake in one of my most beloved activities:  sleeping in disturbingly late.  I awoke with a smile on my face, partly due to my copious amounts of sleep and partly due to the fact that I could hear the washer going and smell lunch cooking.

We proceeded to have one of the most delightful, if not strange, romantic days ever.  Our adventures included the following:

• Eating way, way too much delicious Thai food.
• Impulse buying the PS3 God of War Legacy bundle.
• Wandering around Wegman’s for 2 hours.
• Loitering at a beer distributor and recalling specific memories tied to a number of the different beers and breweries.
• Working out together for 45 minutes.
• Folding the 6 loads of laundry that we sadly let pile up over the course of an impressively disgusting number of weeks.
• Sharing a tasty coffee stout while watching cartoons.
• Showering affection onto a generally indifferent cat.
• Discussing wedding plans without worrying about what anyone else thinks.
• Snuggling up in bed to read together.

Perhaps we failed at creating a magical night of romance and intrigue.  There were no candles, no flowers, and no grand unexpected gestures.  But boyfriend knows what I like, and I know what he likes.  And we both got it for Valentine’s Day this year.

So for everyone out there, I hope you were able to celebrate some form of love on Valentine’s Day.  I definitely don’t mean that I hope everyone went out on a fancy date.  No, I mean that I hope you shared a laugh (and maybe a drink) with a good friend.  I hope your mom or grandma sent you a silly card.  I hope you heard from your sister, your brother, your son, or your daughter.  Or maybe, just maybe, you’re lucky enough to have some furry little dude that lives in your house come sit beside you on the couch and look up at you with all the love in the world shining in those sweet little eyes.

All that Nicholas Sparks crap is totally overrated.  Give me dinner and adventures any day.

Steel Resolve

I’m not usually one for making New Year’s resolutions.  It’s pretty contrived, it often ends up being a huge waste of money and resources, and it’s a lot of pressure…I don’t handle pressure well.  I feel like society as a whole is telling me what to do, and nothing makes me less likely to accomplish something than to have a large group of people being judgmental and having high expectations of me.  I can (and have) failed things purely out of spite.

This year, however, is likely to be a big year for me.  It will be my first full year in my new home, and it will be the year that I get married.  Those two things alone are pretty huge, so I figured it would be a good idea to make an itemized list of things I would like to accomplish in 2013, lest my life spiral out of control and ruin everything it touches.

Also, coming up with a new idea for a blog post once a week is hard.  So here we go!

1.  Getting my driver’s license.  Okay, this is seriously getting sad.  I’ve had my permit since, what, May?  I’ve driven approximately 5 times.  I don’t like it.  I hate obeying the speed limit (I prefer to go far below or far above the legally accepted speed in any given situation).  I hate parking.  I hate paying for gas.  What I do like is being in the passenger’s seat, looking around excitedly and keeping the driver awake.  Essentially, my preferred role in a car is that of Golden Retriever.  Though, really, I guess the driving part isn’t what I hate.  It’s the fact that OTHER people are also driving.  If I were the only one of the road, I would totally be all about it.

2.  Making sure that Simon remains the happiest, most spoiled rotten cat alive.  This won’t be a tough one, but I need some ringers on here just in case things go a bit awry.  I’m so happy that we’ve added the little dude to our family, and it sure is nice to have someone so excited to see me when I get home from work and boyfriend is still out of the picture for at least a few more hours.  I have now trained him to sit prior to receiving any food (be it his twice daily scoop of cat food or a treat).  What I had not foreseen about this training is that he now follows me into the kitchen any time I want a snack and sits down directly in front of me and yells.  I guess I need to explain to him that he doesn’t get food EVERY time he sits.  NO, SIMON, THE KITCHEN IS FOR PEOPLE FOOD.  Damn, it’s cute, though

3.  Marriage stuff.  With our wedding approaching at breakneck speed, I think that me and good ol’ boyfriend need to do some serious focusing on what we expect out of marriage.  We will have been together a little over six years once we tie the knot, so we have a pretty good idea of what works for us.  Problem is, people keep on growing and evolving.  Well, it’s a problem if you don’t know how to adapt together.  Once you get a good hold on that, the growing and evolving is the fun part.  I’ve seen too many couples get carried away in the planning of a magical fairy tale wedding and totally lose sight of what happens after.  The wedding is one day;  the marriage is all the rest of them.

