Comeback Kid

I feel like about one-in-five of my posts is generally used for assuring you readers out there that I’m still alive. As you’ve seen, if you’ve spent any amount of time following me, I volley back and forth between being hyper-productive, writing multiple entries a day and totally disconnecting for days at a time.

That’s just how I do things. It’s how I handle my wedding planning (back and forth between micromanaging every single detail and pretending the whole thing isn’t happening so I don’t have to deal with it), my house-keeping (back and forth between scrubbing the bathroom floor crevices with a toothbrush and letting dishes pile up for days), my cooking (back and forth between trying out new recipes for healthy well-rounded meals and eating a supper of cereal straight out of the box since I don’t have any milk because I haven’t gone grocery shopping in days).

I’m not proud. I wouldn’t pretend to believe it was a healthy way of doing things. Let me just say that I’m working on it. I’m still trying to achieve that perfect balance in my life. And the fact that I keep coming back to let you know I’m still hanging in there is proof.

Anyhow, since I’ve on the upswing of my productivity cycle, let me give you a quick update on my life and my progress with my last slew of Mini-Resolutions:

I spent last weekend mostly in hibernation. Just me, my dear fiancé and a lot of rented movies.

It’s Friday night that did me in. We decided to go out to a nightclub for drinks, dancing and — mainly — helping my dear fiance’s newly-single buddy meet some lady friends.

This was a stretch for us. We don’t generally go out. Sure, we do beer at a pub, wine and appies at a restaurant, but we don’t really do the bass-booming, lights-flashing nightclub scene. On Friday night, I realized why.

Nightclubs are scary places.

I don’t know when they became that way. It wasn’t that long ago I went through my partying phase.  Indeed, I remember vividly a time when I’d spend my Friday and Saturday nights getting glammed up, dancing like a maniac until closing time, then finding an after party or after hours club where the dancing continued.

Then something changed. Part of it was me, no doubt. I’m 24 now, for crying out loud. Nearly ancient in terms of the club scene. I can’t keep up with the 19-year-olds. I’ve got a job, a car payment, a fiancé. I’m not a university student anymore but a university employee.

But I won’t take all the blame: something else has gone horribly wrong to make the club scene a damn nightmare.

Like, maybe the fact that nobody wears clothes anymore?

Ok, that’s probably not quite fair. Clothing is worn. Pants just seem to have become passé.

The standard club attire has become skin-tight, spandex dresses cut just below the underwear line. Sometimes they’re not even that modest. Basically, underwear has become outerwear (That’s for girls, by the way. The guy’s uniform of a dress shirt and jeans still stands). I’m not sure when this happened exactly. It seems I didn’t get the memo.

But the horror starts way before that. First there’s the cattle corral you have to wait in outside. Which I’m pretty sure is there for no other reason than to give the bouncers some sense of importance and superiority.

That’s probably also why it takes three of them to check your ID. Literally. Three guys. I’m standing at the front of the cattle corral, 50 drunk people trying to push past me. Bouncer #1 looks at ID. Says it’s ok. Still doesn’t open gate. Drunk girl falls to the ground behind me, bangs head against the back of my knee and nearly takes me out. Bouncer #2 checks ID. Asks for a second piece. Finally lets me through.

Money grabber girl charges me $4 for the privilege of getting this far.

Dear fiancé and his newly-single friend get to Bouncer #3 first. This is where things get seriously twisted.

Our city has implemented a program called Bar Watch. Bar Watch is designed to:

“help identify problem patrons for night clubs and bars. The program includes swiping patrons’ IDs, taking pictures and placing an alert on the file of anyone who shows themselves to be a problematic patron. The alert will show when they attempt to enter other bars also participating in the program, and their entrance is barred.”

I suppose this sounds like a good idea, in theory. If you can get past the whole freaky Big Brother, 1984 aspect of having your whereabouts on a given Friday night recorded, stored and this personal information used for who-knows-what.

Which I can’t. It bothered me, right off the bat. And with good reason: BC’s Privacy Commissioner has recently ruled that swiping patrons’ ID and storing their personal information is a violation of BC’s privacy laws. Nonetheless, Victoria has decided to continue with the program.

Sound ridiculous to anyone else?

What really bothered me, however, is that when I stepped up to Bouncer #3 to hand him my ID and have my photo taken, he said “No that’s ok, sweetie. You’re fine.”

Say what?

When I told my Dad this story, he laughed and said “They have no idea what kind of trouble you could cause.”

And he’s right. I could. I’m not saying that I am a troublemaker. I’m not. But I could be. And it’s not fair to assume that because I’m a little woman I’ll be well-behaved.

Shame, shame, Bouncer #3.

The night out at the club kind of shell-shocked me. Dear fiancé and I spent the rest of the weekend hiding from civilization.

Which was good. Because I definitely needed that period of recuperation to get ready for the week that followed. Super-busy week at work. Events to plan. A conference to attend. The tentative acceptance of a new part-time job that’s only go to up the insanity. And in my personal life, the realization the wedding is now just six months away and all the terror that strikes within me when I realize how many tasks are still on the to-do list.

So, I didn’t get much done. I’m still working on the last slew of Mini-Resolutions I posted eons ago. You remember those ones, don’t you? Way back on Jan. 30.

(Yikes! I didn’t even realize it had been that long!)

I have a few more that I have completed and just haven’t written about. Those will be coming soon. Promise! I’m on the upswing of productivity now, remember?

I’ve also decided to hold off on officially beginning Week #4 of Dr. Andrew Weil’s 8 Weeks to Optimal Health.

Why? Well, first because I make the rules and I can.

Secondly, this will give me some time to make and complete some new non-Dr. Weil-related Mini-Resolutions. This was never supposed to be the “Dr. Weil Show” and I think it’s worth giving some face time to some other healthy ventures I could try out.

As for now, however, my dear, wonderful fiancé is cooking up a breakfast of Valentine’s Day pancakes for me. And right at this moment, that’s the biggest priority for me!

I’ll be back soon.

Seriously.

Happy Valentine’s Day, all!

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