The Man Comes Home

Marty came home today. It used to be that we would get grumpy with each other upon homecomings. Sometimes sweet, but usually irritable. Or maybe that was me getting irritated at him for coming home and disturbing my peace.

But I was glad to see him. I read him some of the blog entries that I made and it was all very sweet.

The house feels more settled again and I'm actually glad he's back.

A Glimmer of Hope

So at staff meeting yesterday, I learned that my co-worker and friend Camille is taking on the Assistant Director position. The Twain has now become "Her Majesty" or "Her Highness" as we won't include Camille in our predations and the Assistant Director has become the Director, as we all figured.

But Camille is an extremely strong woman. She has a strong personality and she says what she believes. I think the "new" Director might be in for a surprise. Indeed, she already seems so sour, you'd think her lips would fall off from the amount of pinching she does. Plus Camille is coming directly from being a counselor (which actually... oh bother, I'll just use her name... Anne did as well, but seemed to forget that), and she's been hearing all about the irritation, frustration, one might say hatred, coming from staff towards the management. And she's about people, which Anne is not. Anne is not even about the residents, which seems odd for a Director directing a house for the extremely mentally ill, with a staff to direct. And happy staff make for happy residents. Believe you me, they (the residents) pick things up and react. Generally towards the symptomatic.

But with Camille coming on, who has made it clear that she wants staff to have a voice again (whaaa, really?!), I'm just thinking there might be a glimmer of hope on the horizon at work...

Who Would Have Thunk It

Today is my "day" off, after I suffer through the two hour staff meeting in the morning. I say my day "off" because I come home and have nothing to do after that meeting and Marty is gone all day and night for his overnight on Wednesday. And usually, I guard this day fiercely; it's *mine*. I don't mind the absence of my husband. I'm used to it and it's a nice day off by myself and not being at work (we both have overnights away from each other on Sunday, but that's work).

I came home and read a book in the living room with the birds for a while, sitting in the sun. I let Phoenix out to sit in his customary spot on top of ChiBird's cage, looking out over the street. I opened up ChiBird's cage and she seemed so forlorn that I used the pair of chopsticks I keep near her cage to have her "Step Up", which she readily did and then "Step Down" onto my knee. I figured that would be a fairly safe place for her to be. ChiBird, who is usually quite evil to me, and I mean Evil, dropped her head down to my leg, which is the sign for "Scratch my head, please.", although I guess in ChiBird's Borderline fashion, it would be "Scratch my head, bitch." Normally, I don't fall for it. She looks so cute and innocent when she does it and I've reached for her before and been severely bitten. I've reached for her before, actually been able to scratch her head, lulled into a sense of complacency and then, she severely bites me. And if you think a bird the size of your fist can't do damage to you... remember, ChiBird's species, the Meyers parrot, digs holes to into solid wood to make their nests. So, blood everywhere. But ChiBird did not bite and I scratched her head and even under her chin. And she kept requesting said attention. I was very alert but she never bit me. I guess she was feeling Marty's absence, her Favored Human (he's mine, you bitchy bird), and thusly wanted any sort of attention she could get, even from the Hated Human.

I too, definitely noticed the lack of my husband this Wednesday, as well as Tuesday and Monday. Who would have thunk it. He called while I was out at the gym on Monday but the message was so garbled and staticky that I couldn't really understand it.

There's a sort of absence in the house that is noticeable beyond the usual "Marty is on his overnight". I guess I've gotten used to having my man around, physically, emotionally, energetically and dare I may say, spiritually. Who would have thunk it.

Lately, I get quite silly when he leaves, all upset and anxious. I get so worried that something is going to happen, the plane is going to crash, the car is going to crash, and he's not going to be coming back. I would, of course, survive and eventually, live well. But I would be devastated. And I realize that Marty has become a fixture in my life and I would be lacking without him. He is my playmate, my friend, my mate, my life's partner.

Me, who thought I'd never have a life long partner, who thought marriage was evil.

Who would have thunk it?

The Body War, Part 2

Well, I did indeed pay for my gym sins today. I was so sore that I slept most of the day, not wanting to move. My joints were swollen and I had to hobble around the house. But I tried to stretch as much as I could, move once up, as much as I could, understanding that to be still was to instill that suffering into my body memory. A stupid misconception of an analogy, but to cure a hangover, more of the same, right? Only in this case, it's actually true. Well, maybe not cure but definitely helps.

I can easily get drawn into an either/or mindset. I don't have a middle ground (a phrase I really hate). I prefer Center. And I don't have one. It's extremes for me, thank you very much. And I say that with the most respectful amount of sarcasm. It's not fun. It's either no exercise at all or wanting to go crazy and go everyday and exercise for three hours a day. And I had thought about it Monday after my nutso three hour stint, "I'm going to come back tomorrow!" and was already examining the lists of classes to see what was available.