P.S.  I don’t want to be the couple that gets fat together after we get married; that is an unacceptable version of the “growing and evolving” notion.  Take note, boyfriend!

4.  All that boring, responsible stuff being said, WEDDING.  I have every intention of having the most kick assin’-est wedding ever this fall.  However, I have to finish planning it.  That sucks.  I tried to sign up for one of those wedding websites that emails you reminders of what you should be accomplishing each month leading up to the wedding.  This month, apparently I am supposed to be consulting with my wedding planner about the details of my stationary and meeting with a florist to determine what kind of arrangements I want for the big day.  Listen, The Internet, that is totally stupid and I’m not going to do it.  What that means is that I need to make my own checklist.  So I guess what I’m saying is that I have to put making a to-do list on my to-do list.

5.  Being a better long-distance friend.  I miss my Pittsburgh people.  I miss my former Pittsburgh people who have moved on to their own greener pastures.  I miss them a lot.  I do my best to keep up with them, but it can get really overwhelming being in a new place and trying to stay part of the old place, too.  I know that I’ve distanced myself a bit to help me to function more effectively in my new environment.  It’s quite challenging to make new friends and find good things about a new place when I’m so busy missing old friends and comparing everything to the mildly grubby loveliness that is my sweet, sweet Pittsburgh.  But I’ve been here a few months now.  Maybe it’s time to come out of the shell and try to love it here as much as I loved it there.  Okay, not as much.  But at least a little bit.  We’ll start with liking it as a friend, m’kay?

6.  The most common but most dreaded of all New Year’s resolutions:  physical fitness.  I think there are few lamer resolutions to make than “I’m gonna lose X number of pounds!”  Guess what!  You probably will!  And guess what else!  Your dumb ass is going to gain it all right back because if you need to wait for a special occasion to start it, you’re probably not going to be making the necessary lifestyle changes to make it stick!  Don’t get me wrong, it makes me incredibly happy when people make a serious push to eat right, exercise effectively, and improve their lifestyles.  But here are some things I hate:  diet fads!  exercise fads!  false promises!  unrealistic goals!  people taking advantage of those who don’t know any better!  The whole New Year’s weight loss culture just grosses me out.

On that note, I am going to make some goals for myself.  I am NOT going to hurry up and lose 10 pounds in the first few weeks of 2013.  I’m gonna stick with eating healthy, exercising, and making sure my clothes still fit.  And yes, I’m still gonna eat dessert sometimes because shut up.  I am not going to crash diet before my wedding.  That’s stupid.  That’s also one of the reasons I bought my wedding dress a week after we got engaged: it didn’t give me ANY time to try and cram into an unrealistic size.  Also, there was a sale, and that shit is expensive.  I’m going to be healthy and work on my own body image instead of everyone else’s image of my body.  I am going to train for my first degree black belt test under the contemporary wushu curriculum at the Center in December and rock it out.  I am also going to train for my second degree black belt test under the International Wushu Sanshou Dao Association curriculum in December because I am a monster and I like having other people recognize that.  And THAT, my friends, is how you do a New Year’s weight-related resolution.

7.  Getting my write on.  I must say, I’ve been pretty happy about keeping up with my once-a-week posting schedule since I’ve moved out to Hershey.  It keeps me writing, and it’s also a fun way to get a little creative outlet while interacting with some super fun people (that’s you guys!).  Let’s keep that going, shall we?  I would also like to keep up with my freelance editing projects (hopefully with greater speed and frequency in the coming year), and with my personal writing projects.  You’re not going to see any published novels coming from me any time soon, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to fill up my hard drive with weird stories that will never see the light of day!

8.  Oh, and hi, career, I should probably get me one of you.  Last, but certainly not least, I would like to regroup my efforts into finding a job that I enjoy.  Have I given up on finding a fabled “career?”  The magical job that people fresh out of college discuss in hushed tones where you wake up fresh and happy each morning, make copious amounts of money, and look forward to sticking around until retirement?  Yes, people.  I’ve given up on that.  However, I do think that it’s totally reasonable to look for a job that brings me some measure of happiness.  Nice coworkers, a good atmosphere, and work that isn’t completely and utterly mind numbing?  I think it’s time to look for that again.

