You Should Really Get That Checked Out…

I’ve got a bad case of Shoulditis.  Correction, I think I had a bad case of Shoulditis that was in remission and has since reared its ugly head once again.  Nearly 90% of cases have been found to result in severe and sometimes fatal damage to one’s inborn potential, ultimately leading to the slow and silent death of, well, the soul.

http://blog.brazencareerist.com/2011/12/01/warning-1-in-3-young-professionals-suffers-from-this-career-related-condition/

I am mainly joking, but not entirely.  I too (who knew) was victim to this terrible condition in my mid 20’s.  I walked around feeling like I should be more successful, I should feel better, I should make more money, I should grow up, and I should be in a different stage of life.  Then I fought, I fought oh so hard to treat it, overcome it, and come out a better person.  A person who took risks out of joy, not fear, a person who stopped worrying about how much money they made or what their future and career held.  A person who could focus on the present, not the past, and more importantly not the future.

That’s the funny thing about Shoulditis.  It surfaces when you least expect it.  When you reinvent your life, it’s amazing how much you slowly start to say you should be over it, you should feel the way you did a year ago, and you should have your act together.  That’s the funny thing about life.  Maybe we can forgive others for living that crazy thing called L..I..F..E, but us over-achieving, second-guessing, comparers can’t forgive ourselves.

Here I thought that Shoulditis went away when you turned 30, lived common-law, travelled the world, or took a step backwards in your career and said “fuck it, I’m imperfect”.  I so foolishly believed that Shoulditis disappeared when you decided you loved yourself enough to be yourself.  But, if you change enough and doubt enough… funnily enough it comes right back.

Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda…that’s what life is all about right?  Well, that and assuming that there is always tomorrow.

Don’t stress over what could’ve been.  Chances are if it should’ve been, it would’ve been. – Anonymous

The Ginga Ninja

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Morning People Are Only People Without Happening Night Lives

Do you ever go through body phases, whether it be you get really really achy, extremely hyper, or suddenly are having the soundest, deepest sleeps of your life and cannot physically pull yourself from bed?  Sleeps like when you were a kid…like if there were no reason to get up, well then maybe you never would?  But, the mere fact you were pulled from this slumber meant you were late to work, forgot your mascara, and will be walking in a daze the remainder of the day just dreaming about going back to bed.  I want to say maybe it’s just me, but somehow I doubt it.

I am currently going through this phase.  As per every, single, thought and occurrence I (or anyone) has ever had – I’ve *shockingly* had it before and yet every single time I find it puzzling and curious as to why I would suddenly be so tired or sleeping so sound!  I go through the usual process of wondering if I’m getting sick, could it be mono, am I over-stressed, is it that I’ve been really busy, is it the ups and downs of weather…and usually yes, it seems to go hand-in-hand with any number of these things (well, maybe not mono), or maybe, just maybe there is no explainable reason and it just is.

About a month ago I was turning into an amazing sleeper who actually woke up BEFORE my alarm clock, rested and full of energy…I actually thought “this is it, this is the ‘someday’ I always imagined I would transition into as an adult!”…You know what I’m talking about, you’ve all thought it.  “When I grow up I’m going to be a morning person”.  That fated day when your alarm clock is no longer necessary and when you lean out and open that window with a smile…and cartoon birds land on your shoulder.

But, alas, for the past 4 days I cannot wake up to save my life and find myself…horror of horrors…GRUMPY.  Now, I’m not a great morning person, but I’m almost never, ever grumpy.   I usually just get up and get ready quickly.  I don’t normally talk a lot, I’m not normally entirely awake, but almost never.. gasp…grumpy. Maybe this is because I had a super-packed weekend, maybe it’s because the weather has been so up and down it could be an amusement park ride, or maybe I really am fighting a cold.  What I can tell you is that when you are 30 and your mother decides to come in and lie about the time of the morning, turn on the light, and immediately begin lecturing you on cleaning the house before walking out the door…it definitely adds to the grump factor. Maybe that grump has just followed me into the following days.  But for whatever reason, I am still half-asleep as I sit here and ruminate.

Maybe not all parents wake their kids up this way…what a terrible start to the day!  Maybe some are patient, understanding, and always forthright, but I know for certain my parents have…let’s call them “parenting” traits I would happily trade in. I know that my mom, as long as I can remember will just time-machine herself to the next ominous sounding part of the hour.  If it is 8:11, she will say “it’s already quarter after”.  If it is 8:16 – she will tell you it’s 8:30 and depending on how bad her mood was, sometimes she will shoot right to “It’s nine o’clock” when the clock clearly reads 8:34.  It’s a trait that I’ve found incredibly annoying over the years as I don’t take long to get ready and in a small town 5 minutes can make the difference of getting there on time…so give me the extra 5 minutes of sleep any day!  It’s just an unnecessary stress that has been there my whole life long and I keep praying for it (like many other things) to just stop one day.  I continue to dream that someday, someday my parents will treat me like an adult.

