Entitlement

About a month ago Trouble and I met up for a rainy afternoon breakfast stack at one of our favourite cafes and had a good, long, intellectual talk about Life Stuff. She was telling me that on her way to meet up with me a car full of men had been yelling and honking to get her attention. When she finally realised they were honking at her, for no other reason than to express their sexual interest in her, she was pretty pissed off and told them to fuck off. As well she should! This is a frighteningly common experience for women. But what is really frightening is how bad women are made to feel about themselves when it happens.

Welcome to slut shaming 201. Today's topic is 'entitlement', or more specifically (since there are more forms of entitlement than I can shake a stick at) sexual entitlement. There is a part of me that wants to qualify that further and say male sexual entitlement, but this is a problem that is more complicated than simply being men's fault. Blaming men for entitlement isn't really any better than blaming women for rape. Patriarchy and misogyny know no gender bounds.

So what is sexual entitlement? It is the belief that a person's sexual desire for another person gives them the right to that person's body/mind/time. At this point I feel that it is important to note that while feelings of sexual entitlement are not exclusively the purview of men, given that men continue to have social dominance over women (broadly, yes I know this is not always the case) it is much more problematic when men feel sexually entitled to women's bodies/minds/time. It is also much more common that this is how sexual entitlement plays out.

The problem, as I see it, is that when it comes to sexuality, women are set up to fail. There is no possible way for women to 'win' if they play along with the patriarchy's rules. No matter what the situation, men's sexual desires trump women's. Three heterosexual examples (since I hate binaries and want to guide you gently through my argument; I will queer it up a bit later in this post) to illustrate my point:

1) A woman who abstains from sex until marriage, then marries a loving, respecting man is still expected to satisfy her husband's sexual desires over her own. She may be able to negotiate having her desires met, but there is no social expectation that her husband would have to negotiate getting his desires met.

2) A woman goes out to a party with the expressed intent of having casual sex. When she picks up a guy, there is a sexual script already in play that dictates the satisfaction of his sexual desires. If she is lucky, he will also satisfy her's. But again, there is no expectation on him to do so.

3) A woman walks into a brothel looking to buy the sexual services of a man. If she's done her research, she's gone into a brothel that actually provides such a service. If not, she may be met with ridicule and/or homophobia. Or maybe the brothel staff will be friendly and point her in the right direction. At any rate, she can't just walk into any brothel and purchase sexual service. I am not aware of the existence of any brothel that absolutely does not provide service to men.

Given that men's sexual desires hold more social value than women's, it is not surprising that sexual entitlement is so prominent. And unquestioned! I started writing this blog a month ago, and in that time I've been noticing sexual entitlement everywhere I look. In an earlier draft of this blog I had a long list of examples of times I've encountered something similar to the anecdote I started this blog with. I think most women could come up with a few personal examples pretty easily if you asked them. I'm not going to list off my experiences here, as I've decided to go in a bit of a different direction with this post, inspired by a recent night out with my siblings in Kelowna. I want to talk about what I think men don't realise; I want to talk about what happens to women when they encounter sexual entitlement.

I'm currently in Canada, visiting family, old friends, and working on my thesis. Right now I'm in Kelowna, soaking up the last of the summer sun. Last weekend, two of my siblings were out here with me and we decided to go have a bit of a night out on the town. I wasn't crazy about the first pub we went to; it was loud and very heteronormative (that is, everyone was heterosexual and seemed to be aspiring to social standards of 'normal'). We headed off to another pub where there was a local band playing. The crowd was still pretty hetero, but less normative. I was excited to find that not only was I not the only lesbian in the place, but the other lesbian was pretty darn cute!

I thought that she was there with a straight couple, but as the night went on I discovered that she was there with a female friend who some guy was hitting on (I discovered this, btw, when said guy tried to stick his hand down my shirt while giving me a very unsolicited hug - that's a very obvious example of sexual entitlement that I hope my readers don't need me to further deconstruct). When I told my brother that I thought the lesbian was really cute, he encouraged me to go talk to her. I said nah and continued to sit and listen to the band, occasionally glancing over towards the cute girl.

As the night went on and the cute girl made her way to the dance floor, my brother dragged me onto the dance floor and tried to push me over to go and 'mac on' the girl. At that point, I got really angry with him and told him if he didn't back off I would punch him. He backed off and I was left to scratch my head about why I reacted so strongly to him trying to be my wingman.

I'm not shy about hitting on girls. I like the chase and while I don't always initiate, I'm pretty upfront about my interest. Chances are, if you're wondering if I'm into you or not, I'm probably not into you.

Eventually, I realised what was bothering me about my brother's approach: it reeked of sexual entitlement. It seemed that for my brother, my thinking the girl was cute was reason enough for me to go talk to her. In this framing, my desire for her gave me the right to access her mental/physical/emotional space - or at least the right to try. But for me, having been on the receiving end of unwanted sexual attention far, far, too many times, I didn't feel that my desire for this woman gave me any right to her at all.

I think that there is this big misconception that being hit on is a nice experience. Sure, it can be nice. If you want it to happen. But if you don't, it can be horrible. Even if the person doing the hitting on isn't horrible; even if they are, in fact, pleasant, it can still be a horrible experience. This is because of the social protocol that deems it rude not to talk to someone when they initiate a conversation with you, and the gender differential that is at play. For a man to blow someone off, he is simply being rude in that instance. If a woman does it, even once, she is forever a bitch.

Women face a lot more social pressure than men to engage in conversations with anyone who decides to talk to them - whether they want to or not. This means, when you hit on a woman, she may not be talking to you because she wants to, but because she is socially obliged to! So please, everybody, think about that the next time you decide to strike up a conversation with a woman, whatever your intent.

The reason I didn't want to go up to this woman and strike up a conversation with her was that while I was sitting at my table watching her, she wasn't watching me back. I wasn't leering at her, but I also wasn't being subtle about the fact that she had caught my eye. If she had been interested in me, it would have been easy for her to make eye contact with me. That she didn't told me that she just wanted to hang out with her friend and enjoy the night, and I can (and did) respect that.

I did contemplate doing one of my favourite moves: the toilet queue chat. There is a lot of solidarity about women's toilets and the secret business that goes on in them. It is quite easy and acceptable to strike up a conversation with someone while waiting for the toilets, and it is also a space that if you are not interested in talking, it's easy and safe to signal your disinterest in a conversation. It's a great way to break the ice with someone and get a sense of if they are interested in having a chat or not. Of course, a willingness to have a chat does not equate a desire to be hit on; it's more that if they're not interested in talking to you in the toilets, they're not interested in talking to you. As I didn't have the chance to try this move, and she had not paid me any particular attention, I felt it would be incredibly presumptuous of me to strike up a conversation with her on the dance floor.

The thing with sexual entitlement - and entitlement in general - is, I think a lot of people are really unaware of when they are acting from a place of privilege, and how that privilege impacts on others. And I also don't think that people are aware of the accumulative affect of entitlement. Because, yeah, a single instance of a bit of unwanted flirting is probably not going to cause someone a great deal of grief. But while it might be a single instance for the person doing the flirting, chances are it's not a single instance for the person on the receiving end. Your single instance may just be the straw that broke the camel's back.

I remember my straw. Back when I worked in an adult store, I had a guy come in one day and tell me that I looked very pretty. He wasn't being lewd or particularly aggressive, and his comment was incredibly tame compared to many of the other men who felt they had some sort of right to comment on me as a sexual being when they came into the store. His comment would have been sweet if it had come from someone I trusted. But he was an older man, a stranger, and the only other person in the store with me, and I did not feel safe being alone in the store - in the middle of the day - with a man who felt it was not only acceptable but innocuous to sexualise me.