I do think I owe it to myself to stay at my current job until the summer is over.  Did I mention that they only work four days a week during the summer?  Yeah, I’ve earned that, thanks.

Center of the Universe

About three months ago, I had no home at all.  I had an IKEA couch and a vague plan to move to eastern Pennsylvania.

Now, just a few short weeks later, I find myself with two homes.

One is an apartment where boyfriend and I keep our things and eat copious amounts of ice cream and sleep too much.

The other is our martial arts school.

Boyfriend has been a part of the Chinese Martial Arts and Wellness Center since he was about 14 years old.  Inspired by the Power Rangers, he’d practiced a few different styles of martial arts prior to trying kung fu: Kendo, Tae Kwon Do, Aikido, Karate.  But kung fu stuck, and I’m willing to wager that it had a lot to do with the community surrounding this place.

The Center has grown a lot lately.  Just recently they rented the space next door, knocked down some walls, and did some remodeling.  They added a new gym for additional classes and a cozy little office for boyfriend.  They have tai chi classes at local retirement communities, kung fu programs at local high schools, and have officially accepted my beloved Pitt club as an affiliate organization.

I was incredibly nervous on the first car ride to the Center after my move.  Would they recognize my black belt, or make me start all over again in beginner’s classes?  Would they think boyfriend was showing me favoritism and that I’m not all that good?  Would they want to be my friends because I am sad and weird and lonely and don’t have any here yet?!

As soon as we walked in, my fears were quieted as a group of both students and staff members rushed over to congratulate me on the engagement and the move.  I was introduced to the incredibly sweet accounts manager, the unapologetically sassy administrative assistant, and the delightfully sarcastic tai chi program director.  I saw familiar faces as well who greeted me with an excitement clearly warranted by someone much more interesting than myself.  I saw Coach, who had administered my black belt test and welcomed me warmly to the area with promises of future dinners.  I was thrilled that my pessimism had been thrown out the window and, against all odds, the best case scenario had panned out.  After classes that night, we all went to a local brewery to get better acquainted.  We also drank beer, which served as an excellent catalyst for said acquainting.

Over the following weeks, things only improved.  I got to know more and more of the wonderful students at the Center and bond more with the staff over between-class chats and post-work beers.  I got to spend more time with one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met, an instructor who had been away for the summer with her family operating an orphanage in Guatemala.  I got to substitute teach a few fitness classes, which brought back the joy I had felt when I first started doing it so many years ago.  And the strangest thing happened:  all the kids around the Center started asking me questions, fighting to work with me during classes, and generally being enthusiastic about my existence.  Kids liked me.  KIDS!  Who knew?!

In my own way, I was terrified to move out here:  away from the only home I’d ever known, away from friends and family, away from the comfort of my city, and away from (marginally) gainful employment.  I thought I would be starting over from scratch, alone with only boyfriend to guide me.  It turns out, I already had a family here.  I just had to meet them.

I Love Kung Fuuuuuuuuuu!!

It’s taken me nearly 5 years, 4 humiliating/affirming tournament experiences, 3 broken noses, 2 busted ankles, and innumerable attempts to cover hideous bruises at the office, but I can now call myself a black belt.  It’s a strange feeling, really.  I specifically remember when I started practicing in 2008 thinking, “Even though I’ll never be able to get my black belt, I can still practice and do my best to improve and get into better shape.”  Now I’ve managed to fight my way through and, after an intense 8 months of preparation, I survived my belt test.

