It’s 10:32 on a Friday night and I’m drunk. Drunk, and alone. And happy about it. After this week, cocooning with the comfort of being completely alone and not having to misstep and crush someone’s soul with the bitterness I don’t think I have, but after a week like this, such a surprise discovery wouldn’t be so unimaginable. There’s probably a right cunt lurking deep within me. Keep your arms inside the vehicle at all times. I wouldn’t trust me so far as I could throw me, man.

So, I opened this really tasty bottle of red wine and kept drinking it instead of water, ‘cos, well, it’s tasty. That’s just how we rolls. The internet being so limited as it is, I can’t offer you any, suffice to say the $9.89 I spent on the Castano Monastrell ‘05 had sexy long legs. Let it air a half hour and it’ll drink like $17.99, which it’s doing now but my buzz makes it feel like $26.99. Like K’s Choice once sang, and which applies to my wine choice for the night, “I’m in heaven, I’m a god, I’m everywhere, I feel so hot”.

That, and the box of Noodle Box spicy peanut on rice with chicken I’ve enjoyed, I assure you, life feels pretty complete.

I should have gotten a bigger bottle of wine, but this is surprisingly lacking of tannic bite for a reasonably cheap red wine, which would’ve been sacrificed for a better-bigger bargoon. Nice stuff. I still love Spain’s Pergolas 2001 as my favourite red under $10 (simply unbelievable for the dollar when you let it breathe an hour), but I think I have a new second.

Well, so, now I’m drunk but quite happy about it. I’ve been drinkless for about 3 weeks, and plan to continue my good behaviour, but intend to indulge on a Friday here or there, and aim to post something drunk, because, hey, that’s always fun.

So, any longtime readers know I was born with a significant hearing loss, which always surprises people I meet day-to-day, even my audiologists, as I wear those in-the-ear hearing aids and speak without any impediments. I’ve been told I have radio voice, and I’m articulate enough to fudge for any hearing lacks I may have. So, you’d never know, really, but there it is.

It’s the bane of my existence, really, because I’m as curious as the day is long and nothing in the world could do more for my writing than the ability to eavesdrop everywhere at all hours, which I can’t do now because, well, I can’t. But if I could, oh! Sigh. I just wish I could eavesdrop. I can’t.

Monday sucked ass because I broke a hearing aid. I’ve worn them all my life, 32 of 34 years, and, until last October, had never lost or broken one, and I’ve always worn 2. Well, there’s the time that a kid at camp hucked my sneakers in the ocean because I beat their swimming time. Salt water + electronics = a really shitty plan.

Last October I broke one, oh irony of ironies, by trying to clean it. Cost me $140, which (ironically by a medical plan dating error) is suddenly claimable, and because I have the World’s Best Customer Service Person at Island Hearing, the latest damage is possibly being covered under October’s warranty.

Which is hilarious. Really. I mean, October’s repair was a busted receiver. Monday, I closed my laptop forgetting that my tiny plastic hearing aids were sitting on the keyboards. I might be real, real hearing impaired, but even I heard that sickening, bone-twinging crunch.

One of the two completely shattered into a mess of plastic shards encasing a sophisticated network of wire and itty electronical-looking things. I think a simple glance by anyone with reasoning ability in the minutest of amounts would result in a “don’t think that’s an issue with the receiver” verdict.

But it’s day three and I’ve received repairs back on the fourth day before so I called the shop today, and they said “Well, if they felt it was a faulty warranty claim, we’d likely get a call… so, if you want me to call and ask them, I will, but I don’t think that’s wise, and that ‘no news is good news’ might be a good mental state for you right now…”

HOWEVER.

Here’s the deal. Should the warranty cover the repairs, I’ll have spending money. If I have spending money, the “change thy life” steps I’ll be taking this week include:

• joining a local club with cardio kickboxing and a few other offerings, plus i have a potential card up my sleeve. still, should be good stories from kickboxin’
• getting my first ever manicure
• fit ticket series for the gym
• maybe another pair of jeans

Kinda in that order too.

