Give It A Whirl

Ever been so totally and utterly out of your element your only option - as there's no chance of escape - was to dive right in ? 

A number of years ago I had an entire out of my element weekend (no, I wasn't camping - shut up) and as the after effects are still with me, I can tell you that being out of your element is good.  Very, very good.

Backstory

My sister in law's a bit kookie.  Well, to me anyway.  I'm black and white, she's grey.  I'm organized and planned, she flies by the seat of her pants.  Little things bother me way more than they should, most big things don't stress her a bit.  I love all the ways she's not like me.  A further point of difference is she just believes things, I need to understand them.  The only things I can accept without explanation of 'how' is most forms of technology and The Evil Eye (it's a Greek thing).  Wow.  Just writing that officially qualifies me as an 80 year old person.  I will need to delve into that at some point, but for now, back to my weekend.  My sister in law (SIL) has a huge family and the girls of the family had planned to head up to one of their cottages for a spiritual retreat kind of weekend.   Yes, I know.  Me and a spiritual retreat ? I mean, Why ?  I don’t even like yoga because it’s too earth-crunchy for me.  But really, come on, why not ?  At most I'd be spiritually awakened, at worst a weekend at the cottage.  I am incredibly sceptical, but okay – I will give it a whirl ! I'm a yes person, remember ?!  Spiritual Retreat Here I Come !

The Sweat Lodge

Step One on my quest for spiritual enlightenment was the Sweat Lodge.  So, a Sweat Lodge is very hot.  Let's call it a ceremonial sauna, in a tent.  A hole is dug in the ground and super hot rocks (heated in a fire outside the tent) are brought into the tent and placed in the hole and you sit around the hole and get really hot and sweaty.  You go around the circle and talk about what brought you to the purifying ceremony and what you want to get out of it in a higher learning kind of way.  All the while, you’re getting really hot and really sweaty.  Basically, a Sweat Lodge is the spiritual world's version of Vegas because what goes on in Sweat Lodge stays in Sweat Lodge and I respect that, so I can only tell you that once it was all over I was crying like a baby, I mean, it was crazy.  I think that perhaps heat and sweat have an effect on tear ducts because it was full on sob material for everyone.  So, lots of tears and tons of hot and sweaty.  I think it was rather cathartic and also great for my skin.  Sweat Lodge !  Okay, not a bad start to this weekend of wonder.

Animal Totems

Next up, we must determine our animal totems.  The weekend was based on the spiritual principles of Native Americans, and their tradition provides that people are connected to a totem animal that is with you for life, both in the physical and spiritual world.  Though people may identify with different animal guides throughout their lifetimes, it is this one totem animal that acts as the main guardian spirit.

To be honest, I cannot remember how we figured out our totems but I know we did and I came up with two because it was close.  Freak.  Even in the spiritual world. 

I’m a bit excited about this.  After getting my good cry on at Sweat Lodge, I’m thinking EAGLE, HORSE, SWAN.   How misguided I am.  I get bee and penguin.  Seriously, how pissed was I.  Out of all the animals in the world, I get a bird that can't fly and an annoying bug you run away from.  Thanks totem!

Upon closer inspection, though, I was not only the freak of the spiritual world.  I was freaked out with the spiritual world. 

Aside from the annoying buzzing and potential stinging of a bee, what do you think of when you think of a bee?  Busy.  Busy as a bee.  They buzz from one flower to the next, looking and searching, they get into this and into that and buzz and hover and fly around some more.  What do I do?  I get into this, I get into that.  I plan this, I plan that.  I’m freaking busy.  I’m sure it’s possible for bees to just hang, but they can’t because they need to buzz and fly and look for that pollen.  I’m sure it’s possible for me to just hang too, but that seems boring.  I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for (ah, if only it was as easy as pollen!) but maybe that’s why I’m buzzing to find my pollen.  Freakin’ bee. 