The test came on a beautiful, sunny Sunday.  A Sunday, might I add, that was two weeks earlier than our expected test date.  This did not go unnoticed by those of us testing.  We had enough trouble cramming our testing requirements into the allotted time, so hearing that we were being stripped of 14 practice days was an unwelcome surprise.  Here is what we had to prepare for (those with an asterisk were the forms I chose for myself, but not all of the testers  used):

1. 20 elevated one-armed push-ups per arm for guys, 30 elevated push-ups for girls.  Normally I balk at reduced standards due to my gender, but in this case, I gladly accepted.
2. An internal form:  24 Yang-style Tai Chi.
3. An external form:  Xiao Yao Quan*, more commonly known as punching form.
4. An optional form:  Xiao Bajiquan*.  It’s small and smashy, just like me.
5. A long weapon:  32 wushu staff*, a form that I hate very, very much.  I will never do it again if I can help it.
6. A short weapon:  Mantis broadsword.  I learned this form in about two days, yet took nearly two months to remember the choreography.  It’s pretty sweet.
7. 10 throwing techniques.
8. 10 joint lock techniques.
9. 20 one-step sparring techniques.  This means that people line up and attack you twenty times, and you are essentially tasked with not dying.
10. Basic Push Hands demonstration.  It’s like applied Tai Chi.  Slow, smooth, and calming, with a hint of murder.
11. Sparring.  Just what you’d think.  We fight until someone tells us to stop.

The Starting Lineup!

• The Secret Weapon: on the outside, he’s the sweetest, meekest person you’ll ever meet.  He can afford to be sweet and meek, though, because he can kill you before you even hit the ground.
• The Defender:  he is a strong believer in the old adage that the best offense is a good defense.  He won’t strike first, but if you try anything, he will straight up kick you in the face.
• The Anticipator:  he’ll attack you before you even look at him funny, because you never know.
• Me:  I’m the only girl in the group, and I am approximately 6 inches shorter than the second shortest of the gang.  There was most definitely the potential for a massacre.  It’s a good thing I have so much pent up rage to drive me and frighten away predators!

We all arrived at the gym a little over an hour before the start of the test so we could warm up, stretch, and stare at each other uncomfortably.  Copious amounts of nervous laughter filled the room as we watched spectators file in.  Luckily, there weren’t many.  I was not terribly comfortable with the idea of too many people watching me do something that had so very, very much potential for disaster.  There were between 15 and 20 by the beginning of the test.  I could easily intimidate 15 to 20 people into terrified silence.  Soon Master Johnson, our testing official for the day, and boyfriend (who had morphed into the much less affectionate and much more judgmental kung fu boyfriend for the purposes of class) took their seats to begin our evaluations.

Push-ups came first because, Master Johnson informed us, it is the portion of the test most commonly failed.  Oh, good.  I had been struggling with push-ups throughout our training because, you know, useless girl arms.  I worked hard, though, and to my surprise, I was the first one finished.  Score one for the underdog!

Forms were a blur.  The guys all looked amazing.  I sweated and grunted and wore my trademark murderous glare as I ran through my chosen routines.  From what I could tell, I looked better than I had in a long time.  More importantly, I could feel the application through each form.  That’s one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned:  make your fight look more like your forms and your forms look more like your fight.  If a form looks pretty but you can’t see fighting techniques in them, you’re pretty much dancing.

Next came application work.  A friend of mine volunteered to be my throw dummy.  A small, brittle friend of mine who suffers from terrible arthritis.  I overcame my intense guilt and threw him 10 times, though I did so as gently as possible.  I heard both those evaluating me, those testing with me, and those watching laugh quietly as I repeatedly threw my friend, caught him in midair, and softly place him on the mat.  Joint locks went by without a hitch.  I love joint locks…  You move no more than a few inches, but inflict searing pain upon your opponent.  It’s a lazy person’s martial art.

One-step sparring techniques came after joint locks.  We were instructed simply to wait for an attack, block it, then throw a counter strike.  I was able to fumble my way through 20 attacks from much larger, much stronger men.  I threw a knee or kick to the groin as my counter for the first few, just to show those watching that I could make the guys flinch.  It was a dirty psychological tactic, perhaps, but an effective one.  The problem during one-steps came not as I was attacked, but as I was attacking.  The next in line to defend was The Anticipator.  As I stepped forward, preparing to throw an uppercut, The Anticipator did his thing.  More specifically, he threw a knee into me before I could even register a strike.  He smashed my wrist, forcing my palm almost flat against the inside of my forearm.  For those of you who are not medical professionals, this is not a natural position for a hand and should be avoided at all costs.

Jackie Chan reacts to an exceptionally loose interpretation of our instructions to block and counter.

