Hot People Clutch and Shift Gears

So, I may have been a wee bit dramatic last time about the world's flatulence, and more particularly, where it's been directing it. I think I really just had a whole bunch of reality check all at once and it was, as always, particularly unpleasant. I've always really enjoyed living a fantasy life.


Much of my non-work attention has been placed directly on my romantic life lately (yeah, still having trouble with that boys thinking I'm fantastic does not equal hotness deal), but I've gotta say, it's been making me kind of sad lately to focus so much of my time on that. Most of the men I've made friends with here are either taken or explicitly not interested in me, and even my attempts at booty calls with old guy friends elsewhere have turned into EPIC fails. But while all of this is kind of sad for me, and probably really entertaining for all of you, I've realized lately that I should be paying more attention to my (non-relationship-related) wins.

Case in point, I just graduated. And not only did I graduate, I did it with first class honours. And I won an award of distinction, presented to me by Halifamous person, Alexa McDonough (she shook my hand!) I don't know what makes me distinct (well...I don't know WHICH of my distinctive qualities was the winning one), but hey...sweet.

And I learned that I'm one of very of few of us graduating who has a job she's REALLY happy doing, and lives in a town she's REALLY happy with (for serious, move to Northern Ontario. Do it.) When I learned how many of the girls graduating were still looking for jobs, or were working in jobs outside of the field, it was like a huge pat on the back for me that I've managed what I have.

Most notably, plan ab-tastic has been in full swing for about two months now. A bunch of my friends made a point of telling me how fantastic I look. While my appearance wasn't the only "hot" quality I had originally been aiming to improve, I've learned that I respond really well to positive feedback, so it's nice to get that. I've lost several inches since I started sweating my ass off and pumping iron on a regular basis (the gown really shows off the results of all my hard work, no?) and I'm really proud of that - though it would be nice if I had a few pairs of pants that ACTUALLY fit. I can see my obliques now! I can say with relative certainty that plan ab-tastic is at the point of ab-tisfactoriness. Anyway, please keep noticing. It makes me feel like I'm ACTUALLY succeeding at this hotness thing, which makes me want to keep doing it.

After returning from my grad, I went to a fashion show put on by my personal trainer, featuring a bunch of ladies from our local ladies' figure and bodybuilding team (yeah, that's right, Northern Ontario is effing awesome). And while it's not as though I REALLY want to be a figure competitor or bodybuilder (two months of steamed broccoli, raw almonds and plain chicken breast is not my cup of tea, thanks very much - also, no cups of tea, which I cannot live without), watching these ladies, some of whom are grandmothers, strut the catwalk in bikinis looking TOTALLY RIPPED made me feel really inspired (although it might have been a buzz from the wine I drank and the fact that I got to merengue a little). I went on a 30 km bike ride today. Over gravel road. There were three unleashed, angry-looking dogs and a lot of very persistent bumblebees. It was really hard, but I had a new sense of determination that I've been missing for a long time. And this time it wasn't really driven by my sense of revenge, and I think that's a big step for me.

Hot People Have *Some* Principles

I know it's been a while since my last post, and there's a very good reason for that. Fear not, dear readers. Though the positive attitude exemplified the last time you heard from me may have suggested good things on my horizon, the world farts in my face yet again.

The dearth of hilarious hijynx on the interwebs has been the direct result of my hard drive eating it sometime in early May. Procrastination and a timetable tighter than my junior high figure skating costume kept me from getting it fixed until mid-week last week. Anyway, perhaps the fates were keeping me from posting so nobody would miss my latest bout of ridiclitude. Every time I tell this story I feel stupider and stupider, but I'm hoping that blogging about it will serve as some kind of cathartic reset button.

I've made a few friends recently. This is not the problem (actually, it's kind of a huge win for me). I've made most of these friends through the FIRST friend I made here - he's been really great at introducing me to people and to the wonders offered by small-town northern Ontario. A week or two ago, he invited me to a party hosted by a couple of friends on a cottage property just outside of town. As the night progressed, it became more and more clear that we would be staying the night (the strongest indicator of this being the rate at which we were producing empty bottles). Towards the end of the night, we decided to change into our swimsuits and fire up the hot tub down by the lake. This may have been the worst idea in history. Hot tubs are a great way to relax and unwind, dehydrate yourself, and then become unbearably nauseous. My friend was one of those who discovered this. The hot tub time was cut short by a significant margin.

