Climbing in Skirts

Back to that whole thing on appearances. Kids always pick up on differences. Even in the earliest stages of development they start to sort things out, group them by similarities.

My mom enrolled me in gymnastics when I was about 4. (It probably had something to do with the fact that my sister and I were using the basement couch to vault off of.) Anyways, I wasn't all that coordinated. I blame it on the fact that my legs were way out of proportion with the rest of my body (and then there was the fact that I was chubby and lacking in upper body strength).
One day sticks out in my head. I was at gymnastics and I had decided to cover myself in white chalk. The chalk that we used on our hands to grip the bars. I thought nothing of it. I was wearing my leotard and I started with my legs. Then my arms. I don't remember if I got to my face. I just remember my mom being mad and taking me to the restroom to remove the chalk.

Kids notice differences. I was convinced that my sister, who is several shades lighter than me, was adopted. When I was a preschool teacher one of my kids asked if the brown washed off. I had to explain that it didn't (and I recall secretly wishing that it did).

About 9 years ago I made an attempt to domesticate this cat. Sure he may look like some average lazy-ass house cat, but that is only during the winter. As soon as spring hits, he is out the door. New baby animals, BEWARE. Louis was a dumpster diving kitty before we rescued him, part of him will remain that way forever.

Every year I take him to the vet and get lectured on what a bad pet owner I am. I should keep the cat inside. He will live a longer life (the cat is atleast 10, I think he has lived way past the lifespan of the average dumpster diving cat.

So, why am I babbling about the cat? Megan is concerned that one day I will be feral like my cat.

So what exactly does that mean?

I asked the Wikipedia.

"A feral animal is one that has reverted from the domesticated state to a stable condition more or less resembling the wild."

She's basically concered that lack of contact with actual human beings will ruin my whole ability to socialize/communicate with others. In some ways I agree (I might consider myself socially challenged), but in reading the definition it doesn't say that being feral is a bad thing. It can lead to diversification of the species (but I don't think that excuse is going to fly with Meg)

A while back, Meg established the rule that I needed to be out and about with people atleast twice a week. I could hermit all I wanted for the rest of the week. But there is a flaw in that requirement. Going out to a concert counts as being out and about with people. Even if I go alone. If I am not going out to meet up with people I am still capable of withdrawing completely.
One show that sticks out is the Of Montreal show I went to at Emo's. I was tired, it was cold out, the venue was crowded and smokey. I was grumpy. I didn't talk to anyone and I pretty much spaced out and enjoyed the music. Once I got past the doorman asking for my ID and stamping my wrist I was done interacting with people. Usually I am not that bad, but I find myself doing that more often lately. I caught myself zoning out a few times like that during SXSW.

My not meeting new people is partially my fault for closing myself off. But it is partially the rest of the world's fault for not letting me in.

As for the cat, well, maybe he will be a full-time house cat in his next life.

I bought my first piece of exercise equipment a few weeks ago. I had been chatting with Meg about the fact that "my people" may look good but they drop like flies without warning. I decided that I needed more than pilates. I needed cardio. But I hate running (I feel like a muppet when I run). I used to do the whole cardio strip tease thing with Leslie but, the studio closed and I didn't want to join the gym to take the class.

March is a good time to hunt for exercise equipment on Craigslist. Most people are cleaning out their garages and giving up on that new years resolution. I was thinking eliptical machine or exercise bike. Something that I could use while watching tv. Even better if I could find something for $50 or less.

I found a Gazelle for $50 and talked the owner down to $40. Unfortunately I don't have a vehicle that could go pick it up. Then by total chance I found another one listed on Craigslist for $30. I called around to see if someone could go get it. I lucked out. Keely was downtown and she had $30 to pay for it.

I am now the proud owner of the Gazelle Supra. It's slightly used, I cleaned it up (it was covered in red dust) and oiled it up. I replaced the batteries in the "computer). The model doesn't exist anymore (the name has changed) but the new model costs about $279.99. The only thing missing was the cup holder. Which really isn't that important. I attached some velcro to it so I can stick the remote to it.

So now I do my zero impact run on the Gazelle while I watch tv. I figure I can watch crappy shows like "The Search for the Next Pussycat Doll" as long as I am working out. It's not as bad as if I was just lying on the couch watching such crap.

I feel better since I started on this quest. I don't know that I will live any longer because of it. Will it make me more coordinated. Make me less muppet-like should I decide to take up running? Who knows? Health aside, I just want to look good naked.

