Whore your mind
for the good of the
establishment.
Swallow your distaste.
Like so much stale beer.
Turn a blind eye as the spawn of the boss
skims from the corporate account.
To feed his demon.
His eyes red with the hue of despiration.
Plod through another day in this
corp o ration
night mare.
Don't look up, or someone might see
the revusion in your gaze.
Don't open your mouth, or someone might hear
The bitter scorn in your tone.
Don't listen to the whispers in the lunchroom
or you might become
an accomplice
to this
raging machine.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
And So It Begins.
About a month and a half ago my husband and I joined a gym.
I'm a big chick, and I have never been bothered by my weight. Overall, I'm fairly healthy, though inactive. I rarely get sick, and even when I do, my immune system works in overdrive- I have healing powers like wolverine! Yearly physicals revesl great colestrol, normal blood pressure and overal goodness. My first husband pushed me alot to lose weight, which did nothing except piss me off and make me stubborn. My current has never pushed me- because he is happy if I'm happy.
But he was not happy. Depressed and without energy for anything, he needed an outlet. And I knew it. He was a big child, and then in the early 2000's, he suddenly decided he'd had enough and dropped alot of weight. Over the past few years hes slowly gained, and it bothers him.He still sees himself as a fat child when the reality is he is an average man, not fat. Just inactive.
And so we joined a gym. I hoped that with both of us joining, we could motivate each other and therby not be able to flake on the couch each night with the excuse of wanting to spend time together. The gym has a pool, and I've always enjoyed swimming, so I envisioned myself swimming while Sean weight trained.
I have to stress, exersice was not something I defined as fun. I am shocked, therefore at what has transpired. For the first three weeks, I begged off some days, finding trivial excuses to stay home. So I went to the gym 3 or 4 days a week. But rationed that it was better then nothing. I was bored with the pool. I had tried the nightly aquasize class, and found most teachers sucked. Mondays morning class teacher was great, so I'd find myself going to her classes no matter how was feeling.
Ay week 4, I was well and truly bored and undermotivated. I popped in on saturday for a swim to find the pool closed for an event. So I went to the gym instead, rode the bike and cooled down on a treadmill.
Click.
Ten minutes in, hot and sticky, with my thigh muscles burning, I was feeling fantastic. Three weeks on from this discovery and my attendance has gone up to 5-6 days a week, and I'm the one whining at Sean and draging him physically out of the house to go to the gym. I am absolutely addicted. The crappiest sort of day at work, no desire to do anything but crawl into bed, and I know if I get myself into the bike, in 15 minutes I'll be feeling like sunshine is coming out of my ass.
Three weeks later, and my energy levels have shot through the roof. I'm ready to take on anything, and feel super accomplished. I cannot gush enough. My ten minute bike ride and ten minute cool down of the first day has morphed into a 7 km bike ride (8 kms twice a week), followed by half a km of rowing, and 1.5 km treadmill cooldown. Another week of this and I'll have boosted the rower to one km and then will add the evil looking cross trainer machine into the mix. I think that the wee after that, I will also throw in a weights based routine once or twice a week as well.
We've done nothing different in the diet field- we eat a varied healthy range already, with our problem being portion size rather then wrong food choices. But even this is righting itself- for reasons unfathomable to me, I find myself eating smaller portions as I feel full faster. This does not make and sense to me whatsoever- if anything, I expected to be hungrier.
Last week, I noticed my pants are lose and I have to leep hauling them up. Yesterday I bought a new pair of track pants and two tank tops. All items had to be bought in one size smaller then I've been wearing.
And so it begins.
I'm a big chick, and I have never been bothered by my weight. Overall, I'm fairly healthy, though inactive. I rarely get sick, and even when I do, my immune system works in overdrive- I have healing powers like wolverine! Yearly physicals revesl great colestrol, normal blood pressure and overal goodness. My first husband pushed me alot to lose weight, which did nothing except piss me off and make me stubborn. My current has never pushed me- because he is happy if I'm happy.
