Leaf, probably…

My Public Policy text book is drier than cardboard. That’s right drier than cardboard.  That puts it in the same dryness category as dried up salt lakes, and scrub bushes in the heat of an Australian summer. That’s dry.

Luckily for me (and now for you) I have a plan of action for dealing with dry text books.

First off, I aim to have the right supplies. Highlighters, spare paper for jotting (or, you know, doodling pictures) and two or three of my favorite pens. I also find having a small snack handy can make study that much more pleasant. Perhaps a slice of cheese. I could go for some cheese.

Next I find a comfortable place. I can’t study at my desk because the chair makes me squirm, and I always end up slouched way down in my chair with my legs up sprawled across my desk. It’s comfortable at the time, but a few hours of that leaves one hell of a kink in my back.  

Instead I go for one of the sofas in our lounge, or the patch of sunny carpet by the front door. I NEVER attempt to study on my bed. It’s just too comfortable. The next thing I know I’m studying in the bed, then in the bed while lying down, which naturally progresses to me studying in the bed, while lying down, with my eyes closed.

Then I take a deep cleansing breath and open my book. I’m currently chapter two. The very first page of chapter two to be exact. I have two more chapters plus that one to finish by Thursday.

I like to start my readings by highlighting something. Anything at all. This time I highlight the first sentence. Then I underline the words”public policy”.

It’s important for me to do this now because within seconds of starting my reading I have forgotten I even own a highlighter. This way I at least get to use it once a study session, and I don’t feel like such a study dunce when I see other students massively highlighted and annotated readings during group discussions.

I read a few paragraphs before pausing to nibble on cheese and note down my observations so far. When I realise I have absorbed nothing but that chapter heading I go back and re-read, only this time I do it while massaging my aching shoulders and neck.

When re-reading and neck massages get me no further than page two of chapter two I change tactics. I know when something isn’t working, and I’m not scared to admit it.

Taking my cheese slice I place it between chapter six and seven (the public sector, and the judiciary) of my text.

After lightly rubbing the front and back cover of my book with olive oil, and a pinch or two of thyme, I place it into the oven to grill at a medium to high temperature.

When the cheese is melted I like to cut the text into diagonal slices and serve with a side of The Crazy and a glass of wine. Or ten.

Last night at Taekwon-Do I was grumpy and tired for reasons mentioned here, and here, and for a few other reasons not mentioned here - mostly the one about how I hadn’t eaten since lunch time.

I scowled and frowned a lot, although I really didn’t mean to. When I realised that I was scowling and frowning at my instructor and all the people in my group I tried for a smile. It felt a bit like I was baring my teeth, so I stopped.

Towards the end of the class we were surprised by having to jump up in front of all the others to demonstrate our three step sparring. Or something. We weren’t quite sure what we were attempting to demonstrate so it was a bit of a massive disaster.

I would start forward, and forget to yell in the right spots. Then I’d realise that no one else was moving. So I’d stop. Then the dude at the front would say keep going. One of the other guys in my group started again. And so I would start again, only more nervous, and forgetting to yell at all, or finish.

Meanwhile the rest of the group were still standing still. In the end I just sort of trailed off. It clearly wasn’t the right time to be asking for clarification, so I didn’t.

Also a disaster: While on the mats I managed to pop my second toe out of its joint. It’s something that happens fairly often with me (usually when I’m swimming) as a result of been stood on by one too many horses back in the day when there were horses. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s intensely uncomfortable.

I can usually pop it back in by flexing my foot in the right direction, and so I gave that a try. While up in front of the class. Demonstrating something that clearly I was getting wrong.

So imagine me running back and forwards on the mats, clearly confused as fuck, stopping to jiggle about flexing my foot every two steps.

Disaster.

I couldn’t have looked any more like a dork if I had tried to.

Later on while we watched the other belts do their thing in front of the class we figured out that we were supposed to be simulating a grading. Whoops.