My family has never been that great at communicating. Usually things come up in more of an "oh, by the way" manner, family emergencies included. Like when my grandfather passed away. My dad called my sister to say that we had lost our grandfather. Lost?? Steph didn't know she was responsible for keeping track of him. Anyways, the message could have been conveyed a little better. Or when my aunt was hospitalized for a heart problem. "Oh, your mom had to leave town to take care of your aunt in the hospital." No explaination as to what happened. I don't think that anyone was informed of my car accident (head on collision), until way after the fact. For the most part I was ok. I just had a few broken teeth

So, Steph called me last night. I was in the middle of cooking dinner so I didn't answer the phone. I checked the voice mail and it sounded a little frantic. " Mom's hands are in splints, she has carpal tunnel, Dad took her to the doctor because her hands turned blue". First I thought, "gee why didn't mom and dad call me?" Then I called Steph to get the story. I called her first because my parent's aren't the greatest at explaining how serious a situation is. Steph and I chatted for a bit about what went down and about our family's communication problem. She found out that mom went to the hospital for her hands because mom called to ask how much Steph's hairdresser charged to wash hair. Most mom's would have pulled the "I brought you into this world card" and said "I am injured, can you come over and wash my hair?" Not my mom. I am guessing that she doesn't want to be a burden to us like her mom was to her and my aunt. Burdens aside. We all live in the same city. It's no big deal.

I called mom last night and got the story. She was out walking with her neighbor and her hands turned blue. She came home and they went from blue to red. So dad took her to the doctor. They took some blood tests. They had her come in for more tests and then they told her that she had carpal tunnel and she had to wear splints for the next 2 weeks. I told her that I never heard of blue hands being a symptom of carpal tunnel (I had researched carpal tunnel a few years ago before I was diagnosed as having scar tissue built up in my wrist from that car accident). I told her to hang tight and I would get a second opinion. This was sounding like a vascular problem and that maybe she should ask about those blood tests.

Yet another situation that I am thankful that my best friend is a nurse. I called Meg for her opinion. I was right in guessing that it was a vascular thing. I spent an hour on the phone with Meg playing doctor. I now have a list of thing to ask mom about when I call tomorrow.

I have never dated a hairy man but apparently friends of mine have. One in particular has dated enough hairy men that she should be a professional manscaper by now. From using clippers to going all out with the Epilady (even I wouldn't subject someone to the Epilady). I was curious about the manscaping thing so I googled it and found this article, "Manscaping 101 with Marcel".

I am not afraid of dating a hairy guy, but how do you know that your date isn't sasquatch? There are some signs that indicate that he may be a wookie under that shirt. There's the wearers of 2 shirts. Even in the heat of summer they wear 2 shirts to keep the hairs from sticking out like a porcupine. On occasion you can make an assumption based on the amount of arm and leg hair. Then there are the hairs that stick up over their collar, total wookie trait.

Do I dare discuss odd hair patterns or hair in odd places? I can't help it. I think it is really weird that when guys start balding, hair starts to migrate to other places. Like their lower back or their ass. Then there is the ear hair or the caterpillar eyebrows (although I think that if they were really awesome eyebrows like Pi Mei's..., nah I would still make fun of them).

Ok, I am going to stop now before things get worse.

Is there a need for something a little more permanent?

Many say that in order for small businesses to survive it is better to avoid hiring full time employees. I begin to wonder if the same applies to aspects of life.

I think that love would require a set up that is a bit more permanent. For example, Em and I were discussing the fact that it wouldbe hard to find someone who loved us as much as Meg does. I am not saying that it is impossible, I am just saying that it would be hard. Meg has been a permanent fixture in my life for the last 7 years. For the longest time she was the last person I talked to before I went to bed.

That aside, I think that sex is definitely something that could be contracted (friends with benefits even). Or outsourced to our battery operated friends (Although, I am told that really good sex usually involves some sort of emotional connection).

Why do I bring this up? I've been scrolling through old emails and found this...

> The thing I had to realize about dating - or perhaps it would be more
> accurate to say that I'm still learning it - is that one need not
> invest everything in a relationship at the beginning.  It helps
> reduce the fear of rejection, and it keeps one from going too fast,
> expecting too much, and being let down. 

That's right, that whole issue of emotional investment. Do you stick your toe in the water to test it out? or do you jump right in?

Something for you to ponder.

