Oops!

Oops: a summation of a relationship, however brief, torrid, or catastrophic, generally understood by all parties involved to have been a mistake.

I was attending a good-bye party for one of my girlfriends, let’s call her Emily, who in a few days is gallivanting to South Eastern Asia for four months with her boyfriend, let’s call him David. The majority of the party was her girlfriends, I included, except for one “happy” couple, and I use that term objectively. See, this couple constitutes one of my domesticated friends, let’s call her Abby, along with her boyfriend of over a year, let’s call him Bram.

Let me begin with the fact that I adore Abby; she is smart, beautiful, career oriented, comes from a good and loving, God-fearing family and is on her way to a fantastic job and a fantastic life. So it confuses the hell out of me every time I see her as each time is few and far between and she is almost always attached to Bram. It is simply mind-boggling to me every time I see him holding her hand, or with his arm around her, or Heaven-forbid kissing her. Maybe I should expand; Bram is a bit older than her, give or take 4 years, with a job but no career, not very attractive facially, physically, intellectually, anything? He’s immature, funny only to himself, makes inappropriate remarks and jokes at the worst possible times… basically he is a walking train wreck, except one you simply MUST look away from. So I had to ask myself, how did this gong show of a guy have my gorgeous girlfriend in the palm of his hand?

The first thought that popped into my mind was obvious; however Abby is a good girl, traditional and proper, so the “he must be good in bed” excuse is out of the question. Money? I ventured a guess that he spoiled her rotten with gifts, dinners, mini-breaks and the like… until the bill came at the martini bar we were at, and it was Abby who pulled out her credit card from her clutch while Bram kept chatting away, like he was expecting her to pay for the pleasure of his company, his food, is alcohol, and his dessert. Now I am the modern type of woman; I enjoyed treating my man to a dinner, a drink or 2, or a movie no problems; however an acknowledgement was always in order for each of us, whoever was paying; a thank you from Bram would have been nice, however it seemed as if a thank you, let alone a glance at the bill was the furthest thing from his mind. So it cannot be money. Company? As I alluded to before, Abby is... well, perfect. Given the chance she could get any man at any time… so why Bram? Then it hit me; Pity! This must be a pity date, or a pity quickie relationship! During the past year we all kept thinking that one day Abby would show up solo, smiling and laughing like before with a “just kidding!” look in her eyes… but it’s been over a year, and Bram is still around. So really, what is going on here? This isn’t the first case I’ve come across where a gorgeous, intelligent, otherwise perfect girl is in a so-so relationship with a guy her friends wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot clown pole. So why is it that this otherwise reject-of-a-guy is getting the fantastic girl?

I guess it comes down to what a lot of people have been telling me; guys are intimidated by good looking girls. That is why you see a lot of hot girls walking around, holding hands and getting married to less than hot guys. The nice guys and the hot guys are not making any moves, therefore leaving the attractive women ripe for the taking. The nice guy complains that there are no nice girls left and that we all want the jerks; to this I say, well then make a move before the jerk gets her! Personally speaking, not a lot of men speak to me for one reason or another, so whenever a guy shows interest and makes a move, I will most likely respond just out of curiosity or who knows? Maybe even attraction; but this chain of events cannot occur spontaneously; you must make a move in order to see results. Jerks and less than … worthy I suppose? Gentleman get the girl simply because they try; they put in the little bit of effort that the nice guy can’t seem to do and as a result, the jerks and less than worthy men get all the women.

And I find that frustrating; not only for my friend Abby, but for myself. Heaven knows I’ve had my share of “oops!” with men I shouldn’t ever have touched with a 10-foot clown pole, but I did because they put in the effort while the nice guys I really liked sat back and watched, shaking their heads and seeing fit to lecture me when the relationship didn’t work out. I guess the final word is this; nice guys, make a move; and nice girls… don’t settle for the less-than-worthy guy … except if you can explain it away as a temporary bout of insanity, otherwise known as an oops!

Beyond Our Front Door...

I realize that the majority of my posts have been about stereotypical twenty-something issues with an extra focus on shoes; it is the prerogative of youth to act our age, however there is a time and place for everything, including the issues that nobody my age wishes to discuss. It is a common mistake, I know I do it too… I have kept my mouth shut when the right thing was to speak out, but never mistake silence for stupidity. As a young woman in 2006 I may not always say what is on my mind, but that doesn’t mean that I actually don’t have anything important to say.

