If only I could kickbox while drinking wine…

I’ve been in the mood to try new things. The mood typically doesn’t last very long so I do my best to take advantage of it. I figure if I try new things, I’ll meet new people, learn something about myself, and maybe find a new hobby. Last week someone asked me what my hobbies were – other than reading and writing. I had hard time answering. It was sort of sad. I thought about what I do when I have free time and it basically amounted to a lot of wasted time – browsing the internet, shopping for new bedding without actually purchasing anything, reading, thinking about writing, painting my nails, and  if I’m ambitious, baking or cooking. So I’m on the hunt for a new hobby.

If you have any suggestions, please share. I really want to find something new to get excited about. I’ve tried a few things the last week. These are my observations.

Volunteering 

I was required to do 36 hours of community service to graduate high school. I graduated with honors and high community service honors, which meant I completed over 150 hours of community service. Sounds very altruistic, doesn’t it? It sounds great until you hear that to get my community service hours I managed the wrestling team. For four nights a week, I sat in the gym for two hours doing homework and watching the best looking guys in the school roll around and occasionally take their shirts off. On the weekends I helped score matches where I met and flirted with wrestlers from other schools.

I know. I’m practically Mother Theresa.

I was overtired and feeling sick when I saw a posting at work for the biannual environmental stewardship initiative at Riverview Gardens, so I’m not really sure why I decided to sign up, but I did. We would have a tour of the gardens, plant for a few hours, then end the morning with a Subway lunch. Since I had nothing planned, I decided to give it a go.

The gardens are located on what used to be a country club. The club house still stands, as does the pool house next to an empty pool. The golf course is overgrown enough to make men in plaid pants weep. A non-profit was able to get the land and is now using it as a venture to involve the community and deal with the root causes of poverty and homelessness with a market garden enterprise, park space, and job training. It’s just in the beginning stages, but they have some great people involved in the program and as I saw throughout the morning, it’s all extremely well planned out.

I spent the morning planting hazelnut trees. One group planted pecan trees, and another helped make garden beds. I planted seven trees, helping with about 50 trees that morning. These trees are going to serve as the top canopy that will eventually create areas in the garden. Apparently these trees will help regulate wind damage, temperature, and even humidity for the plants on the lowest level.

I walked away feeling pretty good about myself. I was covered in dirt, and even though I was wearing gloves, had dirt all over my hands and under my fingernails. It was pretty neat to be a part of something. It’s been a while since I’ve felt I’ve contributed to something bigger than myself. When I realized that, I suddenly felt very selfish. I’ve since signed up for a volunteer orientation this Saturday afternoon.

Kickboxing

Katie and I found a Groupon a few weeks ago – $20 for 30 fitness classes. We went to our first class on Monday night. We didn’t really have any idea what the class was going to consist of. The website said the class was a cardio and strength class. It said nothing about kickboxing. When we got there, we signed a few sheets, were handed a pair of gloves and told to take the five o’clock position by our bags. One of the instructors gave us a quick view of the basic moves – jab, cross, high block, and low block. She failed to show us the kick. So when that came, the cheerleader in me decided to make a return by insisting my kicks all be high and with pointed toes. Yeah. Rapists beware, I can kick above my head with an admirable velocity. If I’m able to kick your chin, I’m certain you’ll be injured or at least lose your balance.

We were the youngest people in the class. This was both great news and terrible news. Great because we didn’t have any peers to compare ourselves with (we would inevitably be left feeling inadequate). Terrible because we were shown proof that at least a dozen middle-aged women could kick our asses and were more coordinated than the two of us combined.

I found that it was an exercise in embarrassment more than anything else. At least for the first class. But I walked away feeling pretty badass. It was a great way to relieve aggression. I don’t think that there are many socially-sanctioned ways for women to blow off steam. Men are encouraged to play sports where they can be aggressive. I don’t know a ton about sport technique, but I imagine if you’re feeling angry, you’re going to throw a ball pretty hard and far or you’re going to hit that linebacker (right?) with as much force as possible. Basically, they have outlets for the tension that builds up from daily stresses. Women are encouraged to do the domestic things – baking, cleaning, cooking, reading, writing, exercises like walking or biking. No matter how vigorously you stir that muffin batter, it’s not going to make you less pissed off at your gossipy coworkers. Of course nobody is telling women not to participate in more aggressive activities, but it’s seen as a novelty when they actually do participate in them. “Oh, that woman shoots guns on the weekends? That’s badass!”

