Relation-whaaaat?!

So, I'm in a relationship now...

I don't know exactly how this happened, but it did.

This relationship is in the early stages-- the honeymoon stage-- where the guy and I still go out to eat and hold hands across the table, and we exchange text messages a thousand times a day that are so sugary and sweet that one would probably gag at the sight of them. (Seriously, I’d be embarrassed if somebody got ahold of my phone.) I hear songs on the radio that remind me of him, and they make me happy down to the depths of my soul. So happy that I will text him to tell him all about it.

"Babe, this Bon Jovi song is really speaking to my soul..."

Sigh.

Barf.

While I’m enjoying the newfound romance in my life, it was something that I tried really hard to fend off. I loved being single, and everything that came along with the single life... 

I loved casually dating guys who were kind of, but not quite, suited for me. I loved taking all the inconsiderate liberties I got to take since I didn’t have to think of anyone but myself. I loved not having to compromise on anything. I loved being able to call-screen everyone, and not have to worry about the message it would send. 

Turns out when you call-screen a boyfriend, they think you're fighting or that you've dumped them... 

I just really loved the self absorbed lifestyle I had become so accustomed to. I didn't want to give it up for anyone. Plus I was skeptical of entering into another relationship, because thus far in life I have been a dating underachiever. The men and the situations that I've landed myself into have tended to be less than ideal. I certainly wasn't interested in putting myself in a position to get hurt by someone else. 

Then this guy came along.

It took me awhile to admit that the guy and I were anything more than two people who were hanging out. I felt the need to often clarify my stance on what he and I were, and he was a good sport about my incessant need to reiterate that. 

He didn't freak out when I told him that I thought relationships should be revisited every couple of years, like a car lease, to decide if the people wanted to renew or not. Rather, he agreed with me, and we got into a long conversation about the dynamics of modern relationships. 

He accepts the fact that we'll probably never be "Facebook official," and he knows that I will probably write about him and aspects of our relationship in my column and on my blog, using his online name "The Guy." (Thank goodness he's as narcissistic as I am!)

He's weird, he gets me, and he makes me laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh.

Sufficed to say, I signed that relationship lease.

Learning to fail.

SOURCE: http://fumaga.com/6535

I have to keep reminding myself that life is a process that is meant to be enjoyed. It's a journey that never really ends until we die. Yet rather then enjoying each accomplishment I achieve, no matter how big or small, I have a tendency to always want more.

I suppose this is good in that it drives me to want to be better, yet in the same breath it hinders me from really enjoying and appreciating what I have right now.

In the last year I have become fixated on becoming healthy; I'm going to the gym and working out with a trainer and I'm trying to learn how to eat properly. I get frustrated easily, because although eating is a fundamental part of life, I have a very minuscule grasp on how to eat in a way that is both enjoyable and healthy. Those two words never seemed synonymous before.

Lord help me, I am trying.

One of my biggest problems is that I compare myself to other people. I have this terrible tendency to turn everything into a race or competition, rather then enjoying the efforts of my hard work. I feel the need to just be better then everyone all the time. This is a recipe for disaster that usually ends up making me feel terrible about myself when the other person is better then me at something.

Competition is good when you know how to be a good loser. It's good if you can take a loss and appreciate the effort you put into it. It's good if you can use it as a way to learn how to be better.

I don't know how to do any of that. When I compete and I lose I feel like I failed. That's it.

The other day I was on the treadmill and I noticed the person next to me was running way faster, so I turned up the speed and started an invisible race. I went faster than my normal pace, the one that I have spent the last year working up to, and it threw me off because I couldn't keep up.

I lost a race the other person didn't even know we were having. I lost a race to a person who is a faster runner then me, and perhaps someone who has been running for a number of years, or just someone who is simply a better runner... I don't know. All I know is that I turned something into a competition that I wasn't able or willing to fail at and it felt shitty.

If you take failure in stride and really learn to appreciate it as a way to be better, then I guess you really didn't fail. Unfortunately, I didn't do that the other day. I guess understanding that now, in hindsight, is better late then never.

Being "healthy" is something I am never going to master. It's not something that I will wake up one day and say to myself "Well, I've achieved everything I've set out to do, so I can stop now." It doesn't work that way. There will always be things that I need to learn and master, and there will always be people who are faster, stronger, thinner and healthier then me, but one thing I know for certain is that I am already better then I was yesterday.