My generation is notorious for our lackadaisical attitudes towards others; not caring what happens so long as it doesn’t happen to us. We’re unaware or worse, disinterested in the goings on of the world outside our social circle and at most outside of our sphere of influence. The “why should I care what happens?” stigma, I feel, is unfairly placed upon all twenty-something’s, at least myself and a good number of twenty-something’s I know. The confusion or misconception lies in the fact that although we are aware of what is going on in the world around us, we don’t quite know how to deal with it yet, or what we should or should not do about it. Contrary to popular movies that claim otherwise, twenty-something’s don’t think that they declared peace in the Middle East, we know that AIDS is real not just because Alicia Keys told us so, and that in comparison to 20-30-40 years ago the world we live in is a very different place. So to all the “adults” who look down upon my generation as a group of know-nothing-know-it-alls I say this: we’re conscious of our environment beyond our immediate friends and family; it’s just hard to make a stand on our principles when those in power aren’t listening because it’s already been decided that we don’t know anything. How can those of us who want to change the world if the world right now doesn’t acknowledge that we want to?

I bring this up because of the recent news article about the alleged bombing plot on 10 UK to US flights and other potential acts of terror that seep over the Atlantic Ocean into the back of our minds. As a frequent and already petrified traveler I find this news especially disturbing, not because I plan on flying in the near future, nor because my family, my father especially, tends to fly quite often. No, this disturbs me because as a human being in an insecure world, news like this should disturb me, despite it being about perfect strangers one continent away from my cozy cubicle in a safe (for now) country. I mean, one would have to be REALLY selfish or really removed from reality if a news article like this doesn’t affect you in the slightest. We’re social creatures: we all know somebody who flies/commutes/works/otherwise lives their daily lives. Some call me paranoid for being frightened, my mother to be exact, even though she herself hates flying; I’ve had friends and relatives remind me that you are safer in a plane than in a car, that the chances of this/that/the other actually happening to you are slim to none and every other cliché you can throw at me… but clichés are another topic that I’ll discuss later. Either way the end result was the same; I was scared before, and now I am scared stiff.

I guess its human nature, not twenty-something nature, to not want to think about events or happenings that has the potential to cause us harm or danger or anxiety, or to rationalize it away like my friends and family have tried to do in respects to my fear of flying. And personally, when I catch myself thinking about the social issues that will eventually effect my work, like AIDS in Africa, the ridiculous price of easily made pharmaceuticals to third world populations, and the overall lack of funding and attention my field received despite performing a critical function within society, I find myself frustrated at the external loci of control that for the moment is making all the decisions about topics I care deeply for. So what does one do? If I kept thinking about it eventually I’d find myself in a state of helplessness, that even after I get my degrees and experience and the skills necessary to make a difference I would have convinced myself through years of thought and doubt that no matter what I do or who I do it to, nothing will change. The idealism of my youth and the passion that drives me would have been crushed a slow and painful death by the distorted reality of the forty/fifty-something’s opinions on the current world we occupy. So I stop thinking about it all the time until the day I can actually do something about it, more than the monthly donations, the volunteer work and the education I give myself that keeps me close enough to make it real, but far enough to let me focus. To everyone outside our heads this seems pretty selfish, like we’re ignoring the problem, but we’re not. We’re just waiting for our turn.

Isolationism didn’t work for the States cerca WW1 and WW2; as hard as they tried to ignore the problems that were occurring a world away because in the end, geographic proximity doesn’t matter in the modern world. We are free to move about, as are those who wish us harm. We know that. We painfully, obviously know that to the point where we know-nothing-know-it-alls don’t know what to do. And for a stubborn independent twenty-something, that is not a good feeling.

But if you’ll excuse me, I have to go board my flight.

The Importance of Something and the Meaning of Nothing

I think that one of the most frustrating feelings one could have while engaged in the dating game is the feeling of something that is missing, especially when you can’t place your finger on that “something”. Granted the entire idea of dating is finding out whether or not you are compatible with someone, and really when you think about it you’re going to get more misses than hits… but still. The moment of realization that this person you’re seeing may not be “the one” is always a let down. It’s not that there is anything wrong with that person… it’s just the fact that they are not right. You may not be able to concretely describe why this person is not right but deep down you know; and I guess that’s all the proof you need.