However, when I woke up, I realized that would be a completely ridiculously stupid idea. I hurt way too much and really, I do vaguely have a brain in my head that I was able recognize going to the gym today would be falling into that obsessed extreme. So I did try to take it easy, while gently stretching throughout the parts of the day that I was actually awake. I did, however, have to leave the house for my Rosen session.

While there, we talked about The Body War, which was the term that I had already used to title the blog I was working (part one) and I used it in a way unknowingly, to describe what I felt was going on in my own body during the session. Then I remembered I had already come up with term.

And it's accurate. I wage a constant war with my body, not only physically but the mind attached. The emotional, mental and spiritual bodies that I carry within and without. I look in the mirror and despair. I see my reflection and feel rage. I hate my body and often, the person within. I feel fat and ugly, I feel worthless. I definitely don't feel hot. And I want to be hot. Ahh, but really, do I? As Steuart always asked, how does it serve?

There are so many layers to the answer to this question and it feels like forever that it will take to strip them away, to uncover some sense of liking. But I guess it boils down to this:

Being tall and slender, being hot (as in good looking), being "different", being lively and invigorated, full of passion made myself a target that garnered very serious consequences - being teased, picked on, bullied, chased walking home from school, tripped in the hallways, being slammed into lockers, my hair pulled, jumped on while playing in the school yard, knocked down and kicked while on the ground, having extremely clever, emotionally manipulating schemes played against me (and me, being who I was, falling for it over and over), being touched in inappropriate ways by adults and peers alike.

So the war continues, fiercely raging from one battleground to the next without end, or maybe even without reduction. I guess it really can't go anywhere until I realize that there is safety in my life now. And then, why need the the war to create safety?

Funny that, don't you think? That something so horrible is developed in order to be protective. Let's hear it for Inner Critics.

The Body War, Part 1

I am in a constant war with my body. Never ending. Well, I would like it to end but right now, it's difficult.

I used to be slender and tall (well, I've always been tall, can't change that). But I was 5'9" and weighed 135 pounds. Skinny. Probably too much so. Apparently good looking. But I don't think even then I thought I looked good although occasionally I look back and think, "Well, okay, I might have been considered hot." Tall, slender and fairly strong, taking Tae Kwon Do almost four nights a week. I was dealing with some of the chronic pain stuff, now I realize, likely brought on by the deep depression I was experiencing from 12 to 18 years old, and then settling into my body like an unwanted guest. I'll get to that whole thing in my next post, Part 2.

So, I went to the gym today and attended the Iyengar Yoga class at 6:30pm to 8:00pm. The instructor had some sort of accent that I kept trying to identify the entire class. Some sort of mid-western, New England kind of sound to it. And with one of those sick yoga bodies. You know the type, slender with a good butt shown off by those skin tight type pants. And when she says, "Okay, and now into Downward Dog." and pushes down and up with her butt, you're like, uhm, do bodies really move like that?

But I gamely engaged. I think I was a newbie because she was calling a lot of the class participants by name. I may have gamely engaged but my body was like "Uhm, no." I used to be very flexible, able to put my foot behind my head and easily do kicks over people's heads as tall as I was, even taller. So here I was, struggling to get my body to stretch into positions it's probably never seen and hasn't seen in almost two decades. But I did discover that all is not lost, that I still had some measure of flexibility. It's something I'll have to work on for sure but at least I'm not a rock with no mobility.

The previous paragraph may have inklings of positive regard for the situation but it really didn't go down like that. I was at war. I've developed some sort of weird thing in my wrists, especially my right, where I can't bear weight on it. I can if I make a fist and support myself that way with the wrist straight but bent, palm out on the floor, it's agony. And yoga has a lot of this type of support required. But I was like "FUCK YOU, WRIST!! You will do what I tell you!" No positive regard there but pure, snarling pissed off-ness.

I am so sick and tired of picking up something and then having my body get in the way of doing it. I quit fencing because of my right knee, something in the little tendon attaching the bottom of the kneecap to the shin. I quit Taiko because the stance was starting to aggravate the tendonitis in both my hips (which originally was from fencing). I can't run because it hurts my knees so bad I don't want to walk the next day, much less the same day. And when I engage in something active, my body starts up and I listen to it. I say, "Okay, I won't. I can't. I hurt too much."

But tonight, I wasn't having any of it. I said to myself, "I want to start going to the gym. I want to start being physical again. I want to LIKE being physical again." I remember loving being hard core physical at Tae Kwon Do. "Wrist, YOU WILL FUCKING DO THIS!!!". And it hurt. It hurt bad. But I did the Downward Dog. Not anywhere nearly as gracefully as the instructor. I did the whatever-the-hell-they-are-called poses that required me to bear most of my weight on my wrists in that foul bent position. I was almost to the point of tears a couple of times. And a couple of times I let off and tried to do the poses with my hands as fists, which didn't work all that well. But I made it through the class in pretty much one piece.

