NaBloPoMo Day 23: What a “Who”-tenanny!

Today marks the 50th Anniversary of the Doctor.
ithinkyouneedadoctor_zps3f6db337

Although I’m a huge science fiction geek and an inveterate Dragon Con’er, I actually didn’t stumble upon the deliciousness that is Dr. Who until about two years ago.

I’d heard of the show, of course, after all it’s been around for 50 years and I’ve seen the costumes at ‘Con, but it took a steady stream of mentions from the Bloggess to realize I just might “need a Doctor” myself.

image by suuuz.wordpress.com

image by suuuz.wordpress.com

I had a similar experience – it took maybe 3 shows to get me obsessed with the good Doctor and his companions and now I can’t think of another show I enjoy more, regardless the doctor incarnation.

IMAG2949According to BBC’s website, I’m not alone. Doctor Who has an estimated 77 million fans in just the UK, USA and Australia alone. Which now includes me and David, my loft-mate Twinkle and her bf David, my good friend Hil, and his friends Sean, Jessie, Tristan and Shelly, all of who who’ve been stoked all week to celebrate the 50th Anniversary show airing on Saturday, November 23rd.

Who
doesn’t love a party! After a quick mental adjustment for day game vs. night game (turns out a 2:50 p.m. airing time in the US), David and I packed up some wine and the Tardis (ice bucket) and headed to Chez Hil for an early afternoon “Who”-tenanny.

Image courtesy of BBC America and Hil's Television

Image courtesy of BBC America and Hil’s Television

Tardistinis

Tardistinis

The Doctor will see you now.

The Doctor will see you now.

Counting Down!

Counting Down!

Yay!  David Tennant!!!

The first Tennant sighting!!!

Twinkle's banana chocolate chip Daleks

Twinkle’s banana chocolate chip Daleks

“The universe is big. It’s vast and complicated and ridiculous. And sometimes, very rarely, impossible things just happen and we call them miracles.”
— The Doctor, Season 5, Episode 12

NaBloPoMo Day 18: There’s no place like Om…

Image courtesy of Amber Monson and Sky Gym

Image courtesy of Amber Monson and Sky Gym

It all started with yoga…

Which sounds much more meaningful than, “It all started with Facebook,” although it did, in fact, begin one morning about a month ago when I read Ashley Hesseltine’s blog Witty + Pretty in my Facebook feed.

“It” (to clarify what started) would be my current spate of writing and blogging.

“It” might also serve to justify the question: “Why Kim, in seven singular hells, did you commit to posting daily in your blog (National Blog Posting Month Challenge) as well as writing 1600 words towards your novel (National Novel Writing Month Challenge) every day in the month of November?

November,
in particular, is a month notorious at my restaurant for the sheer onslaught of crazed Christmas party-bookers and city-wide conventions, yielding a great deal of stress, long hours and working weekends.

Why, Kim, why?

Well, jeez, because the headline grabbing my attention that morning said: “So you hate your job, now what?”

While I certainly don’t hate my job (at least, not every day), I seem to remember that particular morning I was less than enchanted. And to be honest, while my job does have pretty good moments, occasional dollops of fabulous food, great  co-workers and decent pay; being a restaurant sales manager is not what a younger me imagined doing when I grew up (jockey!/veterinarian!/dolphin trainer!/princess!)

As an adult, I’ve always envisioned doing something more…fulfilling. Something more me. Writing novels and blogs, owning a restaurant, hosting a television show, creating a magazine – I don’t know, I get excited about food, drink and entertaining, music, style, fashion, art and stories. I have always wanted to combine them some way, to have a job that felt like living instead of working.

image courtesy of saradivello.com

image courtesy of saradivello.com

The Witty + Pretty post, guest-blogged by author Sara DiVello, described her escape from a house-of-horrors corporate career into a new occupation as a yoga instructor. In the transition between the two jobs, she found her true passion: writing.

She was having a signing that Friday night at Decatur Yoga and Pilates for her book, “Where in the Om Am I?” Pretty tempting to attend and buy the book – they were offering complimentary wine and snacks.

Far more challenging, however; she offered a Saturday afternoon yoga workshop “for anyone wondering about their life direction, career, relationship, or any other nagging questions about where they are and what they want in life. Participants may have a specific question they’re working with or a more general feeling of being unfulfilled.”

And that was me: a general feeling of being unfulfilled. 

As I do attempt yoga (albeit sporadically), I crossed my fingers and signed up for the workshop.

The class was amazing.

Sara was welcoming, empathetic and attentive to each of us. She started by having us journal our thoughts and questions, then led us through a yoga practice that she designed to focus our purpose to “live our passion” out into the universe. She said clear-cut direction might not come right away, but if you put your intention out there, the answers would come.

I left the class (after a really lovely chat with Sara afterwards) feeling confident that the universe had at least heard my request. I didn’t feel so alone anymore in my efforts to upgrade my life – I was buoyed by the kindness, support and encouragement from Sara and the other class members.

I didn’t have a really clear picture of my passion, but I felt something was…forming.   Coming into existence. You know how after a shower,  the bathroom mirror’s all fogged up from steam but as you stand in front, your reflection slowly comes into view as the condensation dries?  That’s how I feel right now – things are misty, but slowly solidifying.

I do know that I want to write. To create.

