Motivationally Speaking

Posted on September 15, 2016 by tosabarbell
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Mmmmmm, Backstrap!

Something I have come to learn about myself is that I am not a grand motivator as a strength coach. The energy in my gym is calm strength. No yelling or screaming. Never a “U GOT THIS MAaaaN!” or “IT’S ALL YOURS!!” (honestly I don’t even know what that one means.) When I’m being spotted for a PR I will give specific instructions to the spotters to keep their mouths shut. I do not need their cheerleading, I just need a fucking spot in case things go south. Dudes, you have one job.

Just last week I had Matt spot me in a rare training session together on a squat rep. Now, the squat itself was on the light side but it’s the heaviest I’d gone since I hurt my hamstring in Buffalo AND it was out of flimsy little squat stands AND I had realized too late that I hadn’t had any carbs going into the session so I became a bit shaky as I was scarfing down a pop tart. So I wanted to make sure I had help putting the bar back into the stands. The last thing I said to him was, “I’m fine, just need help in and no cheering.” But he already knew, he’s met me before. The squat was fine and even though I shut it down to see how much my leg would became inflammed afterwards, I should have gone for more. Anyway.

One of my favorite IG accounts is afrobrutality. I believe I’ve met this guy at a barbell cert in New Jersey years ago when the brand was just getting off the ground. I remember being a little surprised because I expected this FUCK YOU I’M IN YOUR FACE kind of guy and he was tall, black, and pretty soft spoken. Completely coachable and very likable. I found his IG and thought, huh-this looks interesting. His current campaign (I just looked it up) is: Fuck Motivation. HA! I can get on board with that.

His posts are usually just words; must meet a four fuck minimum, and pretty funny. Sometimes it gets a bit much but mostly one or two a day are good for a lolzy. One theme I quickly blow by; however; is the notion that “haters” are a motivator to do better. The, ‘I’ll show you all‘ mentality. Nuh uh. I don’t ride that train. See, I don’t want to think about ‘haters’ when I train or compete. I don’t want to think about people who may believe I can’t or shouldn’t. If you hate me or want to see me fail or wish bad things on me, your energy is nowhere allowed near my work. Ever.

Why would it be? I guess I’ve never understood that. I’ve received texts before from crazy people who say, “Fuck you I’ll show you” and it truly baffles me. First off, no one has to show me shit except for those closest to me and believe me, the important things they need to show have nothing to do with training or competition. Are you a good man? Check. Do you treat me with respect and care? Check. Hokay, we’re good to go. I can’t recall ever having a conversation with Matt that laid down the law as to how much he must Log Press or we’re through. At least not seriously. Heh. I really would recommend folks not use the fact that you were fired from our (this is a critical point here. tosabarbell is a two person operation. No one gets let go without the approval of both of us. Chances are, you were able to stick around longer than you should have because Matt is both nicer than me and doesn’t have to deal with your crazy ass on a daily basis. True story) gym to motivate yourself.

Dude, you’re off our radar. For good. Ya know the coolest thing about being able to “block” people on social media who don’t live next door (I really wish we could block Francis Fucknutt next door), it’s the fact that in real life they fail to exist. Oh sure, I may see you at a Games or a local Meet here or there and be all, “Hey, that’s right, they exist” but other than that? Nope. So why would you want the fact that I don’t care about what you’re doing be a motivator to be better? I just don’t get it.

As I said, I can’t remember a specific time where I became “motivated.” I was good at sports; I enjoyed it, and I really liked playing a physical game. For those that have missed this story, I was ejected from a softball game in High School because, while playing short stop, I scooped a line drive grounder up and just waited for the girl on second to get to me. I did my best brick wall impression and may  have stood over her and laughed when she fell on her ass. Then I tagged her gently with the ball. I guess they called that poor sportsmanship. I called it having a fucking blast on the field. But ya, I was done for the day. Totally worth it IMO.

I’ve also mentioned that I was lucky enough not to have sports parents. Mom got us to whichever practice we were supposed to be and when climbing out of the car, she would say, “I’ll be here at 7” if practice got over at 7. Which actually meant that she’d be there at 8. The amount of hours she spent in the car running us around is equal to the amount of hours we’d sit waiting for her afterwards. Well done Ma. There was never a, “be the best, do the best, haters gonna hate” bullshit I’ve seen ever since my twins started T-ball. I guess I always thought, well I’m signed up for this sport so I guess I should just do my best. It probably helped that I hated school work and was always stressed (since the 1st grade anyway. Minus a strenuous ‘color this school bus within the lines’ incident in Kindergarten I really liked school through the first grade) about doing poorly. So I could run free in sports. (No, I was never a runner. In fact I became a swimmer to get as far away from running as I possibly could.)