Last night I saw the teacher, a guy I met not too long ago with a profile (and jaw-line) that looked promising. He’s a bit older than I am, and although I understand that older doesn’t necessarily mean more mature, I prefer to see men who are at least 2-3 years older than I am. The teacher is attractive, intelligent, has a good job and a set routine, he’s great with kids and so relaxed, which is a nice opposite to my overactive mentality. We’ve had four or five dates and things were starting to appear promising. But last night was different; something was off about me, about my body, about my mind, so much that I had to stop what I was doing (and that wasn’t easy, let me tell you!) and think. It was like I had just run into a window pane of foggy glass. Apparently this “something” was quite noticeable, as even the teacher noticed the change in my mood, saying that he had never seen me so “pensive” and “gone so long without you talking”.

I have had the pleasure of meeting many people such as myself: that although I may not always say what is on my mind, if you know them/me well enough you can simply read it off their facial expressions and body language. In this case with the teacher, it seemed confusing to him but so obvious to me. I have a good understanding of my body language and how my mind works. I’m stubborn, so answers or warning signs that are clear to others often takes a bit longer to sink into my thick head, and I think that’s what happened last night with the teacher. I finally realized that something was off, and it was bothering me all night until this morning when it finally clicked. When it comes to the teacher, although he seems to have everything he is still missing something that I need:

Butterflies. He doesn’t give me butterflies, not when I see him nor when I think of him. And that is what I am missing. That is my “something” that has the potential, and probably will, to prevent me from dating the teacher. It is the “something” that I simply cannot do without, because without it what we have is … well, nothing.

I guess that’s the downside to knowing yourself too well; you know what you want and what you don’t want… but most importantly you know what you need. As nice as the teacher is, as cute and smart and oh-so-attractive, that something is missing; something important enough to make me reconsider our quasi-relationship.

I will admit that I am young; 21 to be exact, not really what one would call “seasoned” in the game of love. However I have been in love and I have been in relationships that feel right… well at least they did at the beginning, and I’ve been stuck in relationships that have felt so wrong I had to escape. So in a sense I know what I should be feeling and what I shouldn’t, what I need to feel and what I need to pursue a relationship with someone who fulfills those needs.

With the teacher I am content; I am not unhappy but at the same time I am not exquisitely joyful. And it’s not because of anything he has done or hasn’t done. We get along just fine, we’re both somewhat attracted to each other, we have similar interests and can make the other laugh. Now on paper this sounds lovely, and being with him is nice… but that’s all it is. The butterflies are missing, and I can’t trick my body or my mind into believing something else after experiencing what real love is like. I can’t, and nor should anyone else, fool myself into believing that a 5/10 relationship is worth it or good enough. I guess what it comes down to is this, my third dating mantra: Give me Butterflies, or Give me Space.

Some people call it butterflies, some people call it the zsa-zsa-zsu. Either way it’s that feeling in the pit of your stomach of nervousness that makes you feel excited and alive. Butterflies can change the way you breathe, the way you eat, the way you act, the way you speak. It’s the initial contact, the first touch, glance or stare that takes your breath away… and with the teacher it isn’t there. And that made me sad… but at the same time I do not believe in settling for an ok-relationship when I could find someone who gives me butterflies. As sad as I am in light of this fact… I don’t settle for anything else in life, not for shoes, not for education, not for friends, and not for me; so why should I settle for something as important as a potential lover? Settling for an ok lover makes absolutely no sense, and any lover/boyfriend/significant other I taken on must at least give me butterflies.

We're one, but we're not the same...

I really hate it when people should me. You know, “you should do this” or “you shouldn’t do that” or “you should be …..”, especially when the should relates to any and all events that contain emotions. One thing that I have learned in my studies is that there is a difference between sympathy and empathy in the sense that although you can relate to what someone is going through, you cannot truly know what it feels like for them simply because you are not them. Just because you had experienced a similar situation to someone doesn’t necessarily give you the right to decide where someone is in their recovery, or decide for them what they should do (see, there is that word again!). Particularly when you’re dealing with matters of the heart. As critical as your friends are when it comes to overcoming heartbreak, I can’t help but wonder how much help anyone can be with something so individual, as often I’ve found myself justifying my emotions rather than expressing them.