And until I get flashing lights and directional signs from the universe, I’ll keep on finding ways to keep writing and creating until something clicks and it all comes into place. Hence the blogging and writing challenges, devising a better and more defined website for my blog, building exposure with social media, branching out into style and entertainment, maybe shooting some cooking videos for You Tube.

Moving forward until I find my passion.

Or perhaps, simply realizing the passion already inside me.

A place where I’m at home.

(P.S. Get Sara’s book, “Where the Om am I?” It’s funny, charming and incredibly inspirational.)

NaBloPoMo Day 12: Re-post, You Are My Friend (aka We are Martial)

We had a fabulous craft beer dinner tonight at the restaurant, which basically, made it a 14-hour workday for me and left no time to prepare a fresh post.

The beer dinner was amazing, and I can’t wait to tell you about it after I’ve rested up. In the meantime, I’d love to share a blog I wrote awhile ago, about me and exercise. It’s still as true today.

Yes, that means you, yoga mat. Don’t look at me like that.

We are Martial.
(published 9/2/2011, approximately 1805.7 blog years ago.)

I’m into weird exercise.

Oh, stop it. I’m merely saying I get bored with conventional workouts at the gym, so I’m constantly on the lookout for interesting things to do to keep in shape. This all started years ago, when a friend hooked me up with her equestrian team and I did some show jumping and endurance riding. Unfortunately, while earning a pile of street cred for gettin’ my National Velvet on, I lost my butt financially, as everything about riding is expensive – from horses to hats to halters – and you need a Robin Leach lifestyle to support your equine habit.

My next adventure was Rock Climbing. Yes, a major adrenalin rush, but ultimately rather lonely, as I have surprisingly few friends interested in scrambling up 40-foot walls and falling back down them. I moved on to Bouldering, a more social form of rock climbing at lower heights, until I fractured my finger jockeying for cool points with a passel of monkey-jointed teenagers I could have easily given birth to.  Belly Dancing? ::sigh:: Epic fail. When the instructor you are paying money to teach you looks at you in a pitying way and says, “Wow, you really don’t have any sense of rhythm, do you?” you know it’s time to hang up your hip scarf.

A spin on the “silks”

Most successful, so far, have been classes in Aerial Silks, also known as Aerial Tissue or Ribbons (think Pink’s 2010 performance at the Grammys) which is basically hanging mid-air from two strips of fabric doing flips and spins and acrobatics. Really, exceptionally fabulous, both because it’s a great workout and, most importantly; it’s the coolest freaking thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. My dreams of running off and joining the circus were forever crushed though, when I sprained my shoulder last April loading glass racks into the van for a wedding and could no longer support my full body weight on one arm. Farewell, Cirque du Soleil and Vegas. What happened there would have stayed there. Now, I make no promises.

Iceskating at Piedmont Park

Just this past winter, I learned to Ice Skate, which probably doesn’t seem exotic to many of you, but I grew up in Mobile, Alabama and I live in Atlanta, Georgia so ice isn’t exactly thick on the ground in any kind of conveniently recreational way.

Ice Skating is a ton of fun and it was fairly easy to nail the basics since it’s a lot like Rollerblading (yet another one of my fitness fads in the 90s). As a matter of fact, David and I went ice skating on our first date, a lovely piece of trivia you might jot down for your personal notes.

The negatives of ice skating are:
a) it’s seasonal (there are some year-round rinks in the ‘burbs, but nothing close enough to be practical)
b) the pop-up Holiday rink near me is attached to a bar. While handy for liquid courage and hydration, it adds a lot of dangerously drunk dudes to the mix, slamming around a very small rink. This reminds me I don’t have health insurance and significantly reduces the light-hearted diversion.

At last we come to my latest fitness foray, Krav Maga, which I stumbled on in an internet search for martial arts classes in my neighborhood.

Krav Maga is an Israeli martial art made famous by the Mossad, and is foremost about self defence. Krav teaches you to disable and beat the living Jesus Moses out of an attacker, so you can flee to safety. This translates to a lot of punching and kicking, something I’ve never done before but that I find myself embracing wholeheartedly. I’ve been taking classes for about a week now, and I can see myself morphing into a cross between la Femme Nikita and Laura Croft.

David’s been amazingly supportive about the whole thing, even coming to my first class for moral suppport. I think he’s finally learning to take my wild tangents in stride, as evidenced by this recent text message.

Me: Hey baby. Finishing up early today. Yay! What r u doing 2night?
David: Washing car, doing some push ups. Reading.
Me: I’m going to punch stuff and yell, “Fire!!!!”
David: That’s nice.
Me: U really want me right now, don’t u?
David: I’ve never found u more desirable.
Me: R u being sarcastic?

The downside of Krav Maga is that you pretty much get the crap beaten out of you. I’ve never actually been in a fight so I’ve been a little shocked by the level of bruising and swelling of knuckles and knees. I’m working on a theory that cocktails before and after class could prevent inflamation by icing me down from the inside out, but David doesn’t think there’s any science to support this.

In the meantime, I’m just taking a lot of Advil and I bought some super cool boxing hand wraps, which are like spendy, bright red ace bandages to wrap around my hands to protect my wrists and knuckles. They can now join my collection of expensive weird excercise gear, which is packed into my hall closet gathering dust.

L – R, Clockwise: Ice Skates, Rock Climbing Shoes and Harness, Hunter/Jumper Helmet, Boxing (Krav Maga) Hand Wraps, Belly Dance Hip Scarf