I'm not the kind of person to let something like that slide, so I informed him that I did not find his comment appropriate. This made matters much worse because then he felt like he needed to justify himself, and the only way he could do this was by vilifying me. There was nothing wrong with him and what he did; it was my problem, my fault that I couldn't "take a compliment." If I didn't want to be complimented on my appearance, I shouldn't put any effort into looking professional. Nevermind that my employers required it of me, or, more importantly, that it made me feel good about myself. Apparently the only reason a woman puts any effort into her appearance is to invite the attentions of men, and she should be damn grateful when she gets them! Eventually he left the store. I ended up quitting my job - which I loved - over this, and how the company refused to deal with it.

This is what happens when we construct reality in terms of binaries: a person's disinterest in someone's sexual advances becomes a personal insult. When a person is insulted, they have to defend themselves, usually by pointing out how the other person is wrong to be insulted. There is a term for this, it's called 'victim blaming'.

But why should a person's disinterest in someone's sexual advances be taken personally? I wasn't personally insulted when the woman at the bar didn't show any interest in me. I don't actually think it has anything to do with me. She wasn't looking, and it would be insulting of me to assume that she should be.

Confrontation makes a lot of people uncomfortable. I think there's this cultural assumption that women are a lot more uncomfortable with confrontation than men are, but I think if that was true then slut shaming and victim blaming wouldn't even be things. These are tool that are used against women (by men and women) to uphold sexual entitlement. Because it's when women stand up for themselves - when they are confrontational - that they risk encountering slut shaming and/or victim blaming.

Let me take a step back here to talk about our social understandings of how women are meant to negotiate sex. On the one hand, women are told - ad nauseam - to just say 'no' to sex. On the other hand, women are told that they are horrible people if they reject someone. You know, because it is a woman's job to make everyone else feel good about themselves and nevermind about how she feels about herself. So when a woman is faced with a sexual advance, she's faced with a catch-22 situation. She's not meant to say yes because that makes her a slut, but if she says no she'll hurt the other person's feelings and that makes her a bitch. What to do, what to do? For a lot of women, the result is a complex game of avoidance.

Going back to my experience at the adult shop, it was the very innocuousness of that man's comment that made the experience so upsetting for me. He was paying me a compliment; and as he was not in clear violation of social norms, he could not understand why I would be upset by his compliment. It was much easier to deal with men who knew they were overstepping their bounds because they understood that if they didn't respect my 'no' they were in the wrong. Their actions may have been a lot more explicit, but my rights to be offended by their actions were also a lot clearer.

It's these smaller experiences that are a lot harder to avoid, and a lot harder to negotiate. I feel like there is some sort of confrontation/entitlement binary/blind spot happening in society. Some people feel that they are entitled to make sexual advances onto others, but then forget that the person they make the advance on is entitled to tell them to fuck off. And when they get told to fuck off, they feel like how dare this person feel entitled to put them in a confrontational situation, but ignore the fact that it was actually them who put the other person in a confrontational situation - and what right did they have themselves to do that?

I feel like I'm starting to spin out here, so hopefully I'm not losing you along the way. The point that I'm trying to make is, I don't think people are often aware of when they are putting someone into a confrontational situation. And I think that women get put into confrontational situations a lot, and that society does not adequately prepare women for how to manage these situations. I also think that men are not put into confrontational situations nearly enough. And I think that for everybody who gets put into a confrontational situation - whatever the situation and whatever their gender - there is far too great a tendency to try and get out of the situation by placing the blame on somebody else.

So if I can leave you with a few takeaway points, it's this:

1) Think before you act. Consider how your actions might impact on the other person, and try to think of at least 3 possible outcomes, because there are always more than two options.

2) Learn to be comfortable with your own discomfort. Nobody likes being told they are in the wrong, but before you jump in to defend yourself, consider the possibility that maybe the other person has a point.

3) Question your assumptions. What makes it OK for you to behave in a certain way? Are you sure? Is that always the case? What might happen if you behaved differently?

4) Look out for nonverbal cues. Most people are pretty crap about communicating with their words. It's not their (or our, since I am certainly not exempt from this!) fault; as a society we're pretty crap at teaching people how to communicate, and we tend to penalise those who do. Especially women. Understand this.

5) Be aware of and listen to your instincts. If you feel uncomfortable in a situation, there probably is a good reason for it, whether it's apparent or not. If you sense that someone else is uncomfortable in a situation, address it! Remember point 4. Sometimes you'll have to be the one to start the hard conversations, even when it's the other person who's got the issue.

I have so, so, so, much more to say on this, but that is enough for Part Two. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this, and writing Part Three when next the mood strikes. Until next time...

Without Country

I put off coming back to Canada for a long time. Historically, it's not a place I've enjoyed being. As I've often said, it may be where I'm from, but it's not my home. Melbourne is my home, whether I stay there or not. But no matter how many times I said it, the reality always was that I am a Canadian citizen, and whenever I enter into Canada, I'm always returning 'home'.

So imagine my surprise when I rocked up to Calgary and the customs officer told me that for immigration purposes I was not a resident of Canada, but a visitor!

While that is certainly how I feel about being back in Canada, it is also a little unnerving because it means that I am a woman without a country. I am in some sort of immigration twilight zone where my status changes depending on who asks and why. My Canadian citizenship is pretty meaningless given that I currently don't have a single piece of government issued Canadian identification (I am between passports, as it were). I don't have any health insurance here; I didn't get travel insurance because I didn't think I was really a 'traveler', but in retrospect, that might have been a good idea. I am not an Australian citizen; I am a temporary resident. And although I live there and my life is established there, my residence can be taken away from me if I don't follow the rules.

It's been interesting being back. It seems like it's not just Canada Customs that sees me as a visitor here; my family do too. I expected to go back to my Mom's and be expected to pick up all my old chores again, but it seems that in the last few years they've figured out how to keep the kitchen clean without me. It's been a much more relaxed trip than I had expected, just being a visitor. The expectations and responsibilities that I've felt get put onto me (which I do not want) have not felt so intense. I don't know if it's me or them, probably it's both. I've been gone a long time, everyone's gotten used to me not being around. And we're all older, and I'm certainly calmer, more centred in who I am.

Much to my surprise, I'm having fun! I like being here! I'm a bit sad that I'm only staying for a month! And I'm glad that I'll be back next year!

I was only in Calgary for a few days, and I had a lot of stuff to do at my Mom's, so the full experience of being back hasn't really hit me. But people seem more relaxed. I don't know, maybe it's the weather. Summer is just coming to an end here, and the weather has been pretty spectacular. My Dad's new place in Kelowna is freggin' amazing! I'm totally over my "let's meet in the middle and go to Hawaii" business; I'm all about Kelowna now! Even if I get mistaken for a heterosexual because there's no real queer culture here, and there's heaps of religious nutballs running around town with anti-choice propaganda. The city is gorgeous, the house is incredible, and the shopping is ace! I totally forgot that Kelowna is the place to buy vintage hats. AND, my favourite store here is still rocking it 3 years later! Plus, I found the dyke shoes of my dreams and had a total broment with the sales guy (he has shoes just like the ones I got, only black and kinda different, but the loves is just as intense).

It's been amazing catching up with my family. I'm glad that my Mom and stepdad are coming out to Vancouver with me so we can spend some more time together. I'm glad I got to spend a few days with my stepsister and go horseback riding and have girl talk til the wee hours of the morning. She really amazes me with how insightful and switched on she is. That girl gets life in a big way! And it's been fun hanging out with my brother, who is about to move into his own place and enter the world of no money and hand washed dishes. I'm very excited for him. I'm sad that my baby brother isn't here, but happy for him because he's off at uni on a football scholarship. I'm glad I'll get to see him next year. And I'm having fun with my Dad and stepmom. It's just going to be the three of us as of tomorrow; and then in a week it'll just be me and Dad. And my thesis. Which is about to re-emerge in my life in all her abusive, controlling splendour. sigh

It's nice to know that although I may be without country, I'm certainly not lacking for love. Here or in Melbourne. I don't know that I'll come back every year, but I don't think I'll put off my visits for so long in the future. Maybe there is a bit of 'home' left for me in Canada after all.

