Flying legs.

It’s true that every cloud has a silver lining. Some people may not see this particular lining as silver, perhaps more a dull grey, but for me it’s beautiful and gleaming. As you are all probably sick of hearing, I’ve been feeling a bit down about my decision not to fight in Fight Night. I was talking about it some more with my trainer last night and he came up with a great idea. Now that I don’t have to do the 12 week regimented program I have the ability to be more flexible with my regime.

So I’m training to be a kickboxer.

It was Doug’s idea and I jumped on it. I’m not sure that Shaun thinks it’s the best idea, but it serves him right for vetoeing FNII. So I had my first session last night and I was (surprise surprise) instantly addicted. When I started boxing I thought it was the hardest workout in the world. Boy was I wrong. Kickboxing steps it up 10 fold. After an hour of consistently kicking for three minute rounds as WELL as boxing, it’s fair to say that I was a bit wobbly on my feet. But that’s cool… I love a challenge. I’m going to continue boxing 5 days a week and just kickbox on Thursdays.

For now, anyway.

Girls and cars

I love speed. No matter what I’m in, I put my foot down. It makes some people nervous. According to Shaun, no one in my family is known for their driving ability. I am definitely the only one that has a speed problem though.

I especially love driving Shaun’s car. It’s a turbo. You put your foot down and you just GO. He has tried to lay down a whole lot of rules. I just ignore them. Until last night I didn’t think that little old me could really do any serious damage to that big old car. But more on that later.

I have always been competitive. If someone is sitting beside me at the lights revving their car, then I just have to take them. Well, try at least. So the other weekend I was coming home from boxing on Saturday morning. There is this stretch of road coming up to the motorway that has three sets of lights at it. I was sitting at the first set when I noticed the car beside me revving it’s engine and riding it’s clutch. I didn’t give it a very careful look. It was some kind of white ute. (Even if I had’ve given it a very careful look that’s still what it would have been.) When the lights changed I peeled away and smoked it. Booyah!

He didn’t like that apparently. The same thing happened at the next lights. Smoked. Then he put his window down. I put mine down. He noticed I was a girl (he couldn’t see through the tints). That seemed to make him particularly mad. The revving and the riding got worse. We were at the last lights before the motorway. It was a 90 degree corner onto the on-ramp. I had the inside lane. I was feeling cocky.

The light changed.

I put my foot down and the turbo kicked in. I couldn’t see the guy. But then suddenly I could hear him. There was screaming of tires and burning of rubber as he passed me going sideways. I thought he was going to plow into the side of me. He slid sideways all the way down the on-ramp and corrected as he hit the motorway. That’s when I noticed that he was driving a brand new SS ute with a World Drifting Championships bumper sticker and the license plate DRFTR. Bastard.

A similar thing took place last night only this time Shaun was in the car. We were heading home from a friend’s place after dinner and I was driving. The guy beside me was clearly trying to provoke me. When the light changed I planted my foot. It became apparent that I was in third gear. That didn’t stop me. I was determined. I managed to pull slightly in front.

It was then that the terrible burning smell infiltrated the car.

A majority decision.

So after months of soul searching I’ve decided not to fight in Fight Night II.

I went to the introduction seminar last week to get all the info. I had a plan. I figured I’d remind them of my seizures and see if they said that I couldn’t enter. That would make the decision for me. They didn’t. So I walked out feeling as confused as ever. I went home and talked to Shaun about it some more. His position hadn’t changed. He brought up the ‘feeding me with a spoon for the rest of my life if something goes wrong’ argument. Great.

I brought up the ‘how is it any different from the sparring that I do now?’ counter-argument. Not so great. That made him challenge the fact that I spar at all. Shite. What was I thinking? Maybe I’ve already taken too many head shots!

The one thing that had changed for me was that I was starting to realise that the training regime is pretty inflexible. It would actually involve less training that I currently do, but there would be more variety. Unfortunately you can’t just do it when you want. There are compulsory Saturday morning sessions. Considering I seem to actually be home about 1 in 4 weekends, that could be tricky. I was still keen though.

