The Long Weekend

Long weekends are the lifeblood of adulthood. Children in this hemisphere get two straight months off in summer, plus March break and Christmas vacation. We typically get, if we're lucky, two to three weeks in the whole year.

Though, if your parents were smart, they made the transition more gradual and less jarring by forcing you as a young teen to find work over the summer, babysitting, mowing lawns, a part-time job. Then a part-time job after school throughout the year, which would become full-time in the summer to save for college. Then full time jobs between college semesters, which is four months straight of 40-hour weeks.

By the time you're 22 and out of school and unemployed, you're thoroughly demoralized and ready for the workforce. Time off is not fun because it means you have $0 and it's horrifyingly expensive and you'll take just about anything.

So here we are.

I've been at my job for six years. That's around the time the benefits of longevity kick in. I now have four weeks of vacay. It's not the two months of carefree summer of my youth, but when would that ever be possible again? Retirement, I guess, but with less energy and more applesauce.

The Dude has been working like a maniac. He's been accepting weekend work, making him work six days straight with only one day off, or worse, the whole weekend resulting in 12 straight days. While I admire his gusto for his career, I realize I alone am monitoring his physical and mental health. He's too busy to realize he's ruining his health.

So this three-day weekend was a godsend. I claimed the entire three days from any work, labour or undesirable activity. It was my mission to play a fun few days for him to finally get some rest, partly for his happiness, partly for mine so he could stop being Captain Grumpy. All work and no rest makes Dude a dull boy.

We're on the last day and he's mellow yellow. We'll be capping this weekend of fun and activity off with drinks at a pub with friends. And then True Blood.

Thing about adult life seems to have a theme of quality over quantity. There's not a lot of quantity to be had, really, not of the things you want, like recreation or vacation. So it's either plan for quality or get nothing.

Yogaman

The Dude and I did yoga together last night. I've been on his case to, basically, live better. No more smoking. Less canabis and less fast food. More vegetables. Going to the doctor and the dentist. See, this is why married men live longer. This is not unique to me. This is what women tend to do, mostly I think because most men (the straight ones anyway) left to their own devices often shrug off things like regular check-ups, and don't mind putting too much of the wrong stuff in their bodies all the time: booze, fried food, tobacco and/or the wacky weed.

I think what ultimately got me to push the yoga, though, was the constant aching over a sore shoulder, his stiff muscles from work, and would I please massage him. He's good at asking, too. The big eyes that roll into a painful squint as he moans and starts to rub his own shoulders with a grimace.

But I am no trained masseuse, and if he's really in that bad of shape (And not just angling for massages the way Smokey angles for wet food, howling pitifully for it when there's dry food right in front of him), then a few haphazard backrubs from me isn't going to do anything.

So we went together to this little place down the street. And it was fun and relaxing. And it occurs to me that other than movies, I've never really had a shared hobby or anything with a boyfriend before. It was nice. We left feeling loosened up and in a good mood. I'm also going to take Pilates there as well.

I really wish I took this much of an interest in health five years ago. But then five years ago I wasn't getting gray hairs, or fine lines. May sound ridiculous, but until I saw those first signs of aging, I hadn't really considered I wouldn't stay young forever. My 20s have flown by way too fast.

I have a shower to attend tomorrow. I hope there will be cake.

Release the Kraken

Release the Kraken, it's date night! We're going to grab some food and some Clash of the Titans. I love date night. I love the corniess of calling it "date night" when we live together and see each other every day. 

 When the Dude moved in it was the very start of 2008. He was going back to school, and had moved up to Toronto from our hometown to do it. Since his OSAP would not kick in for at least a month, I offered my place up for him to stay until his monies arrived and he could find his own place. Then his OSAP was late. Then his school kept him too busy to look for a place. Then when semester two was raring up to begin and he had the time to apartment hunt, I realized I didn't want him to go. 

Now it's over two years later and I can't remember what living alone was like, even though I did it for almost two years before he got there. I was so prepped for him to drive me nuts. I'm not terribly easy to live with in general, I've realized. I'm not the worst (This is the worst), but I figured that going from long distance to cohabitation would be ridiculously hard. I mean, common sense tells you it's going to be a trainwreck in gongshowland. 

 Turns out the Dude and I defy common sense. In fact the whole way we became a couple defies common sense, but that's another story. Sometimes two people just work. They may drive each other crazy, and sometimes even on purpose, but what works, works. And what also works is going out for our favourite thing, dinner and a movie. Classic date night. Also, we've been playing against each other in Age Of Empires. So nerdy, so awesome. Makes me feel like a teenager, but in a good way. 

 Random: Did you know they're coming out with Hello Kitty wine? Is there anything they won't make? Hello Kitty gas tank. Hello Kitty toothpicks. Hello Kitty pliers. Hello Kitty syringes...