Time to kill it at the gym with Jordan.

Ode to John Corbett

John Corbett I like you and I want you to learn,

That my Tweet to you was not meant to be a burn.

I like your pictures, I'm Livin on a Prayer,

I just wanted some context as to why they are there.

The universe is full of selfies and words,

But you, my friend, don't follow the herds. 

Keep on tweetin' the way that you do,

and please don't block me, I like following you.

Amen.

I just want to be able...

Yesterday I got my ass handed to me in my circuit training session with Jordan Cieciwa of One Fit City.

As I was rotating from 10 reps of pushups, burpees, and skate jumps, (repeat) I questioned why I was putting myself though this gruelling process. My arms turned to jelly as I put all my weight on them, like they were going to give way any second under the weight of my body. Sweat was dripping down my chin onto the floor into little drops that I focused on as a way to try not to fall on my face. I felt weak, and extremely humbled. I could barely do one pushup, let alone 10 in a row.

I hate feeling weak.

In the midst of this circuit I asked Jordan for a pen and piece of paper, he gave me a funny look but obliged, asking if a scrap piece of paper was OK. "Yes," I said. "That's fine."

Through the rest of the training session I carried the piece of paper and pen around with me, setting it down with my water bottle when I moved onto my next task. I would stop and take notes when I had a thought I wanted to remember later. My reason for this was simple; I wanted to remember how hard it was and the thoughts that were going through my head while I was trying to complete these tasks, because once I was done and the humbling feeling subsided, I knew I would go on with my day forgetting about how difficult this hour of my life really was. Beyond simply just forgetting, I knew as the day went on I would actually start to feel proud of my workout.

I didn't want to forget how hard I'd worked.

My notes. 90 per cent whiny, 10 per cent logic.

At the last stage of my workout, with an almost entirely full piece of paper of notes, I set out to do abs. My body was already beginning to ache. Why was I even doing this? I've already established a pretty good routine at my gym, doing an hour of cardio three to five times a week. I've become so good at that; running aimlessly into the thoughts brought on by the music blaring into my headphones. I already reached my "goal size," though it's nothing that I thought it would be like. (I still stand by my notion that the number on the tag of my pants has little to nothing to do with my happiness.)

And then it hit me.

I'm doing this because I want to be able. I want to be able to do pushups; I want to be able to do burpees. I want to be able to use my body and my muscles in a way that others, like Jordan are able to. I want to be able to run longer, lift more, squat lower, and jump higher.

I just want to be able.

This journey (if you will) is one that will make me better from the inside out. While weight loss and muscle mass might be a byproduct of the hard work I am doing, the whole point goes beyond bettering my appearance. I want to better myself to be healthy and able, which is why I chose Jordan to help me.

When I initially spoke to him, Jordan didn't promise to make me skinny; he said he could help me learn how to use my body and become healthier by doing it. He said he could help me learn about food and nutrition in a way that is best suited for me and my lifestyle. His beliefs seemed on par with mine in that not all people are meant to be "skinny," but we can all be healthy.

What I found telling about Jordan was his reason for being in the profession/industry that he's in. He was a sick kid who grew up to appreciate health in a way that many of us have never known. He lives a healthy lifestyle to stay healthy, not to be thin or ripped; those are just byproducts of his chosen lifestyle...

I can get behind that.

I suppose this is the next level of the lifestyle that I started last year; I love my routine, but want and expect more of myself... Kinda like graduating to the next level.

I want to be healthy. I want to be strong, and I want keep learning. And as I have already stated a number of times in this post, I just want to be able.

The kid, the concert and the radio contest...

When it was announced that Taylor Swift was coming to Winnipeg late last year, my sister was adamant that she was going to get tickets and take her daughter to her first concert.

Though she was only four-years-old at the time, my niece swooned over Taylor Swift, singing along to her cartoonesque songs, and dressing up in her “pop star uniform” that consisted of a ruffled tool skirt and a blue shirt with a silver microphone printed on it. 

She was, and still is, a little diva who has ideals of being a pop star.