And now, the penguin.  I was told to lose the lame-ass notion of penguin as “bird that can’t fly” and focus on the look of the bird.  Penguins are dressed in a perpetual tuxedo, they look perfect without even trying.  People with penguin totems need things to be perfect all the time – messes, whether physical or emotional, are not for them – and sometimes the appearance of perfection is chosen over the actuality of mess or conflict.  I like things clean, but sometimes throw things in a closet when company’s coming over. I always answer “great!” or “fine!” when someone asks how I am because I figure who cares otherwise and I absolutely have a hard time talking about gross feelings when they’re not all that pleasant.  I’m not entirely sure if having a penguin totem actually means you prefer living on the surface of things or if you are actually a superficial person and I didn’t want to ask.  Did I just answer my own question?  Fuckin’ penguin.

The Rock

So now I am positively freaked out.  I’ve cried like I haven’t in years and have been called out by two of the most benign animals going.  After a feast of Italian yumminess and a very restful night sleep, we’re back at it for Day Two.  Off we go into the forest to find a rock.  We can’t really look for the rock, it needs to find us. I don’t really understand this, aren’t we looking for rocks?  But, after I trip over a rock I figure my rock as has indeed found me.  Once inside, we need to look at the rock and see what it’s telling us.  Apparently, the lines on the rock tell a story about us and our lives and where we’ve been and where we’re going.   I stare.  I stare at the lines.  I stare at the lines and come up with nothing.  After a few minutes, the room starts to pipe up with tales out of Narnia – magical horses and paths that lead to a mystical place.  One of the girls simply saw herself sitting on a beach.  Everyone laughed.  Hello?!  I’d kill for that. I see nothing.  I see lines.  I’m getting frustrated (surprisingly, neither the bee nor penguin are easily frustrated creatures) and beginning to feel like a big spiritual retreat failure.  I think the whole point of being at a spiritual retreat is NOT to get frustrated and annoyed, but, as they say, you can take a horse to water but you can’t make them drink.  I’m trying!  D, SILs sister, who is our leader and all things spiritual and calm, sees this.  She’s a really remarkable woman – the type of person who can simply look at you and all of a sudden you feel okay and calm - the epitome of serene.  I want her to move in with me.  Anyway, she sees me mildly panicked and freaked out and comes over to me and simply says “sometimes, there’s nothing there and that’s fine too”.  Oh, good god – THANK YOU!  I feel calmed and relieved and not a total failure.  Now, maybe she just said that to make me feel better but she’s the leader and she’s allowed.  I’m totally fine with that.

Everafter

It’s been almost 6 years since my out of element spiritual retreat weekend. Lots has happened on the good and bad side of me since then.  I can’t truly say the weekend helped me deal with any of it better, but it did make me acknowledge that for all my structure, predictability, organization and hyperbusiness, I, too, can look at the world wide open.  I haven’t completely forged ahead with a life of awakening and totems and rock drawings, but I can just “hang” a bit better.  I can “not plan”, sort of.  It is possible to let go of all control and direction.  Most important, though, I now know I can totally shut off my scepticism and need to know and just believe in something totally outside of me, if only for a short while. I think this is pretty good.  Actually, I think it’s pretty damn great. 

Dive In.  Say Yes.

There is nothing to lose but your own preconceived notions. 

Give It A Whirl.

Fix It

Interested in testing the mettle of a relationship ?

Embark on some sort of home- type project with someone.

Any project, any someone.

It's here you'll truly see how your teamwork skills, good humour, perfectionist tendencies, stubbornness, leader/follower attributes and all the rest of the real good stuff matches up for good or evil.

At best, you'll both come out roses after sharing a few laughs and head shakes, gazing adoringly at the freshly painted wall or Ikea bookshelf.  At worse, two bruised egos a few extra holes in the wall and lots to talk about (like how you're NEVER ever doing that again).

Try it and do let me know how it goes.

Cover Me

My latest issue of Vanity Fair has been on my kitchen counter for over a week now.