My  hand went numb.  Completely, totally numb.  That lasted for about 15 seconds, after which the blinding pain kicked in.  I fought a number of urges, a few of which were to run off crying and/or attack The Anticipator with my sword (using only my good hand, of course).  I sucked it up and continued on with the remaining one-step sparring techniques.

My partner for push hands, The Defender, was incredibly sweet and agreed to switch sides so that my useless, crippled hand didn’t have to be involved.  He was my partner again for sparring.  “My lead hand is pretty much done for the day, so if you could leave it alone, I would much appreciate it,” I whispered pathetically.  As soon as we were told to begin, he slapped my injured hand down to throw a strike toward my face.

So this is how it’s gonna be, I thought angrily as I shook my hand out.  Then, poor boy, my rage took over.  I chased him across the mat, catching every one of his kicks and tagging his head every time he left it even kind of open.  Looking back on the video of our sparring match, we laughed as we realized that I didn’t take one backward step during the entire 3 minute period.  Don’t get me wrong, he did an excellent job.  I’m just a bit more…forward.

Ah, adrenaline, the best pain reliever of all.  My  hand no longer throbbing, I lined up with the guys in front of Master Johnson and kung fu boyfriend.  They went down the line, discussing each of our strengths and those areas where we still have a bit more work to do.  To the Secret Weapon, the most obvious skill in fighting among us and a distinct martial arts voice emerging.  To the Defender, a most amazing increase from no experience to solid skill, displaying a clear commitment and many hours of hard work.  To the Anticipator, an obvious physical strength and presence.  And then, to little ol’ me… a pit bull.  A ferocity that didn’t wane in the face of big opponents and slim odds.

That right there was one of the best compliments I’ve ever received.

Following Your Gut is Not a Fiscally Responsible Decision

Ah, the job hunt.

You bare your soul to a cold, calculating online application system, desperately trying to distill your entire essence into an awkward three-paragraph cover letter and a painfully insufficient resume.  More often than not, you receive no response.  Sometimes, an obviously pre-written email comes your way, informing you that, while your qualifications are impressive, the company has decided to go in a different direction.

When it rains, however, it seems to pour.  And it pours job offers tempting enough to make you consider offering your dreams up to be trampled by the corporate machine.

Could that sentence have made me sound like more of an annoying hippie?  Let me explain.

After my meltdown, I deemed it appropriate to open up my search a bit.  To go into things with a more open mind, you understand.  To expand my horizons, if you will.  By that, I mean that I panicked and applied to every job ever in the history of time.

The internet tells me this is a good idea.

Unfortunately, when you apply to a few jobs you want and a few jobs you don’t want, the universe finds it amusing to only present you with the options that will make you sad.  In the past two weeks, I have received two solid job offers.  One made my heart hurt as I listened to the interviewer describe daily office operations.  “You’ll be in that cubicle over there.  There’s a lot of overtime.  You’re busy all the time.  We’re flexible, though!  But we want you to start working, like, yesterday.”  Making the decision to decline that particular job offer wasn’t much of a problem.  Especially after the hiring official got smart with me when I told her no thank you.

The most recent situation, however, was a lot more upsetting.  The people at the office were incredibly nice.  They offered me WAY more money than I make now in addition to good benefits.  But something just felt off to me.  Maybe it was the way that they failed to mention that half the position would involve me acting as receptionist/travel arrangement-maker/calendar-keeper/coffee-fetcher until they offered me the job.  Perhaps it was how, despite the fact that I told them that I would start at the end of April, they put a start date of April 15th in the offer letter and said, “Well, if you NEED to wait until the end of the month, we can probably redo the offer.”  It could have just been the vague, condescending pressure I felt as I left the building.  I DON’T LIKE FEELING PRESSURED.  SHOULDN’T GETTING A JOB OFFER BE A PLEASANT, HAPPY EXPERIENCE!?

So I sat on my couch for a long time, going back and forth about what to do.  I didn’t bust my ass in graduate school to be a beverage wench in corporate America.  But I would be a well-paid beverage wench.  The idea of minimum 40-hour weeks on salary gives me the heebie jeebies, but health insurance is AWESOME.  Then boyfriend said, “If you don’t take this job, you really need to stop applying to everything that comes your way.”

WAIT, THE INTERNET DOESN’T HAVE MY BEST INTERESTS IN MIND?!