But he was not happy. Depressed and without energy for anything, he needed an outlet. And I knew it. He was a big child, and then in the early 2000's, he suddenly decided he'd had enough and dropped alot of weight. Over the past few years hes slowly gained, and it bothers him.He still sees himself as a fat child when the reality is he is an average man, not fat. Just inactive.
And so we joined a gym. I hoped that with both of us joining, we could motivate each other and therby not be able to flake on the couch each night with the excuse of wanting to spend time together. The gym has a pool, and I've always enjoyed swimming, so I envisioned myself swimming while Sean weight trained.
I have to stress, exersice was not something I defined as fun. I am shocked, therefore at what has transpired. For the first three weeks, I begged off some days, finding trivial excuses to stay home. So I went to the gym 3 or 4 days a week. But rationed that it was better then nothing. I was bored with the pool. I had tried the nightly aquasize class, and found most teachers sucked. Mondays morning class teacher was great, so I'd find myself going to her classes no matter how was feeling.
Ay week 4, I was well and truly bored and undermotivated. I popped in on saturday for a swim to find the pool closed for an event. So I went to the gym instead, rode the bike and cooled down on a treadmill.
Click.
Ten minutes in, hot and sticky, with my thigh muscles burning, I was feeling fantastic. Three weeks on from this discovery and my attendance has gone up to 5-6 days a week, and I'm the one whining at Sean and draging him physically out of the house to go to the gym. I am absolutely addicted. The crappiest sort of day at work, no desire to do anything but crawl into bed, and I know if I get myself into the bike, in 15 minutes I'll be feeling like sunshine is coming out of my ass.
Three weeks later, and my energy levels have shot through the roof. I'm ready to take on anything, and feel super accomplished. I cannot gush enough. My ten minute bike ride and ten minute cool down of the first day has morphed into a 7 km bike ride (8 kms twice a week), followed by half a km of rowing, and 1.5 km treadmill cooldown. Another week of this and I'll have boosted the rower to one km and then will add the evil looking cross trainer machine into the mix. I think that the wee after that, I will also throw in a weights based routine once or twice a week as well.
We've done nothing different in the diet field- we eat a varied healthy range already, with our problem being portion size rather then wrong food choices. But even this is righting itself- for reasons unfathomable to me, I find myself eating smaller portions as I feel full faster. This does not make and sense to me whatsoever- if anything, I expected to be hungrier.
Last week, I noticed my pants are lose and I have to leep hauling them up. Yesterday I bought a new pair of track pants and two tank tops. All items had to be bought in one size smaller then I've been wearing.
And so it begins.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
I hope you dance.
I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance
Exerpt from Lee Ann Womack's "I Hope You Dance"
We stumbled upon this statue, Dancing Bear (by Pauta Saila) when wandering through Ottawa a couple of years ago. He is the first piece of public art from Nunavut in the far north to be displayed in Canada's capital city.
The Inuit people of the Canadian Arctic use the Dancing Bear as a recurring art theme, typically in soapstone carvings much smaller then this one. The polar bear is top of the food chain, the ruler of his environment, and feared by all. Because of this, it is considered a great honour, and a very desirable thing to come back as a polar bear in the next life. And the Dancing Bear is seen to be just that- a person's soul re-incarnated as King of the World, and understanably quite happy about it.
Today, I feel like Dancing Bear.
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance
Exerpt from Lee Ann Womack's "I Hope You Dance"
We stumbled upon this statue, Dancing Bear (by Pauta Saila) when wandering through Ottawa a couple of years ago. He is the first piece of public art from Nunavut in the far north to be displayed in Canada's capital city.
The Inuit people of the Canadian Arctic use the Dancing Bear as a recurring art theme, typically in soapstone carvings much smaller then this one. The polar bear is top of the food chain, the ruler of his environment, and feared by all. Because of this, it is considered a great honour, and a very desirable thing to come back as a polar bear in the next life. And the Dancing Bear is seen to be just that- a person's soul re-incarnated as King of the World, and understanably quite happy about it.