Timing was off when the tickets went on sale. They were expensive, and my sister was only a few months off her mat-leave. While my sister and brother-in-law are by no means poor, other financial priorities and responsibilities took precedence over buying a pair of Taylor Swift tickets. The concert quickly sold out, and though my sister had big ideals of taking the kid to the concert, it just wasn’t in the cards. 

Flash forward to last week, maybe even the last couple of weeks; Taylor Swift hype was growing, and my niece who had turned five in March was not immune to it. She asked her mom to take her to the concert, and when my sister said she couldn’t she replied “OK. One day can you take me to a Taylor Swift concert?”

I’m not sure how my sister answered, but from that moment she went into action. She enlisted the help of some of her friends and co-workers to try and win a pair of tickets through any contest she came across. 

While clusters of tickets were released and quickly snatched up, and StubHub boasted some pricey tickets, my sister held onto the hope that sheer luck would get my niece into that show. 

I suppose this post sounds rather trivial, given that my niece is a happy, healthy kid who wants for very little in life. While she certainly doesn’t get everything her heart desires, she does have a great life and a family that loves her very much. Beyond just seeing Taylor Swift, my sister had hopes of creating a really great experience and some incredible memories for the kid.

It may sound cheesy, but this concert meant a great deal to both the kid and my sister.

Getting close to T-Day, and still nowhere close to having tickets for the show, my sister was still desperately hoping for a miracle. She Retweeted radio station tweets, signed up for online contests. She called and texted radio stations; even when they weren’t giving away tickets. One time she got the number wrong and accidentally texted a morning show in Alberta. They politely informed her that they had no Taylor Swift tickets for Saturday’s show in Winnipeg...

She got a number of us, her friends and co-workers, to take part in her hunt. I can’t even recall how many things I signed up for to win these darn tickets. Where there was an opportunity, I was there (sometimes forced by her) to try my hand at winning. 

And then a few days ago it happened; my name was called on the radio (99.1 Fresh FM) and I had ten minutes to call in and claim my prize: Two coveted tickets to the Taylor Swift concert.

I made the ten minute call-in deadline with 40 seconds to spare, and sounded like a complete moron on the radio. I was in shock that I’d actually won these tickets that my sister had so desperately tried to get, and I think I congratulated my niece on the airwaves for me winning these tickets. 

I sounded like a goof.

As fate would have it, the day I won the tickets was the day she graduated from nursery school. I was going to buy her a balloon and a small bouquet of flowers, but thanks to the radio station I was able to give her an even better gift: Two stage-side tickets to the Taylor Swift concert.

When I told my niece she was going to the concert, she replied by saying: “I knew Taylor Swift was real!”

Aside from my niece, my sister was beyond excited. She told the kid that I’d be taking her to the show, and I went along with it, until I realized that it should be my sister who takes her, not me. 

While I’m sure the concert would have been fun, it was going to be the kind of experience that the kid had maybe once, or at the most a handful of times in her life. More than just the kid, it was an experience my sister would only ever have once: Taking the kid to her first concert. 

It was a no-brainer to give the tickets to my sister, and explain to Kennedy that mommy would be her date for the night. (I promised her we’d have a special date at the beach, since that’s more my thing anyway.)

My sister and my niece got all glammed up for the show and had the time of their lives! 

The Kid patiently waiting for the show to start.

My sister later told me that the people in the pit were so courteous to my niece, and that one of the women from the radio station recognized them from when they stopped by their cruiser before the show and stopped to ask them if they were having a good time. Beyond that, the kid was able to see her idol and dance and sing along to Taylor Swift like she’d never done before. 

The next day my niece told me that her favourite part of the show was every time Taylor Swift was on stage. She was so excited that she got to go, and I’m pretty sure this night will go down as one of the best nights ever for both my sister and my niece. 

It all sounds pretty cheesy, but I am so grateful to have won this contest.

Thanks 99.1 Fresh FM, you helped me make one of my niece's dreams come true!

BEST TIME EVER!! 

A lovely little surprise.

The pastor and his wife from my parents' church sent me 'Get Well Soon' flowers! 

I was laying on my parents' couch, watching 'Love it or List it' when the phone range. It was a lady at the front door saying that she had a delivery for me. 

"For me? I don't even live here. Awesome!"

