Binge Knitting

Another way to deal with the holiday blues? Binge. I've certainly gone the chocolate route (more recently it was apple pie, actually), but apparently I've moved on. For some reason, all I want to do is knit hats. Small. Easy. Accomplishable. Useful. The perfect way to cover up not taking a shower on the weekend. Here are the new ones I've cooked up...

And that doesn't count the blue-grey stripe I made for my friend's husband and the one currently on the needles. I'm serious, I can't stop. What deep psychological need is this obsession meeting? At least it makes a good excuse to sit on the couch.

My favorite is the purple stripe with the flower. I figured out how to put in a micro-fleece lining. Super cozy!


Happy New Year! Keep your hat on. (You know you lose 80% of your body heat out the top of your head...)

Come here often?

I've been spending some quality time with Carrie Bradshaw and the girls. Some people might not agree, but I swear that show was significant in helping a new generation of women to be comfortable talking about dating and sex openly. Of course it's fiction - I really hope we aren't actually sleeping around that much, and I don't care how expensive their shoes are, regular women can't "peak" with anyone and everyone. But how much worse would I feel without a single woman archetype to identify with? I appreciate receiving messages that a life-without-significant-other is more than just sad.

Today I had three different cute guys in my house. Of course, one was the furnace guy and the other two were delivering my new mattress. But I'm going to take what I can get. A little harmless flirtation is good for the soul. I'm not one for feeding anyone a pick-up line, but I'm realizing that it useful to have the skills to get the ball rolling somehow. During my bohemian European phase while studying abroad, "Hast du noch eine cigarette?" got me Germany's answer to Ricky Schroder. (Unfortunately, I quickly figured out the fatal flaw on that one... only meeting smokers.) I'm not going to try predict what men want to hear, but a few things have worked on me...

1. "Nice haircut." Seriously. This totally got me last week at a show. It was specific and true. (I'm not bragging, it was a well crafted creation - thank you Bill.) And it indicated a certain level of sophistication. Whatever it was, he got the digits.
2. Along the same lines... "Nice clutch." Any heterosexual guy who can use the term "clutch" appropriately deserved a second look.
3. Pour my water for me, ask me "How is your tea?", or come up with other such displays of refined and thoughtful manners. Call me old fashioned. Or just appreciative of basic human thoughfulness.
4. Let me happen to catch on to something soulful - like a glimpse in your sketchbook.
5. Just make me laugh. If I'm even remotely attracted, I will most likely melt.

What not to do?! Talk to my friend first, find out she is married, then turn to put your arm around me...

Wish I had a river...

Coming on Christmas. Cutting down trees. If the lack of light and the residual family issues don't get me, single + holidays = abandonment will. Especially in Seattle where everyone is from somewhere else (except me). Everyone goes off to their family, and I'm left wondering where my rich and full life went. Previously attempted coping mechanisms have included: general overindulgence and poor decision making, escaping into an alternate reality by watching Alias on DVD all night and sleeping all day, or getting on an airplane and running away. Unfortunately, none of these actually helped all that much. What should it be this year?

My new goal: Embrace the holiday angst! Overindulge if the spirit moves me. Watch as many movies as necessary. But also welcome the ghosts of loss and disappointments past who are lurking in my dark corners. Maybe allowing them some light will finally release them. Or maybe I'll just escape by working on my new blog...

At least I've come up with a few new ways to simplify and de-consumer-ify.

1. Christmas cards with luxury tea bags and a honey stick inside for co-workers.
   
2. Donations to a favorite charity or cause (preferably theirs, not yours). For kids, World Wildlife Fund Adopt an Animal.
   
3. Decoupaged frames with miniaturized black and white old family photos (with a current photo in the middle). Gotta love the scanner/printer combo!
   

This is my life.

Speaking of surprises in life. There are a few things I never thought I could do:

1. Rock climbing.

When I started working with an outdoor education organization, I was just in it for the camping, hiking, and kayaking. those people who climb were cool and hard core. I could never... But I loved the people who loved it. So I tried it. And I won't lie, it was terrifying at first. It's all about trust, and I have some issues in that area. Trust in your belayer, trust in the equipment, trust in your body, trust that observers wouldn't ridicule, etc. But I loved the people who loved it, so I tried it. And despite the difficulties, there was a moment on the first day when I was frustrated and sure I was stuck, but I said "what the hell" and put all my weight on a foot I was sure wouldn't hold me. But it held and I pulled myself up over the face of the rock. It was that moment that I felt my old athletic and strong self that had retreated into deep corners of my rebellious post-adolescent self-destructive self. And the impossible happened, I leapt but didn't fall. So I climb, even if not very well. To be in touch with my strength and my possibility. Me vs. gravity.

2. Triathlons.

I've always had a feeling of awe when I hear "oh, s/he does triathlons." THOSE people are really remarkable. I swam competitively for years (but was never top tier) and I am an avid cyclist, but the one year I did cross country in high school I was THE slowest runner. And I'm not really that into public humiliation. What if I couldn't do it? It wasn't worth the risk to find out. But a friend did one. So I asked a lot of questions and the wheels started turning. Maybe I could be one of those people... The keys were starting VERY slowly and finding the right gear - shorts/pants that don't ride up and a uniboob-proof jog bra. Seriously. I wasn't all that big - size 12/14 when I started, but I had a really hard time finding gear that worked and didn't make me look ridiculous, and that helped me hold back for a long time. Do you hear that, clothing industry? (Thank god for Title Nine, but even they are skewed towards the flat and skinny.) The amazing thing about competing in these races (in addition to my new size 8/10 body) is the connection I feel to my body. I can listen to my muscles and know when to push and when to back off. A lot of the time it is frustrating and hard, but more often than not I am pleasantly surprised. And it always feel worth it in the end.

