Do not arm-wrestle Anyone. Ever. Again.
An aquaintence has been giving me tips on the art of arm-wrestling. It seems there is some strategy involved. Not just brute force and grunting, as I had previously assumed. First to twist the others wrist and muscle them down from the shoulder, using upper body strength, will be victorious. Huh. How silly of me! All along I thought it was just about the arms.
I have been told, in not so many words, that if I do this correctly, cave-man trophies will be awarded and hot babes will flock from near and far to watch me take down my opponents one after another. This does not appeal to me so much. I do, however, appreciate arm-wrestling as a time-honoured male-bonding ritual.
As I am an open-minded artist, I thought I should give this art-form a try. See what all of the hoopla was about. I also thought it would be cool if I was the gal who could put the men-folk in their place. My teacher agreed. If he could do it, so could I.
My teacher is not a large lad. This gave me hope for my own arm-wrestling career. He's actually a lanky fellow of average build who no one ever suspects of being an expert. I have watched him win copious amounts of money from much larger men. Sometimes, sadly, the same man over and over again. Guys who opt to be repeatedly taken down seem to have a larger than average ego, and to have imbibed more alcohol than others.
But after an evening of arm-wrestling with him and others, old tree-planting injuries flared up. A couple of days after my lesson, I could barely do dishes, and certainly couldn't sleep. Haha! Serves me right, I suppose.
When I spoke with him about this unexpected turn of events, my teacher explained that the key is to only arm-wrestle people who are weaker than you to begin with. Build up some arm strength. Huh. Looks like maybe I was at least patially right after all. I told him I am going to practice on my kids for a while. But secretly I am hoping that he won't broach the subject again. I don't think my ego can take it.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Stationary Bike
This is not a plea for pity. Nor is it a cry for cash. It is merely a statement of fact and feelings, in hopes that I can relieve myself of some anger. A state of being that I rarely dwell in for too long. But tonight I am having trouble letting it go... I have been pedaling away anger on my stationary Schwinn on and off for the past two hours. Rage keeps returning in fierce waves, and I wonder how long into the night this will continue?
I cried for hours this morning after my ex-husband called and woke me up saying, "We need to talk." He has been bouncing child-support cheques more often than not. More often than we ever got the *bow-chicka* on in the five and a half years we were married. It's usually a bad cheque every couple of months. But this time he is two and a half months behind and has been promising to make the back-payments every single day this past week. Each day there is another reason he does not. Today he says he will have some of it tomorrow...
My friends and family want me to lawyer-up. I have already been through two lawyers who did nothing they said they would. I am, admittedly, not as squeaky a wheel as I ought to be with the lawyering-types. Emotionally abused women are rarely squeaky wheels. We have been taught to stay quiet. I am trying to unlearn this, but it's a long process.
When my eyes stopped flooding and I went to work this morning, I actually had a great time. I thank the fates for friendly customers and funny co-workers today, of all days. But now that I have put the kids to bed, I am the embodiment of fury. I am worse than Ben Stiller as Mr. Furious, in Mystery Men. Really. I want to smash things, set fires, and shout nasty words. I want to call in the knee-cap breakers, who deal with people like my ex with body language... because my words aren't working.
But these are not viable options at the moment. The kids might wake up. And hired thugs would hurt my conscience.
I am emotionally exhausted. So I will pedal until my body feels the same and then sleep until lucid dreams begin to undo the tortures of today.
And this weekend I will buy a punching bag to hang in my basement. Really.
I cried for hours this morning after my ex-husband called and woke me up saying, "We need to talk." He has been bouncing child-support cheques more often than not. More often than we ever got the *bow-chicka* on in the five and a half years we were married. It's usually a bad cheque every couple of months. But this time he is two and a half months behind and has been promising to make the back-payments every single day this past week. Each day there is another reason he does not. Today he says he will have some of it tomorrow...
My friends and family want me to lawyer-up. I have already been through two lawyers who did nothing they said they would. I am, admittedly, not as squeaky a wheel as I ought to be with the lawyering-types. Emotionally abused women are rarely squeaky wheels. We have been taught to stay quiet. I am trying to unlearn this, but it's a long process.
When my eyes stopped flooding and I went to work this morning, I actually had a great time. I thank the fates for friendly customers and funny co-workers today, of all days. But now that I have put the kids to bed, I am the embodiment of fury. I am worse than Ben Stiller as Mr. Furious, in Mystery Men. Really. I want to smash things, set fires, and shout nasty words. I want to call in the knee-cap breakers, who deal with people like my ex with body language... because my words aren't working.