I decided to talk with my trainer. I laid it all out for him. He told me that he’d support me no matter what decision I made. Well, that was a good start. If he had’ve said he wouldn’t, I’d wonder what the hell I was doing there. Then he delivered the clincher.

If the people that love you aren’t behind you, you’re not going to enjoy the journey.

So there you have it folks.

Feverish

This morning I woke up with the most unbelievable hayfever. It didn’t actually have anything to do with hay, probably more likely cats, but it sure was debilitating. Unfortunately I didn’t really become aware of it until I was half way to the gym, by which stage it was too late to do anything about it.

So I suffered through step class choking on my own snot. My eyes closed up to small slits and I felt like scratching all my skin off. I wet my towel and used it to try and cool the burning fire that was my face, but it had limited results.

As soon as the class was over I drove to work at 2 billion kph (it may have been closer to 1 billion, but I’m using a bit of storyteller’s license here) and ate all the antihistamines that I could find in my desk before hitting the showers. By the time I was clean, the fever had passed.

It got me thinking about the magic that is drugs. OK, modern medicine to be more precise.( I spent all of my 20s marvelling over the magic that is drugs.) How did someone figure out what chemicals to use to fix hayfever? Of ALL the chemicals in the world, how did they figure out which ones would work?

When I first started taking antiseizure meds, they contraindicated with antihistamines. I took both one day as a sort of experiment and fell asleep at my desk. I went to the gym to try and wake up and I fell asleep in the middle of the bench press track in pump class. Literally. Lucky it wasn’t the squat track. It would seem that my body has become used to the combination because now it doesn’t seem to be an issue.

So anyay, I wonder if someone gave a rat hayfever in the olden days and then tested chemicals on it.

Counting the years

So it was a weekend of anniversaries for me. Saturday marked 10 years at Xerox. Where the hell did that decade go? I started working here part time while I was at university. I was basically a receptionist. Somehow I managed to infiltrate the organisation, using my girlish charm and exceptionally high stillettos, and have been webmaster for the last 8 years, and part of the development team for the last couple. I expect it’ll be the only corporate job I ever have. I’m definitely enjoying running my company better than working for someone else…

Interestingly enough, I started here because running a company wasn’t right for me when I was younger. Admittedly I was 21 when I last tried it. And it was architecture. I was really disillusioned when I graduated architecture school and got out into the real world. While I was studying I believed that I was going to change the world. It was all so romanticised. The reality was that someone would save up ten grand to get their bathroom remodelled and they already knew what they wanted. I just had to draw it up. It was going to take a long time to save the world that way. Unless the world was dying from some kind of toilet related illness.

So yesterday was my first wedding anniversary. I spent the majority of it away from my husband. I was down country and he was getting drunk at the cricket. In an effort to make up for that I decided to cook him one of his favourite meals – mince and cheese pie that you heat up from the freezer section of the supermarket. No one could call me a bad wife.

I went out and bought the stupid pie and was coming home when something went terribly wrong. The lock on the front door got jammed and I couldn’t get inside. Since the burglary a couple of years ago when we lost everything, our house is like a fortress so there was no way I could break in. I spent 45 minutes swearing at the front door and trying to make the lock work. No go. Shaun’s advice was to ‘give it a good jiggle’. Ah, yeah.

It finally started getting dark and I was starving. I went down the road to get Chinese. When I got home Shaun was inside.

Just as well. I was on my way home to kick the door down.

Petting

One of my close friends turns 40 this weekend. He is significantly older than the rest of us but you wouldn’t know it. No one even thinks about it. Except him, it would seem. He’s gone all weird on it and has gone away to hide for the weekend. No one is allowed to discuss it. At first he tried to make us say that he was 39, but I don’t buy into that kind of crap. I’ve never really considered my age to be a liability. I’ve never really considered it at all. I suppose that might be different when I start to notice changes in my body or something, but that’s just how life is. If you let it get you down it will.