Now, don’t even get me started on the other little parenting fibs I’ve been fed all these years….in some cases literally. Being a ginger, freckles are obviously a part of the territory.  Though today I cherish these little fake-tan miracles, as a kid I abhorred them.  My parents knew that I hated my freckles…my dad also knew that I hated brussel sprouts.  So, you do the math.  Using this information to his advantage would be an understatement, as he told me that with every brussel sprout I ate a freckle would disappear.  They tasted like feet, smelled like farts, and I had to plug my nose…but you better believe I swallowed those disgusting little cabbages down to rid myself of those nasty little speckles.

So, like parents, like the weather, like the unpredictability of my sleep patterns….I guess everything is bound to keep coming and going, perhaps never changing, but only resurfacing.  I keep waiting for the someday to come where my mom doesn’t treat me like a child (except for when I want her to), I don’t need an alarm clock, I’m never over-tired, I’m never unable to sleep, I’m always on time, I always have my laundry put away, and I always immediately do my dishes.  These things haven’t happened yet….I guess turning 30 wasn’t the event into “real” adulthood that I thought it was going to be.  But, as one of my favourite Creedence Clearwater Songs states, “I’m here to tell you now each and every mother’s song, you better learn it fast; you better learn it young, cause Someday Never Comes.”

The Ginga Ninja

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Will you text with me? Modern Love.

So, there are times I think I am soooo witty and funny, or more appropriately, hope I am.  But, just like everything in life, almost every thought, every moment, every feeling, every job you have (which is monumental to you!) has all been had before.  As it turns out, this proof rears its ugly head once again, that I am in fact NOT as special as my mother made me out to be.

(Funny thing about that is as child I was told to reach for the stars and never settle, as an adult I was told that life was not meant to be extraordinary and that I must envision less…oh mom…how I love your mind-messing schizophrenia).

Anyways, have you ever noticed that today’s version of dating BY TEXT is somewhat equivalent to the grade school pastime of passing notes to one another?  It’s impossible to know whether you are actually “dating” anymore or just passing time… and so many people hide behind modern-day technology and cannot live without those little screens. We are all so afraid of actually talking to one another, wasting our oh-so-precious time and wanting to appear non-committal, we just seem to have resorted from one version of passing notes to another.

In the movie “He’s just not that into you”, the character Mary rants, “I had this guy leave me a voicemail at work so I called him at home and then he emailed me to my Blackberry and so I texted to his cell and then he emailed me to my home account and the whole thing just got out of control. And I miss the days when you had one phone number and one answering machine and that one answering machine has one cassette tape and that one cassette tape either had a message from a guy or it didn’t. And now you just have to go around checking all these different portals just to get rejected by seven different technologies. It’s exhausting. “

You know, she’s kind of right.  When this phenomenon hit a few years ago, I was somewhat taken aback that gone were the days of 4 hour phone calls, falling asleep on the line together whispering “you hang up…no YOU hang up”…and it was replaced by constant little one liners of “how was ur day?”, “what r U up to right now”, and “just out with friends 4 a beer, U?”.  I was frustrated as hell when I actually liked the guy that his cell phone didn’t seem to get coverage in a voice-to-voice conversation, yet somehow I magically received texts 24/7.  However, also elated about the ability to hide behind this little screen when I was busy, but still wanted to check in, or frankly just “wasn’t that into him”.

But, the old-fashioned days of actually meeting in person for coffee or having long and meaningful phone conversations appear to be gone.  We are now in the age of technology where only by the trail of little e-notes you carry around in your iPhone you can actually prove to your friends that you do, in fact, have a boyfriend.  Which is really, essentially the same as when you were in grade 5 and somebody asked you out by note.  Check the box, “Yes, No, Maybe” and there you had it.  You didn’t speak, you didn’t hold hands, you rarely looked at each other without giggling, yet the proof was there, clear as day…you checked the box marked YES and had a bonafide BOYFRIEND.

I wish, oh how I wish that dating was simpler.  That it wasn’t through phone, that maybe you did have the anticipation of talking to one another instead of the instant gratification of a text, and the WORST is when you know the text is read and yet they haven’t answered back (DAMN YOU iPHONE!!), but once again, it appears I am not original in these thoughts, nor am I alone.

My friend, the Single Girl says it here and says it well.  http://adventuresofasinglegirl.com/index.php/2011/11/e-t-phone-home/.  Don’t worry, someday, someone will find you important enough to pick up the phone and dial those simple, little, digits.  Someday my phone call will come.

