This just in: I am a very tense person.

Shocking, I know. Who woulda thunk it?

I had my first yoga class today at Old Town. After all the twisting and contorting and posing and shaking and sweating (anyone who thinks yoga isn't work -- try it. You'll see.), there came the time for relaxing. The instructor walked around telling us to "let your shoulders feel like they're melting into the floor... let your hips sink into the mat... fell the tension leaving your fingers and toes..." as he tweaked our positioning. So I'm laying there, feeling like a little puddle of calm and serenity, when he comes up to me and whispers "relax." And I'm think "what are you talking about? I am relaxed. See? Blissful puddle. All relaxed. No tension...." and then he pushed down on my shoulders, which were apparently up around my ears without my even knowing it. And I, being me, pushed back and tensed up even more. Sigh.

I'm doing some editing for a British-English audience, so I've got my spell-checker switched over to UK English. For some reason, when I do that, it tells me the word "if" is misspelled. "If." What -- do you wacky Brit-types put an extra "f" in there? a silent Q? a superfluous "u", like in "colour"? Maybe it's one of those words we've long ago adapted by spelling it the way it's pronounced. Maybe in Britain, it's spelled "iftershire" or something. Anyway, that's bugging me. Any explanation (besides "MSWord is evil and trying to drive you insane", which I very much buy, by the way) would be appreciated.

And speaking of evil, wrong-headed stupidity: Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce you to my hometown, Wilmington, DE, where the police have started keeping files on people they believe might someday be criminals. Evidently "innocent until proven guilty" does not apply to the 'hood. (And yes, apparently Wilmington has a 'hood. No, I did not know this. What can I say -- I was sheltered white-bread suburban growing up.)

The god-awful paper, the Wilmington News Journal, ran a tepid condemnation commentary (which for some reason I can't find again) and a contemptuous"liberals suck!" commentary. This guy talks about understanding the need to observe "constitutional niceties" (how gracious of him) but says that anyone objecting to this is a pie-in-the-sky liberal who doesn't understand the real world.

Look, babe, I'm living in a drug area. I have been known to stand on the street corner, talking to people, waiting for the light to change, whatever. By the sounds of it, the Wilmington police would have a snapshot of me decorating an office somewhere. (Or they would, if I weren't a white woman.) What you're saying is guilt by association is valid. What you're saying is its only a matter of time before anybody who leaves their house at night is a criminal. What you're saying is there is no benefit of the doubt, there is no innocent until proven guilty, there is no reasonable expectation of being able to walk down the street without being hassled.

What you're saying is bullshit.

Do I want people dealing in my neighborhood? Hell no, and that's why I go to Community Policing meetings and joined the neighborhood association and plan to volunteer at the new community center opening up later this month. But I also know there's not a whole hell of a lot for kids to do in this neighborhood sometimes, so there's a certain amount of hanging out on the street. And I know that if I got photographed or questioned every time I stood on the street, I'd start getting the message that what the hell, you all expect me to deal drug, why aren't I?

I know that sounds ridiculous, but stay with me here. On a really stupid, simplified level, there's a certain amount of spite involved. Here's an example: When I lived in Hong Kong, I got stared at a lot. Partially that's because I was blonde and therefore "exotic," and partially it's because there's no cultural taboo against staring. But I just got to the point where I figured if they're going to stare, I'm going to give them something to stare at. So I'd smile and wave and occasionally tap dance and do whatever I had to do until they looked away. I mean, fuck 'em. Stare away, babe, because here I am. You think you can handle it? Well let's see how you react to a big white chick clog-dancing on the 77 bus to Wong Chuk Hang.

And if something that trivial got to me and made me react perversely, how do you think being watched and measured and photographed and put in a file of usual suspects would make me react? How long before I decided fuck 'em, if that's what they want...

Am I the only one who has that reaction? I don't know. You tell me.

In case anyone wondered, typing is much more effective when the space bar works. Just so you know.

Wendy tried to do surgery on my keyboard this morning, but alas, the patient was too far gone. So I went shopping for a new one. I've got an ergo keyboard now, and I'm trying to get used to it. It'll be good for me in the long run, I know....

Next up: A decent office chair. And maybe a laser printer. But that's not til after a couple of checks clear.

That's pretty much the only thing I can see missing from a regular nine-to-five office job. There's something to be said for knowing money will be coming into your account at a predetermined time -- especially when it keeps doing so, week after week. That's pretty cool.

But when I weigh it against being able to work -- and sleep -- to my own schedule... well, I still think I win.

Editing people who can, in fact, write is just sooooooo much more fun than editing people who cannot.Just in case any of you wondered.

