Hot People Don't Sit Down

So, one of my resolutions this year was to "do less." I think my (I hope) notable absence from the cyberwaves is an indication that I've already failed at doing less.

That being said, I'm really quite proud of how I've managed to "do more." When I was in university, all of my energies were focussed on three things: doing well in school, drinking on weekends, and attending debate tournaments...mostly for the purposes of drinking on weekends (perhaps that's actually two things with one sub-thing...bahaha). In my first year post-university/post-employment, I've managed to do a whole heck of a lot here. Sometimes that means my cat becomes king of the apartment and I'm just some person who comes by to warm up the bed at night and leave some food in the dish in the morning. But it also kinda means that I'm a mover and shaker - which, considering my social resignation when I started this blog, is a huge deal for me. Not only have I become a participant in the social fabric of my community, I've also become a performer. I've moved from medicating my shyness with copious amounts of alcohol (with sometimes disastrous results), to putting myself on display for tens of people. I'm hoping to get some of the stills from the performance to post up here. I played a nine-month pregnant farm girl. They're pretty funny.

And I'm pretty happy with myself. But not completely. I'm just finding a little difficulty with the balance of happinesses. I love being involved...having my finger on a pulse, or what-have-you. But when I'm so engulfed in activity, it's really hard to be...active. Physically, speaking. Or, you know, eat foods made of food. And I've gotta say, it certainly doesn't make me happy when NOT A SINGLE PAIR OF PANTS THAT I OWN WILL DO UP COMFORTABLY. Of course, the play's over and in a month or two, so will all of my other extra-curriculars. I'll have the whole summer and miles of country highway sprawling before me and my bicycle. But I know the same thing's going to happen next year and I'm FINALLY learning that given the choice between being fun and being fit, I'm going to choose fun every single time. And I'm going to languour in my resulting corpulence every single time as well. So, the key is to find ways to make fitness fun. Seems like a no-brainer, huh? Halp.

Hot People Win, Even When They Lose

I've been noticing (mostly because it is completely obvious) that the growing up/goodbye to my youth process has involved a lot of "one last debate tournament"s. I know, I know. Nerdz!

But for serious - debating has been an invaluable and defining part of my life for almost a decade (yipes, I'm old!). Many readers will know this, but my main focus is actually judging the debates, and I've gotten pretty good at it over the past few years. So this past weekend, I was strong-armed at the last minute by some friends to judge at a pretty major tournament. Although geographically, I found myself in Toronto, I also inexplicably found myself (metaphorically) in a place called, by those in the know, the bin. The bin is where the bad debates happen - the ones devoid of reason, organization or articulation, let alone any sort of panache. It's a place I haven't found myself in a few years, and I've gotta say, it put me into a bit of a tailspin.

First of all, I've had some...exchanges...with a few of the people in charge. It was almost as though they were holding something against me. Like perhaps I had written some scathing and untoward things about them on a public internet site or something...hmm...so for a while I thought it was just vengeance.

Here's where, in retrospect, it gets a little cringe-worthy and unattractive. Soon after I came to my senses and decided nobody could be so petty (right?...nobody would be...) as to seek vengeance for a blog post from months ago in which all parties (except myself) remained more or less anonymous, I started to have a small (Seriously, it was only tiny. And I definitely kept it to myself as well...) personal crisis about my skillz as a debate judge. There might have been some moist eyes threatening tears at a few moments. This is cringe-worthy for two reasons:

1. Who likes emo-girl traipsing around like a 17th century poet? I don't. I'm pretty sure I could have dealt with things a little more gracefully (although shit, I saw some bad debates this weekend). For example, I might have avoided referring to the complete injustice of my shitty weekend to everyone I met, or at the very least avoided opening every conversation with that topic. I might also have opted NOT to require everyone to list my accomplishments at top volume, in unison, before I unlocked the door to our accommodations and allowed them to enter.

2. It points to a greater problem with my life. When someone gets uppity because they've lost a debate, I go on an oft-ranted tirade about how the outcome of a debate round has no bearing on real life and nobody in real life is going to care whether you won your fifth round at the 2007 eastern invitational. Despite this firm belief, I've really made debating THE major priority in my life and I've done it for too long. Although my success in the field of debate judging (which, frankly, only a select few would even count as a REAL success) has served me well, it has been something I've cultivated to the exclusion of all other things and I think this is a little bit alarming. Like, I used to be good at other shit. I used to be an awesome lip sync artist (at high school dances, with my thumb-rophone), and I would kill at trivia contests (Reach for the Top FTW!) but I haven't done either of those things in like, forever. In conclusion, I really need to diversify my talent portfolio. Learning to be a french-speaking guitar hero is obviously already on the agenda...but I need to think of some other things to incorporate into my life so I can one day be awesome at them. Ideas? Anyone?

On the other hand, my relative abandonment of all reason and sense of purpose meant that, on balance, the rest of the weekend was pretty awesome.

First of all, I learned that I am effing amazing at playing damsel in distress (it helps when the distress is real). A number of dashing young men came to my aid. I think I only paid for half my drinks and I wasn't allowed to leave the dancefloor (in fact, I was forcibly removed from areas not technically dancefloor on a number of occasions). I also had one of the nicest and least "pressure-y to do more" makeout sessions I've ever had, and that was really refreshing.

Secondly, I drank my face off. The results of this were epic (although, recognizing that I already used my last chance to drink stupid amounts of alcohol, the hangover on Sunday was just as epic). I definitely danced like a rockstar that night. I also definitely fell out of a bunk bed. The resulting bruises (reflecting the pattern of the carpet) and rug burn are totally badass. My successful attempt at mounting the bunk bed ladder post-fall without the help of my two very concerned friends was just as badass. And I definitely spent the rest of the night spooning my friend's girlfriend to avoid a second fall.

In conclusion, while daytime Miss T wasn't very hot at all, I feel like my Saturday night was burning up just a little (at least, I felt sorta hot...). Now, how can I keep that fire ablaze?