Obviously I apply this to people who train at tosabarbell. We talk about goals, a lot. They are all (mostly) different and my mantra has always been, “tell me what you want to do and I’ll get you there.” And I do. Now, we give atta boys and atta girls. We celebrate PR’s and all competitions, even when we don’t do as well as we’d like (dude, you showed up. I will always applaud that fact.) It’s rare you’ll hear a “Niiiiiice” while nodding my head and then saying shit like “rad” and “bro.” While there are absolutely nothing wrong with those words, we live in the midwest. Among corn and cows. If you grew up here and talk like that you’re full of shit in a minor way. Knock it off. I like it when my throwing friend, Heater (Heather MacDonald), says ‘RAD.’ Cuz it’s totally California girl and it’s her. Whenever I hear people from Milwaukee say Rad I want to say, “sir/ma’am, I know Heater and believe me, you are no Heater.” But I don’t.

I know sometimes people show up to train and aren’t particularly motivated that day. We get through it. Sometimes I get into the gym and I am completely unmotivated that day. I get through it. I guess it’s never been my understanding that motivating YOU is MY job. Either positively or negatively. If I had that much power, I’d tackle the fact that you eat like an asshole and sabotage yourself every day at some point. I dunno, blame the Al-Annon in my past. Dude, I am not responsible for your success or failure. I can contribute to it (both, unfortunately) but you are the driver of that bus. You go through your gym or personal life full of shit or denial (same thing imo), it’s on you. At no point in my sports life have I ever looked at someone else and thought to myself, “this is your fault” if I didn’t win. Never.

But I have looked around at an entire village of people when I win. One of my favorite quotes is from my loves at Fork Talk when giving props to others, “We stand on the shoulders of giants.” I love that. So while these people don’t “motivate” me, so many have given me a lift up along the way. That goes deep to my heart and I’ll never forget it (in theory. I’m getting old and forgetful so ya, maybe. )

Now, I will be the first to understand that different people are motivated in different ways. I get that. If negative influences motivate you to do better, that’s personal. I’ll applaud the fact that you’re motivated and hope the best for you. But to be honest, I will also wish that at some point in your life, the tides change and you can be motivated by positive influences and experiences. Jeez, life is negative enough. I don’t need to bring that shit into the gym with me. It’s the very reason that years ago in Texas when I was running/managing/working at a gym, I had to go join another one to get away from the fucking stress and dysfunction of my job gym. That’s fucked up.

I’ve had coaches in the past (name the sport) where they’ve tried screaming at me and berating me. Uhhhh, fuck off dude. I get enough of that at home, I don’t need that here. Not only will in NOT motivate me, it will shut me down. Now, at 49, I’ve learned to quickly walk away from those people. But it’s been a long road here and honestly, I wasted years of my life trying to please the unpleaseable (totally a word.) Why would I bring that shit into my training or on the platform or on to the trig? No way.

What motivates me to make a lift (we’ll use weightlifting since I’m less than two weeks to wheels up) is the fact that if I don’t, I won’t put myself into a position where I can win. Seems legit. I honestly don’t need more than that. Make the lift, maybe win. Don’t, for sure not win. That’s my mindset when I train. On the platform? It gets far less dire. Stay connected; push longer, shit that’s useful. And maybe that’s it in a nutshell, is your motivation useful? Does it bring you your Quan? Then YES!

When you truly believe in your fucking self, not everyone will like you.

But by then you won’t give a fuck.

Afrobrutality IG

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O.M.G.I.G.F.U.

Posted on September 14, 2016 by tosabarbell
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Skol Vikings!

This was my first Instagram picture. Taken nearly four years ago, deep in the heart of Bears section, on a beautiful November day. The Bears/Vikings Soldier Field game is tradition for Matt and I. His dad has been a season ticket holder forever (literally) and his dad before that. We sit with the “Barry Boys” and their wives/sisters/friends/family/whoever they decide to bring and will give a collective groan when I walk up with my Vikings jersey. Whenever the Bears score, a bottle of something alcohol is passed down the row and whenever the Vikings score (which is almost ALWAYS immediately set up on a defensive play) I drink from my flask. Sooooo, ya. I think at the last game, I was grabbed by a “Barry Boy” and forced to drunk dance when the Bears scored at the end of the game guaranteeing the win. Matt thought that was pretty funny.