I was recently speaking to a guy about this, and maybe that was my first mistake, as men seem to be able to repress emotions better than women, about an ex of mine, Vegas actually, whose story still stings my chordae tendineae despite being two years over. This guy friend of mine, although well-meaning and wonderful, should-ed me in respect to the fact that I still am not completely over him… like I was wrong or inadequate for not being able to “look him in the eye and say ‘whatever I’m over you”. When I tried to explain that what happened really hurt and that since it didn’t happen to him it would be hard to understand, he shot back with a previous break up of his. Now under normal circumstances this would be all good and well, as empathy is always welcome when the heart hurts, however in this case the girl he broke up with that was so painful… well they are now engaged, not to mention that he got under his own free will and mind a permanent reminder of her etched on his body. So maybe I am missing something here, but all I could focus on was the fact that although yes they had broken up, yes both had experienced heart ache not unlike my own, their story had a happy ending, or should I say a happy beginning come this time next year at their wedding.

Half of me wished to respond in kind: to say “Well can you look her in the eye and say ‘whatever I am over you?’… Oh that’s right, no, because you looked her in the eye and said ‘marry me’.” Don’t get me wrong here: I am truly happy for them as they are wonderful people and even more wonderful together, but that fact, that ending negates all credibility in him emphasizing with my situation. What started out as a similar notion of love lost and pain found ended very differently for the two of us. In short he got what he wanted and I did not. He said those words to her that I wanted to her from my ex, but my ears are still half-straining for words that will never be said and an ending that will never happen. It confused me and still does now how he could say something like that knowing full and well that coming from him that expectation is baseless. It is one thing to be a “survivor” so to speak, of a particularly bad break up and to have successfully moved on and ask me why I haven’t been able to do the same. Granted I’d still be pissed off but I would understand: coming from someone who was there and maybe still is there, I can listen. But coming from someone who was there for a short time only to have their hope fulfilled and their wishes come true to ask me why I haven’t gotten over someone? It doesn’t seem right… maybe because it’s not.

The other half of me can see where this attitude is coming from. It is unfair to categorize this kind of behaviour to just teenagers and adolescence, the idea that “nobody understands what I am going through because NOBODY has hurt as much as I have/like I have… I’m such a victim”. In that scenario I can see how that kind of attitude is annoying, selfish and self centred. However I am well aware of the fact that there are people out there in the world who have suffered far more than I ever will in every sense of the world, that heart ache and loneliness has existed before I was born, and yes I have hurt, but the world goes on whether or not I chose to join it. Understanding all of this and trying to avoid the spotlight effect, it still hurts when someone expects me to be something I am not or do something that I simply cannot do right now, especially when it’s about love.

Current research suggests that the old cliché of your “first love” has a scientific basis; that when it goes awry it will always hurt the most and more disturbingly will always be permanently etched in your brain and heart. This is so because before your first love our minds and bodies did not know what love was, so during that first intimate or adult relationship your brain is creating new synapses and connections, much like learning a new language, that you refer back to when you think of love, thus referring back to the person who helped create those synapses, those connections between your higher brain functions and your heart. So in a sense we are chemically doomed to refer back to our first love as a basis for our subsequent relationships where “love” is re-stimulated. It is a bleak picture, but it makes sense; therefore I am not surprised that I am not fully over him and know that I never will be.

Individual experiences are just that: individual. Just like you cannot literally feel another persons physical pain, such you cannot completely understand another persons emotional pain. Knowing this, it is very difficult for me to accept another person’s obligations or expectations when it comes to “getting over” anything in accordance to their schedule no matter who they are or what they have gone through. Seriously, I can barely follow the bus schedule to get places on time, let alone something as important as my emotional well-being. I guess what I am trying to say is… To put it another way, a similar injury, say a myocardial infarction of similar strength and severity, can harm one person and kill another. Such is the pain of the first love; a similar injury of similar strength and severity, which I guess in this guys mind is the case, can harm one person (him) and kill another (me). You wouldn’t chastise the patient who died from a MI, or make the comparison to their family in regards to why one survived and one did not, so why chastise someone for a slow emotional recovery, or for not recovering at all?