Then I had to take a picture for the clubs website. I didn’t see the picture but I get a feeling that I don’t look amazing in it. I was scowling right up until the camera was pointed at me.

Later on that evening - despite the odds - I managed to look more like a dork. I popped my toe out of alignment while in the shower, and then nearly brained myself on the side of the tub trying to get it back in place.

The lesson?
There is no lesson really, but if I had to pick one I’d go with ‘eat something before working out’

Or if I was channeling my Nana Pointon: ‘don’t scowl like that in case the wind changes. You’ll be stuck like that forever, and then how would you feel.’

Today I spent lunch down on the waterfront with Kat, Becks, Jeri and Maike.

Usually when we all get together it’s fun and we laugh a lot, and bitch about boys and relationships, and talk about punching things. Our meetings make me feel powerful, capable, and happy. 

When it’s time to go I leave with a sense of direction and a cool ball of calm lodged just under my rib cage. Not many people give me calm. I value the ones that do highly.

We were all there on the waterfront today for Kat - one of the very few people that I actually hero worship.

Over three years ago now she introduced me to kickboxing and changed pretty much my entire outlook on life. To everyone else she’s the person who taught me how to throw a nice punch, to me she’s the person who taught me that I can be badass.

Kat can make me do things I never would have thought about trying without her influence. Like the time I did two boxing classes in a row for her. Or the time she convinced me to try scuba diving.

She’s the first person I think of when I need courage, or no nonsense ‘get your butt into gear’ advice. And I have a feeling I’m going to be needing that sort of advice quite a bit in the next few months.

All in all she’s one of my favorite people, and even though she’s younger than me I look up to her like the totally badass big sister I’ve come to see her as.

Today’s get together on the waterfront wasn’t about boys or laughing about crap, or punching things.

It was because Kat is going to Rarotonga for a long time. She’s planning on doing her diving instructors exams while working in one of the dive shops over there. We were all there to say goodbye to Kat, and to try and keep our collective raging jealousy under control.

When I left I didn’t have a sense of purpose, and I sure as fuck didn’t have a nice cool ball of calm under my ribs. Instead I have a messy ball of weepy sad GIRL.

I haven’t lost it and actually cried yet, but it’s probably not far away. In fact at 1.15pm tomorrow I’m going to be standing with my hands pressed to my office window watching Wellington airport and blubbering like a big baby.

It’s hard to be badass when you’re sad.

Kat: Have an awesome time, but not too awesome, because we all want you back.

Last night Ben surprised me by coming over - after I told him not to because of the plague that seems to have befallen me. 

‘You’re such a dork.’ I told him, and ‘if you get sick I’m going to laugh at you.’

I just thought I’d better write that down in public. If he does get sick I won’t be laughing at my boyfriend because I’m a bad girlfriend. I’ll be laughing at him because I promised I would, and I’m always reliable when it comes to fulfilling my promises.

Unless they involve taking out the rubbish or doing the dishes.

I mentioned the candy monkey heads that I brought the other day in this post. Today I thought I’d tell you a little more about them. You see, they’re so unusual they deserve a little more than a singular mention in a very badly constructed sentence.

These monkey heads originate from a dutch cuisine shop in Petone. The shop was basically divided into two sections: the giant wheels of cheese section and the rows and rows of liquorice section.

These were right down the back between the pink piggie heads and the black and white panda heads. I got the monkeys because I thought they looked the coolest. Also because pink candy usually doesn’t taste great, and I couldn’t quite convince myself that eating panda heads was ok.

Now the flavour…

The flavour is interesting… The yellow is banana. The black is - you guessed it - liquorice.

Kat took a bite and exclaimed “tastes like perky nana’s!” right before the liquorice kicked in. She wasn’t so keen on them after that. I think they random mix of banana and liquorice works quite well, mostly because it’s addictive.

I like to bite the ears off first.