But these are not viable options at the moment. The kids might wake up. And hired thugs would hurt my conscience.
I am emotionally exhausted. So I will pedal until my body feels the same and then sleep until lucid dreams begin to undo the tortures of today.
And this weekend I will buy a punching bag to hang in my basement. Really.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Sheepishly She Returns With Excuses
Please forgive my prolonged absence from the internet... I have been enjoing the holiday season immensely this year. I would even venture to say that this has been the best x-mas I have had in at least a decade.
It has been full of icy, middle-of-the-night runs. Sometimes just home from the noisy local bar where I visit with friends, and wish like mad that there was an indy coffee shop open late to hang out in. Other times I have run for its sake alone. To watch my breath catch, and hang, on the winter air. To smell ice, hear my heartbeat, and feel truly alive.
This past week has been full of music. Santa (who is me, in case you are still buying into the parental lie) bought ukuleles for myself and the kids, much to my mom's dismay. I don't know if she was worried about the noise, or the fact that I dabble with tonnes of things and don't always follow through. She probably thought it was a waste of money. But after seeing the awesomeness of my bright red uke, and hearing how easy it is to play, my mother jumped on the literal band-wagon and bought one for my sister, and one for herself.
On Christmas day I watched my son play his uke and sing, when he was supposed to be having a nap. He didn't know I was watching. "We can be small togetherrrrrr," he crooned.
I am deeply in love with this instrument, and have been strumming in my sleep.
I am filled to the brim with parties. At the last one I watched a drunken friend be held up over a toilet to vomit, as she could not hold herself up any longer. Of course I was concerned. But I did think, somewhat smugly, "this is why I don't drink too much." And I wondered why people do this to themselves.
Karma kicked my ass the next night when I met a musician (guitar and banjo) from a neighbouring town. He had been ice-fishing for most of the day and was still wearing fishing boots. That's my kind of man. We danced to Michael Jackson after imbibing too much beer and tequila. I'm not a big drinker, so the hangover was insane. Lesson learned, apologies to drunken gal-friend. I get it, sistah.
I have been finding joy in the little things, as usual. Someone once told me it's because I am an aries. First sign in the zodiac, so everything always feels new and wonderful to me. I dunno, could be. No matter the reason my brain functions just so, I like it.
These past few weeks have been full of full-body smiles. When every atom of your being just feels pure joy. Here's hoping that this year will bring more of the same...
It has been full of icy, middle-of-the-night runs. Sometimes just home from the noisy local bar where I visit with friends, and wish like mad that there was an indy coffee shop open late to hang out in. Other times I have run for its sake alone. To watch my breath catch, and hang, on the winter air. To smell ice, hear my heartbeat, and feel truly alive.
This past week has been full of music. Santa (who is me, in case you are still buying into the parental lie) bought ukuleles for myself and the kids, much to my mom's dismay. I don't know if she was worried about the noise, or the fact that I dabble with tonnes of things and don't always follow through. She probably thought it was a waste of money. But after seeing the awesomeness of my bright red uke, and hearing how easy it is to play, my mother jumped on the literal band-wagon and bought one for my sister, and one for herself.
On Christmas day I watched my son play his uke and sing, when he was supposed to be having a nap. He didn't know I was watching. "We can be small togetherrrrrr," he crooned.
I am deeply in love with this instrument, and have been strumming in my sleep.
I am filled to the brim with parties. At the last one I watched a drunken friend be held up over a toilet to vomit, as she could not hold herself up any longer. Of course I was concerned. But I did think, somewhat smugly, "this is why I don't drink too much." And I wondered why people do this to themselves.
Karma kicked my ass the next night when I met a musician (guitar and banjo) from a neighbouring town. He had been ice-fishing for most of the day and was still wearing fishing boots. That's my kind of man. We danced to Michael Jackson after imbibing too much beer and tequila. I'm not a big drinker, so the hangover was insane. Lesson learned, apologies to drunken gal-friend. I get it, sistah.
I have been finding joy in the little things, as usual. Someone once told me it's because I am an aries. First sign in the zodiac, so everything always feels new and wonderful to me. I dunno, could be. No matter the reason my brain functions just so, I like it.
These past few weeks have been full of full-body smiles. When every atom of your being just feels pure joy. Here's hoping that this year will bring more of the same...
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