The bottom line is this: His story and my story and all other stories are all completely different situations. I appreciate his attempt and all other attempts to emphasize with my pity-party, however you shouldn’t “should” someone. Your recovery is your own, however way you want it to be and however long you want it to be. If you’re reading this and hurting about something remember this: don’t let anyone dictate how long you should feel bad; you know yourself best. Don’t let anybody should all over you.

Cheap & Easy

... and not as good as you think!

It’s simple, it’s cheap, and it’s plentiful. Take it easy, I’m talking about food, fast food to be exact. Just walking down Bank Street this afternoon I am inundated with inexpensive meal options, just begging me to take a look and see exactly how much food I can get for one low ridiculous price. Me being a student and more apt to spend my hard earned money on clothing and shoes and the occasional book am instantaneously attracted to this, knowing that the less I spend on food the more I can save or more likely spend at the mall. However, me being a student of life sciences, I also know better… or at least I know to know better regarding what I put into my mouth. And yet I still find myself oddly attracted to the fast food nation, McDonald’s specifically, thinking that every time I eat there will be different, I won’t feel sick to my stomach afterwards, and I’ll be just fine. Obviously I am wrong, but hey, it’s the prerogative of youth to act our age once in a while.

I admit, I used to frequent McDonalds on a semi-weekly basis, whether it be a quick breaky with my roommate, an inexpensive dinner and hang-out place with Angelica and another one of my friends, let’s call her “Christie”, or a late night or early morning snack with my clubbing and McDonalds friend, let’s call her “Kelly”. An ex-boyfriend of mine used to chastise me (among other things) about eating at McDonalds as often as I did. At first, well now even, it really pissed me off. I mean, I’m 21, don’t you think that’s a little too old to baby-sit what I eat? Especially someone who is studying life science, I’m pretty sure I have a better idea of health and wellness than my ex who… well, wasn’t even in school. Apparently watching Oprah and Dr. Phil gave him license to “fix” whatever was “wrong” with me, including my selection of eats. Anyway, back to my point: I ate at McDonalds knowing full well that it is bad for me, I saw “Super Size Me” and loved it, but immediately following headed for McDonalds. Afterwards, and every other time afterwards, I couldn’t help but begin to speculate as to why I continue this obvious self-destructive behavior of eating bad food while understanding the consequences.

Cheap food is bad for you, but it’s bad because it’s so cheap to make… and knowing how cheap it is to make, it’s just gotta be bad for you. It is a vicious cycle that nobody had quite yet figured out how to completely break free from, and I mean absolutely no cheating whatsoever: not on birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, stagettes…

The funny thing is, and I can’t for the life of me figure this out, is that the diet “pill” phenomenon makes millions of dollars a year selling us … well, crap. Crap that either doesn’t work, works momentarily, or works so well that it kills you. So we’ll shell out the 30,40,50$ for a bottle of “miracle” weight loss, and yet when it comes to purchasing food that is already healthy, won’t make us fat or won’t clog our arteries we’re suddenly skittish, even shy and sometimes downright resentful for having to spend that little extra on those “healthier” choices.

Oh, and don’t even get me started on those so-called “healthier choices” one can find in today’s vending machines. Last time I checked, diet Coke is still Coke, except we’ve replaced sugar with aspartame. Oh ok, give me more chemicals rather than something that exists naturally. There’s the ticket to everlasting health! Something else that I find amusing is that those “healthier choices” are more expensive than the usual crap… which doesn’t make much sense. You’re charging me .25 cents more for a bottle of water that contains 2 hydrogens and an oxygen molecule, plus some sodium, maybe potassium… and yet for a bottle of soda that contains considerably more ingredients/chemicals/dyes/whatever, it’s cheaper?

I mean after these fries I really don’t have to eat for the rest of the day, or hell maybe even the rest of this week! But I will; I have to. My body, although currently in the 21^st century, still believes it’s back in the days of famine, of starvation, of hunt or perish, kill or be killed, so it will hoard most of this “energy” I’ve consumed and save it just in case all the grocery stores sink into the earth and I am left stranded with the little food I currently have in my fridge… if I even have food in my fridge. My body doesn’t know any better, but that’s ok. That’s why I have a mind. That’s why I can think, because I can, and I should. I should really think about what I’m putting into my body if I am going to demand optimal performance out of it. Maybe I should stop fueling it with crap.