So. I have an exercise for you. Yes YOU. Get off your chair.

Now stand with your right side towards your computer chair. 

Lift your right leg up and out to the side so that your foot is resting on the seat or the back of your computer chair. You should look like you’ve just been interrupted doing a side kick.

You look a little silly, so you may wish to go ahead and shout KAPOW ! or Put your game face on - you’re about to get played suckahs!

Now, here comes the fun bit. The foot that is resting on the ground - you know, the one keeping you upright?   Jumpit off the ground, tuck it up quickly and tap your inner thigh. You should land back in the same side kick position you were in before the jump.

At no point should your right leg come off your computer chair.

Do a couple each leg. (Seriously, do it please, I’LL WAIT.)

Now, tell me, how many of you managed to get your foot off the ground? How many of you actually managed to touch your inner thigh with that foot? How many of you sustained major head injuries caused by losing your balance?

I got my foot off the ground, but only 5 cm off the ground. And boy did I feel like a dork doing it. Especially in a room full of TKD spring people. (And we didn’t use chairs, we partnered up and our partners made a platform with their hands at hip height)

We also played leapfrog in teams of four. I was fine jumping over the little 7 year olds, but when it came to the fully grown man I wasn’t so sure. I took a bit of a run up, then stopped. Then I thought about it for a bit, calculating angles and height. And then told him quite frankly that it wasn’t going to happen.

He’s a tall dude, and even with him all hunched over I could just see myself not getting high enough and then landing on his back and breaking him.

I don’t want to be responsible for breaking the instructor. Every week at TKD I’d have to put up with the new people pointing at me and saying ‘You know that girl? She once broke the instructor, seriously. She jumped on his back and rode him like a pony - or at least that’s what I heard.’

This weekend I plan to practice jumping. I suck at jumping games, and jumping kicks, and jumping changes.

I think it is ridiculous that I got to be 22 without learning how to jump properly. There are 15 year olds in my class who can jump their own height, straight upwards from a standing start - for that matter there are 30 year olds who can do the same. I can get to about knee height.

The 44 bus was late again.

The old man next to him seemed to be trying to get his attention discreetly, but Wilbert wasn’t falling for that again. Last time he’d struck up a conversation with a pensioner she’d forced him to carry eight bags of groceries five blocks and up three sets of stairs while she prattled on about her grandchildren. Wilbert was not going to be tricked into that again.

The old man seemed to tire of clearing his throat and pointed stares, instead he had progressed to tapping Wilbert on the shin with his walking stick.

“Psst!”

Wilbert remained facing forwards.

“Hey kid…” The man stage whispered towards him.

“Hey kid, want to hear a secret?”

Wilbert’s patience ran out. He turned to face the older man. “I’m not a kid. I’m 32 this year, you know. And my name is Wilbert.”

“Exactly.” Said the old man in what he hoped was a mysterious sort of a voice. “I’m Edgar. So do you want to hear a secret?”

“Does it have anything to do with carrying your groceries?”

“No, I don’t need help because..” Edgar lowered his voice to a stage whisper again “I’m a superhero.”

After giving him a few moments to digest this revelation Edgar told Wilbert the whole story.

It seemed that Edgar after 10 years of walking with the aid of a walking stick had recently begun walking without a stick.

He had woken up that morning, and walked halfway down his hallway before he realised that he was doing so without his trusty stick. Naturally the first thing he did was put on a pair of running shoes and come down to the bus stop to tell the first person he saw.

“That doesn’t make you a super hero.” Wilbert said dismissively. “You’re too old. And you still have your stick with you.”

” I’m only 92″ Edgar retorted “That’s not too old. And I have to keep my stick with me otherwise the bad guys would know who my alter ego is.”

Edgar shook his head. Clearly the boy was an idiot. Everyone knew about bad guys and alter egos.

Wilbert digested that for a moment before he thought of something very clever indeed.