And then, I went to the Karate class at 8:00pm to 9:30pm. Yeah, I know, crazy. And no, I wasn't trying to kill myself. The karate is Ogasawara-ha Shorinji Ryu Karatedo, basically another one of those many forms that karate seems to have. Karate is Japanese, Tae Kwon Do is Korean. I walked in and was the newest member of the class, meaning I was last in the line up, all senior members first, no matter the skill level. Same with Taiko, you lined up by seniority of time, not skill. I could probably go back to the beginner's class and line up at front even though my skill would be less than the first person in line. But again, gamely forth I go.

The class was taught by a white guy, black belt in the type of Karate mentioned above. He seemed quite nice, explained everything well, wrote Japanese terms on the board and did not drive the class hard (which makes sense if it's made up of YMCA exercisers, although some of the folks were in gi's with belts up to green).

Again, he was nice but he wasn't Sabum Nim (Master) Lee, my Tae Kwon Do instructor in Greenville. I was one of Master Lee's first students when he opened his Do Jang as a very young instructor fresh from Korea, in Greenville, NC, of all places. I was with him for almost 4 years and I was a high red belt (my next belt would have been black but I moved away). And I have never found another instructor that I wanted to learn under after him. No one measured up. Well, maybe Sensei Tanaka, my Taiko instructor, but that was Taiko, which considers itself something of a martial even though it's about drumming, but it is not a hard core "martial" art. While engaged in the class, I missed Master Lee. A lot. A whole different part of my life there.

But the YMCA instructor was nice enough to feel like I didn't have to reject the class out of hand although I doubt I would give the same kind of loyalty and fierce attention that I gave Master Lee, even over time. Especially only going once a week (the second class held is Thursday night, which, of course, is my overnight, and impossible to attend).

This Karate, at least at the beginning level, was almost exactly like the Tae Kwon Do I remembered and apparently that my body remembered. Really well. Other than the extra weight, loss of flexibility, stiffness and pain, it was almost as if I were back in my old Tae Kwon Do classes. Let's fucking hear it for cellular memory. Although, this curious thought arose for me. Cells replace themselves over the course of time. I'm not sure how often, or if, muscle cells replace, but I assume they do since I've heard most of the body replaces itself over the course of one's lifetime. If they do, then how do they pass down the "memory" of the action to the next generations to come so that, decades later, you still remember how to do a flying jump kick. Here's a Wiki entry on muscle memory that didn't make much sense to me but you can give it a shot.

I really, really remembered. Sometimes, I needed to see the move as I didn't recognize the Japanese word or even remembered the English term for a move but then it was, "I know that." And for the most part, my body responded fairly smoothly. And several times, my body responded with fierce glee. I threw myself into the first half of the class with a fierce gusto I don't remember experiencing in a very, very long time. I went hard and precise, reveling. I think, perhaps, I shall have to pace myself next time because I was definitely struggling the last half, drenched in sweat, exhausted. I'd already been through the torturous yoga as well. At one point though, my right knee started hurting, more than the usual pain I get from impact work. Later, I realized that it might have been due to the scooter accident I had months ago where I came off my scooter (I was going 30 miles an hour) and first impact was my right knee. But again, I engaged in the Art of the Body War. "FUCK YOU, KNEE!! You will do this!! Keep going!". And I kept going.

I was limping when I got home. My feet were fairly swollen and I had some blisters (why is everything barefooted on wood floors?). And I knew I would pay for it in the next days to come.

Pass the Irritation, Please

Well, not much to say other than going to work really bit the big one. It is just getting harder and harder.

On another note, I bade my husband goodbye for the week as he's off to Esalen to finish up his EMDR training. He's an EMDR junkie for sure.

Wiki on EMDR.

Car In Process

We were going to look at cars today but ended up staying home.

So the car thing is still in process. Fortunately, the truck is still in the process of moving.

Vantage Point

After couple's therapy, Marty and I went to watch "Vantage Point" with Dennis Quaid (finally looking his age and a bit rough), William Hurt and Forest Whitaker. It was about a secret service agent trying to figure out about the assassination of the president and is told from the different view points of various people surrounding the event. I liked it fairly well. It reminded me of "Memento" although with a different idea behind it. Marty, of course, thought it lacked, that it gave up its unique idea in the middle of the movie, when everyone's story sort of comes together and intertwines. It was your general action flick type plot, not extremely deep, more about the convention of the vantage points and a very intense car chase. Although no car chase in my eyes has been able to knock out "Death Proof" as the top all time car chases. "Death Proof" was one of the Grindhouse movies that Tarantino recently did and it almost had me in seizures, I was so scared.

Then Marty and I went to the gym and I engaged the Anteloper fairly well, even managing to increase the resistance and ramp incline a little bit. Still need a good sports bra. And need to make a specific play list on my iPod for workout music since I seem to be skipping through my list very frequently to find something I want to Antelope to.

Marty was several machines away on the treadmill and I found myself glancing over often to look at him. I think the other people between myself and him were starting to wonder if I was looking at them or not.