It’s not like my body doesn’t know the difference between healthy food and unhealthy food. Oh, it does, and I sure as hell paid for my choice of fuel the day I wrote this. On Thursdays I venture to the gym for a 2 hour cardio session; 1 dance and 1 kickboxing. Under normal (read: healthy) circumstances I love to dance and can let the music move me until I can’t move anymore… only to recharge with Powerade or whatever and kick-box/karate chop my way through another hour of high intensity exercise. Last Thursday after my 4$ meal at McDonalds I could hardly move. I was sluggish, inconsistent, tired and just plain awful when I glanced into the mirror to check my form. It felt as if my body was actually punishing me for eating garbage for lunch by making my limbs that much heavier, my heart more sluggish and unwilling to beat quicker, my mind wander into the blissful peace of sleep… in the middle of a loud and sweaty dance studio?

That being experienced, I’ve learned my lesson. It’s a misconception that if one works out, one can eat whatever the hell one likes… but that’s not true. My athletic body is slowly but surely rejecting junk food, at least for lunch, and if I plan on keeping this active lifestyle as I age then I’d best learn what it means to eat healthy or more plainly, to follow my own advice. Drink lots of water; eat fruits and veggies and lean sources of protein, whole grain carbs and the occasional sweet treat. I mean, what is the point in spending all my money on hot clothes and shoes if I am too fat or too skinny to wear them well and do it justice?

But if you’ll excuse me, my breakfast coffee is getting cold. D’oh!

It's Just A Little Crush...

Wanted: An object simply to crave…

As the title suggests, I have a crush. Well, this isn’t news. I’ve had this particular crush for oh… 3 years now? Yeah, three years. The entire concept of this crush is ridiculous; I am 21 and the term crush is usually reserved for pre-teens and adolescents who are too embarrassed to admit when they like someone in fear of the repercussions … however I think we’re all just big kids at heart, so although I am admitting to the world of a crush I have, I’m still going to keep his name somewhat hidden. For those of you who know me, you probably know who I am talking about, but either way, I have to protect the innocent… ie me. Does anybody else remember when crushes used to be fun, and you didn’t have so many things to think about except your dream wedding with that person and the happy life you’d lead?

Anyway, on with my story: I have a crush on a certain athlete (every woman’s prerogative, of course!), let’s call him “Charlie”. Now “Charlie” plays for a local professional team in my city, a city that just happens to worship this team through good times and sometimes even through bad times. I first laid sights on “Charlie” when I was a bright-eyed 17 year old attending a rookie-tournament with my father and brother, as I was raised right to first appreciate the beauty of the sport and then the beauty of the players. He did not stand apart from the rest of the team at that particular moment; however there was this glimmer of excellence behind those lovely blue eyes that showed drive, passion and perseverance, all very attractive features in a man. Not to mention that after I got home and Google’d his photograph, well, off the ice he is just as pleasing to look at. Afterwards, I was hooked. I officially had my latest celebrity crush, thinking it would be similar to all the other celebrity crushes I’ve had in my short life.

Except this time I guess, it was meant to be different. “Charlie” is about… 2 years older than I am, so 23. Ok… usually I tend to fall for older men, meaning I’d solidify the fact that I simply have no chance in hell. “Charlie” also spends the majority of his time in this city… as do I. Ok… usually I tend to fall for men who have absolutely no geographic proximity to me at any point in my life. “Charlie”, being the typical 23 year old, oh except with millions of dollars, endorsements and women throwing themselves at him, goes out and enjoys the bar scene in this city. Ok… I am known to sometimes dabble in the cirque that is the bar and club scene downtown or in the West end… I guess what I am trying to say is, this is my first celebrity crush where I actually have a chance to meet “Charlie”, maybe even say a word or two.

However, and yes, there is always a however, it’s really not that simple. I’m not saying I am a celebrity, famous or even important in the grander sense of things. But I do know important people, and I do represent important people at times. These important people happen to know people who know “Charlie”. Hmm.... this puts quite the damper on my little crush. How so, you ask?