The Ginga Ninja

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Don’t Call Me Mr.Right, just call me Ms. Right…

“Your hair is so gorgeous, your eyes are so big, you have fantastic boobs and don’t get me started on those lips”….words every girl wants to hear coming from the mouth of an adoring guy, right?  Especially when Prince Charming ends up being your new drunk bff that you just met at the gay bar.

Hey, a confidence boost is a confidence boost.  I’ll take it.

Anyways, for all those women out there who really do have perfect teeth, silky hair, legs that go for miles, killer cheek bones, and a rack that makes a queen say, “Damn Beotch”…just keep flaunting it, even if it’s only for you. 

The Ginga Ninja

 

A Penny for your Thoughts….

Let me ask you, do people change?  There are those that say we are who we are and inevitably you will always return to those beliefs.  But, how do we explain new hairdos, weight fluctuations, clothing styles, and last, but certainly not least – food tastes!

If I can’t change, please explain to my why I now as an adult like mustard, mayonnaise, raw fish, cucumber and shockingly, horseradish!

Maybe I’m my same neurotic, artistic, self through every stage of life and others look at me the same.  But I know that deep down through every job, every boyfriend, every new city, every good book…a little bit of me evolves.  Or one could argue that maybe I am just being introduced to new things that I never knew I liked in the first place…(I would normally play devil’s advocate and fight for this one), but hey, seriously, how then do you explain the mayonnaise thing?

I for one am happy to at my core stay fundamentally me, good and bad, but enjoy and choose new things as life progresses.  This is especially true of men, not just for me, but for most women. That juvenile delinquent who carved letters in his arm in highschool is just not looking quite as attractive as he once did…maybe it’s the parole officer, maybe it’s the drug dealer, but I’ll now take my safe and secure nerds any day.

So even if I can’t ultimately change, my tastes certainly can….

I was going to leave you with a quote from one of my favourite authors, Jodi Picoult, but it was getting a bit deep so I’ll leave you with this instead.

“If you’re in a bad situation, don’t worry, it’ll change. If you’re in a good situation, don’t worry, it’ll change.”  –  John. A Simone Sr.

Keep rolling with those punches.

The Ginga Ninja

Moving out, Moving in…Moving up?

“I’M MOVING”.  These must be two of the most dreaded words in the English language that can come from a friend or family members’ mouth. Especially when you’re the one saying them.  In my case, I have moved a lot.  Call it wanderlust, call it immaturity, call it financial burden, call it indecision….in the past 2 years I have moved 4 times….and that doesn’t count the mini-moves between the real moves to brother’s couches and parents spare bedrooms.

Either way, like everything in life, Murphy’s Law tends to play a part on that dreaded day.  The movers don’t show…you hoist your couch up the roof through a window from your new neighbours’ balcony…(yep, that actually happened) and you thank your lucky stars that you haven’t pissed off everybody in your life enough to have to do it alone.

Despite my somewhat cursed luck when it comes to these things, I thank the universe that I have friends and family patient enough to keep coming back through my uncertainty, new roommates, boyfriends, and various cities to lend a hand….even if that hand shines up your kitchen ware with Windex so that everything you drink tastes like poisonous soap.  Yep…that also actually happened.

Thanks mom.  Love you too.

The Ginga Ninja

Crazy Cat Ladies…

So, there are cat people and there are dog people…or that third type of person who doesn’t like animals at all.  I pity them.  Then again, with two cats at the age of 30, they probably pity me.  As a single woman with cats, it gets pprreettyy hard to escape the old adage of old maid, crazy cat lady, single white female….the list goes on and on.  It doesn’t matter that I have had one of these cats since 17, or they were both adopted into a family (not a single woman’s tiny apartment), or that one was saved from being put down….two cats + 1 woman + no ring on that finger = spinster.

Anyways, there are those that embrace the life and choose their “babies” over relationships or kids, and then there are those (like moi) who fight the stereotype. They refuse that third cat (no matter how cute) and are very careful to avoid all cat paraphenelia, pictures, clothing, or statuettes.  Though a cute set of salt & pepper shakers could never hurt.

And so this brings me to the most important part of this rant….an homage to the crazy cat ladies of our time!  You have my love and support, I get it.  Just be sure not to go over the count of 12 because that will officially term you an animal hoarder.  Seriously.

• Eleanor Abernathy (Crazy Cat Lady, The Simpsons)
• Cat Woman (Batman)
• The Black Cat (Spiderman)
• Angela Martin (The Office)
• The Cat Lady (A Clockwork Orange)
• Jocelyn Wildenstein (Woman who has had plastic surgery to look like a cat)
• My brother’s crazy neighbour Anne-Marie

So, this posting goes out to my girl Titi who finally got her condo and just adopted two adult cats in need of a home.  You deserve my never-ending admiration.

The Ginga Ninja

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