I haven't really brought up the topic of race on my site but I figure that there is no better time than the present. It may give you a little more insight into why I am the way that I am. [That would be me over there on the right.]

I attended a panel at SXSW on Identity, Attention, Presence and Reputation. One of the big focuses was on using blogs as a tool to communicate identity.

I hope that by now you can tell that there are different people who write for this blog (although I write more often than the others). From our writing styles you probably couldn't figure out all of our ethnicities or ages. But does that matter that there are 2 black girls, 3 white girls, and a half asian girl?

Back to me and my identity "crisis". Here is the deal. When I go out I get cat calls and the occasional "Baby, What's up?" from dudes that look like they belong in a rap video. I seem to attract the one thing that I am not interested in. I don't dress anything like one of those girls in one of those rap guys videos. Do they not see the hipster glasses.

Forgive me for being blunt. I like tall dorky white boys. It's been that way since I was a kid. I grew up in white suburbia. We were upper middle class. All of the schools were predominantly white. Although sometimes there is a bit of a problem when they want me to be their ghetto princess. I am not joking about this. They seriously thought that I had some inner ghetto princess and that I was supressing it. Silly boys.

Part of the reason that I chose to stay in Austin is because of it's acceptance of interacial relationships (I wan't to keep my options open). It's pretty accepting of most things. I have only had a few run ins with the occasional racist bastard. There were a few landlords that wouldn't rent out places to me and my white roommate (even after my dad volunteered to pay 6 months rent up front). But, for the most part it isn't an issue (well, atleast not so much in Austin). If anything, I am discriminated against by people of my own race. Which isn't new. Visiting my Dad's family in the south was rough. My sister and I weren't accepted by our cousin because we didn't "act black" (whatever that means).

To be honest, I am a little afraid of black people. Another environmental thing. Being "raised white" I too was influenced by the way that black people are often portrayed in the media. I've tried to shed the images but it's hard. The best thing I can do is try to remember that we are all human beings.

I don't text. Sure, I am a blogger. I write for all the internet to see. I write the way I talk. Most of the time I write what I have shared with Meg or what I plan to share with Meg. Texting is way to limiting.

There are some people that live by text messages. I just can't do it. I spent 2 hours on the phone with Meg yesterday. We talked about some pretty heavy stuff. Stuff that required more than a few abbreviated words. I needed to hear how the tone of her voice changed. I could tell that she was scared, upset, excited. Things that text messages can't share.

There are a few occasions that text messages would be useful. During SXSW it's a little noisy to be using a cell phone and most of the calls I get are about scheduling. Next year I may decide to turn on text messages for the month of March.

Do you really want to know who your ex has moved on to? Do you want to know why they chose that person? What do they have that you didn't? Or better yet, did your ex settle for something less? Maybe something a little more manageable? A little less challenging?

On occasion I have found myself checking out the MySpace profile of my replacement. I don't really want to meet them in person. I prefer to use the army's approach of "don't ask, don't tell" but if it's on the internet, it is fair game.

She was plain. A little less controversial. Someone you could take home to mom (Not that you couldn't take me home to mom, I clean up well. It's just that the brown on my skin doesn't come off in the shower). She may even want to have a million of your babies.

She was definitely not me. In a way I feel better, knowing that she isn't me. Why accept an imitation when you can have the real thing.

Most of the time, I feel like things are moving at turtle speed. I looked through my calendar in my Palm pilot out of bordom the other day (meetings, yawn...) and realized...

1. As of Friday, I will have owned my home for 5 years.
2. I have had my cat for 9 years. I am still amazed that he runs off for weeks and still finds his way home.
3. It has been a year since I have had sex. Yes, it has been a whole year. But that was totally my choice. I refuse to lower my standards (and I am afraid of catching something). Lucky for me I have a good support network and a battery charger.
4. I have lived in Austin for 12.5 years.
5. It's been 6 years since my car accident. The dental work to fix my broken teeth hasn't needed any repairs.
6. It's been over a year since I have been out dancing. I realized that I really didn't make me happy.
7. The people I keep closest to me are the ones that I have known for atleast 8 years. They know my deepest, darkest secrets and I know theirs.
8. This is my 3rd year of SXSW.
9. I have had my passport for 5 years and haven't left the country yet.
10. It's been almost 3 years since I have had roommates. I don't think I could go back to having one.
    
11. I've been blogging for a little over 2 years. I am not sure who is out there reading, it was more important that I get all of this stuff out of my head.

..., so are the days of our lives.