“If you truly are a superhero then prove it. You can’t expect me to just believe you because you said so.”

With a sigh, and a covert glance down the street, Edgar stood up and shuffled a few steps forward without the aid of the walking stick. After a pause Edgar lurched into a slow jog. He only managed three paces before he had to turn around and head back to the bench, but clearly that was enough to win Wilbert over.

“Wow. So you really are a superhero? And you just woke up this morning like that?”

“Yup” Edgar replied proudly. “One day I was ordinary old Edgar, and today I’m the Silver Foot Fox.”

Wilbert stared out at the road for a few moments. “So anyone can be a superhero then?”

Edgar nodded. He was pretty sure that’s how it worked anyway.

“You know… The other week I woke up and I didn’t need my glasses anymore. All my life I’ve needed them for reading, and Monday last week *poof* I didn’t.”

“Exactly!” Edgar crowed. He knew he had picked the right bus stop to sit in.

“But my eyesight isn’t super or anything, it’s just like a normal persons’. I just don’t need glasses anymore.”

“Yes, but it’s new for you isn’t it?” Edgar asked

Wilbert nodded.

“So it’s a super power. It’s just well hidden is all.”

The 44 bus came and went. Wilbert stayed where he was chatting with Edgar.

At some point one or the other decided they needed a secret headquarters. Edgar decided that the bus shelter would probably be the best spot - after all no one would guess that they were standing in a secret headquarters making it safe from all sorts of bad guys.

Finally Edgar realised it was afternoon tea time, and he had a lot of superhero stuff to do. He shuffled back up the road to his house leaving Wilbert to his thoughts.

“The Longsighted Lasso? Vision Man?… Oh, I know, The 20/20 Kid!”

It was perfect. That night the 20/20 Kid made himself a swishy cape out of a ripped bed sheet and called in sick to work the next day. He had a lot of crime fighting to catch up on.

This is part of my ongoing experiment in wasting time on Curiously Dull Fiction.

Kempo was an interesting diversion from the usual. It started at 7pm and was in town, so it gave me time to catch up over beer and orange juice with Ben.

The class itself was easy enough to find after our host had leaned out of the top story window to yell instructions at us…

Once we got up into the gym we were greeted with a boxing class doing their thing - and oh my god did I want to go join in! I’m always a bit surprised at just how much I miss throwing on a pair of gloves and punching the shit out of something.

It looked like a good class because it was nearing the end and most of the participants looked like warmed over death.

The gym is called Gloves Boxing Gym, and it’s near Webb St in Mt Cook. It has a mat area set aside for Kempo. We formed up and the instructor gave a ’readers digest’ intro to his art - which turns out to use a lot of pressure points.

We were there to learn a few holds and how to apply pressure points and body waves to those holds. I think some of the stuff I learnt will be handy for Taekwon-Do especially when we’re doing self defence - even if it wasn’t quite the workout I was hoping for.  

I found out how to successfully do a hold that makes the other persons arm look like an ‘S’. I also found that that particular hold doesn’t work well on me (because I am a girl, and bendy, and a ‘water’ type…) unless the other person compresses my wrist.

I also learnt that if you vibrate one, or both of your hands while doing certain holds then you can increase the effectiveness of your holds. Also you can make your partner squeal like a girl and drop to the floor like a brick.

Holds and pressure points are fun.

Overall the class was fun, but it did serve to reinforce that I made the right decision when I chose Taekwon-Do.

When I (finally) got home I grabbed a pair of scissors and hacked a couple of inches off the bottom of my hair.

It doesn’t look too bad, but someone should definitely remove the scissors from the bathroom cupboard. 

I promise I’ll go to a hairdresser next time.

Hey guess what? Tonight, instead of going to Taekwon-do in Kilbirnie, we get to try Kempo Karate in town. And by we I mean Miramar Taekwon-do. Neat right?