I had a recent (and very frustrating) chance that I had chosen not to take which would have ended up with me meeting “Charlie” at an intimate (read: small) location. After regaling this story to my girl friends, all of whom shared in my pain, I got to thinking about this crush in the grand sense of things and about how, as much as I would like to act on my impulses regarding “Charlie”, in reality I really can’t.

Allow me to explain: given the chance I would gladly make out with “Charlie” in a closet, or out in the open, whatever. Except I know that I’ll never get that chance, not because I am not pretty enough or I do not know the right people, but because my mind will always get in the way. First of all, when I mention this crush to my girl friends most automatically assume that I want to meet “Charlie” just so I can sleep with him and that is not true… for the most part. I generally like to know a person first hand before sleeping with them, and really all I know about “Charlie” comes from 2^nd hand sources, or a friend of a friend of a friend of a guy who knows him. It really is the equivalent of sleeping with a perfect stranger who happens to be famous. If he wasn’t famous, would you sleep with him right off the bat? No, I didn’t think so. “Charlie” may be young, hot, successful and wealthy, but he’s still a person and not all twenty-something female-fans are so quick to give it up… or at least I am not. To any and all twenty-something and thirty-something female fans who can meet an athlete at a bar, go home with them and think nothing of it; good on you, and I am not be factious. I personally am not strong enough or secure enough to do so; and what’s not for me may be exactly what the next person finds appealing. Happy is she who follows her own path. Mine just happens to take me away from suddenly sleeping with “Charlie” if I ever meet him.

Now because of obstacle number one it wouldn’t be so simple afterwards, hence obstacle number two. Under normal circumstances regarding celebrity athletes a fuck-and-flake is perfectly acceptable; you sleep together and never see each other again, or maybe once or twice at the bar. Oh no… it is not so for me. See “Charlie” happens to know and be around people that I know, and not just any people. Remember those important people I mentioned? Yeah; them. Can you say awkward? Because I can say that would be totally humiliating and really not worth the fleeting pleasure of an I-know-you-but-it’s-still-a-one-night-stand-kinda-thing.

Finally, the obstacle I currently find myself in, the third and most common obstacles to crushes is that secret crushes hardly ever stay that way. I can safely say that an entire community well known to the people who know “Charlie” is fully aware of my school-girl crush. I don’t care how old you are or how mature you are perceived to be; I already feel a slight twinge of embarrassment just thinking about how I’d be introduced should I ever get the chance to meet “Charlie”. It’s true that when you’re introducing people you should add in a fact about them, like “she’s studying this”, or “he does that”… but for some reason judging on the reactions I’ve gotten from this community the introduction would probably go a little like this: “Oh this is Carrie, she’s had a thing for you for ages!!” All in all I guess

You know, for something once so simple like a crush, I’ve managed to make this pretty complicated. The more plausible your day-dreams are to come true, the closer you get to realize the fantasy, the closer you get to the reality of having to think about your actions, or non-actions in my case, which can be quite the task when you are actually given your daydreams on a silver platter or satine sheets. So all of a sudden after having to think about “Charlie” actually being present in my life with all the people I know… My crush … sucks. I mean, so long as you don’t think about them crushes are a lot of fun but in the end “Charlie” is just another guy, like Paris, that I can’t seem to be able to get without complications.

If I think about it, and I obviously do, this crush of mine is kind of discouraging. I mean, one of the pleasures of a crush or a dream is the hope that one day it may come true. So in short, thanks to me thinking things through about the chances of me actually meeting “Charlie”, that crush has been effectively... well, crushed

As If! Carpal Tunnel and the 20-something...

Because seriously... I can't make this shit up...

As I sit here typing this, I still cannot believe that I am actually writing about carpal tunnel in the 20 something girl. It seems surreal, as your twenties are the times when you (should) be establishing or have already establish a good level of health. My good friend Mackenzie and I always joked that the human body is made only to last about 40 years in good health, so if you’re active really that number drops down to 20. And until recently, we did not know how right we were… at least concerning the two of us.