Having said that, I got a shock the other day when a 20 year old called me a MILF. I was flattered, but then I wondered when it was that I stopped just being a hot chick (yeah, yeah… you have to start being one in order to stop – but this is my fantasy so let it ride) and started being categorised as an older woman. Holy shite!

So speaking of birthdays and celebrations, this weekend is my first wedding anniversary. Last night Shaun and I went to The French Cafe for dinner to celebrate. We made a rule when we got married that each year we’d take turns to organise a weekend away. This year we’re finding it impossible to find a weekend when one or the other of us isn’t away (possibly why our marriage works so well) so we settled for dinner. It was, without a doubt, the best dining experience I’ve ever had. Both the food and the service were phenomenal.

Needless to say, I got a little boozed and we got on to talking about birthdays. I turn 33 at the end of this year and Shaun asked what I want to do to celebrate. I’ve decided I want one of those mobile petting zoos with miniature animals.

How great is that gonna be??

I’m finding myself quite attractive.

Today is proving to be interesting. I have training after work so I showered at home this morning. That went OK. It’s actually something of a novelty. I’m so used to showering at work that it feels like sleeping over at someone else’s house when I’m home in the mornings. When Shaun leaves for work I pretend that the cats are my flatmates.

Anyway, I digress. So I went to put my deodorant on and I couldn’t find it. Weird! I haven’t noticed Shaun smelling like a girl and I’m fairly sure the cats haven’t taken to wearing anti-perspirant, so I don’t know where it went. I have a few meetings today so I didn’t want to risk not wearing any, and I was running a bit late so I knew I wouldn’t have time to stop at the supermarket. I decided to wear Shaun’s.

Now every time I move I smell like a boy. I’m finding myself quite attractive.

Last night we went out for dinner and I drank more than my share of wine. Way more. So I’m a little slow on it today. I sat down at my desk and decided that I was hungry. I tried to fill up on ibuprofen and NoDoz but it wasn’t doing the trick. I was figuring out the best course of action (I thought maybe eating would be it) when a couple of guys from another part of the company came around with huge baskets of food. They chose today to deliver breakfast to us as a thankyou for the work we’ve been doing. (Well, not me specifically, to be fair). Blinder!!

So we’re gathered around eating breakfast when this unusual guy from our department walks in with a plate and proceeds to gather up approximately half the food and walk off. We all just stood there dumbfounded. It looked like he was going to visit someone in hospital or something.

It’s occurred to me that neither of those things are particularly interesting, so I apologise if you feel like you were lured here unfairly. Blame the painkillers and the caffeine pills.

As you were.

Lurve

So isn’t Valentine’s Day a weird tradition? No one even seems to know where it originated. Well, no one can agree on it. As a general rule I quite like celebratory days, but this is one that I never really bought into. It’s not like you get a holiday or anything.

There are two Valentine’s Days that stand out in my memory. The first was when I was 16 or so and I got dumped by a guy I’d been seeing for a few weeks. Why the hell would he pick Valentine’s Day to do that?? Did it just occur to him on the 14th that he could no longer tolerate being in the relationship? Could he not have waited until the next day? Even more ridiculous is that he changed his mind a week later. I sure told him where to go. Should’ve waited ’til his birthday or something.

The other one that stands out (in not quite such a funny way) is the year that I had a date with this older doctor guy that I had just met. I think it was the year after the nasty can’t-wait-to-dump-you guy. So the doorbell rings and I head down to open it with this well practiced I’m-so-sexy-and-alluring look on my face, to find that it’s not my date at all, but my best friend from school. He has shown up with the world’s largest bunch of roses (probably cost him about a billion dollars) and soft toys. After years of deliberation he has finally gotten up the courage to come and declare his undying love for me. Mid speech, the doctor screams up in his very cool convertible and yells ‘Jump in baby’. Stink!

