Started my fancy new job this week as a census monkey! Technically, my job is Enumerator, but that doesn’t really mean much. I feel that census monkey is a lot more evocative. Basically I just go to the doors of people who did do their censuses and point out that they didn’t do their census, hey, what should we do about that? I am, like, three days in, but it’s pretty good times so far; I like talking to strangers while holding a clipboard. I had to take a pretty hardcore privacy oath (6 months in prison!), so I can’t blog the undoubtedly exciting confidential information I’m gathering.
I managed to elbow Kickboxing Erika in the eye on Friday. I felt the squish and everything! Gah! I started pulling back at the last second, so it really wasn’t hard, thankfully. Earlier, she punched me bare-knuckled, full on the head. These were both during defensive drills, so it was fault of the strikee, not the striker. We were both just having a particularly stupid day. Stupid to the point of, during one drill we got halfway through then just stood there, staring at each other for a full thirty seconds because we couldn’t remember who went next.
My dad came up today, and for Father’s Day I made him put a basket and a rack on my bike. Haha, I have such a nice-looking bike, and the rack and basket came from a yardsale and are attached with metal tape stuff and look like total crap. Fun fact about me: about 90% of what I own was free, and also I have no aesthetic shame. “Concept? Matching? Whatever, if I get the bike for free, then I can afford leather boxing gloves. And an extra yoga class!”
I had a fun bike adventure that didn’t involve actually driving it at all! I always kept it locked to a tree behind my apartment, and I got home the other day and the tree had been cut down, and my bike was gone. The part of my brain that does logic said, clearly, the landlord had cut down the tree and put my bike somewhere safe and I just had to call him and everything would be cool. But the part of my brain that is frankly way more fun at parties immediately thought, holy crap, some thief loved my awesome bike so much they cut down a WHOLE TREE to get it holy crap! It was totally the logical first one, of course. The cool-ass part of my brain is never right. I’m pretty sure that’s reality failing to live up to my standards.
Went to a surf n’ turf party the other night. A surf n’ turf party is a party that starts out as a lobster bake, but grows to include a number of people who don’t eat lobster and so show up with steak. I was a steak person, because I am a terrible Nova Scotian and I hate lobster (more for the rest of you!). This was a kickboxer’s party, and ridiculous things tend to happen at kickboxer’s parties when things need to get tenderized.
The best thing is, it was the most tender steak I’ve ever had, swear to God. Possibly because I beat it way longer than was necessary, because punching things is an act of joy for me, but still, man, good steak. I highly suggest that every serious chef procure, as a matter of a complete kitchen set, a martial artist.
I partnered with Phil in kickboxing yesterday, and that was very good because he really kept me on my toes. I was dropping my right hand, as is my stupid tendency, and Phil just hit me in the face to remind me to not do that. I returned the favour, because this is what good partners do (for real).
Biking is going well. I tried biking in a skirt, while wearing shorts underneath, just because I was sick of always wearing jeans. Alas, the skirt did eventually get stuck in the spokes. There is probably some trick to skirt-biking where I bunch it all up and look ridiculous, so maybe I’ll just stick with jeans and shorts and blah blah blah. I do love my pretty skirts, though.
I had my convocation on Tuesday! Officially a Master of Library and Information Studies, whoo! It was pretty much what a graduation ceremony is, main surprise was when they let me keep the fancy Masters hat. Totally giving it to the nephews, because small children in grad gear is freaking adorable. Now I suppose I can’t call myself a grad student, merely an unemployed fightin’ enthusiast.
I got a bike! I thought I might be too skittish to ride on the city streets, but it turns out I’m more foolhardy than terrified, as usual. (Shannon Mason: “More stupid than scared, but she does have fun.”) Fast bike goes fast! Down a hill, whoosh! Then I huff and puff up the hill, because I may practice kicks to the head recreationally but my leg muscles really aren’t used to this pumping action after only two days.
An observation in kickboxing last night. If I ever were in a street fight, I would probably apologize to my opponents every time my form was off. “Sorry, that knee really sucked! Here, let me do it again. Can you tell me if I don’t turn my hip over?” Alternately, perennial teacher Kickboxing Erika would be giving tips to her opponents. “Wait, wait. If you bring up your left hand while coming at me with that right cross, you can protect your face from my counter.”