But here….here in kickboxing class, women beat punching bags. I don’t know anybody else’s motivation for each punch, but I certainly had a few faces in mind when I was flailing my limbs in the general direction of the bag. I say flail only because my kicks were so pathetic. I landed most of my punches, though I can’t say how much damage they would have done on a person.

Spinning

I don’t get this. I love biking so I thought I would really enjoy this. But it was awkward. A dozen or so women on stationary bikes, furiously pedaling toward nothing. Though it was an underwhelming experience, it was the fastest workout I’ve ever had. Also, it was the hardest bike ride I’ve had in a long time. We simulated hills by changing gears, did a time trial in which we were told to maintain a high wattage for three minutes, did “sprints” (5-second bursts with addition of a gear – trust me, it’s harder than it sounds), and then finished with a four-minute run (pedaling with your butt off the seat). It lasted 45 minutes, but when I got off the bike, I felt like I had been there for ten minutes. It was ridiculous.

Also, I was reminded that bike seats are incredibly uncomfortable.

Drinking Sauternes & Blogging 

This has been my favorite part of the week so far. A friend gave me a housewarming gift of two bottles of muscat, a 1999 sauternes, and non-Walmart wine glasses.  I’ve never had a sauternes before. I’ve read about it in Jean Feraca’s memoir where she romantically described noble rot, but I was constantly aware the fact that the woman has gigantic nose, so I was distracted. Anyway, despite knowing that this wine is made from grapes covered in fungus, I love it. It is sweet and honeyed tasting, the absolute perfect way to end a day. Pretty much the definition of dessert wine. Moscato doesn’t have anything on sauternes.

I’ve been sitting outside for the last hour or so and I’m feeling quite buzzed from the single glass. This might be because I haven’t had much to eat or drink this afternoon. There’s a heat advisory and I saw this as a challenge to either go for a run or further dehydrate myself by drinking a glass of wine. Obviously I chose the latter.

I have a few more things planned this week – strength and resistance on Thursday night which I’m sure will be a cruel reminder that I am incredibly weak – yoga on Saturday, followed by a crochet lesson in the evening. I’ll report back on these and let you know if I discover a new hobby.

Books I Think the World wants to Read

Recharging Your Kindle & Other First World Problems

Why Do I Watch Hoarders: How to Make Yourself Clinically Depressed in just 40 Minutes

Cooking for One: Why I insist on cooking in underwear when I’m home alone

……

Exciting and provocative stuff, huh? This is what I come up with when I’m on night time cold medicine.

I was momentarily convinced people would want to read these books. A lot of people. The combination of nighttime cold meds, a sudden case of insomnia, and the internet probably isn’t a good one. My sleepy brain is convinced that everything I think is wildly clever.

And that, my friends, is the purpose of my blog.

Just individual egos, crazy for love

So, I just got internet in my apartment. I came home after work and attempted to secure my wireless network. Then I realized I’m a silly girl who has no idea how to do such a thing. I screwed it up and then a friend told me about the reset button. So as of right now, my internet has no password. But I’m connected. That’s the cool thing.

Somebody should come over to my apartment and secure it for me so my neighbors don’t hack into all of my very sensitive files (17 drafts of my seminar piece, 9 attempts at the above shot with my webcam, russian vocabulary translations).

I have a feeling that someday I’m going to turn into the sort of person who begins every sentence with “My therapist says…” Right now, I’m too poor for that. But it’s good to have something to aspire to, right? Anyway, I realized the other day that I’m certainly my own brand of crazy. Crazy isn’t the appropriate word, but my head hurts too much to think of something else. But everybody is. We all have our weird quirks and terrible ways of dealing with things. Me? When I cry, I fold my tissue into halves. I try to prove that whole seven times thing wrong. I don’t think it’s worked. But I do my damndest. I’m a very dedicated worker. I could go more into this, but I’d rather eat ice cream for dinner and quickly change the subject.

I’ve also been reading my Norton Anthology of Short Fiction for fun. I haven’t touched it since my intro to creative writing class about ten years ago (I lied, it was only about four, but it feels like it’s been ten years), so I’ve been reading stories for what feels like the first time. I spent about $70 on the thing to read four or five stories out of it that semester. Apparently the professor had never heard of a copier. It’s become the thing I fall asleep with at night. It’s a nice giant book that feels like a bible but with way more insight into the human psyche. It’s fantastic.

Like that ditty, from Donald Barthelme’s “Me and Mrs. Mandible”. Tell me that isn’t true. I dare you.