The Easter Bunny Chronicles

I have a fairly tumultuous relationship with public holidays, and this is especially true of religious holidays that have gone public. I mean, why am I given (read: forced to take) time off to celebrate the birth and death of Jesus instead of, say, Foucault? Why should I have to juggle work and participating in important cultural events just because my primary source of community has to do with my sexuality, and not my religious beliefs? Do we not live in a big enough, diverse enough, creative enough world to come up with some sort of holiday rostering system so that instead of the entire country shutting down all at once we could divvy things up between the Christians and the Jews and the Muslims and the Queers and the Footy fanatics and all the other various groups that hold more important other dates on the calendar?

I've been reflecting on holidays lately, and particularly on Easter because Australia has this whole 'hot cross bun' phenomenon that has mystified me for the past 4 years - but that's another story! Anyways, I've been thinking about the holidays and I've realized something: Easter has long been my favourite of the lot! (If you're curious, I deem Thanksgiving the worst. It's a blatant celebration of white privilege and turkey slaughtering, and I really don't think those are things to have a party about.)

Easter has always had this mythical, ethereal feel to it. There were attempts to bring me up Catholic - but like trying to raise a chicken to be a duck, it didn't take. I was always really perplexed and amused by the religious traditions that surround Easter. Ash Wednesday, Lent, the stations of the cross... they are all steeped in this seriousness and solemness that I could never understand. Perhaps because at the same time as all of this was going on, all the commercials on TV told of a magical egg laying bunny that comes once a year to deposit chocolate around your house.

You've gotta admit, that sends a pretty confusing message! I mean, at least there is some sort of a logical link between Santa and Jesus's birth: you get presents on your birthday! With Easter it's like: man gets tortured and killed and rises from the dead, so a bunny comes 'round and lays chocolate eggs at your house. I don't really know much about zombies, so maybe the logical conclusion of a zombie uprising IS a chocolate egg laying rabbit. I've seen lots of birthday celebrations and there's always an exchange of gifts. I've only ever celebrated the one zombie uprising, so I don't have a frame of reference for these things.

Growing up, the Easter tradition at my house was to have an Easter egg scavenger hunt. We'd wake up on Easter Sunday and discover that the Easter bunny had come by and deposited a handful of chocolate eggs in our rooms, along with a rather cryptic note (which, I think, is to be expected from a bunny who both lays chocolate eggs and has good penmanship). The note would contain a riddle, the solution to which would take you to your next clue - and next lot of chocolate. There would be a series of these notes scattered in all sorts of crazy locations throughout the house, and I believe the idea was that the riddles got progressively harder to solve as you got closer to finding your Easter basket - which was always filled with amazingness!

As I'm writing this, I'm seeing a link between my love of Easter and my lifelong love of pirates... which also reminds me of one of my favourite memories of my Dad. I used to go on searches for buried treasure, and would find really random things (like a dog's milk bone) and claim them as my treasure. One day, I drew up a pirates map and pretended that it was not something I had just completely made up myself. I asked my Dad to take me to the park so that we could investigate this map and go digging for buried treasure. We went to the park and eventually I decided that we had reached the 'X marks the spot' spot, and we started to dig. In a classic Dad move, my Dad made up some BS about how I should check just behind me, which I did. While my back was turned, he buried some coins and drew an X where I'd been sitting and called me back to inform me I'd been sitting on the X all along! I knew that he'd done it - I'm sure I probably stood there and told him off for doing it too (which he would have denied vehemently) - but I'm glad that he did. Even though I knew it was all make believe, he'd made the magic real.

Ha! Oh geez! This lifelong love of scavenger hunts and finding unexpected things... it's no wonder I grew up to be a researcher!!

But back to Easter! Those Easter egg hunts were the best! I remember one year my brother and I were gradually lead into the laundry room, where our Easter baskets were strategically hidden inside the washer and dryer. We both thought that was just absolutely preposterous of the Easter bunny! Silly rabbit! Another year, as I was getting older (and hence my riddles were getting a lot harder - I seem to recall some of them involving solving mathematical equations...), I was given a riddle that I was completely unable to solve. In my memory, we sat there for an hour while I tried to make sense of the bloody thing. Meanwhile, my little brother has solved all his clues and is happily making his way into a sugar coma.

I think in many ways my parents (and for those of you unfamiliar with my family dynamics, I have two sets) balanced each other out well: for all the attempts at 'gendering' I got from my Dad, my Mom taught me how to be self-sufficient and do my own heavy lifting. It's because of her that, no matter what happens in life, I can pick myself up and put myself back on track. I'm not really sure who's responsible for my love of doing laundry though...

I'm missing my family a lot this Easter. This year, my life... let's just say I passed 'full on' a few stops back! Being on my own, so far away from my family, sometimes it's tough. Now that I'm so close to finishing my thesis that I can almost taste it, what I need more than anything is to just lock myself away in a room where I can think big thoughts and not have to worry about the minutiae of life: those things like having food in the house, or cooking nutritious food, or having clean dishes, or having clean clothes, or earning an income... It's not the kind of thing that everyone is going to understand, but this level of intellectual work is fucking exhausting! It zaps your mental energy, leaving you in a zombie-like state where making small, day-to-day decisions that normally wouldn't seem to require much thought become painful. For example: I love cooking, but lately, the thought of having to find the time to cook has made me want to cry.

I have a lot of amazing friends who, seriously, I cannot even begin to explain how grateful I am for them and their support! Hubby especially. The number of times he's cooked for me, cut my hair, and just held my hand as I've freaked out... He makes up a lot for not having my family to turn to for those immediate, day-to-day things we all so often just need some help and support with. And he's certainly not the only one. I feel like I've got a whole village of people looking out for me and doing what they can to help me along, and I cannot even begin to express how much I appreciate everything that all of my friends do for me, big and small.

But still, I am really looking forward to going 'home' in a few months (dates still TBD) and just letting my family be responsible for my day-to-day existence, just for a bit!

Christmas KABOOM!

Merry Christmas everyone!!!

Much to my surprise, this is actually my fourth Christmas in Melbourne. I'm always surprised at how long I've been living here now. I remember when I first got here, the new Royal Children's Hospital was just starting to be built and was set to open in 2011. I thought that opening day was a lifetime away, but the Queen was just here the other month to officially open it's doors.

I also remember when I first moved here being told what I believed to be a tall story about how one year it snowed in Melbourne on Christmas Day. Yeah, right! It doesn't snow here in winter; there's no way it would snow in summer! Perhaps not, but if you look at some of the pictures of Melbourne this afternoon you wouldn't know it! Apparently someone decided to take one of the polar ice caps and just chuck it down on Melbourne. That's certainly what it sounded like in my apartment earlier anyways! There were some pretty big chunks coming down; unfortunately, as I live in a concrete jungle most of those big chunks broke up into smaller chunks as they hit the ground, so my pictures don't do the storm justice.

I've managed to do pretty well over the past four years, developing a community and a family away from my family. But this was the first year that I found myself without Christmas plans. Well, 'found myself' is a bit deceiving - it was a bit more deliberate than that.

My first Christmas here I was invited to spend the day with the family of a woman from my uni, who is now one of my thesis supervisors. It was a really nice Christmas, and I ended up staying overnight and for a good part of Boxing Day too! My second Christmas I made plans to have an 'orphan's Christmas' with a friend who was not able make it up to Sydney to see her family. We had a picnic lunch in Carlton Gardens and it ended up just being a really lovely afternoon. My third Christmas here my original plans *ahem* fell through, but I was taken in by my first flatmate - who is something of a big sister to me (though a very absentee one at the moment, for she seems to have disappeared off the earth). That Christmas ended up being really enjoyable and relaxing; though it helped that the next morning I was boarding a plane to Hawaii.