I haven't cracked it open.  Not because I don't want to, but because I simply can't.  I simply can't crack it open because every time I try, the mesmerizing gaze of Rob Lowe makes me stop dead in my tracks and simply stare right back.  His eyes follow me, like my own photo Mona Lisa, around my place and back again to when I'm trying, once again, to turn the cover page and read the blasted magazine.

Rob Lowe was my teenage dream.  Adoration to the max.  Remember Youngblood ?  Rob playing hockey ?  Double dose dreamy.  There were the Brat Pack movies, and the sex tape scandal and that weird nanny trial thing and the TV shows (oh, how I loved you Sam Seaborn) and of course the infamous Snow White Oscar Dance and all the while Rob maintains his crazy non - aging self like he's in some pact with the devil. Rob, adeptly combining a pretty boy face and manly guyness, is our Brad Pitt prototype.  Only he's aging way better (Well maybe better isn't the word - he's not aging AT ALL) and is really, really good at comedy because it seems like he likes to make fun of his pretty boy persona (Californication anyone?).

Oh, Rob ... Please look away so I can read the magazine.  There are likely more pictures of you inside.

Friday, I'm In Love ! Volume Six - Mr Soap & Postscript

I’ve saved my worst date ever for last.  Yes, last.  I’m done with this series.  Who am I to complain ?  I’m sure there are a zillion guys writing about their crummy dates with me – okay, not a zillion, but you get my point – I’m not  perfect, obviously, and I am a bit tired. I feel like Charlotte from Sex in The City when she proclaimed “Where Is He?!” Hopefully, not struck by lightening at the age of 18 is all I can say.  He’s out there, I guess.  Maybe we’ll meet in the ER in our 80s:  I’ve been Code Blued and am on a gurney heading to surgery, he’s being fitted for a walker. It’ll be so sweet and romantic because it’ll just click over A535 and we’re both finally ready.  I’m such a dreamer, but I like being this way, and I’ll get back there.  Eventually.  Until then, I leave you with Mr Soap.

Volume Six – Mr Soap

Where to begin but the beginning:  planning this outing was a labour from the get-go and I realize that it’s mostly my fault.  You see, I make decisions all day long and it is beyond great when someone actually makes a decision for me, most especially in the social realm.  This is counter-intuitive to my personality, so I get it’s confusing but really, when I say “I’m good with anything, you decide” I REALLY MEAN IT.  Tell me where to go.  Tell me what time to meet you.  I am a very adept follower.  I will never, ever say “no Italian” after I tell you I’m good with anything and you say “great, how’s Thai”.  That’s just retarded.  More retarded is planning ping – pong where it’s a never-ending game of “where do you want to go, it doesn’t matter where do you want to go”.  I was engaged in a very drawn out battle of planning ping-pong with Mr Soap and I finally white flagged it, suggesting a place near my office for drinks.  He immediately  rebuked it as “too swish” and promptly suggested some other place, a second from his house, near the Market.  Could you not have mentioned this earlier, Mr Soap, and saved me the double play of retardness and ping – pong ?  Anyway, whatever, we’ve got plans.    

Day of and I’m a bit concerned.  There is one may-jah snow storm going on outside.  Like the kind where the newspeople tell you to stay home and GO Trains are cancelled and it’s just a top grade shit show outside.  I really really just want to take the newspeople’s advice and go home but I’m worried I’ll be perceived as same – day cancellation girl (this is rude) so I extend a very wishy-washy “perhaps it would be best to reschedule” offer to Mr Soap.  He was having none of it.  He’s from London (Ontario) and therefore quite used to this kind of weather (okay, now, I’m no meteorologist but is London ON really a super snow storm training ground type of place?  I’ve really only been there once  – at a crazy frat party at Western which I really don’t remember much of – so I really can’t say but, really, is it?  I have no idea) so we would meet at his suggested place at 6pm, dammit. 