Joining a gym is hard enough when you see yourself as fat and clumsy. Joining something as physically intense as cardio kickboxing when you’re in that same ungainly shape? Real, real hard. Real hard. Really.

I’m scared as hell but there’s a side of me that adopts a Clint Eastwoodesque voice and says “Fuckin’ do it. Make your day. You know you got it in ya.”

And, I do. I know that. It’s why I go kamikaze when I try knew things. Go big, go hard, or just get your ass home, sissy, right? My attitude totally means I should be snowboarding, surfing, whatever. Both are goals for later this year, when I’ve kicked ass over the rest of the Mainland and have only the mountains and seas left to conquer.

Step one? Cardio kickboxing intended for the “physically fit”. That kind of cardio will kick my ass even though I can cycle 40 kilometres, but I know I can push myself to meet it halfway. If I die giving it my best, then so fuckin’ be it. But I’ll give ‘er. And collapse and pant and die. But I’ll give ‘er.

And I’ll improve quickly. I always do.

The big challenge is, instead of thinking “God, I’m fat, and I hate the way these shorts are riding up on me and god, I look blotchy, and, jesus, is he looking at me?” I’ll have to remind myself that, the odds are good, that those I encounter in gym and kickboxing are thinking “Hey, good on her for doing something about it, and shit, wow, she’s serious, too, eh? Huffin’ and puffin’… wow, I gotta pick up my pace a bit.”

See, the funny thing is, a few years ago I had this huge accomplishment. I weigh about 235 now and once weighed about 275, and am told I look like about 200 or less. But I know I weigh 235 and feel like it, too. When I first began cycling from home to work a few years back, I used the bike-put-on-bus method for a while, but then I finally started cycling the 12 km / 8m route, and it took me an hour and 10 minutes with all the killer hills. (Going to or from work is the exact same — 4km of constant hill, then another 1.5 of slightly less of it… meaning, pretty gruelling, either way, but worse going home at night, when it’s considerably steeper.)

Well, I kept pushing myself. Secret? Stopping on the Cambie Bridge, looking at the mountains and the sea, smoking some pot, and just givin’ ‘er from there for 38 blocks till I crested Little Mountain and had the descent to take me home. Might as well enjoy the moment, eh? I enjoyed all 38 blocks of the moment thanks to local aromatic herbs.

SO. I went from 70 minutes down to 34 minutes to get home in a matter of weeks. Hauling some 255 pounds of myself the whole distance. I’m lighter now, and I’m comparatively fit compared, probably, to a lot of people my size, but I’m still my size, and I’m still painfully aware of it, despite knowing I’m not that bad of shape for my size.

And joining a friggin’ cardio kickboxing class with a bunch of (I saw the pictures) cute-bodied chicks intimidates the hell out of me. Yet I know I can cycle uphill for 45 blocks and make it home 12 clicks in 34 minutes, so… I know I have it in me. It’s weird having this really strong pull both ways: I rock… I suck. But I rock, so… can I really suck?

They say it takes 21 days to form a habit, well, I say it takes that long to form either a) an attachment, or b) a comfort factor. Or, if you’re lucky, both.

After three weeks you move past the awkwardness and start asking yourself how you really feel, and why you think you need it. When you start giving yourself answers, that’s when you really need to listen. True for all of us. Me, I was raised with a fear of failure, meaning one should never actively try to succeed, ‘cos if you’ve never tried, you’ve never really failed, right? Yeah, well, didn’t find that methodology worked well for me, so now’s the try-before-buying plan.

Anyhow. I’m drunk, and going on and on. Just send some positive vibes out into the universe, say a little prayer I get my completely implausible warranty coverage so I can do something that scares the shit out of me and is bound to be good for blogging: cardio kickboxing. With cute-bodied, fit women from my neighbourhood. Me, my doughy ass, and cardio kickboxing. I’d cry if I wasn’t laughing so hard. :) Pray, people, pray! Sooner’s better for cardio kickboxing and me, before I loses me noives. ;)