This year I thought I'd just see what the various people in my life were up to and just let whatever happened happen. And what happened is that most people I know here weren't orphaned for Christmas this year. Now, I'm sure that if I'd really wanted to I could have gotten myself invited over for someone's Christmas lunch. But I didn't want to. I wish I could be spending Christmas with my family this year, but that's just not possible - and spending it with someone else's family really just isn't all that appealing. When I realized I was facing Christmas alone - unless I started making the rounds with my best puppy dog eyes - I instead decided to embrace having the day to myself. And I'm glad that I did!

While I absolutely love Christmas in summer, it has a habit of sneaking up on me without me really realising. Especially since my family is so far away, so I don't have any of that prep work and planning to deal with. I put up some decorations around the apartment last week, and yesterday I broke out the Christmas music and baked a mountain of ginger snap cookies.

It was hot with humidity yesterday, and me having the oven on in our tiny apartment all afternoon was not exactly making either of us more comfortable. But, I had the tunes blaring and was singing and dancing along like, well, someone on a crazy sugar high, so I didn't mind the heat. I don't really know what the point of me making all these cookies was, given that nobody's really around to share them with. I made Coach take a bag of them with her this morning, but I've still got a mountain of them! A delicious, sugary, mountain...

Christmas is a time for watching movies, so once the cookies were finished Coach and I sat down and watched In America, which is not a Christmas movie, but has that same sentiment and is much more beautiful than probably any Christmas movie I've ever seen (though I've never see It's a Beautiful Life or whatever it's called).

Now, I have this Christmas tradition where I do not sleep at all on Christmas Eve. I actually out grew this a good ten years ago, but by that point I'd trained my family to be woken up at some ungodly hour so well that none of them are able to sleep past 6am and I hardly got any sleep anyways. True to form, I had trouble sleeping last night. I woke up a bit before 4am and went online for a bit - my Mom actually emailed me shortly after 4am to ask if I was up yet, which made me laugh. I did manage to fall back asleep though, to the sounds of low, grumbly thunder and dense rain on the tin roof. I didn't get up until 8:30, and was pretty dazed to find Coach already up and about - usually I've got heaps of time to wake up before I interact with anyone!

I made myself a coffee with eggnog in my special Christmas coffee mug (which, yes, I did bring out from Canada with me), waved off Coach and her brother, then got my computer up and called my Mom on Skype. There was some family over when I called, so I talked to all of them for a bit but it was too crazy so Mom said she'd call me back, and I went and got dressed, made breakfast, and put together a massive fruit salad for my picnic that afternoon. I talked to Mom for an hour, then let her go so I could get on with my own adventures before the severe weather warning came into effect.

I packed up my picnic basket, grabbed Greta, and headed off! I didn't really have a destination in mind; I just wanted to ride around and get some more practice while the roads were pretty empty. I decided I'd check out the Upfield bike path, since it kinda scares me and is the closest bike path to me. Turns out it connects with the Capital City Trail I normally ride on, so it's not actually that necessary for me to use it if I'm going south. Since I was on the Capital City Trail, I figured I'd head east and see what lay beyond Nicholson Street - the furthest I'd ever gone on that path. Pretty soon I was riding along the streets of North Fitzroy, which is handy to know. Or will be handy to know when I get comfortable with riding at night!

I got a bit turned around when I found myself at Rundall Station, which lead to me getting some experience with roundabouts! Ah, remember the days when I could only ride in a straight line? So much has changed since then! I made my way onto the Merri Creek bike trail and decided to head north and gradually make my way home. Again, I got confused about where the bike path was, so I went up St. George's Road...further than I needed to! And that's when it started to really rain. So I pulled over into Batman Park (not that Batman) and took refuge under a tree until the rain died down. It seemed as good a place as any for a picnic, and certainly at least the old man hanging out by the toilets drinking seemed to agree. I was going to offer him some of my cookies, but he was keeping a respectful distance and I decided I didn't really want to strick up a conversation with a random old man drinking out of a suitcase in a park on his own on Christmas Day.

The rain didn't last too long, and once it cleared up I made my way westward. I'd used my picnic time to look up a map on my phone and saw that if I continued down the street I was on I'd reconnect with the Merri Creek bike path again, so that's what I did. By this point the sun was out and it was getting nice and hot. Merri Creek is really pretty, so I decided to ride along it just a little bit more than I needed to to get home and take some pictures.

I made my way back home along the roads, which were empty. I even rode through all the intersections this time - though I'm still not sure how confident I'd be to do that with cars driving alongside me. Some people are idiots, and I don't really fancy putting myself at their mercy. I'm all about taking sensible risks. Like, I've realised my life will be a lot easier when I learn to stand up while cycling. So I spent some time this afternoon practicing. I can now stand up while I'm gliding, and it won't be much longer before I'm peddling as well.

Greta and I had a great time riding around the city. We were out for 2 hours, riding for most of it! I am becoming completely addicted to bike riding - figures! Once the crazy storms let up I think I'll figure out the best route into the city so that I can start riding into uni, seeing as that was the whole point of me buying a bike. Though given my adventures today and going to the gym yesterday, I may not be able to move for the next couple of days!! Ah well, not much stops me these days. I wanted to go out again this afternoon, but when I realised the weather warning was serious I changed my mind and watched Fargo for the first time instead (also an appropriate non-Christmas Christmassy movie, it it's way).

I hope you all have a lovely Christmas, and that you get to spend it doing the things that you want to do.

The Final Frontier

As those of you who have been following my blog over the past year will know, I have been on a pretty intense journey of self-transformation. There have been lots of first, lots of triumphs, and a few injuries along the way (but my stories about Greta are for another blog on another day). If through some crazy loop in the space-time continuum someone was to meet the me of now and the me of four years ago (the me excitedly preparing to blow that Popsicle stand called Calgary for a new life down under), I wonder if they would recognise us as the same person? I know I would, because I know that who I am today is who I always have been. I'm just no longer holding myself, or letting anyone else hold me, back.

I like to compare myself to Kanye West, and while he describes himself as the illest motherfucker alive, over the years I have earned my street cred as the stubbornest motherfucker alive. When I made my mind up about something, that was that! Logic played no part in this; it was sheer bloody mindedness. I will admit to you now that there were many, many, many times where I thought: "Damn, I wish I could ride a bike!", "That trout looks really yummy.", "What does steak taste like, anyways?"

The irony in all of this is that while I was so determined to hold on to these ridiculous battalions of stubbornness, because nobody could tell me what to do, I was unquestioningly living my life by the standards and expectations of other people. For instance, up until the age of 26 I'd never questioned that I would one day get married (to some guy) and have kids, even though the thought of doing so filled me with absolute terror. I still remember the exact moment when I decided that I could choose not to do those things. I could take you to the exact spot I was standing as that wave of relief hit me.

Since that moment, bit by bit, I have been calling every single thing about my 'self' into question. It was slow and cautious at first, but now I am quite used to turning my world upside down and inside out. Now when the chance for some new moment of self-discovery comes my way I just shrug and say "Why not?" After all, how can you really know yourself unless you actively explore all the possibilities of what you could be? Like just the other day, I was hungry and I wanted to know if I liked fish and chips... So I went and bought myself some fish and chips (and they were delicious)!

An interesting side note to this self-discovery business: while that mostly means saying yes to new experiences, it can just as importantly be about saying no to old experiences. Discovering what your life could be like without something or someone is a lot more challenging, but you inevitably discover so much more about yourself this way. But again, that's now what I want to talk about in this blog post.