So, we all went inside and were shown our various accommodation options. When it came my turn, our hostess looked at me and my friend and said "You guys can either sleep in THIS double bed, or you can sleep in this other room with the double bed and bunk." This immediately set off my awkward situation alarm. She clearly thinks we're together. My immediate response was to quietly wait for her to leave so I could avoid having the "Despite appearances, I'm VERY single" discussion, which I hate with every fibre of my being, and then choose the room where my friend was guaranteed to concuss himself because I'm just a generous person like that.

Awkward point number two was when we both reached for the same doorknob. Being chivalrous (and only slightly less intoxicated), I allowed my friend to go into the room with the bunk - but having already COMMITTED to that room in my mind, I didn't have a second thought about sleeping in there even though he had also obviously chosen it and there was a perfectly good, empty bed in the next room. I am a dumbass.

Awkward point number 1000, we had changed into our suits in a different building on the property. This meant that once out of wet suits, there was really nothing to change INTO. My friend was completely naked under the covers, and once I took off my wet suit, I would be, ahem, "as God intended me" as well. While I'm generally in favour of co-ed nakedness, I feel as though this was a situation rife with opportunitues for Shakespeare-esque misunderstandings and ensuing sword-fights. It was awkward.

At some point several seconds into my descent into drunk-sleep, my friend groaned. As he was above me, and as most projectiles are subject to the forces of gravity at some point, you can understand that I was concerned for my general cleanliness over the course of the night. I also had concerns about my ability to get home if my friend, who had driven us both, died in his sleep. Awkward point 1000000, my mother-hen tendencies kicked in. You know how the drunk-faces LOVE it when people try to feed them water? I ALWAYS forget that! I wrapped myself in a towel (there was NO WAY I was putting on a wet bathing suit just to get a glass of water), got a glass of water, and tried to feed it to my friend in the top bunk. Drunkenly wrangling a very drunk, very tall man whilst holding a glass of water is REALLY hard. It was hard enough that my towel slipped. Not wanting to give up on the semblance of clothedness, though, I found myself more or less just pinning the towel against the side of the bunk bed with my chest...

And that's when awkward point infinity happened. My friend was mumbling some shit into his pillow. I was at once concerned that he might smother himself and that he was saying something of great import, so I leaned closer to hear what he was saying. All of a sudden there was an urgency in his voice, and he was yelling at me to "behave yourself! behave yourself! Your nose is touching mine!" Thinking that he was delirious and therefore beyond help, I gave up on him, turned the lights off and went to sleep. It only occurred to me the next afternoon that he totally thought I was trying to kiss him. And here we have our first Shakespeare-esque misunderstanding. If he's not acting super awkward around me, I'm sure as hell projecting my awkard feelings onto him every time I see him now.

This whole situation leaves my feathers a little ruffled too. Why, you ask? Well, it could be because he seemed super-offended by the idea of my kissing him. And I guess it would be legit to be offended by his offense-taking. I'm kind of fantastic (in an adorably eccentric and bizarre kind of way), and really - if it had been a lean-in for osculatory purposes rather than auditory ones, what up - it's just a kiss. But to be honest, that's not it.

What offends me is the idea that I would try to kiss anyone in THAT situation. As if stealing kisses from half-passed-out men who can't defend themselves is how I roll. For the record, I am not from the ends-justifies-the-means school of nookie acquisition - I'm pretty sure I'd rather get it the usual, consensual way even if it means I don't get it at all (which seems to be my track-record of late). I'm just too much of a hopeless romantic for anything else and I object to the notion of anything to the contrary.

Hot People Make it Fit

I went clothes shopping on Friday - I bought some new jeans. While I love having new jeans, it was still a giant disappointment to learn that while (according to my personal trainer) my workouts have been working for me (for serious, I can see abs...well...two of them), I'm STILL THE SAME EXACT SIZE THAT I WAS THREE MONTHS AGO!

But this is like a lot of things in my life - except I'm trying to squeeze my fat life into the same amount of time as I've always had. Because of my pre-work life was disappointing, from an extra-curriculars point of view, it seems as though I'm making up for eight years of lost time. I'm also told that "being involved" is a good way to meet people, and since I don't know too many of those around here yet...but perhaps I've gone a little bit overboard.

