Pounding the pavement

I always struggle when it comes to getting fit.

I hate diets, because I hate the idea of giving up the foods that I love.  The gym bores me, and I just end up forking out some extortionate amount for membership fees without ever going.  I have better luck with sports, since it successfully maintains my interest longer than Matt McConaughey without his shirt on.  At the moment, I’m playing touch football twice a week and training with my brother whenever we can.

I’ve always liked the idea of running, since it’s free (OK, I’m a tightarse) and it gets me outside.  But my short attention span means that I’m already wishing for the run to be over just two minutes in.  However, after putting together an amazing play list for my Chamonix ski trip, I decided that a bit of Apple shopping therapy combined with the threat of public humiliation would be sufficient motivation for me to get off my arse and get out onto the street.

So I bought myself a very cute and very ethical iPod shuffle, loaded my play list, and signed up to both the Richmond Run and the adidas Women’s 5K Challenge.  The public humiliation part will be my attempt at finishing both races without stopping halfway doubled over and wheezing like a 80 year old.

First race is this Saturday! Eeeek.

* Image courtesy of stock.xchng

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I’m just not that into you

I would normally rather eat salad* than watch rom-coms such as the new movie, He’s Just Not That Into You, but considering that I’m in my late 20s and still single, I thought that it could be a semi-educational offering as well as being a mindless time waster.

In the end, it did turn out to be a fairly predictable popcorn movie with a conveniently happily-ever-after ending that was torturously unsatisfying.  It did drill into you that if he isn’t calling you, then he’s just not interested, so don’t bother deluding yourself with any fantasies of hot dates and affection.

Still, the movie didn’t answer the questions that I have about blokes:

  • Why are they so inept at communicating their feelings?  He may think that this is because he’s “complex” but really, EVERY bloody bloke is incapable of expressing their feelings.  We’re not mind readers (see this post for an earlier related rant).
  • So if a guy does call you and seems interested, how do you know if he’s actually wanting something serious as opposed to just sex?
  • Why does every bloke that I meet bring up the subject of ex-girlfriends within two dates?  Is it because he wants to show that he is capable of sustaining a relationship, or is he just really not over her?

Maybe they need to make a new movie called What Men Are Really Thinking…but I guess noone has been able to actually determine that yet.

* Those who know me know that you don’t win friends with salad…it’s an accompaniment people!

* Image courtesy of stock.xchng

The recap

Sheer laziness has prevented me from updating this blog on a more frequent basis, so I shall attempt to summarise the last two months into a list of achievements and non-achievements:

Successes in the last two months

  • Negotiated my first ever payrise after only 4 weeks into a new job
  • Picked up an 8-month old baby of my own volition without heart palpitations
  • Played in my touch football team’s (the Touchy Feelys) only win of the competition so far
  • Reunited with my long lost mate, Al, who I met on exchange in Sacramento
  • Attended Reading Festival for the first time and managed to survive without suffocating in the pit toilets

 

 

Failings in the last two months

  • Having my Highly Skilled Migrant visa application and subsequent appeal rejected on the basis of failing the English-speaking requirement
  • Dated several guys, none of whom particularly floated my boat
  • Was completely unable to get into any semblance of routine for taekwondo or salsa dancing.

Well, it seems as though the successes outweigh the failures so that’s something to celebrate.

Platonic relationships

I was chatting to a very good mate of mine a few weeks ago on Messenger, who glumly told me that a girl he worked with that he quite fancied (and he thought quite fancied him) turned out to have a boyfriend.  He thought she fancied him because she was always talking to him but apparently “she was just genuinely a nice person”.

Of course I had to just burst out laughing because I thought it was so typical of my friend to be so clueless about women and how they act.  (And if his thinking really is typical of most men, this means that men only really bother talking to someone if they’re actually interested in them.)

My brother has a saying that “friends are just women you haven’t shagged yet”, which shows that my brother sits firmly in the camp of men who can’t have platonic relationships with women!  This contradicts my theory that men who have sisters are actually more likely to have platonic relationships with women since they understand and appreciate women as they are (my friend above comes from a family of four boys!).

I dare say that every woman I know has many male friends for whom she feels no attraction at all, though I would guess that quite a number of men would struggle to say that they had only platonic feelings for their female friends.  I wonder if it’s a biology thing.  Any thoughts?

 

* Image courtesy of stock.xchng

Maladjusted people

Earlier this week, my brother and I were questioning whether stupid people actually know that they’re stupid.  Nothing like a deep human psychology discussion over lunch to get the juices flowing, but an incident occurred last night that also made me wonder whether maladjusted people know that they’re maladjusted.

I’d had a fantastic night at the theatre (the current production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Shakespeare’s Globe is highly recommended!), having laughed so hard that I thought I was going to keel over from the lack of oxygen going to my brain.  I arrived home at about 11:30pm to see my male flat mate and his best mate from Texas watching a movie.  The Texan has been staying with us for the last week, crashing on the couch.

I am fixing myself a snack in the adjoining kitchen, and I can hear my flat mate mumbling obscenities under his breath.  That’s not unusual in itself, since he often likes to swear at the television, but then quite suddenly, the Texan gets up and storms out of the apartment.  This prompts my flat mate to yell and slur obscenities at him just as the door slams.

I walk out into the living room and sit on the couch whilst my bagel is toasting, and my flat mate is being overly chatty to me.  Feeling slightly weirded out, I launch myself back into the kitchen, just as I hear my flat mate exclaim, “Fuck, blood is dripping everywhere”! I decided to ignore his outburst, since I’ve figured out that he’s generally an attention-seeking person, but then he comes into the kitchen and looks at me in an eyes-half-glazed look.

Venturing cautiously, I ask him what is wrong and he tells me that his “fucking friend is what’s wrong”. Hmmm.  He continues slurring, “But I don’t care, because pain doesn’t worry me – you want to see what I think of pain?” before he grabs the kitchen scissors, opens them up menacingly, and then gouges the blade down his forearm, which is already fresh with cuts. I can’t help but look away.  I’m not sure whether it’s a reaction to my cringing, but he laughs and says, “Don’t worry though, I’ve run out of knives”, gesturing to the empty knife block.

Needless to say, I beat a hasty retreat back to my room, all the while wondering whether my taekwondo skills to date would be enough to take him on if he threatened me (I thought so).

I could put this down one of those random incidences of flat sharing, since living with random strangers very rarely turns out perfectly it seems.  But it did make me wonder, when this sort of incident freaks me out, that it probably seems “normal” to some people.  Sure, everyone has their own quirks, but there surely must be some point where you are just no longer “normal” and are clearly maladjusted.

Drugs must play a part in it, making you irrational and delusional – as Ozzy Osbourne managed to prove publicly on The Osbournes.  I’ve only seen my flat mate drink excessively, I’m pretty sure he does do drugs as well.  I must seem so utterly boring and conventional to him, because I would definitely view myself as “normal” and well-adjusted.  I often wonder whether my flat mate thinks that his excessive drinking and drug use, frequent watching of violent films, compulsive gambling, and chain-smoking behaviour is normal.  I would think not, otherwise he wouldn’t be seeing a therapist.

I think that 26 July (the expiry of my lease!) could not come sooner.

* Image courtesy of stock.xchng