I am notoriously known for two streaks of stubbornness: refusing to learn how to ride a bike, and refusing to eat red meat. I've discussed my bike riding in previous blogs, and I promise to give you all the full scoop on my adventures with Greta soon. But right now, I want to talk about my long lived reputation as a 'fussy eater'.

At the tender age of 3 I declared that I would not eat red meat. And that was the end of that. My family tried, repeatedly, for many years, to get me to try it. But no. My mind was made up and nothing they did was going to change it. Eventually they gave up on trying to force me and settled for subtle nagging. We all endeared many family dinners where some alternate dish was prepared for me, and some stink was made about how I refused to eat like a normal person. (I wouldn't really know about being a 'normal' person, but it sounds terribly overrated!) Interestingly, when I decided to become a vegetarian, the label of 'fussy eater' seemed to disappear. And I certainly was more adventurous in my eating as a vegetarian than I had been as a meat eater.

I was a vegetarian for 7 years. And then... I can imagine how from certain perspectives it would have looked like I was changing myself for someone else, but that was not at all what happened. My decision to become a vegetarian had always been about needing to change my lifestyle to eat healthier. It had been the right decision for a long time. But it was a decision I had also been questioning for a long time. Even before I got onto my whole fitness kick, I questioned whether vegetarianism still held any real relevance for my life. I quietly debated ending my vegetarianism for a good two years before that fateful chicken burger earlier this year. People have asked me if the transition from vegetarian to meat eater was difficult. I thought it would be, but it was not. My body was craving meat, and when I gave in to those cravings, my body was happy! I've felt great, I've had more energy, and I'm not quite as pale anymore.

What's been interesting for me is how my relationship to meat has changed. Before I became a vegetarian, I was very finicky about what meat I would and would not eat. I didn't like handling meat, and if I didn't know for sure what I was eating, chances were, I wasn't going to eat it. When I started eating meat again, I was finicky at first. But I asked myself why, and realised it was out of habit and not actually out of any sort of queasiness about eating meat.

You see, pre-vegetarianism eating meat was not something I had chosen to do; it was simply the assumed default position (much like heterosexuality). When I decided to start eating meat again after 7 years of vegetarianism, it was a very conscious choice. I was choosing to eat animals. I was choosing to eat the flesh of another living creature. I was OK with this. So why would chopping raw meat bother me? Why would a vein gross me out? When I thought about it like that, it stopped bothering me.

Which then got me thinking... what's my beef with beef?

I know that when I was 3 I declared that I did not like the taste of red meat, but that was 26 years ago and well, a lot has changed!! I wanted to try red meat, but was not willing to purchase it on my own in case I actually didn't like it (after all, I am still a broke ass student). Then on Friday, the opportunity presented itself and I pounced!

It was a friend's birthday, and a bunch of us went out for dinner at a rather delightful pan-Asian restaurant called Rice Queen. Being a broke ass student, I have not actually gone out for dinner at many restaurants in Melbourne. Rice Queen made me realize that I will need to remedy this the moment I have a real income. It was just such a cool place, with amazing cocktails and great food. We ordered entrees to share, one of which was duck pancakes. Pre-vegetarianism, duck was on my long list of meats I didn't eat. From what I'd heard about it, it didn't sound like the most appetising of meats. But there it was, and there I was. So I made myself a duck pancake and you know what? It was pretty tasty! It wouldn't be my first choice, but if someone was serving something with duck in it, I would give it a go.

When it came time to order mains, I was flummoxed. I wanted to order the Vietnamese salad, which you could get with beef or tofu. I wanted to try beef, but I wanted to order the tofu. And then... one of the other women said she was contemplating the beef salad. So I proposed a trade: she order the beef, I order the tofu, and we do a swap. She accepted!

And so, for the first time in 26 years...

I. Ate. Beef.

As you can probably tell from the look on my face, I didn't love it. But, I didn't hate it either. When it first hit my mouth, I thought it was quite good. But then it was a bit grizzly and kind of bland. Which is exactly how I remember beef tasting from those occasions when some would get slipped into my food. I don't foresee me ordering any steaks in the near future, but, I am willing to give beef in other varieties a go. I also want to try other kinds of red meat, particularly kangaroo. If I happen to like the taste of kangaroo, it would be easy to integrate into my diet. I definitely like the idea of eating a wild animal that exists in abundance more than an animal that is farmed (and over bred) specifically for food. The beef industry does not sit well with me, and I don't imagine that's going to change any time soon, even if I do suddenly really start liking the taste of beef.

So there you have it. I finally ate beef. That last battalion of stubbornness has been torn down!

The Beginning of The End

Don't waste your time fighting the line

State your course and you'll understand

- Jay-Z

Tomorrow is a big day for me. Tomorrow everything changes. Though, of course, it already has. Tomorrow is my birthday. Tomorrow is the first day of the end of my 20's. Tomorrow is also the last day of my scholarship. And of course, tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life.

I remember last year I was really anxious about turning 28 and what this year would hold in store for me. I knew it was going to be a challenging year, and whether it was obvious or not, this time last year I was really freaking out about how I was going to manage. But looking back at the past year... it kind of blows my mind how much I've changed, how much I've grown, how much I've learnt about myself.

Not too long ago my flatmate and I were reflecting on our lives and how different (read: better) our late 20's have been from our early 20's. Thinking about how 28 has been for me, I had mixed feelings about the year. But as my flatmate said, "I think you'll look back on this year as a time when some really positive changes started to happen in your life."

And it's true! For starters, I've lost 20kg in the past year. I ran my first 5km race, and now I'm training for a 10km race. I finished my data collection, completely lost interest in my PhD, then fell utterly in love with it again and now want to build my future career on the research I am doing now. I've healed my relationships with my parents a lot, and I've gotten to reconnect with my siblings as adults, which is nothing short of awesome! My professional skills are starting to be recognized in the form of gainful employment and mentoring...

It hasn't all been fun times and kicking ass though. I had a very stupid fight with a friend, and while we've reconciled now, I regret that I became the kind of person who would let that happen. One of the things I've realized over the past year is that friendship is something I value very dearly. I get along well with most people, but it's rare to find someone who I can truly call a friend. And while there are some people back in Canada who I feel like I've gotten closer with this past year, I've felt a lot of disconnect with my friends here in Melbourne. And given that I live in Melbourne, that is hardly an ideal situation! Then there are the incredible grey areas... Breaking up with Lady Cop, twice, is hardly my idea of a good time. But then, a lot of good has come out of it. A lot of good, and a lot of change, and according to a psychic we went to, change is always a good thing.

I started this blog with a lyric from my current favourite hip-hop song, Blue Magic. The reason this song resonates so much with me right now is that, like so much of Jay-Z's music, it's about coming out of tough times on top. Jay-Z is an absolute inspiration to me. This is a man who came from a situation where nobody expected him to amount to anything, but he always knew better. His intellect, his insight into the way the world works, and the way he so simply yet cleverly lays it out, it's pure beauty to me. This is a man who has been, and who I am sure continues to be, under estimated. A lot of people who get under estimated get this attitude like they've got something to prove to the world, but not Jay-Z. He knows what he is capable of, he knows how good he is, and he knows the world is never really going to get it. But instead of trying to make the world sit up and take notice, he just goes about living his life, doing his thing, absolutely on his own terms, whether the world notices or not. I find that absolutely admirable. Especially because as he's always known his own worth, he's always managed to have control over his career.

Which brings me back to the lyric I opened with. We all come into the world in a particular context: in a particular moment in history, in a particular socioeconomic status, in a particular family, in a particular part of the world. We can't change those things; we've got to play the cards that we're dealt. How we play them though, is up to us. There's no point trying to fight the things that are outside of our control. We are much better off to accept whatever circumstances we are in and focus on how we're going to work with whatever we've got to make the best of the situation we're in.