In addition to my gym and choir obligations, I have also recently joined a film event society, committed to piano performances for a local poetry festival (and may read some of my own works...eep!), and have started accompanying a high school choir. I'm currently seeking opportunities to join a Dragon Boat team, and have recently learned how to catch frisbees (which, at one point, I would count among my greatest fears - up there with eating grapes and engaging in small talk with strangers) in an attempt to play Ultimate.

Reading over this, I am somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer volume of activity I've engaged in. I am also, all of a sudden, not at all surprised that last week I found myself embarking on a 3 hour drive for a work function through moose country at 11 p.m. in an effort not to miss out on my social life. Perhaps you have to be just a little bit crazy to ACTUALLY work hard AND play hard. This might also be why I arrived home from a trip to Ottawa at midnight on Sunday night and slogged my way through work the next day with a smile slapped on my face despite my inability to actually form complete sentences when providing instruction to my patients.

On a work-related sidenote, though...I recently went to my first drug-rep-sponsored networking event. It is a bizarre, bizarre experience to be offered unlimited amounts of free alcohol while being pumped for business from a salesperson and being under the discerning and critical eye of your boss. Deeply weird. Especially when the discerning and critical eye of your boss is a little tipsier than you are.

At any rate, strange ethical dilemmas aside, I seem to be balancing my hard work with my hard play reasonably well. But it means a lot of late afternoon naps - which makes me wonder if I'm doing it wrong.

Hot People Have Their Reasons

Maybe it's the perpetual cycle of cruel teasing sunniness followed by inexplicable snow, rain and cloudy weather. Maybe it's the cosmic coincidence that I woke up both slightly hungover AND with my monthly inconvenience and could do little more this morning than haul my sorry ass from the bed, to the bath (standing up in the shower was just too much for me today), to the couch to watch a children's film and drink copious amounts of milky tea. Maybe it's because my new hairdresser alerted me to the presence of grey hair in my coif last week, and now every time I look at myself in the mirror, I keep thinking I see huge chunks of grey. Maybe it's the fact that, though I was invited to something party-esque last night (social life! huzzah!) and got pleasantly tipsy, tipsiness yesterday always results in feelings like this today.

I don't know what it is, but I'm kind of in an emo funk (imagine the fusion of THOSE musical genres...blech...well, that's how I feel). I've been writing this stuff for over a year now - and I think I have improved on the hotness front. I think I'm a lot more interesting than I was just over a year ago...for serious. It's been hard work, too - or at least painful - what with the brazilian waxes, unfortunate skin reactions due to experiments with makeups, face creams, and cleansers, and constant attempts to get my bicycle up hilariously steep hills in an effort to make my ass look sweet. But what am I doing this for? And for whom?

This whole thing started as a way to feel good about myself - and to a certain extent it's worked. But I still find myself feeling like this a little more often than I'd like. And what have I really got to show for it, anyway? A handful of slightly regrettable one-night stands (some only regrettable because they never got past that one night), a few pounds melted away (but really, only a few), a better handle on the application of makeup, slightly more flattering clothing and a seriously twisted co-dependent relationship with online dating sites.

And when feeling good about myself didn't seem to be motivation enough, I added spite to the mix - remember plan ab-tastic? I'm 100% sure that decision was all about making dudes who'd taken a pass on me experience palpable regret when they realize they missed out on the hot, hot bod I will, of course, one day have.

But now I'm pretty sure that I'm measuring my self-like by how much boys like me. And I think it's been that way for quite some time. AND I think that's not really very hot at all.

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Incidentally, I think I discovered, through observational study of behaviour, the secret to my not really caring if particular boys like me. Guy friends: if you suspect I'm interested in being more than friends with you and you'd like to leave that particular queue (cuz I'll be honest, there are more than a few of you out there), here's what you should do. Do something forgivably dick-ish to me. Seriously. I mean, not super dick-ish - unless you also want to stop being friends altogether. "Accidentally" tell me I look fat in those pants, then subsequently apologise. That kind of thing. I'm pretty sure this is a no-fail plan.
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So, back to the original question - why am I doing this? For whom?

I think it's kind of a cliché and sell-out-y to decide I'm hot when some guy I think is kind of cute decides I'm hot for me. It's got to be for some other reason.

In the last four months, almost 500 people have read this blog almost 1500 times. I'm not adept enough with my analytics program to know if that's a lot of people or not, but those are pretty astounding numbers to me. But why? Seriously, what are you reading this for? Because if I'm inspiring people, then I think that's hot. Even if it's just because I'm funny - that'd be ok too. Hot people are funny. Could I get some help with my crisis of conscience, or should I just pack it in?