I did a bit of research on Kempo and discovered… well, not a lot really. I did find out that nobody is 100% sure exactly where Kempo originated from, and that it incorporates a whole bunch of different techniques from a whole bunch of different martial arts  - including aerial and spinning kicks from Taekwon-Do.

There seems to be a few different styles, and after doing a quick google search, most of the ones in New Zealand seem to be the American branch - although I couldn’t find the exact branch we’re doing it with.

According to Wikipedia “American Kempo employ linear and circular movements with a signature “rapid fire” combination of blows to vital areas of the body.” Now I don’t know exactly what that means but WOW it does sound bad-ass doesn’t it?

And that whole ‘rapid fire’ thing? You know what that means? It means it’s going to be an awesome workout… Or, you know, it means that I’m going to have a lot of bruises on Friday and I’ll have to explain to my boss that I let a 14 year old boy kick me because I was wondering whether to block. Whatever.

And you know what else I found out? They have totally cool uniforms. Lots of black, and everyone knows that black = cool.

I’ll bet Kempo Karate members never have to get up at 6am in the morning to wrestle with an ironing board because they forgot about class that night after work, and then find a stain that looks a lot like cranberry juice on their belt, and then have to figure out whether normal washing powder will get that out of white, or whether they’re going to have to use bleach.

Actually people who belong to Taekwon-Do might never have to worry about that either. It’s probably just something that happens to me.

—

I spent lunch time yesterday in Rebel Sport shopping for new gym pants because of this. I hate gym pant shopping. I especially hate shopping in Rebel. It takes forever, there’s never anything in my size, the shop assistants are few and slow to respond, and it’s hideously over-priced - $80 for a pair of performance enhancing running pants with dry technology?!

I’m looking for a pair of shorts to get sweaty in, they don’t have to be made out of gold and sprinkled with fairy dust.

I did not buy the fairy dust running pants. I brought the first pair on sale that would let me do wide squats and lunges without getting in the way and making my butt look saggy.*

Anyway, the point of me telling you that was because I’m curious, where do you buy your gym gear? And do you get yours with all the sides and toppings, or do you go cheap and nasty?

*Yes I did squats and lunges in the changing room in Rebel sport. It was cramped and I looked like a dork because the doors do not go right down to the floor.

Did I tell you that my little brother Liam got his learners licence the other day? He also got his very first paying job at one of Feilding’s local supermarkets.

I call him my little brother, even though I should really have stopped that a few birthdays ago. He’s fifteen now, but in my head he’s pretty much always seven.

When we hang out at the parents places he often acts older than I do. Sometimes you can tell he’s wondering why the heck I get to call him the younger brother, while also acting like the younger sibling. Then I offer to buy him lollies, booze, and illicit drugs and he’s fine with it again. Liam is an easy guy to please.

Liam used to do Karate with my Dad. He’s pretty awesome at it too. He could probably kick my butt in a fight… If he was dreaming that is. He couldn’t do it in real life because he knows that the law states very clearly  that older sisters are entitled to kick little brothers butts whenever they feel like it. Also, he knows that I’d probably cry.

Liam’s always wanted to do trampolining. Unfortunately he can’t find a gym that teaches it close by. Instead he just learns how to do gravity defying flips on the trampoline at home.

He makes me watch him whenever I come home for a visit and I always say things like: “Wow, awesome.” and “You’re such a dork.” However in my head I’m usually saying stuff like: “Oh my god. Liam Kaine Steven! Get the hell off there!” and “Is there going to be blood?”

I’ve always thought he’d be great at being a circus entertainer though. I know a guy who went to circus college to learn how to ride a unicycle, and the flying trapeze, and Liam reminds me a lot of him.

Liam wants to follow Dad, and my other younger brother Ryan into the Navy when he grows up. I think he’d be good at that too. But don’t tell him I said that. Tell him I called him a Dorky McDork face with a side of Looooooser…

… Because after all, he is still my little brother.