Off I go for my little adventure in the snowstorm to end all snowstorms.  It’s cold and snowy rainy and windy.  Snow is getting into my knee high boots.  My hair is frozen.  The usual 10 minute walk takes me close to half an hour.  By the time I get there, I am brittle and my coat is actually soaking wet.  My hair is matted to my head and I have mascara streaking down my face (confirmed after I screamed when I saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror).  All this would have been totally fine and rather funny was I not required to make a decent impression!  I mean honestly!  I did the best I could, but it was definitely not best in show material.  Oh well, I figure I’m more a personality person anyway.

Things start off not so bad but it doesn’t take long for me to realize that Mr Soap is one weird dude.  The factoids of information about him are so fascinating and peculiar I’m riveted and not in a good way.

I told him I didn’t particularly care for spicy food (i.e I don’t like it) but he orders the spiciest entrée on the menu for us to share because the portions are very large and he’s not that hungry.  Oh, one of those guys.  Great.  What about me?  I was just on an Outward Bound Adventure!  Can I please have a full plate of Shanghai Noodles?!  And not ones that are going to set my mouth on fire!  He was obviously the smart one there because all those noodles were his.  Well played, Mr Soap, well played.

There is no wine / beer for Mr Soap because alcohol aggravates him (as a concept?).  Thankfully, I do not have this problem in theory or practice, so load me up.

After he pulls out a small vial of hand lotion (I know, I could stop there) and offering me some (how kind) he goes on to advise that he has eczema on much of his body and needs to be very careful about the products he uses.  Okay.  OKAY.  This is a great deal of personal information to be hitting someone with, isn’t it?  In fairness, eczema isn’t really on the same sexy surprise meter as a tattoo, so perhaps best to full disclosure it before discovering it on your own, but should you tell me NOW, like right NOW?  I mean, when I first saw Mr Soap I could totally see myself kissing him – get over yourself, you do this too - he was really attractive.  But now ?  Now I can only think of what else lies beneath his cute button down and warm looking zipped sweater.  Ew.

Why wonder?  Mr Soap is a one man TMI machine.  So, back to the hand lotion.  Due to the eczema and the product issues, Mr Soap actually makes his own hand lotion.  He also makes his own candles.  This is all sorts of weird. What guy makes hand lotion and candles?  Like, when you were on those public school field trips to Black Creek Pioneer Village the women were inside making candles and churning butter while the men were outside tending to the horses and chopping heads off chickens.  That’s just the way it’s supposed to be.  I don’t think we’ve evolved that much as a species where men are now making candles, at least I don’t want my men that evolved and making candles.  Kill me a chicken, I’ll make you a candle (or, light one), okay? 

Anyway, it’s one bizarro- world tale after another and I can’t get enough.   You know I find weirdos fascinating and now that I know there is no chanceLance of a romantic interlude of any kind whatsoever with Mr Soap I’m in for shits & giggles.  This is so amazing I can’t stand it.   I mean, it’s the crummiest date EVER but as a human species investigation it is top notch.  And it’s not over!

We’re onto other ‘interest’ type topics now and, in truth, mine are rather pedestrian.  I do what everyone else does – I go to movies, I take a few classes, I hang with my friends, I read, I take trips, nothing really revolutionary, nothing ultra peculiar.  Mr Soap?  Well, aside from the candle and hand lotion making he also makes – yes – you know it – SOAP.

Wha?  How?  Why?  I need to know.  I need to know more.  My soap making knowledge is limited to memories of my Yiayia (that’s my grandmother non-Greeks) making it in the village and, of course, Fight Club.  I know it’s a dangerous endeavour – I mean, the lye can actually kill you.  Or sear off your skin.  In any event it’s pretty hardcore.  Mr Soap tells me that as long as he has all the windows in his 500 square foot apartment open and cranks all the floor fans to high, he’s not in any danger.  Well, okay then, those seem like normal and logical precautions when engaging in a hobby, right? This daredevil quality, combined with the soap making itself is making Mr Soap somewhat fascinating to me, and I am on “date” after all.  So I hit Mr Soap with the highest of compliments: “you know, when you tell me you make soap you kinda remind me of Brad Pitt in Fight Club”.  I really meant it.  I mean, Mr Soap was good looking, he was weird and he made soap – that’s closer to Tyler Durden that most guys, isn’t it?  But, of course Mr Soap didn’t get it.  He said:

“Oh no, Olga.  It’s not like that at all, when I make soap I don’t use human fat.”