“What do you really WANT to do?” he asked in a totally reasonable manner.

“I JUST WANT TO HANG OUT WITH PUPPIES ALL DAY AND TEACH EXERCISE CLASSES AT NIGHT!” I shrieked, morphing into some sort of horrific job-hating banshee.

“Well,” he said calmly, “Why don’t you make that a goal?  Find a tolerable job that will pay the bills for a few years, then when we’re more financially stable, work part-time at an animal shelter and teach at nights.”

I was confused.  Being a grown up didn’t necessarily mean working in an office you hate and being angry all day long?  You can PICK what you want to do?  I realized that I have been so conditioned to equate money and professional success with adulthood that happiness had totally slipped my mind.  Society has made me feel like, if I have a low-paying job or am partially financially dependent on another person, I am an affront to feminism.  I am a failure as a person.  Oh my, it was all very deep and philosophical.  My brain is still a work in progress, you see.

So I went back to the drawing board to consider my job options.  I talked to my boss, who informed me that she would weep with joy at the thought of bumping my resignation date back a few weeks to allow me more job hunting time.  After discussing with anyone who would listen, making lists, bouncing ideas off of my family, and generally floundering, I decided to enlist the help of a very good friend of mine.

“Internet Cat, should I sacrifice my dreams and my integrity for a big juicy paycheck?”

How can you argue with that?  Internet Cat has spoken.

Remember me?!

To be entirely honest, I don’t!

Since my last post, I recall a few blurry scenes from my life.  I remember a nasty cold.  I remember an unsettling week-long bout with vertigo.  I remember a funeral.  I remember writing 10 pages of a memoir for class and deciding to actually go through with it.  I remember a buy one-get one half off promotion at Starbucks.  And I remember some friends coming to my apartment to watch Urijah Faber pummel some hapless chump on TV, but probably only because that happened two days ago.

The past few weeks have involved a lot of work, a lot of unexpected travel, and a lot of falling asleep at inopportune moments, such as on top of my homework and propped up against my computer monitor at the office.  What with a busy spell at my job and a little over two weeks left in graduate school, my life is simply brimming with tasks that I have no desire whatsoever to complete.

But if I can suck it up for two and a half days, I get a brief respite.

As luck would have it, I start my Thanksgiving break this Wednesday at 3:00.  I will travel to see family, eat myself into a coma, play with my parents’ weird cat that thinks it’s a dog, nap, eat more, force my mother to do some Black Friday shopping with me, and hassle roommate in new and exciting locations.  It will be exactly what I need in order to recharge my brain just enough to finish out my last few assignments and maybe do a few things at work before Christmas break.

SIDE NOTE:  as much as I may complain about my job, having a paid recess between Christmas and New Year’s is pretty much the most amazing employment benefit ever.  I would happily give up dental insurance for a winter recess at any future job.

December 11th.  That starts a new part of my life.  A part of my life where I don’t have to worry about balancing full-time work, full-time school, and the tattered remains of a social life.  A part of my life where I can exercise regularly once again and say farewell to the squishier, sweatier 2011 version of myself.  A part of my life where I am vaguely more qualified to apply for jobs that I might enjoy.

And, most importantly, a part of my life when I’ll get to lord my Master’s degree over those around me.

SIDE NOTE 2 – THE REVENGE:  As I was writing the previous sentence, I though, “Eh, I’m not sure if I like using the term ‘lord’ here.”  I decided to check out Thesaurus.com because, as explained throughout this blog post, my brain no longer functions.  Below is what I found.  The highlighting is my own.

Seriously?!

I realize that there is a comma between these two words, but that doesn’t make this thesaurus entry any less…unfortunate.  I also realize that if I were a web editor over at Thesaurus.com, such a gaffe would not occur.  HINT HINT, THESAURUS.COM.

Hmmm, actually, I’m pretty sure that if I had the opportunity to legitimately publish the term “cock flourish” as part of my job, I would do it in a second.  Touché, Thesaurus.com web editor.  Touché.

Martial Arts and Crafts

So, I’m pretty stretchy.  Where most people can touch their toes, I can almost rest my elbows on the ground.