In my moments of pique involving Marty, I have a tendency to be rather disparaging towards him physically, sometimes in person, usually in my mind. "His hairline is receding, he has creepy teeth and a tiny chin, he breathes through his mouth all the time, his lips are lumbersome (don't ask, it's a Heatherism)."

But in those non-irritated moments, I really don't feel like that at all. I think my husband is a cute and handsome man.

I had noticed some of my pique coming up faintly in couple's therapy, watching his face and feeling slightly irritated at one point in the therapy that so much time was being spent on him. But I got over it fairly quickly because I realized I was tired and really didn't want to be put on the spot like I had been last session. And besides, in my mind (and all our minds in couple's therapy!!), he needs to be fixed anyway. I kid. Mostly.

But on the Anteloper, all that melted away and I only saw his beauty. He wasn't wearing his glasses, which always softens his face. He was sweating and the sun was coming in through the window to set his face all aglow. He had that sort of inward/outward focus kind of energy. You know the one, trying to ignore and be in your body at the same time while exercising, or you are thinking of something in a very open way. He just looked very soft and beautiful in the moment.

And I couldn't help to keep looking at my gorgeous husband from my own personal vantage point.

Plus, for some reason, he's really terribly sexy in those fingerless weight lifter's gloves. Actually, for that matter, I find any adornment: bracelets, close-to-the-neck necklaces, (neither of which he ever wears), very sexy on him. They seem to transform him into a hot wild desert princeling. Yum!

A Dinner Affair

I've noticed something at work today that has been happening on my shifts but became more clear at dinner tonight.

We have a very social house right now. Several clients are very talkative and at least a couple are high enough functioning to say "Why are you even here in this program?". So there's a lot of actual socializing going on among the residents and staff.

I sat down to dinner and we usually chat about the food or the day and suddenly I notice how "family" oriented the energy seemed.

I didn't grow up in a big family. Usually just me and my mom, or me and my father and step-mother. No siblings. But I have the idea of a noisy dinner table from Thanksgiving dinners with extended family. But that's once a year.

I was struck with the "fun-ness" of the dinner. Lots of talking and "hey, pass the apple juice!" and amiable, not crazy, laughing. And then lingering conversation afterwards. Usually clients inhale their dinner and disappear. But lately, we have at least four or five people sitting around and chatting about whatever comes up. Anything from the food to politics to social/world issues.

I have to say it's pretty cool and I've started looking forwards to dinner at work. Although, I have to say, I always keep an eye on anything I look forwards to at work. Because things can shift quite quickly and it's easy to get pulled into the "but it was happening this way!!" attitude and be easily disappointed.

But for now, the dinner affair is quite pleasant.

Furiosity

Yeah, staff meeting. That awful two hours on Wednesday mornings that I have come to hate. And this Wednesday was no different. Well, different in the sense that I felt furious during and then after. And apparently I'm not the only one. I found out later that at least one of my co-workers were frustrated to the point of rage as well.

The Twain, as they are called among my direct co-worker and I, are merely getting worse. Fortunately, the main director is leaving at the end of March to have a baby and then go back to Scotland, not to return to us. Thank the Gods. But then, the Other one is left (assistant director) and she is very likely taking over the director position. I don't see much of the main director since she runs two programs (which was stupid of the agency) but actually better for us because we only see her part time. But the one left... she's scary. No people skills which seems dumb for a director but hey, some people make it past the filter.

My anger lasted most of the rest of the day, my day "off". How annoying.

I'm willing to hang around and see what happens in March. Maybe we'll get someone who can balance the crazy boss out. Maybe. Please Gods, let it be so.

March can't come fast enough.

Making Entries

I should probably do my best not to wait to make a blog entry because I seem to be forgetting what I did on past days. So I'll do my best to keep as close to the date as I can.

Don't You Love Mondays

So apparently this girl shot a bunch of kids and adults at a school across from her house and when caught and asked why, she showed no remorse and simply stated "I don't like Mondays." This British band turned it into a song. It's a pretty up-beat "happy" song with a bit of a creepy music video, naturally, considering the content.

"I Don't Like Mondays" by the Boomtown Rats.

Speaking of Nooby

Speaking of Nooby, as I mentioned him recently in my "Muscles" post, I have an update on said cute kitty.

He has been de-wormed and thusly allowed to sleep with me again (at work, of course).

I think the photo is supposed to be tilted more to the left to level out the line in the back but it was the best I could do since I was laying down facing him.

Here he is laying on the quilt next to me before I turned out the light for sleep... or whatever proximates thereof these days.

What a CUTE kitty!!!

Saturday of Blah

This Saturday was one of those days when I just wanted to lay around and do nothing but eat crap and watch movies. My back still hurt, my adjustment not having completely shifted the rib that was out, and I just felt a little Blah. Maybe it was hormones from my period or just from being so damn tired all the time lately.

So other than dropping off and picking up the scooter for its oil change, going shopping at Costco (wherein I got the dates of my coupons wrong and did not end up saving a lot of money) and Rainbow, our trusty not-quite-neighborhood co-op, I did indulge and lay around and watched a movie and TV.