My space bar seems to be grumpy. This makes things complicated. Or, if I didn't pound on the thing, thismakesthingscomplicated.Harumph.

My sisters turn 30 tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Amy and Laura!

I think 30 has been my best birthday so far -- it was freeing, somehow. I just got to the point where I didn't feel the need to contort myself to fit other people's expectations -- or the goals I'd imposed on myself to meet other people's expectations. You know, "I'm going to be a world-famous, Pulitzer-Prize winning journalist by the time I'm 30!" Well, I turned 30, and that hadn't happened and... so what? I still liked my life. I bought a house --not something that had been on my radar when I was making those globe-trotting foreign correspondent plans -- and had great friends and liked my job and... hell, I was actually pretty happy.

Plus, at 30, I felt like I had reached the point where I didn't have to pretend anymore. I'm supposed to like football. But, well, I don't. So to hell with it. I'm supposed to be fashionable. Eh, screw it -- I've never been that bothered (and my experiments at perms and such were disastrous), so why bother? I'm supposed to be madly ambitious -- but why? And does that really make me happy? If not, never mind. I'm supposed to be making buckets of money. Yeah, but the jobs that paid the best made me the most miserable, which prompted me to spend said money on stupid things. What's the point of that?

So Amy and Laura, I hope 30 is is good for you as it was for me. Happy Birthday!

(Not that you read this. Darrin, Jorge -- maybe you can tell them that I said hi.)

I had a whole list of things I was to accomplish yesterday. Tragically, I was...detained.

Look upon me, mortal, and despair! For I am more powerful than your puny willpower! I am the Destroyer of Good Intentions! I lay waste to to your task lists and purported agenda!

Do you discount me, human? Do you refuse to acknowledge my awesome power? Do you look longingly at me, in the midst of your assorted duties? Do you enter my obscenely plush and comfortable domain? Do you quaveringly vow "Well, just one chapter, and then I'll get back to work"? Then I have already won!

You are no match for me, mortal. For I am The Napping Couch -- and I will prevail!

Yes, I am a big geek, and yes, I did watch the special features on the LOTR DVD last night. Your point?

At any rate, I meant to blog about going to see Blue Crush, the kick-ass girl-power surfer-chick flick, as part of Lotti's birthday celebration. The movie itself was pretty damn cool to look at, if somewhat plot deficient. Gee, do you think Anne-Marie will overcome her fears and surf the Pipemasters competition? Will she be distracted by the hunky quarterback? Will she let down her friends and family?

If you're seriously asking any of those questions, you obviously haven't seen a single movie in the last, say, 100 years.

So yeah, plot and dialog -- eh. Visuals? Oh. My. God. They got some amazing shots of breaking waves, of the way the water curls beneath the surface, of just how awesome and violent the sea is. It's incredible. Plus there are pretty, buff people in bathing suits. It's legitimate T&A, people! What more could you ask?

Well, actual nekidness, I guess. That's what the contingent of prepubescent boys who sat in the row in front of us were asking for. For once, we weren't the loudest people in the theater with our snarky comments -- they were very vocal in their likes and dislikes. That included a bit of homina-homina-homining at the girls in bikinis ("You are waaaaaaaay to young to be talking like that," I said. "No we're not!" they squeaked.) and a a few predictions as to what was going to happen ("They're going to have sexual intercourse!" "That's where the penis enters the vagina!" I swear, we did NOT say any of that. In fact, Lotti was moved to ask them, "You kiss your mother with that mouth?" How's that for an odd turn of events?). I fear for the youth of this nation -- but mostly because they cheered the preview of the new Tom Green movie. Oy.

Anyway, the surfing shots were way cool. It did not, however, make me want to surf -- there were a few too many getting-dragged-across-the-sharp-coral-by-the-vicious-undertow-after-a-spectacular-wipeout shots for me to want to take up the sport. Also, I'd look very silly in board shorts.

The climactic competition sequence was pretty damn cool, not the least because of the "all-us-girls-are-in-it-together" vibe that was going on. The cool pro surfers were giving our plucky young upstart heroine advice and encouragement even as they competed. "See!" Lotti said, "Women are different! They don't have to be nasty to each other to compete! We rock! Kum Bah Ya!"

Bob had another explanation -- "Dude, check out those lesbian surfer chicks trying to get into her board shorts! You know they're going to be hitting on her something fierce when they get back to shore."

[Note -- both of these comments are paraphrased, in part because my parents read this site.]

So yeah, Blue Crush -- good cheesy fun. Women rock. Surfing is cool, and I'm far too much a wimp to try it.

In other news, I got an e-card from Angie, Jordan and Jesse commemorating my two-year anniversary as a dog pimp. *Sniff.* I'm so proud.