So anyway, now that I’m married things are way more simple. I went down to the bar last night to do the flowers, as I do every Tuesday. The ones from last week weren’t quite dead, so I bunched them up and took them home to Shaun.

Who says romance is dead?

Please don’t go.

There are two things about my maternal grandfather that stand out for me the most. One is that he was an identical twin, the other is that he was an alcoholic. Sadly, he was not the kind of alcoholic that recoved. He was the kind that died. Both he and his twin died of alcohol related diseases, but not before they completely lost their minds.

I don’t really remember them before they deteriorated. I know from my mother that they were great sportsmen, loved the races and were bombers in WWII. My memories of them involve weekend visits to mental institutions. Those trips invoked a strange combination of fear and fascination in me and my siblings. One of my most vivid memories was my grandfather telling me that I was a pretty girl and that he’d marry me if I wasn’t so fat. I was 16 and weighed 45kgs.

I never felt any kind of love for those men. I only felt sadness and a kind of removed disgust. They both died many years ago. My paternal grandfather died before I was born.

There is one man that I have always thought of as my grandfather. He stepped in and acted as a dad to my mother when her real father left them. I know him as Uncle Gil. He is the man in my childhood memories that would smoke a pipe and tell us stories. He is the man that would hide peppermints under our pillows and take us down to the shed to build things. He is the man that sat at the number 1 table at my wedding.

Uncle Gil has a killer sense of humour and more skill on a lathe than any one person should have. He carries himself with pride but isn’t too proud to tell us he loves us. He knew my grandfather but never judged him.

Now it would seem that it’s Uncle Gil’s time to go. I think he’s ready. I’m not. He’s been sick for a few years now, and his body has wasted away. The spark is still in his eyes, but it’s fading fast, along with his ability to breathe. He doesn’t even have enough energy to tell one of his signature jokes. It breaks my heart.

I know that it’s unfair to wish life on someone that is tired of living, but it’s so hard to imagine my own without him in it.

Post-project depression

I spent the entire weekend working on one website. I was going through one of those oh-shit-I-have-taken-too-much-work-on moments. They tend to result in I-know-I’ll-take-it-out-on-Shaun moments. Why do people do that? I know I’m doing it. I walk out of my study feeling irritable and knowing that if he says something annoying I may snap. And what do you know? He says something annoying. Like “Morning babe” or “What do you feel like for breakfast?” How dare he.

You’d think that because I was aware of this that I’d be able to control it better. You’d think. As it turns out, what I do is forewarn him. Something along the lines of “I suspect I may be a real bitch today, so you may want to make yourself scarce.” He keeps away, which means that I need to scream super loudly at him in order for him to hear.

OK, I’m kidding. It’s nothing like that. But I do get a bit edgy. I actually love being busy. I prefer it to having nothing to do. I just don’t like that feeling of being disorganised. Once I sit down and do a bit of admin and organise my time, it’s all good.

So, as I was saying, I spent the weekend on one site. I pretty much finished it. The client is going to test drive it today and I can fine tune tonight. I feel super satisfied and self-righteous. I love completing a project really quickly, before I get sick to death of the sight of it (which of course means getting all the content straight away). I don’t particularly love spending my weekends inside working, but it’s pretty rare that I do. As a general rule I work really late during the week so that I can have the weekends off.

Hitting a project hard and putting it to bed fast (Wow! That sounds more than slightly masochistic…) means that I avoid that feeling of depression that tends to follow big projects. When you spend every waking moment breathing something, when it leaves you miss it. I’m feeling a bit like that with my day job. I’ve spent the last 6 months on one project and it finished last week. I had almost come to hate it, but I’m still experiencing a strange feeling of emptiness. It’s like when I was at university and I would spend every weekend wishing I didn’t have to study. Then when I graduated I would feel guilty for doing nothing.

Anyway, next weekend I’m heading away for a party. I suspect next Monday’s post may be along slightly different lines…