I watched The Day After Tomorrow, a movie off of my own shelf, wherein Earth experiences a sudden climate change and enters into a new Ice Age, courtesy of global warming. All in all, it's a well put together movie in term of cinematography and acting and all that. The only thing is, that kind of change wouldn't happen that fast and even they said so in the movie and didn't know why it had happened so quickly (other than so much fresh water dumping into the salty ocean from Antarctic melt-off and slowing down the global current - this is an actual theory of what global warming could do). So likely that was a bit off, for dramatic effect. Here was my other problem, mostly personal, with the movie. If you are stuck in a large stone building (the New York City Public library, say) and you are trying to keep one room warm where everyone is huddled together, with a massive double door entryway, why on this earth would you leave the damn doors open for so long when coming in and out of the room. They come in and stand there, talking about some plan with the doors still wide open. I mean, I yell at my husband when he leaves a crack open with my bedroom door because that's usually where we have the heater going. And heat escapes very quickly. So, uhm, DUH, close the damn doors as soon as possible. Hell, use only one of them and shut it up as soon as possible. Other than that, liked the movie.

Jumper

Marty and I went to see the movie Jumper after seeing our trusty neighborhood chiropractor.

He thought it was an "oddly shallow movie" whereas, I as usual, found something I could like in it, making the whole movie, at least "okay" in my eyes.

Although what I liked in it wasn't really about the movie itself but the idea of being able to "Jump" anywhere I wanted, at any time. I mean, how cool would it be to say "Hmm, I really want a croissant with good Parisian coffee right now" while sitting at your home in some out of the way town and bamf!, you're sitting in Paris, at a cafe, having your snack. "I want to go scuba diving this weekend in the Red Sea." and pop, there you are. And yes, I could see how tempting it would be to just Jump into a vault and take lots of money.

As they say, absolute power....

We had a nice visit from one of Marty's friend's who needed a place to stay on her way to the airport. She's a very steady, "Earth Mother" sort with some of that great "adventuress" thrown in. So that was a short but sweet little visit before heading to watch Marty play his strange little video game to completion an then bed.

Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day doesn't mean much in our household. Marty came in, gave me a kiss, said "Happy Valentine's Day!" and went off to his day.

On the irritating side of work, we got a new Administrative Assistant much to most of our disgruntlement at how the previous one, whom we all liked, was let go. And she's coming in with the same attitude that our (new) bosses had (still have) when they came in. Hostile takeover!! You guys need to do this and not do that. In her case, don't adjust "my" chair (a chair we all use) and don't leave your personal items around the "office environment" (four of us practically live here 45 hours a week, overnights). She's like a mini version of one of our bosses (the worst one).

On the more positive side of work, I brought fun soap and candle making supplies to work with me for Women's Group so the female residents could make some fun things for Valentine's Day. It went well and was fun.

So here's the Free Hug Campaign (so sweet!!) for your Valentine's Day.



As an aside, I ran up and hugged a massive man in wild Road Warrior armor who was carrying a Free Hugs sign at Burning Man, 2007.

Haircut by an Alien Abductee

Today's morning was my usual, going to work for my usually tense staff meeting from 10am-12pm, which fortunately was replaced by our once a month training at the main office. So I go to work, leave my scooter there and drive our big honkin' passenger van with my fellow co-workers down to the main office in San Mateo. Once driving everyone back up to Eucalyptus House, I collected my scooter and headed home.

On the way home, I decided that I wanted to do something nice for myself. Maybe a manicure and a much needed haircut and a little sushi. I ended up getting a haircut and a lot of sushi. But the haircut was an adventure of its own.

So, I knew there were a couple of places that did nails and hair around the block from where I live so I went to the closest one. Upon examination of their meager nail station, I decided I'd go the route of my husband and get a "cheapie" haircut. I usually am one of those folks that pays $70 for a haircut. Not because I'm rich or want any kind of social status or what not, but I know that you often get what you pay for. And while this is not always the case with hairstylists, it often is accurate. I've rarely gotten a bad haircut for $70, I've rarely gotten a good haircut for $25. But I decided to chance it since I didn't want to pay $70. So I did a walk in and only had to wait fifteen minutes or so to get put in the washer station.

I really didn't need the wash, and how she ended cutting my hair... the wash didn't make sense. But it was one of the nicest hair washes I think I've ever had. She scrubbed with her nails but gently, no digging in. It felt like my scalp was getting a massage. Now I see why Marty wants me to scrub my nails on his head all the time. And it also felt like she was getting a really deep cleaning done as well. So that was nice.

Then she seated me, placing the usual "bib" or whatever that thing is around me. Then... she blow-dried my hair and proceeded to start cutting. I was like... wha? I mean, you leave it wet and then cut it so you can see where the uneven bits are, right? Then she started talking. And she had a thick Asian accent that was hard to understand but I did my best, trying to keep engaged with the topic at hand, which seemed to meander at sudden moments. While she was talking, she would keep coming around to the front to look me directly in the eye, rather than looking at me in the mirror like ever other hairdresser I've ever been to. So when she would come around to the front, of course, she would stop cutting my hair so a cut that should have been quick ended up being quite slow.