I've been thinking a lot as my birthday has approached about what my circumstances are, and what I can do about it. And this is the thing: when Lady Cop and I were together, I was fighting the line; I wasn't focusing on myself and my own abilities, and while I thought I was maneuvering myself onto a better course by relying on someone else, I was actually making things a lot more difficult for myself. What inspires me about Jay-Z is how clearly he manages to stay on his course, even with other people in his life. I mean, Beyonce is a mega-superstar with her own career and life goals and all of that. She is an amazing woman and an amazing catch, and I know a lot of people would think that if she snaps her fingers, he'd better come a-running. But no! It's not like that at all. He knows that she's incredible, but he also knows he's awesome personified too. Being with her doesn't change his course. He's still going to do what's right for him.

I want to be the kind of person that can say "You're awesome, I want to be with you, but this is my life and I am living it this way, whether you're in it or not." This is the biggest lesson I have learnt over the past year, and it's been a hard lesson to learn. Compromise is important in relationships, sure, but it is different from going off course with your own life.

So I'm not fighting the line; I've stated my course, and I understand.

What does that mean for my 29th year? Finishing my PhD is my number one priority. But I have to be realistic: my candidature expires in 6 months, and especially given that I now have to engage in paid work to survive and that I want my PhD to launch my future career, I need more than 6 months to finish. So I have decided to extend my candidature by 6 months, which means taking out student loans and paying tuition. I will submit my thesis before my 30th birthday!!! And while I do still want to continue losing weight, right now I am happy with my body. I like my fitness regime; it's not as hardcore as previous ones, but it's enough to continue improving my fitness and toning my body without having to be obsessive about what I eat, while having the flexibility to allow my PhD to take priority. Having a social life is vital to my well-being, so I am actively making new friends and reconnecting with old ones. For reasons that unfortunately stopped being relevant too late to change anything, my flatmate is moving out and someone new will be coming in (tbd, don't want to jinx it, not talking about it until it's in the past).

Tomorrow is a fresh start. From here on in, I'm running the show.

Welcome to Academialand

Last night I had a dream that I was hanging out with my some of my family (Dad, Mary and Pat) and we were watching a music video for some new up and coming female artist. My subconscious is a strange place, so I don't really know how to classify what a typical dream is for me or if this would qualify as one such dream. I had never heard of this artist before, but there's nothing surprising about that. It was a bit odd to be sitting around watching music videos with my Dad and Mary though, and not just because I haven't watched music videos on TV since like, the 90's. What was disturbing about this dream was actually my reaction to it when I woke up this morning: "Hmm, apparently I am doing queer readings of made up music videos in my sleep now." Welcome back to Academialand Dr. Jones!

I have been slaving away over my Neverending Methodology Chapter, and fell asleep last night expecting to have nightmares about it. But nope. Queer readings of made up music videos. And I'm not even touching queer theory with a ten foot pole!

The video was pretty typical for today's pop market, or so I imagine. Close ups of the singer heavily done up, her dancing in sexually suggestive ways with two men, her covered in rainbow coloured candy in a bathtub with a couple other women. Seems pretty run of the mill to me. The following queer reading of it came, as it always does, from a debate with Pat. As soon as the music video started up, I took one look at the heavily made up singer whom I had never heard of before and announced to the room that she was a lesbian. I proceeded to yell at the TV as she suggestively danced with two semi-nude men that this was completely nonsensical as she is clearly gay. Dad laughed at me and Pat baited me. Obviously neither of them were buying my story when she appeared, candy-clad, in a bathtub with a couple other women. This is just what the straight girls do these days. So I turned to Pat and yelled: "Dude! That chick is 100% dyke!" I argued that she had been advised to stay in the closet, hence the weird dancing with men scene, and that the candy-bath scene was her subtle signal to the lady lovin' folk that she's one of us. Obviously they weren't picking up on it; they weren't meant to. Geez!

It's the fact that the first thought I had this morning was that I had constructed a queer reading of this made up music video that bemuses and terrifies me. The fact that I'm now considering the pronouncement of "Dude! That chick is 100% dyke!" as a queer readings goes to show that I am well along the yellow brick road, leading away from sanity and towards Academialand. I have been resistant to going on this journey because, well, because I see it as a departure from sanity, and I feel my relationship to sanity is tenuous enough as it is!

But, what's a girl to do? Five years ago a younger, more naive version of myself decided she wanted to be an academic, and like it or not, I've now got to honour her wish. That is more harsh than how I actually feel... mostly. The me of five years ago who thought being an academic would be super-neat didn't place as much value on having a stable grip on her sanity as the current version of myself does. She was also completely unaware of exactly how crazy making doing a PhD is.

Truth be told, I don't mind academia. It's more that I don't want to be an academic. I don't want to be defined by my day job. I want to be more than the thing that pays the bills. My problem with academia is that it's not exactly a profession known for having work/life boundaries. It can't; it's thinking work. You can't structure your most inspired thoughts to occur between the hours of 9-5. It don't work that way! So the challenge is to find a way to engage in academic work without completely surrendering myself to it.

For you Eat, Pray, Love fans, Elizabeth Gilbert did a great talk on TED about this. And if you have 20 minutes, I highly recommend checking it out!



Everyone keeps telling me that once I have my PhD, it'll be worth the sacrifices. I'll be handed the keys to the kingdom or whatever. I'm a bit dubious of these claims, but I remain hopeful. At the very least, I'll have satisfied the desires of my younger self and can start satisfying the desires of my current self. Which may, on occasion, involve queering made up music videos.

Riding Off Into The Sunset

And so we come, as we inevitably must, to the end of my Hawaiian adventure. Good times were had, memories were made, revelations were had, along with some shots of tequila and whiskey. But before I board that plane, I've still got a full day of fun to have!

In the morning the parents drove Maya and I to the north of the island where we got booted and suited up, then saddled up for some mountain horseback riding.

I hadn't been on a horse in about 7 years, so I was pretty excited to be getting back in the saddle. Though, I wasn't too sure how I'd feel about it after I got out of the saddle and onto an airplane for a day...

Maya got to ride on a lovely mare called Miley, and I, well I got Billy. Billy had other ideas about how he wanted to be spending his day, and it certainly didn't involve going on another goddamn trail ride!

Off we set into the lushious green hills, Billy at a crawling pace, grabbing mouthfuls of grass at every possible opportunity, despite my best efforts to stop him. So far this ride was exactly how I remember it from my old horse Ryann: stubborn horse that doesn't want to do what you're telling it to do, and a sense of assignation to said horse. Billy even looked like Ryann! The only real difference was this time I was closer to the ground.

We were riding through a privately owned farm, and at one point we had to stop so that some horses could be moved from one paddock to another. The horses were herded by use of a truck, and we even got to see the owner riding around on one of those 4-wheel ATV things with her two dogs standing on the back.

The ride went on pretty smoothly, and at various times Billy did actually pick up the pace. This was usually because our guide came riding up behind him making to whip him, but still. Maya and I were both having a great time, taking in the beautiful scenery and laughing into the rather intense wind.

Then we came to a steepish hill, and Billy just stopped. He wasn't moving for anything. And as I sat there, watching everyone else pick their way down the hill while I tried to get Billy to budge, I suddenly found myself straddling his side instead of his back. My saddle had slipped. "I'm falling!!!" I yelled out, which, got the guide's attention pretty fast. He turned around and came back for me, and I, faced with the possibility of hanging upside down under Billy's legs, or falling onto the rocky grass, did a rather graceful backwards soumersault out of the saddle and onto the ground. Our guide was very relieved that I was both fine and in good spirits. As I told him, I'm used to falling off a much bigger horse.