Last year, for the first time since I moved here, the weather was supposed to be sunny and 60’s and there was a strong chance that the Vikings would win (they did.) But I had a weightlifting meet 5 days later and knew that being gone all day; eating like crap; drinking, and walking four miles meant that my training would be bad on Monday and that would affect my meet week schedule. So I passed. Matt and our pretend Vegan friend went and had a blast. (We used to hang out with pretend Vegans who would claim to be Vegan and then come over and eat 15 pounds of meat as a family. The parents eat meat all the time but have talked their kids into the idea that they are Vegan so they are all malnourished and whiny. Except when they’d come here and the mom would act astounded when their malnourished youngest daughter would eat three whole smoked chicken drumsticks. See mom, she’s not a special snowflake because she’s tiny, she’s fucking hungry. Feed her a chicken hindquarter for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and see how she’ll grow. Duh. Same daughter has ended up in the Urgent Care from “stomach pains” where the doctor suggested that maybe she’s hungry. Doctor was right. They are actually really nice people and he’s very cool, but the whole food bullshit took it’s toll on the friendship and I.Just.Can’t.) OH! btw, it’s not a Vegan thang. I have a friend who is a real Vegan; has published cookbooks and posts the most amazing pictures on her IG feed that even I am tempted to try some of the dishes. She’s also mom to one of my Dazzle’s puppies so she’s most special, Vegan or not.

Anyway.

Instagram. Suddenly, we could all take pictures and put a “filter” on it to make it look like we knew what we were doing. Cool! I wanted to look back and tally my IG pictures in categories, fuggitaboutit. I have a gazillion pictures and videos. However, if I were to do a guesstimate I would say I have about 100,000 pictures of food and booze; 1,000,000 pictures of my dogs and kids (yes, in that order); a billion pictures of gym time/training/throwing, and a handful of selfies of me and Matt.

For the most part, I really enjoy Instagram. A picture or quick video from places around the world that I’d never even heard of. The stories of remote villages deep in Africa; the homeless around America; Panda bear antics from around the world, and training videos. IMO, the gold of Instagram are those videos. Sure, there is a lot of bullshit out there but there is also a lot of good. Multiple weightlifting videos that will be slowed down to get a view of positions and even more so for throwing. See, when people say something like, ‘lead with your hips’ I have no idea what that means. I believe it’s something that is so ingrained into a thrower that it’s baffling to them that I don’t understand what that means or at the very least, an understanding alone isn’t making it happen.

But I can see it. I can look at these collegiate and top throwers in slow motion and say, “ahhhHAAAAAAA! THAT’S what it looks like.” Okay, now I can break shit down and practice that. Cool.

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Prizes! IG from 2013. While I’m glad Matt’s travel schedule is easier than flying to India and more twice a month, I really miss those Euro Prizes:(

There are a multitude of both throwing and weightlifting IG’s to follow and I follow most. I can edit later which is helpful but you never know where the next “AhHa” moment is going to come from. There are many Highland Games throwers that are so smooth transitioning from position to position that I can’t see where shit is happening. Those are the best of the best and I just watch those to be amazed.

The antics of IG is tons of fun too. Prom pictures (if you know what these are, then you know); how people spend their times in airports (bevvies *LIV* are usually involved, at least for Highland Gamers); baby goats (srsly), and strongbellied men deadlifting in ranger panties (moar plz) and it’s easy to understand how suddenly 15 minutes of life is lost.

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FOOD! This was for four of us earlier this year and there wasn’t a bite left by the end of the night. Invite other throwers over and they’ll ensure there’s enough food to not run out. True story.

I’m a huge lover of the food on Instagram. I’ve ordered meat rubs that I’ve seen on IG; I’ve bought wine that I saw others drinking and know our tastes are similar and have loved it, and I’ve tried recipes that are shared. While I’m not a huge brand follower, I have ordered a t-shirt that was used as a fundraiser by hviii brand goods that I saw on IG. I’ve been able to see what friends I’ve lost contact with are doing in the gym and that’s fun. I love to see that they’re still at it! I can see others from my past that are still lying to themselves and others on IG in various ways and can remain thankful that they are no longer in my life.

In short, yeah IG.

However, and I have no idea how long it took for this to happen, the amount of skank pictures and videos on the IG is astounding. Literally, astounding. I block at least two skanks a day, mostly I believe because my ID or whatever the fuck you call it is ‘tosabarbell’ and the word “barbell” alerts the skanks to let me know they’re there in case I’m looking for a date. Those are the obvious skanks. Then there are the second tier skanks, the sports bra/see through leggings squatting on the Smith Press 25# with the camera right behind the crack of their ass while they are shoving said ass right at your view. I’ll come back to those in a minute.

There are the skank selfies trying to sell the package of, “Oh I hardly ever do this but just want to document how far I’ve come. See? Before I weighed 150 pounds and wore clothes but now I weigh 120 pounds; got a new pair of bolt-on’s, and am barely dressed. Aren’t I awesome?” Those are about 4 million a day. Fok. Off. Your blatant attempt to get dates bores me. It’s called Match.com and it’s usually free I think. Get on it. In fact, I’ll often comment, “Wow, I hope this picture gets you lots of dates this weekend.” Then I move on.