Hot People Know the Score

Ok - so life in a small Northern Ontario town hasn't been COMPLETELY boring these days (don't get me wrong...it's still pretty boring...but I'll take it. For now).

The more faithful readers will be WELL aware of my angst about aging. This may have been exacerbated by my compulsion to be friends with people 6 years my junior. Maybe. While life as a diabetes educator has not cured me of that particular angst completely (it's more likely now that I'm even MORE scared of getting old when I see what kind of health crap these people have to deal with), I am at least assured that I am not as ancient as my previous, friend-of-twenty-year-olds self had believed.

Score 1 Miss T

To add to this reassurance, last weekend I was carded not once, but twice. The first time was the more hilarious of the two. I was at the LCBO when the lady at the counter asked me if I had ID to go with my purchase of a mid-priced sparkling wine. I laughed, hauled out my brand-spanking-new Ontario Drivers License (disgusting picture, btw...the province doesn't let you smile...one more reason I miss Nova Scotia), said it had been a while since I'd had that request, and handed it over. At this point, there were three people behind me waiting to purchase their weekend's mind-numbing solutions. The woman checked my birthdate, but no, that was not enough. She also felt it necessary to further delay the line-up of people waiting for the sweet relief at the end of their work-weeks to hold the license up to my face for comparison lest I be the kind of rapscallion who tries to use someone else's face at a BRIGHTLY LIT LIQUOR STORE AT 6 PM. This process took at least 120 seconds. I enjoyed every one of them.

Score 1 Miss T

The other id check happened when I joined one of the gyms in town. A twig-sized girl, obviously no older than 17, asked me if I was over 18 when I was filling out my PAR-Q. I'm pretty sure the force of my laughter mussed up her hair. But hey...when the kids think I'm one of them, that can't be bad, right?

Score 1 Miss T

I joined a choir two weeks ago. It a. is not completely (or even slightly) populated with blue-haired old warbling women, and b. a step in the right direction if I want to diversify my extra-curriculars so my life isn't just about failed debating. And I'm pretty good at it. One might say I'm an asset. Or at least, I might. Because I'm fly like that.

Score 1 Miss T

After the first choir practice, I had pizza with a guy in the choir. It was kind of spur of the moment, but he sprung for the pizza. We talked for about an hour and a half. We seem to have a lot in common. When we left and went our separate ways, we parted with an awkward hug.

Score...shit. I don't know.

Did I just have a date? There was food and good conversation and someone treating, but it wasn't pre-planned. Does that make a difference? If it WAS a date, how'd I do? I wasn't prepared. Can I have a re-test?

Also, what do I do with that awkward hug? The post-analysis has been shot to shit by that hug. Does it mean I'm in the friendzone (which would be fine...I'd just like to know), or what?

Here is what I know about the romance-calibre of date endings:

Kiss > Awkward Hug > Handshake > Watching him run away screaming

But THAT. IS. ALL.

Surely hot people know what dates are (I have several friends who have suggested to me that this is the case. They DO know).

Anyway, the limbo I'm feeling on the romantic front kind of echoes the limbo I'm feeling everywhere else. My life isn't super exciting right now, but hey, at least I look young and fresh, and to some people LIKE A CHILD. Huzzah?

Hot People Don't Believe the Hype (An Open Letter to E-Harmony)

This isn't my first brush with online dating. Unfortunately, it probably won't be my last either. But I've got a beef that I've just gotta get off my chest.

Dear E-Harmony,

I object to your claims about compatibility. You cannot match people up based on their personalities. At the risk of sounding ghetto, you don't know me. And I doubt you really care to anyway, as long as you can keep automatically charging $30/month on my VISA***. What you CAN do is match people up based on their own impressions of their personalities. And let's be honest, here. I'm pretty sure most people out there, especially the single ones ('cause Lord knows, we're all still single for a reason!), don't have enough grip on reality to TRULY know themselves. The result of this is that the people we ACTUALLY are is almost never the same as the people we THINK we are. Some people THINK they have a sarcastic sense of humour, but a lot of the time, people just don't really know what sarcasm is (except that they're pretty sure it's something that people find funny...and attractive in others...).