I opened the door, and waited for the lady to get off the elevator; in her hands was an explosion of prettiness. I thought they may have been from my little sister, since she's the only person who knows my parents' address and would send me flowers here. 

It was a lovely surprise, that really brightened my morning.

Thank you.

#GoodbyeGallbladder the post-op update

I just woke up with stabbing pains where my gallbladder used to be.

Ouch.

Today is my fourth day of being gallbladder free. After nearly nine months of agony, I finally had a laparoscopic procedure to remove my gallbladder last Friday.

While I'm glad that the faulty organ is gone, I'm surprised as how uncomfortable my recovery has been.

I have staples in my stomach, bruising around my wounds, and gas in my joints. I walk slowly and hunched over, and I nearly die when I'm a passenger of a car that hits a bump or a pothole.

At the risk of sounding naive, I didn't expect the aftermath to hurt as much as it does. In fact, I envisioned myself picking up right where I left off on Friday morning, before I headed to Grace Hospital for my "day surgery."

I thought taking a week off of work was being generous.

I waited so long for this procedure that I forgot to take into account that I would require healing time. Nothing, I thought, could be more painful than the nasty gallbladder attacks that I had grown somewhat accustomed to during the extended wait. This part was supposed to be smooth sailing.

Every single person who shared their experience having their gallbladder removed expressed how much relief this procedure brought them. Most told me that they were back to normal sooner than later. While it's only been a couple of days for me; and I am getting better every day, sans this stabbing setback that woke me up this morning, I just thought I'd be back to normal at this point.

I have taken up residence at my mom and dad's place since I had my surgery. I feel like a teenager again; reliant on mom and dad for everything. I don't even have my car right now, but I'm OK with that. I don't feel like going anywhere anyway; I feel and look like I've been through the ringer, and I have been wearing different variations of pyjamas since I've been here.

All of my complaining aside, I'm glad this procedure is far less invasive than it used to be. Back in the day, my mom told me they would have to cut a person extensively to remove the toxic organ. Recovery time was a lot longer, and far more painful. I'm lucky.

For the non-squeamish, here is a picture of my post-surgery torso. It looks gross, but ironically, one of the most painful and uncomfortable aspects of this process is probably the carbon gas that they pumped into me, that has settled into my body.

If you've ever had gas in your shoulder, you understand how uncomfortable that can be!

Belly button. Makes me want to barf.

Thanks for all the well wishes; I'm excited to heal and not have to worry about my darn gallbladder anymore! Most of all, I'm excited to get back to the gym!

Bloated. Bruised. Broken.

Find a Nice Man: Insightful tips from my 93-year-old grandma.

I went to visit my grandma at her nursing home yesterday; we had a lovely time with a couple other family members, just talking and eating Icelandic cake. When it was time to leave she hugged me and whispered in my ear “make sure you find a nice man.”

Oh amma.

While I am used of this type of family encouragement, yesterday’s sound advice was a little more poignant than usual because it was the only familiar aspect of our entire conversation. In spite of her dementia, my grandma still remembered to tell me that I need to find myself a nice fella. It was hilarious and comfortable.

It’s been years since I’ve brought a man I was dating to meet my grandma, and in turn, it’s been years that she has been telling me to find myself a nice man. In those years my grandma has even made an effort to help me find Mr. Right by telling any and every man she encounters about me; her single granddaughter. 

Ah yes, the orderlies and doctors at her nursing home; waiters; clerks; other people’s grandchildren; and even the paramedics who have helped her when she has landed in the emergency room for dizzy spells and heart palpitations; they’ve all heard of me. What’s more, is that sometimes I have even been with her when she has told these men about me. To date her efforts have been awkward and futile, but her persistence is admirable. 

My grandma really wants me to find Mr. Right... Or, just Mr. Anybody. I’m not even sure anymore.

While I used to get annoyed at these constant suggestions (My grandma isn’t my only family member who wants me to find Mr. Right), I now find myself looking forward to this suggestion; it’s one of the only familiar things left we have to talk about. Her dementia has stolen so many of her memories, making her thoughts colourful and not always coherent, and yet her mission to find me love is still in the forefront of her mind.

At the end of the day, I will take her advice. When I do find myself a nice man I will make sure that she is one of the first to know.