And what topics might have come up, you ask? Well, at one point, with my ears strained at the max to try and pick up recognizable phonemes, I realized she was asking me something. "You know, U - F - O.", she spelled it out because I think she realized I hadn't got it when she just said "ufo", as if saying how it was written. I said, "Oh, yes, UFOs, like from space, you mean?" She eagerly acknowledged, seeming pleased that I understood and then proceeded to launch into how she had seen a UFO (maybe several, this was unclear) when she was 8 or 9 years old. This was followed by a long explanation of which I maybe got one quarter. In that long drawn out monologue, I think she mentioned something about "they" or "them" doing things to people... maybe to her and how they're always here or some such. It really was garbled. So I'm not even sure I heard that but it sounded an awful lot like it.

Fortunately, she got derailed into another topic by her fellow hairdresser who was cutting the hair of a young man who was shortly going to school in Beijing, China and all about the new building that was in process for the Olympics soon to be held there.

She finished the cut and happily showed me the back of my head with the double mirror trick. It basically looked the same as when I came in, maybe slightly more trimmed. I pulled out my card and found they only took cash. I mean, what hair salon takes cash! So I told her I could get a check from my house around the corner and she let me go get it, just leaving the salon with no collateral in place.

Of course I returned, and wrote out $30 for the most interesting haircut I've had in a long time. The cut itself sucked but the hair wash was very nice and hey, it isn't everyday that one gets their hair cut by an alien abductee.

Muscles

Marty and I went to the gym again today. We went to the little Inner Richmond YMCA now that it's been renovated, although I didn't really notice a difference and Marty, who goes there all the time, didn't really either.

The Richmond YMCA doesn't have the little TV thingies over the machines but they have several Antelopers so I got on one of the newer ones but it was too "steppy" and I couldn't figure out to get the strides to lengthen and the more up and down hurt my knees. So I switched to another that seemed to be like the usual Anteloper I was used to, popped on my iPod and went at it. It was a little harder without the TV thingie but eventually I managed to sink into the music in order to ignore wanting to stop.

The Star Wars Overture by John Williams is an amazingly inspiring piece of music. I used it to "launch" Marty and I on to our Burning Man road trip and as I was Anteloping, it came up on my iPod and as, usual, every time I hear the piece, I get goosebumps. I almost launched myself off the Anteloper, I was so excited. You all know it. And REALLY listen to it. It's a damn good piece of music. 2:09 marks the beginning of my absolute favorite part of the whole thing. Here's, as I gather, John Williams conducting the piece. It's not the best sound quality, say as on my iPod, but it does the trick. My favorite part is a little muffled as well.



So, after I almost killed myself on the Anteloper to John Williams' fabulous work, I finished up and got off. Marty wasn't done yet so I just watched him. He was working on the weight machines. Marty's gotten into this muscle boy kick recently, where he wants to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Well, not that muscled, as he points out but "like the Body For Life dude". Who is still very defined, in that sort of carved kind of way. I could only find the front of the book photo of the guy but you might get the idea. I told Marty I'd divorce him if he started looking like Ah-nold or anything close. I think that extreme bodybuilder look is gross and inhuman. I'm not fond of the bulging muscles with veins popping all over on even the moderate body enthusiasts either. I think my husband looks absolutely fabulously sexy as he is and I'm not just saying that because he reads this blog either. Since starting this endeavor, he definitely has gotten muscles and I understand two parts of the reason that he is wanting the more "manly" look. One, he wants to be healthy and strong, which is definitely understandable; I certainly could use it myself. The other is more psychological and stems from childhood to young adult and I shan't go into it here. In any case, he works out several times a week, often on these machines, sometimes with the free weights.

I sat on one of the machines near him, moving when he moved to a different one. I tried not to chatter while he was working out because he was counting and concentrating. But sitting quietly is not one of my fortés either. So I watched the muscles in his arms moving. I'm always fascinated watching Nooby, the house cat at work, get up and stretch or even just walking around. Especially when he stretches, you can see the muscles under his fur clearly outlined, lengthening, contracting, general movement. It's just neat to watch. So I was watching Marty's arms in the same way. Bicep bunching, forearms delineated. Marty says I have a puerile fascination with body "stuff", such as watching with keen fascination as the doctor pokes a stick almost an inch into Marty's foot wound when they had to drain it. I'm sorry, but it's very interesting.

And it kept me mostly busy and quiet although I think I still annoyed him a little bit with questions while he worked out.

Can't Remember

Can't remember this day. I think I slept, as usual. The tiredness continues.

Crazy Work

Work was fine for the most part today. We have a fairly social group in the house right now. Some quiet folks. Some struggling folks.

One of our struggling folks' girlfriend came over drunk or high or something and then fell asleep on the couch and then refused to leave, howling "Fuck you" and screaming. So I just called the police and let them deal with her. I'm so over trying to be "nice" these days.