Secondly, your *claim* "When attraction is ignited by TRUE compatibility...", first of all, is not even a sentence. (Weren't you founded by a DOCTOR? Who had to go to SCHOOL?? Where you learn how to WRITE SHIT?!?!?!?). But it also requires that the average tv-watching consumer not be duped into thinking you can also guarantee that attraction. I wasn't duped by your slogan with the poor sentence structure, but I WAS duped by the pictures. And I say duped because it doesn't take a genius to know that everyone posts the MOST flattering pictures of themselves and never the ones where they've lost the game of angles. For some reason, the fact that I play the game had no bearing on my expectation of how others will play.

The only thing you CAN claim is that you're pretty ok at figuring out if people will be decent friends. And when people are desperately lonely because they live in brand new towns and don't know anyone except their co-workers and the girl at the express checkout at the grocery store, and because they quit debating because they're old ladies and are missing the National Championships for the first time in eight years and don't know what's happening there because THEIR FRIENDS DON'T TEXT THEM WHEN THEY SAY THEY WILL (ok, I forgive you guys. I know how crazy busy it gets there...I'm just sad and lonely here), making a decent friend should be good enough. But when you also show clips of impossibly beautiful people who are deliriously happy with each other and give people the impression that there was just this spark of love immediately, it makes us believe we SHOULD want more than a decent friend and it makes us sorely disappointed when that's all you can deliver.

So, I wonder, E-Harmony, what do you have to say to me in response? And more to the point, what do you have to say to the poor fellow sitting at home right now who thinks it's just great that he's met a girl that FINALLY he can have a conversation with? And what about the fact that I feel like a complete douche right now because YOU DIDN'T DO THE JOB YOU CLAIMED TO BE ABLE TO DO??? Well, I can find decent friends on my own, thanks. And I guess I can decide who I'm compatible with too. This is what I have to say to you, E-Harmony. Oh, and keep the $30.

Love,

Miss T

***In other news, apparently all those years of having a VISA limit that was exceeded whenever I bought more than a stick of gum has paid off. When I went to the bank to alert them that I was no longer a student, they told me my credit rating was like, A plus plus plus star and now I have more credit than I know what to do with. Hilarious.

Hot People Aren't So Sad and Lonely

Alright, so the title may have been a wee bit dramatic, but I've been in this new town for about two weeks, and it's been a week since I last saw someone I actually know (and I've run out of the lasagna my Mommy made when she was here. See? Sad!). This is no way to mark the approximate one-year anniversary of Hot in 6 Months.

All resolutions have been put on hold until I get my feet wet at work and, more crucially, get my first paycheque - though that's already earmarked for professional fee renewals and car payments (crippling ones!). In the interim, I've been getting practice with the manual transmission on my new automobile (Why did I think THAT was a good idea?) by going to Wal-Mart to buy odds and ends like paper towel and windshield scrapers, watching movies (note to self [and others]: Mamie Van Doren, though busty and beautiful, does not make good films. Period.), going to bed before 10 p.m. like a 73-year-old, and eating far more candy than is reasonable for a normal person, let alone a dietitian who counsels diabetes sufferers exclusively. Basically, I'm a lazy, sleepy person who eats garbage - but at least I've got a brand new
car (note that under my coat and boots, I'm wearing pajamas and haven't brushed my hair)!

No guitar-playing, no French-speaking (yet!), and only slightly better taste in music. And of course, plan ab-tastic has been put on hold once again. It's hard to get rock-hard abs if your most vigorous exercise consists of walking from the bedroom at one end of your apartment to the bathroom at the other.

And, if that weren't enough, my relative laziness has manifested itself in significantly more internet-surfing. And that's when I came upon this! Hottest Blogging Babes 2010!?!? And I'm not one of them?!!?!?! This is, truly, a failure.

Obviously, something must be done about this. Luckily, despite living in a pretty teensy town, it's relatively well-appointed in the amenities department. Apparently, there's a gym here with personal trainers. It is my plan to meet with one of these trainers as soon as financially possible. It is my further plan to relate to this trainer my quest for hotness and plan ab-tastic. I will do this by telling him or her that my fitness goal is to "look good naked." Hopefully the not-so-thinly veiled reference to one of my favourite movies will not go unnoticed.

The knowing-more-people problem is not so simple to rectify. Like I said before, I don't know what the cool kids do around here for fun and I don't know how to find out. I'm seriously considering going to church tomorrow just so I can get to know some people who HAVE to be nice to me. Has it really come to this?