Today, I feel like Dancing Bear.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Funkiness
I'm writing here again as a means to drag myself out of the funk I have been smothered by for a few months. But it's time to uncurl myself from my safe little warm ball and venture out into the land of the living once more.
I've largely been frustrated with some things in our life which are completely fixable, but which have gone unattended to because my husband, whom I adore utterly and completely, is sometimes a twit:)
I am being unfair, of course. My husband as Asperger's, and it makes him see life in a very different sort of way. When things are out of control, he just does not function at all...wherein I (and most people, I think), feel the need to wrestle control back, he just gets overwhelmed and refuses to deal with it as though the problem did not exist at all.
We're financially struggling. We have not yet paid off the big trip(18 months ago we travelled around the world), as the credit cards are still full and the bills are absolutely crushing us. We decided months ago to re-finance the house, pull out the equity and use it to clear the bills and start fresh. He's so scared that they will say no to re-finance that he is dragging his heels and being slow to do everything. There are documents he need to gather and such that he keeps "forgetting". For months. Despite daily reminders. It is ENRAGING me to the point that I want to throttle him somedays! I think we have everything ready now, and we will get the papers to the mortgage broker this week. Finally.
I have no intention of making this blog a place to bitch about him- this will be the ony entry in which I will focus on this...but I also need to clarify where my head is at right now- mostly because I feel for the first time in a long time that I am in a good place again. It's all dark and dusty in the corners of my head, and I've spent too much time in there lately with the cobwebs. And recently I had the sudden realization that none of this is his fault. I've been focussed too much on the nit-picky things.
It is partly because I am so far away from MY friends, MY family. I moved here in 2004 after meeting him on the net, and hauled up everything I knew, packed my life into three very large suitcases and boarded a plane. Everyone we have here are OUR friends. So naturally, when the thousand of little things that crop up in a relationship bother me, I've ben sitting on it. I don't want to complain about the petty things to OUR friends.
But, if I had MY friends here, I would bitch about stuff, we would laugh about it, drink a bottle of wine and it would be over and forgotten, instead of me thinking and overthinking,dwelling on it until it grows. Just little issues, miniscule daily routine passing things getting blown out of proportion till they seem like big issues. Once I made that connection, everything got much sunshine-y-er in my head.
And the really big, overwhelming things about him? Are the good things. The patience that is without end, the willingness to go along with my randomness, the ability to deal with the crazyness of a woman with PMS, the astuteness to know exactly when to kiss me, exactly when to tickle me till I strugle not to pee myself, exactly when to surprise me with a bottle of bubbles and a blowing wand.
I've never met a man quite like him. I never even knew such creatures exsisted.
And so, If I have to drag him, kicking and screaming into reality till he gets his shit sorted, then he'd best hang on tight, cause it will be a bumpy ride.
Life....here we come again.
I've largely been frustrated with some things in our life which are completely fixable, but which have gone unattended to because my husband, whom I adore utterly and completely, is sometimes a twit:)
I am being unfair, of course. My husband as Asperger's, and it makes him see life in a very different sort of way. When things are out of control, he just does not function at all...wherein I (and most people, I think), feel the need to wrestle control back, he just gets overwhelmed and refuses to deal with it as though the problem did not exist at all.
We're financially struggling. We have not yet paid off the big trip(18 months ago we travelled around the world), as the credit cards are still full and the bills are absolutely crushing us. We decided months ago to re-finance the house, pull out the equity and use it to clear the bills and start fresh. He's so scared that they will say no to re-finance that he is dragging his heels and being slow to do everything. There are documents he need to gather and such that he keeps "forgetting". For months. Despite daily reminders. It is ENRAGING me to the point that I want to throttle him somedays! I think we have everything ready now, and we will get the papers to the mortgage broker this week. Finally.
I have no intention of making this blog a place to bitch about him- this will be the ony entry in which I will focus on this...but I also need to clarify where my head is at right now- mostly because I feel for the first time in a long time that I am in a good place again. It's all dark and dusty in the corners of my head, and I've spent too much time in there lately with the cobwebs. And recently I had the sudden realization that none of this is his fault. I've been focussed too much on the nit-picky things.