He got Billy's saddle back up and on, nice and tight, and then helped me get back on. This time, though still reluctantly, Billy didn't refuse to move. Billy and I actually got on much better after my tumble. I think having the saddle on properly put him at ease, and the fact that he stopped to make sure my fall was as safe as possible made me a lot more trusting of his judgement. From then on in it was smooth, but slow, sailing.

There were four of us on this ride, plus the guide, and everyone had at least some riding experience. So when Maya asked if we could go back to the ranch via this huge hill, our guide was quite happy to take us on that detour. Billy was less happy about it and refused to go as far up the hill as everyone else had gone. Much to my surprise, when the ranch did come into view he didn't suddenly pick up the pace and start running back. Perhaps he was just a really Hawaiian horse.

When we got back to the ranch and went into the paddock, Maya suddenly turned into Dr. Doolittle: all the horses were following her.

Well, OK, they were following Miley back. But still, it was pretty cute! We got off our horses and said our goodbyes. Then we pulled ourselves out of our boots and jackets and waited for the parents to come pick us up. They arrived with snacks, and pretty quickly Maya and I were devouring a box of goldfish crackers.

My flight wasn't until the evening, so we still had some time that afternoon to hit up the beach one last time. We decided to just go to the one nearest our condo as we didn't want to over estimate how much time we had. It was really nice to get to take one last dip in the ocean before I flew off. I was especially glad I could stretch out in the water after our ride!

After the beach it was back to the condo where I jumped in the shower, then finished packing, then loaded up the llama with my now bulging suitcase to take to the van. We made a pit stop at the shops near us so I could buy a pair of shoes I fancied. This ended up being more of a pit stop than I'd anticipated, so Dad sent the boys off to get themselves some ice cream. Initially I said no to getting some for myself, but when I went over to meet them, I soon found myself with a massive cone of chocolate ice cream with Reece's Pieces and coconut. I, I don't know how that happened...

We drove into Kona and I juggled eating my massive ice cream with getting as many pictures loaded up onto my computer as I could before my battery died. Which it did pretty much as soon as we got to the airport. Once I was checked in to my flight to Honolulu we hit the van and headed for dinner. At Denny's. Where they were out of veggie burgers and the weird Denny's waiter attempted to flirt with me.

Saying our goodbyes at the airport was epic. There were tears, and hugs, and one more hug hugs, and more one more hug hugs, and more tears. I tried to crack a joke by going "See you in a week!" because I thought it would be funny if we were having this ridiculously emotional goodbye and I was going to see them again really soon. But no one got the joke. Oh well! I think I'm hilarious and I'm pretty sure that's all that matters.

Eventually I made it through the security check point and the rest of the family headed off while I boarded my flight and flew off into the sunset. It was just about to be a really uneventful flight when I noticed that we were circling over Honolulu instead of landing. Our captain informed us that the Honolulu airport was currently shut down for all air traffic as President Obama was boarding Air Force One. So, I practically met the President.

We circled and circled and circled some more. Then the captain informed us we were running out of fuel and as Mr. Obama had not yet actually gotten on to his stinking plane, we would be turning around and flying into Maui so that we could refuel. We got about half way to Maui when the captain announced that Air Force One had achieved take off and Honolulu was once again open for air traffic. So we turned around again and finally landed in Honolulu.

My flight to Sydney wasn't until the morning, so I spent the night at an airport hotel. It was quite late by the time I finally got in to Honolulu and I had to leave at like 5:30am or something ridiculous for my flight to Sydney, so it was pretty much straight to bed for me when I got to the hotel. I didn't even get to enjoy their breakfast buffet, as it didn't open until 6am. I was happy to discover that Starbucks sells oatmeal, especially since I was flying on JetStar, where I paid $5US for a small package of cheese and crackers.

I found the flight to Sydney perfectly fine, but heaps of other people did not share my opinion. Their rental in-flight entertainment units were pretty much all broken, so only people who had pre-booked and had children got one. I had already decided that my in-flight entertainment would be a book, so when I got a free pair of headphones so I could watch the movies they were screening, it was a bonus. I watched Eat, Pray, Love, which hardly made any sense and definitely wouldn't have made a lick of sense if you hadn't read the book.

At any rate, after a long day of flying, I made it back home to Melbourne. I flew into Avalon, which is pretty much in Geelong... and made me realize why people sometimes give me funny looks when I say I barrack for the Cats. Well, one of the reasons. WHATEVER DUDES!

It was nice to get home and get to sleep in my own bed again. I was sad that the vacation had come to an end, but I also felt energized and ready to take on the challenges of 2011. And when I went to see my chiropractor, even he thought I was looking a world better than I had at the end of the year.

So what lesson have I learnt for 2011? Fall off a horse more often.

Zippity Doo Dah Zippity Day

Only two more Hawaii blogs to go! Unfortunately, they're not writing themselves. Neither is my PhD. Jerks! We'll get there soon enough.

On our second last day we had an early rise before we were shipped up to the north end of the island for a bit more adventure tourism: Zip Lining! (Of Flying Fox if you prefer) As we shook the sleep from our eyes, we also got harnessed up to go swinging through the trees.

Maya didn't have any shorts that came down to her knees, so she borrowed a pair of Mary's pants. And thus she was dubbed Jane Goodall.

Once we were all geared up, we were loaded into an old military vehicle and taken on a high speed, off road adventure.

The ride was super fun, and that was just the start! We made our way into the forest and were soon at the base of the first line. Now, I should probably mention that I only had a vague idea of what I'd gotten myself into. It seemed like something that would be pretty cool, but I didn't consider the possibility that it might be, oh, say, terrifying?

The first line was just a short run, not too far off the ground, to give us a feel of what we had signed ourselves up for. It seemed simple enough: walk off the platform, sit back in the harness, hold on to the rope, and glide on over to the other side.

I don't know about you, but I don't spend a lot of time suspended in mid-air. And while I trusted in the equiptment completely, the idea of being suspended in the air definitely was a freaky one for me. But that wasn't even the worst! Stopping really freaked me out! I was going so fast down the line that ever time I came to the end, it seemed like a violent collision was the only way I was going to stop. Thankfully, every time, I was wrong. And eventually, I even started to enjoy myself.

Of course, as soon as I became comfortable with stopping, they completely changed the process. For the first four runs we started on a wooden platform and landed on a wooden platform. But after that, we were landing on a gravel path! We pretty much had to hit the ground running, and continue up the hill with the momentum of our harness. The implication of this, of course, was that we'd be facing the runway when we came in for a landing...

Up until that point, steering hadn't been something I'd needed to be particularly worried about. For the record, my bum only hit the ground for a second, and then I bounced up and was on my feet and running. Pat earned the title of Butt Dragon for his landing.

Once we had gotten the 'little runs' out of the way, it was time to stop and refuel with some snacks before we conquered the longer, higher, faster runs. There was a little picnic set up for us at the 'Mac Nut Hut', where they had an old nut cracker and fresh macadamia nuts, along with the best trail mix I have ever ate! They encouraged us to take whatever was left over, so I took the remaining 3 bags of trail mix for my flight home. I only ended up eating 2 bags, and unfortunately had to surrender the 3rd to customs upon my return. I did consider just eating it in front of them whilst they took my shoes off to be sanitized.

Our guides had quite the sense of humour and did everything they could to mess with us. So as we headed out to our next challenge after our snack break, they hid in the bushes and made boar sounds as Maya and I walked past. I seriously thought that we were about to get charged by a wild boar, and judging by how high Maya leapt, so did she!

Next up was a walk across the suspension bridge. It was quite high up, on a wire frame, and involved walking across a plank of wood.