Unfortunately, in the martial arts world, that is not really all that stretchy.  I work on my flexibility pretty frequently and never go through a workout without getting a good stretch in afterward.  PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:  STRETCH MORE.  Anyway, I’ve been using this horrific stretching machine at the gym for a few years because it’s one of the only things that helps me with my inner thighs, which are criminally tight (again, this is pretty biased toward the martial arts community…non-martial artists often think my legs aren’t really attached at my hips).  I toyed with the idea of getting one for my apartment only to find that they cost an average of $200.  NO.  Magically, one of my kung fu buddies passe along this video:

It dawned on me that, throughout all my injuries, I have only obtained metal crutches.  OH CRUEL FATE, HOW YOU TOY WITH ME!

Then I remembered that the person who had been in my office before me had left a pair of wooden crutches behind when she left and, after 6 years, I still haven’t bothered to, you know, move them.  My laziness had paid off!  So I dragged them home and got to work.

First things first: I removed all of the screws and other attachment pieces from the crutch frames.

When you strip down a pair of wooden crutches, they look like those chopstics that are attached at the top for easy use by children and stupid white people.

Of course, I got distracted after step one.  As I gathered all of the pieces together, I couldn’t help but notice that the frames were quite pliable and functioned much like a pair of gigantic tweezers.  Hey, roommate…

“PINCH!”

Okay, back to work.  The next step was to attach the two leg bits together.  Easy enough, except that I had to try about 15 different times before I was satisfied with the length.

And it even has little rubber things on the ends so I don’t hurt myself!

Then all that remained was to attach the leg bits to the giant tweezers.

Ta da! It’s a…thing!

And it works!  I was pretty shocked that something on YouTube could be 1) not creepy, 2) not baby animals, or 3) in any way educational.  So we’ll see how it goes!  Best case scenario, I use this contraption following every one of my in-home workouts and become the stretchiest girl in the whole wide world.  In a much more likely scenario, however, I will use it twice and have to explain to everyone I have over for the next few years why I have a dusty pair of mangled crutches in my living room.

The Ebb and Flow of Confidence

Yesterday, I felt great.

I was at the gym stretching before my students arrived for class when the big boss man asked me to help him demonstrate some boxing drills for his martial arts and police academy students.  I will admit, sometimes I hate doing this; gigantic tough guys who are in the process of working toward a career in which bashing skulls is not entirely frowned upon typically don’t want to be given instruction from a short girl with an attitude problem.  I shrugged and figured that it could be a good pre-class warmup.  Why not?

I showed them what to do, then boss paired me up with the lone female of the group:  she was significantly shorter than me, quite a bit older, and admittedly out of shape and uncoordinated.  It made me happy, though, because despite all of those things, she dived right into the drills.  It’s not easy to be the only girl in what amounts to a boys’ club.  You have to work twice as hard for half the respect, and you have to live with the fact that some men will never give you the recognition you deserve.  After I modified the drills to give her a chance to catch on, it seemed to click for her.  “I’ve never been able to do this!” she said excitedly.  “No one ever works with me because I’m the only girl, and I thought I just couldn’t do it!”

It warmed my heart, because I’ve been there before.  The first martial arts club I joined was composed of myself, one of my girl friends, and about 25 guys.  If my friend didn’t show up, I was hard pressed to find someone willing to work with me without condescension.  I’m fortunate now to be in a group with young men that have respect (and, sometimes, a healthy fear) for me and my abilities.

So I felt for her.  I took things slow, but made sure to give her constructive criticism where she needed it.  And she made progress in the short time we worked together!  Then she said, “You’re amazing.  You really are…  I’ve seen you in here with your class and your martial arts club, and I’m so impressed.  How long have you been doing this?”

I told her that I’d only been doing martial arts for about 4 or 5 years, and she said, “Wait, how old are you?”

“27!”  I told her.  It’s one of the first times I’ve said it since my birthday, so I had to think about it.  I hate when someone asks me a simple question, like my name or age or birthday, and I can’t answer it without critical thought.  It makes me look mentally deficient.  But I digress.

“Really?!  I thought you were like 18.”

And there was much rejoicing.

Later that evening, one of my fitness students asked me if I could put together a stretching routine for her to do outside of class.  I cheerfully agreed, as I am thrilled when anyone recognizes the importance of flexibility in a workout regimen.  I gave her my email address and, as she left, she said, “Thanks so much!  You’re really a great teacher!”