Jesus Fucking Christ.   The tide has officially turned.  This is no longer an amazing human science experiment, is it?  This is fucked up.  I am on a date with a guy who actually thinks he needs to clarify that he doesn’t use human matter to engage in a weird ass hobby because he has an unfortunate skin condition.  So many thoughts are running through my brain.  Where would you get human fat anyway?  A garbage bin of a liposuction clinic?  Was I a potential donor?  Perhaps he should have ordered me ALL the noodles.  Am I in danger? Should I be afraid? Holy Shit – he WAS Tyler Durden.  Help?!

Nevermind all that.  Mr Soap was a class A weirdo, and as Joe Pesci proclaimed in My Cousin Vinny “I’m Done With This Guy”.   I’m done with the lava heat noodles and the eczema and the candle making and the fans on high and the non human fat soap making and everything.  I’m done with everything.  I trudged through a snowstorm and all I want to do is go home and call my best friend and wail into the phone with frustration about where all the normal guys are.  Soon we’d be laughing about it - how can’t you - but dating shouldn’t really be about developing material to entertain your friends with.  At least not all time.  It also shouldn’t be about disappointments and questions and a cavalcade of knuckleheads and weirdos.  At least not all the time. 

You know Mr Soap called me to go out again.  Of course he did.  The weirdos always do.  Yes, girls, you know they always do.  Which makes me wonder if that’s it – is this what life has in store for me?  Is what I’m giving off bringing this back to me?   Is this all my magnet is capable of attracting?  Sometimes I’m certain yes.  But mostly I hope no. 

Mainly, though, and this is really the postscript of this series, I don’t know why it’s so hard.  Am I making it hard?  Probably.  I mean my list of wants must be completely unattainable:  I’d like a nice, somewhat normal fella to hang  and do stuff with. Someone who is thoughtful in a sweet way, who listens and remembers things.  Who calls me for no other reason but to just shoot the breeze. Who is completely okay with the fact that I’m far from perfect but maybe wants to help me along with some of these things.  Someone who is tough enough to call me on my shit and not back down because we all know I’m pretty obstinate when I want to be.  Who eats things I make and bake, even if they may not be his favourites, simply because I made & baked them.  Someone who wants to kiss me just as much as I want to kiss them.  A fella that gets me, and if he doesn’t wants to try and figure me out.   Someone who will let me take care of him, because that’s what I like to do with people I care about.  Maybe I’ll even let him take care of me a little bit too.  Mainly, though, just a nice somewhat normal fella who makes me smile equally wide when I’m with him, or just thinking about him.   That’s about it, really.  Doesn’t seem like much, but it obviously is because, well, it just is.  I guess I could back down on my list of demands, but this isn’t a hostage negotiation, it’s a life situation and I feel I need to stick to my guns, especially about the kissing part.     

I need clarity.  I need to get my good vibes back.  I must stop the wrenching (and, yes, hilarious) trip down memory lane because it’s bringing me down.  I don’t like being down.  I need to start anew.  But first I just want to take a break. Who knows how long this break will last, hopefully not too long, but you never know about these things.  We’ll see how it all pans out.  In the meantime, I’m done with these Mistahs and all types of other Mistahs and will focus on a summer of fun with my Sistahs.  We’re in this together. 

Always.

Blue Raincoat

Bought a blue raincoat the other day.

Doubtful my blue raincoat will ever become a "famous blue raincoat".