Apparently this was the thing that freaked people out the most. But for me, this was the funnest part. I love suspension bridges! And we were harnessed onto it, so it wasn't like we would have gone very far if we'd slipped. Maybe it was that I was in control of getting myself to the other side, instead of just waiting for impact. Whatever the case, it was heaps of fun and when I got to the other end I wanted to go back and do it all again. The funniest thing was that the guides were stomping on the bridge to make it shake. I didn't realize this until I got to the very end and saw a foot stomp down on the bridge. Maya came behind me, and John was behind her. Every time our guide would stomp on the bridge, she turned around and gave John a dirty look. Sibling love, ain't it grand?

The last few runs were AMAZING! We were soaring over the tops of waterfalls and looking out to the ocean. We got to walk the plank and even jump off a cliff!!! Jumping off that cliff and soaring high through the air, I finally let go of the rope and just glided. And it really sunk in for me that if I could do that, I could do anything.

So we came to the end of the runs and were all pumped beyond belief. We hopped back into the jeep and went soaring through the mud and back into town.

On the way back our guides told us about this awesome black sand beach that was a short drive and hike away from where we were, and the four of us decided this was something we must do. But first, the parents had found a cute little tiki restaurant for us to have lunch in in town.

Now, guys! Oh my god! This was so exciting!! Guess what I found when we were exploring the town, Hawi, after lunch? THE LESBIANS! I got to give them the secret hand shake and everything, it was great! I did not let the fact that I was drenched in sweat and mud hold me back one iota.

We all had an exciting time in Hawi. The shops were actually quite good, completely aside from my multiple lesbian sightings (and they weren't even together!) and I think we all came away with some souvineers. And then we badgered the parents into taking us to this black sand beach. They protested, because that's there job. But we were relentless (because that's our job) and eventually won. As I stated before, we're all glad that's the way it played out.

The hike down was a little more intensive than we had expected, but it wasn't too bad. Mary was a total champion, doing the hike with a back injury. The trail got quite steep, rocky, and muddy in more than a couple places. It was totally worth the hike though. I mean, there's beautiful and then there's freggin' breath taking!

We all had an incredible time exploring this beach and playing in the black sand. Maya caught some tiny black crab, Pat stuck his feet in the ocean, John smiled, and I made a sand angle.

It was a day full of fun filled adventure and family bonding, just like every day of this trip. But I'm sure it's a day that we'll remember for many years to come.

Something Spectacular to Start the Year

I'm not really sure what time we got back to the condo after our New Year's libations, but it was probably around 1:30am. Apparently the boys crawled into bed and fell promptly asleep. Maya and I did not do this. We stayed up talking until she passed out around 4am.

Somehow, miraculously given how jam packed our vacation schedules were, we managed to not have anything scheduled for the next morning. John and Pat were booked in to go deep sea fishing, but that wasn't until noon, so we all had a bit of recovery time. Since Maya and I didn't have to be anywhere until much later in the afternoon, we decided to spend a few hours at the beach near our condo. It was great to just lay in the sun for a bit, and stretch out in the water.

We had something pretty spectacular planned for that evening, so after the beach, a quick shower, and a snack, we packed ourselves into the van and headed back to Kona to pick up the boys. We only had a short time between picking up the boys and our next activity, so we headed to Wendy's for dinner. THANKFULLY there was a Thai place nearby where Maya and I were able to grab something of the non burger variety. Though yes, I did sneak in a Frostie from Wendy's.

What we had in store that evening was night snorkeling with Manta Rays! Yeah, I know, that's a pretty freggin' spectacular way to start off the year!

We headed back to the now very familiar docks and got geared up into our wet suits. I had never worn a wet suit before, and um, they ain't so easy to get on! Fortunately, we had THE LLAMA there to help us out. After getting into his wet suit, John got to do the rounds and zip the rest of us up. I don't remember exactly at what point of the trip Maya dubbed John the llama, but I do know it stuck. And by the end of the trip, the llama was not so happy about this.

We all boarded the boat, with the four of us kids heading right up front and centre of the boat. We got to watch the sun go down as we got geared up with snorkels and flippers and made the short trip out to out manta ray sighting spot.

On this tour there was a guy from National Geographic who was filming the manta rays for some TV program about how this was the awesomest thing to do in Hawaii. So he talked to us about the manta rays and how there was nothing to worry about with them, and not to try and touch them. He asked those of us who were taking pictures, which Pat and I were, to hold our cameras in close to us when we did so, as the electromagnetic field of the camera and of our hands reaching out could be confronting for the manta rays. And you know what he told us that probably would have saved me years of dolphin related trauma? He told us that our snorkel masks would make the manta rays look bigger than they are, and that they would likely look like they were coming straight for us. But rest assured, they are not!

***



It was early 2001 and I was on vacation in Zanzibar with my family. Zanzibar remains the most spectacularly beautiful place I have ever visited, and one day I will return there. And if my life ever turns to complete shit, I am packing up and moving there to heard cattle or fish or pick fruit or whatever. But not all my memories of Zanzibar are happy ones. Maya was big into dolphins, and swimming with the dolphins was one of the things you could do through the resort we were staying at. And so we did. We were driven out to a beach about an hour from our hotel (it might not have been that far had there been actual roads) and were packed into a rickety boat, given some snorkel gear, and off we went!

We were taken out into the ocean depths until our crew spotted the very wild dolphins. "Quickly! Quickly!" We were pushed off the boat and into the water. And what should I see when I open my eyes? Six MASSIVE dolphins swimming straight at me!!! I screamed, the dolphins laughed, it was all very humiliating. And of course, them being totally wild, they had a whole ocean to swim around in. This meant when they swam off too far, we had to haul ourselves back into the rickety boat from the water while it sped after the dolphins, where we would yet again be pushed out into the wilderness to be these evil creatures play things. Oh god! The memories!

***

Our manta ray crew had come up with this rather ingenious device to prevent us from having scaring memories of our time with the manta rays. They had made this floatational device with lights rigged up to it (the lights being to attract the food for the manta rays), and we were instructed to swim out to it, grab on, and stick a pool noodle under our ankles so that we don't kick the manta rays as they swim underneath us. This device also prevented us from creating a mosh pit in the water.

Once we had been briefed it was time to get in the water! It didn't take long for the first manta ray to show up, and rest assured, it was pretty freggin' spectacular! She seemed to be in a playful mood, doing loopdy loops and swimming right up close to us. I'm pretty sure she grazed me and John's legs at one point. We saw two manta rays, one with a wing span of 6 feet, and one with a wing span of 8 feet. We also saw lots of needle fish chomping away on all the plankton floating in the water around us. Words don't really do the experience justice, so here is my only picture!

The white spotty bits are plankton, and the rest is manta ray. Her eyes are on either side of the picture, and those flappy whiteish bits are her mouth. I had my camera right up against my body when I took this picture, so yes, she's pretty darn close!

The reason this is my only picture is because shortly after taking it, my camera decided that it had seen everything it needed to see in this life time and made it's way to the big shutter in the sky. What was really weird was that Pat's very new digital camera decided to do the same thing. The family seemed pretty convinced that this was due to the mysterious electromagnetic field emitted by the manta rays, but GUYS! That's crazy! Our cameras did not die because of the beauty or the electromagnetic fields of the manta rays. They died because they got water in the bits that aren't water resistant. I have a vague sense that when, in the heat of the moment, my camera froze up, I may have popped the battery casing open to force restart it. I, I wish I could say I know better than to do something like that. But the truth is, I probably don't.

So yes, I no longer have a digital camera. Since the camera I did have was a free one I'm not too broken up about it. I'm glad that it didn't break until I got that awesome shot of the manta ray, towards the end of my vacation. I do wish that I had brought my film camera with me. I debated taking it and honestly am not too sure why I decided not to bother with it. Oh well, live and learn. Fortunately, our memory cards were both fine and compatible with the parents' camera, so we were still able to take gazillions of pictures of the rest of the trip. Which I will tell you more about soon!