That was the only drama, fortunately.

Par-Tay!

We had a little party at our place this evening. Mostly friends of Marty although a couple of people I knew, my old roommate and a colleague from my old internship site and a previous classmate from CIIS.

It was a chatty event, although some of it explaining about parrots and introduction our "kids" around. I wrote up cute little cards to put on each of their cages, explaining their personalities and even, as therapists are probably wont to do, gave them each a diagnosis. ChiBird the Borderline, William the Schizoid, Phoenix the Narcissist, and they are all Neurotic.

It was also a lot of me sitting around listening to the "boys" (since I was the only female human in the room) talk about eastern spirituality and meditation. I'm not as into that as Marty is and apparently a good part of the room was but it was still interesting. And I was content to sit and listen, occasionally speaking although not often.

Marty and I did note that we should hold these parties more often. Not only do we get to hang out with friends but we get to clean our house beyond picking up a few things here and there. Like scrubbing the wall moldings, that sort of of thing.

So Marty and I figured if we have more parties, our house would be blindingly clean.

The Anteloper

I'm not a gym rat. I hate gyms actually. Remember, I don't even want to exercise in front of myself so doing so in a room full of people is not my idea of fun. Well, hell, exercise isn't even my idea of fun.

But Marty and I had a family membership to our neighborhood YMCA, in the Richmond district and I went quite infrequently, which is why we switched it down to a membership for just Marty. But during the few times that I was there, I tried out a machine that I dubbed as "The Anteloper".

The Anteloper, I think actually is what is called an elliptical machine, sort of like cross-country skiing and/or running without impact. I called it The Anteloper because when I got on and started up the movements, it seemed almost "bouncy" in my joints, like bounding across the plains like an antelope. I was impressed. But apparently not impressed enough to make it a full time thing.

But today, I went with Marty on one of his guest passes, to the Presidio YMCA (the Richmond is under brief renovations). So I dutifully got on one of their Antelopers, about the same as the one I remember and started "stepping" away. It was not as "antelopey" as I recalled but I was able to keep a fairly steady pace for about 45 minutes. And remember, I hate exercise. Walking to the store two blocks away is a chore.

But I had my iPod and watched reruns of Beauty & The Geek (on mute, just reading the subtitles while I enjoyed my music) on their little streaming media TVs, although maybe they are actual factual TVs rather than internet media.

I had to hang on to the handles because every time I took my hands off to take a drink of water, I would feel unstable and would have to stop. I also couldn't help myself when up there from dancing, bobbing and weaving while stepping, like a drunk and in-love-with-techno parrot. Music grooves my thang, you know.

One drawback hopefully easily solved... err... need a really good sports bra!

So, the Anteloper might be a possibility for continued exercise. I'm going to use Marty's free passes first to see if we might take on the family membership again so I can go Antelope on my own.

Work Is Work, Chaos Personified

Work is, as usual, work. Sometimes it's laid back, although this is rare. Usually it's hectic and dramatic. Lately, with the addition of the new bosses, it is very chaotic as well. One of our bosses just comes in like a personified Wind of Chaos and breathes it everywhere like dragon's breath, making the residents crazy, the other workers crazy and then the whole environment goes to shit.

And she doesn't get it either. She just burbles along with her own perceived happiness in "doing" everything she can get her hands on and doesn't realize there is a distinct breakdown of sanity going on around her. I hate it. Well, who wouldn't... well, unless you are also chaos personified, you might love it.

What I hate even more is if I'm not watching myself, I get swept up in the Chaos Wave and start participating in it. So I try to leave the room or make myself scarce if possible. Which usually isn't. She is always reeling you back in, making it her business to be your business.

Tiring.

The Ride Down

So today was my first supervision back with Caminar again. Caminar is the agency that I work for, a large, non-profit, mental health system. Because I have started to lose MFT hours, after January 31st, I need to make up those lost hours somehow. So I am headed back into the supervisee role... bleh. I don't like being supervised in general although I understand the need for it.

So I get on my new trusty blue scooter and head down after my staff meeting at Eucalyptus House. The best way down is 280 because I wouldn't even want to drive 101 in a car. Lots of construction and very busy due to the San Francisco airport being on that route. 280 is prettier anyway, lots of hills and greenery. Less cars definitely. But all in all, it wasn't a fun ride.

I don't remember being that nervous on the Katana. Granted that bike was about 2oo pounds heavier and made for fast speeds, much more stable. I felt like I was being buffeted around quite a bit and after maybe about 20 minutes of that, I was starting to feel like "Okay, this can be over now."

So then sitting through the two hour supervision, which is a whole different post and thinking about the ride back up and really not wanting to do it. But I got up gussied up again, pulling my scarf up and tucking it between my cheeks and helmet to keep my neck warm, making sure my sleeves were secure, battening down the hatches basically. It gets cold at 70 miles an hour!