Well, all of these wonderful comments got me thinking.  I’ve been offered many lovely compliments in my day but I typically disregard them, as I am insane and have aggressively low self-esteem.  I think I should try to be a little more accepting.  So to start, here is a short list of things that I’ve been called that I hope to someday live up to in my own mind:

• Unapologetically sassy
• A stone cold badass
• A beast (to be honest, I have been called this with both good and bad intentions)
• A good worker (HA!)
• A good friend
• A good girlfriend
• A good Nancy (I love this one;  it’s a weird thing to be called, but after some thought, it’s absolutely perfect)

Fresh off my grateful student-related high, I came to work this morning with a smile on my face.  Then, around 11:45, I came to the realization that I had been wearing my underwear inside out all day.  Thanks, universe!  I didn’t want to get a big head or anything.

Welcome back to reality.

After a few nightmarish days of frantic cleaning, criminally unstable motor vehicles, last minute hotel rentals, and hours upon hours of sweaty, sweaty lifting, roommate and I are officially settled into our new apartment.  Unfortunately, that means we have been hit by an enthusiastic wave of responsibilities that we had so carelessly tossed aside during the moving process.

By far, the most stressful of these skirted commitments has been the lack of consistent workouts.  Now, I’m paying the price.

Today was my first attempt at trying to get myself back into shape.  “No problem!” I thought.  “I’ll fight my way back just like Rocky!  All I need is my muscle, my heart, and my scrappy can-do spirit!”  What resulted was a sad, sweaty lump of exhausted failure.  I managed to finish one of the Insanity: The Asylum workouts (finish, really, only in the loosest sense of the term) and take a few brisk walks around the neighborhood to accomplish various new apartment-related errands.  To illustrate the sad state of my fitness level, please enjoy some pictures of my strangely sweat-soaked tank top following The Asylum:

There’s the front view…

That hardly seems healthy.

And then there’s the back…

Shouldn’t my sweat glands be more evenly distributed?

I’m not entirely sure what the deal is with that, but I’d like to think that it means that I’m well on my way to my fitness peak once again.  In reality, it probably just means that I’m a sweaty weirdo and my apartment is really hot.

Oh, then later in the evening, I made some dessert bars, consisting of the following three layers:

1. Chocolate graham cracker crust
2. Vanilla cheesecake with whipped cream vodka
3. Nutella cheesecake with Kahlua

I guess exercise can only do so much.  But, you know, cheesecake.

PRODUCTIVITY.

Today, I decided to be productive. I pounced lithely out of bed at 1:00 pm and got to work.  TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS, ALL DAY LONG!!

1.  EXERCISE

I successfully completed the Strength workout from INSANITY: The Asylum, consisting of approximately 45 minutes of lifting, jumping, pushing, grunting, and sweating.

Lifting weights LIKE A BOSS.

2.  GROCERY SHOPPING

I hauled myself to Giant Eagle Market District and picked up everything I need to get myself through to payday.

Havin’ big girl food LIKE A BOSS.

3.  CLEAN THIS NASTY APARTMENT

I spent two solid hours scrubbing, spraying, vacuuming, dusting, washing, and otherwise disinfecting my place.  Filth, you no longer have a place here!  At least for now!

Reducing allergens LIKE A BOSS.

4.  BAKE A DANG CAKE

I promised once and future roommate a belated birthday cake, and a belated birthday cake he shall have; behold, my triple layer tiramisu cake made from scratch.  FROM SCRATCH!  RAHR!

Assembling baked goods LIKE A BOSS.

5.  DYE MY HAIR

I have some white hairs.  I would like them to go away for a bit, please.

Reliably covering grays LIKE A BOSS.

6.  HOMEWORK

Staying on top of things three whole weeks into the semester?!  I’m like a new person!  A person who does her homework!

Doin’ my reading LIKE A BOSS.

By completing this list in under 8 hours, I have proved to myself that I CAN accomplish anything I set my mind to.  It’s very exciting, but also distressing in that now I have no one to blame but myself for all those weekends that I spent hitting Netflix and working on the Nancy-shaped dent in my couch.