Big secret: most people could do it if they wanted to. Our bodies are capable and willing to be molded. But don't tell. Part of me likes it when people are impressed.

This is my life?!

Do you ever have those moments when you catch yourself thinking, "Is this really my life right now?" I first started asking this question a moment before I was about to go on stage in front of 400 kids wearing a gift wrap grass skirt to do a synchronized wrapping paper roll twirling number. What grown adult does that - and actually enjoys it?! And who would have guessed that things like this would bring joy and meaning to my life? And who would have thought that this social girl would live alone with two cats at 31? I'm glad I don't have a cookie-cutter life. And I've worked very hard to figure out what kind of life I want to lead. I'm just saying... there are so many surprises.

Things I never thought I'd do:

1. Get a cat.

As a devoted dog lover, I was convinced I couldn't handle the constant aloofness and rejection from cats. Then when I moved into my house, a neighbor kitty walked right in the door and decided to stay. Not one to turn away a lost soul, I bought some cat food, made her a cushy spot to hang out by the window, and we bonded. Unfortunately, her life ended up being very short, and when she was gone I missed the extra energy in the house. So I adopted Oliver George Harrison Kitty. But in my responsible new cat owner research I found most experts say that single cats are more neurotic, and he obviously needed more entertainment than I could provide (the running and attacking of my ankles got old). So I went to visit my friend who was fostering several cats and an elegant black kitty who looked astonishingly like Audrey Hepburn caught my eye. Eventually I brought Holly Golightly (as we called her) home, and she and Oliver hit it off. But she turned out to be more skiddish than I realized, and her name never sat quite right. I didn't think I liked her and even wondered if I should give her away. After much anguish, I found the answer. The name Violet came to me in a moment of brilliance, and I have been slowly falling in love with her every since. Somehow, it makes her cat-y-ness just seem good old-fashioned prim and proper rather than aloof and snobby. What a difference a name makes. Viola. Single woman, two cats. They're cats, but they're my cats.

And yes, I just became one of those people who puts photos of their pets in their blog. You'll get over it.

2. Online dating.

Right when being single at 29 was getting really old, a friend visiting from Chicago described her experience venturing into online dating. It sounded like fun - being forced to express what you are looking for and meeting new people. For some reason, I don't meet a lot of men while working at a grade school and at a non-profit run by women. And I'd dated all of my available male friends... So I went online. What followed was an interesting cast of characters (the REI Guy, the 42 Year Old, the Mountaineering Lawyer, the Fireman, the Genius...)and a series of misadventures (including the infamous high five incident, of course). But that's another story for another time.

3. MySpace, Facebook, IM, and Blogging.

Let's just admit that we mock what we don't know. I was afraid. I didn't understand. But all the cool kids were talking about it. I swear there's a slight technological generation gap between me and people around five years younger. (Although, aren't there Grandmas who blog?) A few of those kind souls walked me through it. And now I can't imagine what I did before I could be instantly connected to the outside world in real time without leaving my couch.

Never say never!

High Five the First Date

Once upon a time, I had coffee with an ironman triathlete who I met online. This particular ironman was attractive, extremely intelligent, former army ranger, EMT/ER nurse, masters in Psychology just for the fun of it... very interesting albeit intense guy.

We had a lovely conversation about our common interest in outdoor activities, among other things. Apparently he has a talent for coming across emergencies in the back country, which he is obviously more than equipped to deal with. I may or may not have gotten overly excited by his story about using his therm-a-rest as a splint for a fractured ankle (come on, how MacGuyver is that?!), and I enthusiastically threw up my hand in the internationally recognized gesture, the “high five”. (In my defense, I was fresh off an outdoor education weekend with enthusiastic middle school girls who recognize the joyous and celebratory value of the high five like no one else.) Unfortunately, the Ironman seemed a little caught off-guard, but he hesitantly complied. The date went downhill from there, the energy somewhat drained by an obvious difference in ideas about social norms.

So I started to ask: was it unrealistic to expect someone who lives and works almost exclusively in the "adult" world to respond favorably to such a playful gesture? As I relayed this experience to people in my life I got a surprising range of responses. One of my best friends was horrified that I would act in such an undignified way. A few people agreed that most adults do not normally high five one another when they first meet - unless perhaps the social context involves sporting events or a naturally elevated level of playfulness (usually involving young children). Other people agreed with me; maybe I had just stumbled upon the perfect dating litmus test!

And the story doesn't then there... Not long after the now infamous high five occured, I relayed this amusing story to a few friends in my relatively exuberant way at my local climbing gym. Unbenownst to us, a women setting a route nearby overheard every word. Next time I walk in the gym, what do I find? My own personal memorial to this particular dating mishap, and some satisfying validation... a new route named "high five the first date" (a lovely 5.8, if you were wondering).

There you are. Words to live by. High five the first date. Dive in. Bring your whole unapologetic self to life. You only get one.

Disclaimer: I say this, and name my blog this, not because I think I know anything about it. (If you are looking for instruction on how to be held back by fear and play it safe, I am your girl.) But I know I am meant to try.

Nina Luna enters the Blogosphere

Why blog? High-tech journal. Chronicle of dating misadventures. Public display of catharsis. Anonymous intimacy. Why not?! All the cool kids are doing it. Even a few hip grandmas. We'll see...