It is partly because I am so far away from MY friends, MY family. I moved here in 2004 after meeting him on the net, and hauled up everything I knew, packed my life into three very large suitcases and boarded a plane. Everyone we have here are OUR friends. So naturally, when the thousand of little things that crop up in a relationship bother me, I've ben sitting on it. I don't want to complain about the petty things to OUR friends.
But, if I had MY friends here, I would bitch about stuff, we would laugh about it, drink a bottle of wine and it would be over and forgotten, instead of me thinking and overthinking,dwelling on it until it grows. Just little issues, miniscule daily routine passing things getting blown out of proportion till they seem like big issues. Once I made that connection, everything got much sunshine-y-er in my head.
And the really big, overwhelming things about him? Are the good things. The patience that is without end, the willingness to go along with my randomness, the ability to deal with the crazyness of a woman with PMS, the astuteness to know exactly when to kiss me, exactly when to tickle me till I strugle not to pee myself, exactly when to surprise me with a bottle of bubbles and a blowing wand.
I've never met a man quite like him. I never even knew such creatures exsisted.
And so, If I have to drag him, kicking and screaming into reality till he gets his shit sorted, then he'd best hang on tight, cause it will be a bumpy ride.
Life....here we come again.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Waxing woes
So I decided, somewhat foolishly, to try one of those home waxing kits. (Don't the best stories start this way?)
My first concern came when the waxing kit I specially selected (after 45 minutes of reading each and every package available at the super-sized pharmacy) had hidden within its depths a particularly worrysome thing.
What can be so perplexing from inside the recess of a waxing kit you ask? Consider this- I bought a kit specifically designed for bikini waxing. And yet, inside there was a slip of paper warning me not to apply it to my genital region.
I know I am Canadian and all, but where I come from? We don't wear bikinis as mittens or anything. They definitely are worn over the pink bits.
So I spend a few more minutes re-reading the exterior packaging. Yep, definitely a bikini waxing kit. And so on I proudly marched.
The box said "raspberry scented". I'll suggest to the manufacturer that they should more aptly describe the aroma as that of the scent of a Grizzly bear taking his first dump after a 6 month hibernation. Though, to be fair, grizzlies do eat alot of raspberry.
Clamping my nose shut with a clothespeg, I get stuck into it. First strip on, first strip off. Painful, but nothing more then I would expect when ripping out a few dozen hairs by their roots.
As I'm settling up for the next strip, sudden disaster. Like a dozen pint sized sadists were poking my flesh with heated pokers. Pain that was most certainly not of the good variety. And it just gets worse and worse.
So I get understandably worried, and grab the package again. It says to rinse after, but says that soap will not remove residue. Fabulous. Screming on the inside, i stand in a ice-cold shower for about ten minutes till my eyes stop watering and the pain is now just a dull roar that I'm able to think through.
Out of the shower, I survey the damage in the mirror. hmmm. a Perfect wax-strip sized patch of skin on my most favouritest bits is now red and inflamed to the point of being noticeably puffy.
I think I've broked it. this is not good.
I spend the next hour and a half lying on the bed with cold wet facecloth compresses laid over my cunt to try to stop the bee-sting like swelling from closing up shop completely.
Eventually, the urge to cry at the pain abates, and I even have a moment of amusement thinking about the Bastard having to suffer through the afternoon wanting to get home to do exactly what I asked of him in a naughty text earlier, only to find things in less then working order.
ok. So soap won;t help, but I need to figure out something else. Because I can't sit on an icepack all night. If soap and water won't fix it...what about lube?
The dogs both went running in fright and cowered by the back door when the lube hit my skin. Apparently, dogs dogs extra sensitive hearing means screams are extra noticable.
After intitial application, though, the lube worked. I was actually able to get dressed and move around without wanting to kill everything that touched me- including the air.
So here I sit, slip-sliding around on the edge of the couch wondering how long it will be till I'm able to break out the trusty razor and finish the job.