I might take El Camino Real next time. It'll take longer because it's a regular city street with lots of stop lights but less windy. And less scary.

Another Tired Day

Another Tired Day.

I'm just not sleeping much these days. Don't sleep, don't rest. It's starting to wear me down more than usual because it's more than usual.

Sleeeeeeepppyyyy........

Nerdcore

So, speaking of White & Nerdy and nerds in rap... what is Nerdcore?

Well, and I was pretty much in the dark as well (watch that grue!), until Marty sent me a link to this video. "It is Pitch Dark" by MC Frontalot who apparently is the coining Father of Nerdcore.

Nerdcore is a version of hip hop music music, rapping, if you will, directly related to the purview of nerds.

Yes, nerds have rap with nerdy content. Why should they be left out? So, Nerdcore got all started up to fill this sorely lacking gap in the music and message purveying world.

Now, if you're not a True Nerd, this song isn't going to mean anything to you because you won't even know what a grue is in the first place. It's okay. There are places you can go for conversion, I'm sure. Plus, ask that True Nerd in your life to explain it to you. Although maybe even contemporary True Nerds (meaning younger Nerd generations) might be in the dark, without a light source, as the days of Zork and text interactive fiction have gone by the wayside. But I say a good Nerd should know their good nerdling history!

So, I give you an example of Nerdcore!

White and Nerdy

I used to be a big fan of Weird Al Yankovic. I used to be because I actively listened to him as if I were listening to Oingo Boingo, would put an album on, etc. I still like him, I think he's terribly clever but generally don't go out of my way to listen to a whole album. I don't turn it off if it pops up on my iTunes and I still laugh.

Here's the original of a song that Weird Al, for comparison. This is "Ridin' Dirty" by Chamillionaire. I like the music of the song, it's pretty catchy. I even like rapping, although I'm not all that into the content of the rap.

I do, however, LOVE Weird Al's version, with some hysterical dance cameos from Donny Osmond. And it's the kind of song that gets stuck in the brain, over and over. You're welcome.

Here's "White & Nerdy" (wiki entry) by Weird Al.

I would say that appeals to nerds everywhere. And you know are you one (a nerd) or have at least some tendencies somewhere in your psyche if you even understood a quarter of the things presented in Weird Al's version. You don't have to admit it to others if you don't want to, but at least to yourself...

I'm a nerd and proud of it.

The Story of Stuff

My astronomy teacher sent this link about The Story of Stuff and it's really fascinating. I recommend everyone watch this.

It's a bit snarky, but maybe appropriately so, but apparently those numbers and stats are real. Ouch.

The Story of Stuff

We are so into "stuff" and shopping and commercialism that we even love and can't wait to see the commercials done up for the Superbowl.

Well, I don't but I watched these from the link provided to see what all the "Top Rated Commercials" were and I have to admit some of them were pretty funny. But would I buy a Pepsi? Hell no.

And do we really need how ever many types of shampoo and toothpaste and mp3 players? Probably not. Watch the Story of Stuff unfold.

A Dog's Breakfast

So A Dog's Breakfast is a very cute and funny Indie movie done by David Hewlett and friends. And who the hell is David Hewlett, you ask?

Well, currently and maybe most known, he is playing Dr. Rodney McKay on Sci-Fi's Stargate: Atlantis, reprising as a full time roll, an occasional role he had on Stargate: SG1. He decided to do this movie and several friends, other actors from the Stargate TV series (both) decided to step in and help out.

Likely with the fame he has with Stargate fans, he was able to get a bigger studio deal for the movie and although it didn't go to theaters, got at least a DVD you can get through Netflix. That, in my eyes, is pretty good, if you can get so widely distributed on Netflix. They basically had figured it was just going to be a small, fun thing to just create but then became so much more.

The story is of a sort of compulsive man living in his parent's house (parents died in a car accident some years ago) and his sister (played by Kate Hewlett, David Hewlett's actual sister) comes to visit for Christmas, bringing along, unannounced, her new fiancé to meet her brother. The fiancé is a TV star for one of those bad space dramas, you remember Buck Rogers don't you? At one point, the brother overhears the fiancé talking on the phone to someone about getting rid of the sister so he can be with another woman. Thus begins the brother's plan to remove the fiancé from the sister's life in order to save her from this perceived murderer. The brother begins to plot out all these different ways of bringing on the demise of the actor. Much silliness and hilarity ensues from there. It's a dark comedy.

There is an old style humor to this movie that will not appeal to everyone. I found most of it pretty funny. There is one scene without giving too much away where the fiancé is up on a ladder hanging Christmas lights and the brother is running around screaming down below. I just howled, I thought that was the funniest scene in the movie.

Plus it was interesting to see these actors in different roles than what I usually see them in on TV although with David and Kate Hewlett, they didn't seem so different as Kate played Rodney McKay's sister on Stargate: Atlantis as well. They definitely had the squabbling siblings thing down.

I recommend the movie just for the fun silliness that it is and to support the efforts of Indie film!!