But when I wear my blue raincoat, I DO feel like I could take Manhattan.  Then, I could definitely take Berlin.  If I knew what dancing to the end of love meant, I'd do that too. And all the while Leonard Cohen will be singing to me - he'd be singing those songs, with that voice.

And when Leonard's singing and I'm wearing my blue raincoat, I feel pretty invincible. I also feel pretty, uh, well, how can I say, you know, kinda ... oh ... my ...

I bought a blue raincoat the other day.

The Non-Message Message

When someone calls you and doesn't leave a message are you supposed to call them back because you've seen their number on your call display ?

When someone calls you THA-REE (3, three) times and doesn't leave a message are you supposed to mention this when you call them back and leave a message (because this is the proper thing to do) ?

Why don't people leave messages ?

The only person I accept this socially retarded behaviour from is my Mom because being a mom absolves all sorts of peculiarities (ONLY from your kids, not the world at large) and she calls at least 5 times a day anyway, with riveting questions like "is this week's Good Wife new" and "why are you never home?" or my favourite "I've been calling you at work all morning, why don't you answer the phone?".  Pretty cute.

Anyway, I don't know what to do about this non message message.  If you didn't take the time to leave me a message, should I take the time to return your call ?  But then what if you don't call back ? Why did you call in the first place ?  I don't want to wait to see you to find out !  Was this a random phone shout out for someone to talk to or a serious cry for help ? Did you get your answer elsewhere ?  Have you moved on to the next ? Why are you teasing me with conversation ?!

Do you see ?  Do you see why you need to leave messages ?

Get the message.  Leave a message. 

Stttrreeech

A few moons ago a pal of mine was mildly complaining about her boyfriend.  She had issues with his perceived irresponsibility - he liked to take off with a moment's notice to places like Iraq and Pakistan to see what was going on.  He'd be incommunicado and she'd worry and she wondered how inconsiderate he could be to continually do this without acknowledging all her worry and annoyance.  All this really bugged her, and, as girls are wont to do we discuss and vent.

I could totally see why my friend was annoyed, but she really didn't have a right to be.  You see, what attracted her to him in the first place - what totally knocked her socks off - was his spontaneity.  It was the first thing she'd say when you asked her what she liked about him - granted, not necessarily #1 on everyone's list but hey, birds and feathers find each other, right?  So, here she is, falling for a guy because he's spontaneous and now she's annoyed at him because he's taken his spontaneity to a point where, to her, it became irresponsible.  Not fair.

We all have this in us.  I have a guy at work who gets so incredibly caught up in "the man is out to get us" scenarios he loses focus on the big picture of everything.  This is the same guy who delves into stock analysis research and solves all sorts of problems with such tenacity clients are awed.  I’m awed.  Sure, his doomsday prophecies and constant ranting are incredibly aggravating, but he can’t be determined and focused and tenacious only when it serves the powers of good.  We have to take his personality traits – and how he expands them – all together as one.

Personality expansion is part of who we are, what makes us us.  We all stretch the positive out to something not so positive and, yes, this is the “work” part of human interaction - because we have to work and think about the seed of the thing.  Is there a flip side, a mirror, a stretch that you may not be considering when you dismiss someone or become annoyed at them ?  Usually, yes, sometimes, no - there are absolutely personality traits that are just wrong:  I can’t ever find a positive base for being perpetually mean, bitchy, angry or inconsiderate, sorry, but these people aren’t worth your time anyway, so there’s no need for investigation. 

So next time you think you’ve got someone all figured out on the negative, give a little think to the potential positive – your flighty receptionist is likely super chipper all the time; your worry-wart Mom is for sure super caring and thoughtful; your overbearing boss is probably incredibly diligent and organized.   Doesn’t this seem like a more well rounded approach to life ? 

I think so too.

(Yes, sometimes my optimism can be mistaken for delusional, but hopefully now you’re personality expansion-ing me too. And my friends ?  Engaged – he’s slightly reigned in his “Tours of Terrorism” and she’s still loving his spontaneity.)