I have a new-found respect for every fucker who waxes. I am not worthy.
My first concern came when the waxing kit I specially selected (after 45 minutes of reading each and every package available at the super-sized pharmacy) had hidden within its depths a particularly worrysome thing.
What can be so perplexing from inside the recess of a waxing kit you ask? Consider this- I bought a kit specifically designed for bikini waxing. And yet, inside there was a slip of paper warning me not to apply it to my genital region.
I know I am Canadian and all, but where I come from? We don't wear bikinis as mittens or anything. They definitely are worn over the pink bits.
So I spend a few more minutes re-reading the exterior packaging. Yep, definitely a bikini waxing kit. And so on I proudly marched.
The box said "raspberry scented". I'll suggest to the manufacturer that they should more aptly describe the aroma as that of the scent of a Grizzly bear taking his first dump after a 6 month hibernation. Though, to be fair, grizzlies do eat alot of raspberry.
Clamping my nose shut with a clothespeg, I get stuck into it. First strip on, first strip off. Painful, but nothing more then I would expect when ripping out a few dozen hairs by their roots.
As I'm settling up for the next strip, sudden disaster. Like a dozen pint sized sadists were poking my flesh with heated pokers. Pain that was most certainly not of the good variety. And it just gets worse and worse.
So I get understandably worried, and grab the package again. It says to rinse after, but says that soap will not remove residue. Fabulous. Screming on the inside, i stand in a ice-cold shower for about ten minutes till my eyes stop watering and the pain is now just a dull roar that I'm able to think through.
Out of the shower, I survey the damage in the mirror. hmmm. a Perfect wax-strip sized patch of skin on my most favouritest bits is now red and inflamed to the point of being noticeably puffy.
I think I've broked it. this is not good.
I spend the next hour and a half lying on the bed with cold wet facecloth compresses laid over my cunt to try to stop the bee-sting like swelling from closing up shop completely.
Eventually, the urge to cry at the pain abates, and I even have a moment of amusement thinking about the Bastard having to suffer through the afternoon wanting to get home to do exactly what I asked of him in a naughty text earlier, only to find things in less then working order.
ok. So soap won;t help, but I need to figure out something else. Because I can't sit on an icepack all night. If soap and water won't fix it...what about lube?
The dogs both went running in fright and cowered by the back door when the lube hit my skin. Apparently, dogs dogs extra sensitive hearing means screams are extra noticable.
After intitial application, though, the lube worked. I was actually able to get dressed and move around without wanting to kill everything that touched me- including the air.
So here I sit, slip-sliding around on the edge of the couch wondering how long it will be till I'm able to break out the trusty razor and finish the job.
I have a new-found respect for every fucker who waxes. I am not worthy.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
She's going to hell, for sure.
Today, at work.
Ring ring
Pleasent ladies voice; "Good morning, you've reached St Francis of Mary's*, how can I help you?"
Me; "Hello, could I speak with someone in accounts payable, please?"
Pleasent ladies voice; "That would be Sister Angela*. I'll put you right through"
Me; "Thank you"
Pleasent ladies voice number 2; "Hello, Sister Angela Speaking"
Me; "Good morning, Sister. My name is Nikki and I'm calling from Random Organization* regarding an invoice for St Franscis of Mary's overdue since last November"
Pleasent ladies voice number 2; "fuck"
Me;"..."
* note; names changed to protect the guilty and the innocent.
Ring ring
Pleasent ladies voice; "Good morning, you've reached St Francis of Mary's*, how can I help you?"
Me; "Hello, could I speak with someone in accounts payable, please?"
Pleasent ladies voice; "That would be Sister Angela*. I'll put you right through"
Me; "Thank you"
Pleasent ladies voice number 2; "Hello, Sister Angela Speaking"
Me; "Good morning, Sister. My name is Nikki and I'm calling from Random Organization* regarding an invoice for St Franscis of Mary's overdue since last November"
Pleasent ladies voice number 2; "fuck"
Me;"..."
* note; names changed to protect the guilty and the innocent.
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