I am well aware of the fact that there is a distinct difference between having pain in your wrist and having carpal tunnel. I subscribe to the first definition; my left wrist (as in my non-dominant hand) was strained due to my over-zealousness in a yoga class... oh and from years of being a keeper in soccer… right along the ulnar nerve. So along my pinkie-line there is random pain that really is all my fault. The reality that I continue to use my left hand for everything except writing does not help the fact, thus my wrist injury can be written off as a “repetitive strain injury”, or RSI. Mackenzie, however, was and is not that lucky. I know that she had been mentioning pain in her wrist for the longest time, and although I advised her to see a doctor we both dismissed the idea of anything more serious because really, we’re 21! We are both relatively fit, practice yoga and do a bit of cardio… So imagine the surprise when a doctor, a trained professional, told her that she “definitely” has carpal tunnel in her wrist.

FYI: Carpal tunnel syndrome occurs when the median nerve (running from the forearm into the hand) becomes pressed or squeezed at the wrist. This nerve controls sensations to the supine position (ie up, because in supine you can hold a cup of soup!) of the thumb and fingers but not the pinky, as well as impulses to some small muscles in the hand that allow the fingers and thumb to move. The actual carpal tunnel, a narrow rigid passageway of ligament and bones at the base of the hand houses the median nerve and tendons. When these ligaments become thickened from irritated tendons or swelling in general the tunnel narrows and compresses this nerve. The result may be pain, weakness or numbness in the hand, wrist and sometimes up to the arm.

Besides the annoyance of having to purchase and wear a 40$ brace (mine was 12$) at night and during classes to stave away the pain, the truth about her condition really had me and still has me stunned. From what I know, CT usually only occurs in adults, and although I know 21 is considered “adult”, CT is not the first thing that comes to mind when I think of an average 21 year old. CT is more common in older women and those who do repetitive assembly line work, such as seamstresses, warehouses, manufacturing etc… So knowing this I can’t help but wonder; where does a 21 year old pick up carpal tunnel?

The first and most obvious theory would be technology. At school Mackenzie sits behind her iMac in lecture, at home, and wherever she takes her baby with her. I remember back in grade 4 learning how to use a computer, you know, one of those old-school Apples with a tiny screen and 2D graphics? Was that the beginning of the end? Did all those recess’ spent playing “The Oregon Trail” put me on a path (so to speak) of weak ligaments and pinched nerves at the ripe old age of 21? Granted the introduction of computers to my grade school open my eyes to the wonders of technology, but did it also open my joints and ligaments to the repetitive strain normally reserved for those who have progressed further in life who, for lack of a better description, have earned their aches and pains over the years? Considering many people with CT have worked for 10 or 20 odd years behind either a typewriter or a computer, and both Mackenzie and I are stuck in 9-5 office jobs only to return home to our beloved laptops to Facebook and MSN our time away… could the advent of modern technology be behind our frail and weak joints?

That answer, like many that quick and unthought-of, simply cannot be true. A study done in 2001 done by the Mayo Clinic found that so called “heavy” computer use, up to 7 hours a day did NOT increase a person’s risk of developing CT. Mackenzie’s mother, along with my mother and father and many of our senior colleagues have been using a computer for longer than we have been alive, and none so far have been diagnosed with CT. The advent of ergonomic keyboards and mouse pads, the research going into prevention of CT cannot be ignored, nor can the non-prevalence of CT in our more mature colleagues.

Anyway, what is even worse than being diagnosed with CT is the expectation that because we are young we can “suck it up” or “deal” with the pain thanks to the supposed infallibility of our youth. Erm… no. Just because we are young doesn’t mean we do not feel pain, and since we’re going to be around a bit longer means that we should take every precaution to take care of our bodies. I found it funny how the “adults” in my life often remind me that I am not invincible, that I cannot get away with 3 hours of sleep, unhealthy food and lack of vitamins… however when it comes to legitimate pain such as CT we’re expected to “suck it up” and stop complaining… So really, what’s the deal?

It would be too easy to blame work and school for the onset of Mackenzie’s CT; as she said, her work is not paying her enough for her to ruin her body, especially for a twenty something girl who now has the ligament-annoyances of a forty year old woman. I am still at a loss for poor Mackenzie and her mysterious affliction of CT, but if you will excuse me, all this typing is making my wrist hurt.