Oh, I’m also reading Freud’s Dream Psychology Psychoanalysis for Beginners. You know, for fun. Making fun of Freud is something that will never get old. I promise you. I expect to someday talk to a therapist about things in this book.

I’ve also been self-medicating again. Large doses of Ok Go and evening jogs on the trail near my apartment. Going almost two weeks without internet forces you to get creative with your time. There is really only so much a phone and 3G can do for a girl. She’s forced to return to books and writing without blogging. It’s weird. There isn’t any immediate gratification from pressing that “publish” button. She has to write the kind stuff that requires (and deserves) revision.

If you’re feeling down or lonely, I can’t recommend Ok Go enough. I know, they’re that band you liked in high school and pretend you’re too cool for now, but seriously. You’re a robot if this video doesn’t make you smile or at the very least breathe a sigh of relief. Listening to this band will decidedly end your pity party.

Also, that’s the first acceptable use (outside of the military) for a ghillie suit that I have ever seen.

I think my therapist would say I’m avoiding what’s really bothering me.

Five Shockingly Boring Confessions

My writer’s group has a fascination with lists. Since most of the group is composed of men, they usually don’t pertain to me. (Last month, somebody shared “Five Signs You’re Ready for Fatherhood”.) Usually they’re written with the perfect balance of intelligence and self-deprecation. I’ve been trying to find that balance in my own lists, but I’m all about self-deprecation and no intelligence, apparently. My mind has been operating in lists for the last week or so. I learned it’s not exclusive to my sober mind either. After an ER visit the other night, I walked away with a diagnosis of “Abdominal Pain, Right upper quadrant” and a prescription for vicoden. This is what I came up with while on vicoden. (Just a head’s up, my sober-minded lists aren’t much better. )

1. When my nail polish chips, I peel the rest off.

I’ll take great pride in completing a beautiful manicure only to deliberately ruin it as soon as it chips. I like how my nail feels when it takes in air after by suffocated by three layers of polish and I get an unnatural sense of satisfaction from peeling a chunk bigger than an pencil eraser. It reminds me of being in grade school, getting Elmer’s Glue on my hands, and peeling it off after it dried. A normal, self-respecting young woman would simply use remover to take off the thing when it starts looking like crap. Not me. I’d rather peel the stuff off and look like a thirteen year old who doesn’t take notes in algebra class.

2. I have no idea how to wear lipstick.

I genuinely envy women who can wear lipstick. I have no idea how to apply it. As a former Mary Kay lady, I’m probably supposed to know how to do this. I know that the “proper” way involves liner, lipstick, and tissue, but I’ve never been able to figure it out. Whenever I use liner, I’m never able to figure out where exactly my lip ends and where my skin begins. You’d think the color difference would be enough, but no matter where I trace the line, it never seems to be right. Also, if I’m trying to wear a shade other than red, I’m convinced that my liner is too dark and my lipstick is too light. There’s some comedian who has a joke about the dark liner/light lipstick; he says that it’s the most hideous look ever and it looks like a butthole. I’ve never been able to get that visual out of my head.

3. I have watched Say Yes to the Dress for more than two consecutive hours.

When I had my own television, I genuinely enjoyed Friday nights alone. TLC plays wedding shows from about 4pm until 11pm. I often used this as an opportunity to shut my door, hang out in my underwear and drink too much moscato by myself. The show isn’t exactly compelling. It’s just women trying on wedding dresses. Where’s the appeal? I don’t like half the dresses they show, and about 95% cost far more than I would ever consider spending.

4. I don’t know the words to Rich Girl but I insist on singing along anyway.

After creating a Bee Gees Pandora station (Bill used to play in a disco band and I was a supportive girlfriend), I came upon the realization that I genuinely enjoy music made before I was born. This includes, but is not limited to, the Bee Gees, Simon & Garfunkel, Earth Wind & Fire, and Hall & Oates. The last time I heard Rich Girl, I told my friend, “This is my jam!” before rocking out and attempting to sing along. As long as I catch the “it’s a bitch, girl” parts, I consider it a success.

5. I own a piggy bank. 

And it’s currently empty. There is literally no reason for me to own a piggy bank. I used it for a few months before I took a trip to California and collected about $70 worth of latte-making tips. Since then, it has not held more than $13. I know that because I used the last $13 as my bar money for Halloween. But it’s cute, isn’t it? I bought it because it looks exactly like a piggy bank you see in a cartoon. Did I mention I’ve been known to spend my money irresponsibly?