What annoys me most today, is when the second tier skanks invade the throwing posts and suddenly it shows up on my feed. It happened the other day where some little girl with a big ass in see-through leggings was shoving her ass back at me on my phone when I thought I was following a throwing account. My comment was, “annnnnnd, unfollowed.” I bet it really hurt their feelings. Bwahahaaaa! Not really. I’m sure they don’t miss me and there’s plenty of men thinking they’ll get to date her if they tell her how nice her ass is. What that has to do with throwing I have no idea.

And I think that’s the crux of the annoyance for me. Declare or shut the fuck up (Swearengen.) Are you a “food” or a “throwing” or a “drinks” or a “highland games” or an “all of the above?” Or are you skanks? Just own what you’re doing. Hello, my name is skank and I’m a skank, please to enjoy my videos. But please keep your skank off my feeds, cuz I’m not trolling for dates or if I am, I go to the “husband” contact on my phone and start there (I have no idea what his phone number is other than ‘husband.’ Not so useful when my phone dies but I like to live on the edge.)

The famous Cocksuckers brigade…command of the all whore detachment.

Al Swearengen

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Zebra Mussels

Posted on September 13, 2016 by tosabarbell
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Zebra Mussels go shopping?

A couple of weeks ago, the Oz man and I headed to the Minnesota State Fair. My niece had a few morning performances with her “clogging” class and I figured if we could get in and out of there early enough, we’d be okay.

I guess Oz had never been to the State Fair. Now he knows why. Screaming kids; parents walking around with beers at 8:00am; miles of the shittiest food imaginable (minus the Pronto Pups, those are brain food), and about 4 billion people too many. That’s the Minnesota State Fair. OH hey tho, there are sculptures made from ginormous blocks of butter of the heads of the current Dairy Princesses. So that classes up the joint a bit.

During a clogging break, my brother walked us over to the Minnesota DNR building. I can honestly say that this display is always pretty cool and a must see if hitting the Fair. They have the history of mining; hunting; fishing; conservation of all kinds; a fishing pond (no, you can’t fish but they have all of the fish that can coexist in one huge pond where there are signs all over to not throw money into the pond. So ya, there’s tons of money in the pond. Go there and never wonder again how Obama was re-elected.)

Anyway. One of the displays explained the damage that Zebra Mussels have wreaked all over the Minnesota Lakes. They had a shopping cart, like the picture above, covered in Zebra Mussels. I kind of wonder if these people just keep putting shopping carts in the sky blue waters of Minnesota just so they can make a point. Shrug.

I will be the first to admit, I know very little about Zebra Mussels. It’s been a long time since Lake life was my normal and I’d hear about watermilfoil which was the precursor, I guess, to Zebra Mussels. Oh sure, you hear about cleaning off your boat and motor when leaving lakes afterwards but it didn’t affect me. That came about sometime in the last 20 years. But I didn’t know. See, I grew up on the waters of Lake Pokegama in northern Minnesota. I literally just used the Google to pull up an image of Lake Pokegama and this is what came up:

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My beach.

Seriously, that’s my beach. How do I know. Well, it is the best white sand beach on the lake. And oh, by the way? It’s a huge lake. That Island out to the left of the first dock is Kings Island. Our neighbor, Dave Beatty, fished in it’s rocks at 5:00am every day for at least 30 years, probably more. If you swim straight out about three quarters of a mile from the right border of the picture, you’ll hit a Girls summer camp and can rest on their docks before you swim back. Guess how I know? If you move around the girls camp to the Northwest, you’ll hit the boys camp. It’s a rite of passage to sneak out at night with beer; canoe over to the boys camp, steal all of their clothes that are hanging up and drape them over their docks and diving boards.

Guess how I know.

The beach has shrunk a bit and the grass on the left border is annoying. See, the beach ran up to the tree line at the bottom of the hill but when people bought the cabin and property when my parent’s decided to sell (bad day. Very bad day) they tore out a path of trees and laid down sod. Therefore, grass has replaced beach. Fuckers.

I could write a 100 page blog on memories of the Cabin. It was my most precious church growing up. The smells; the sounds of chainsaws at 7am on a Saturday (is there a better sound to wake up to?); The loons; the waves gently lapping the beach. My brother falling asleep on an air mattress off the beach and floating down to the 169 bridge and having to swim back (he was fried crisp, it was hilarious.) You can see down at least 20 feet the lake is (was) so clear. I hope it is still so. The moon would come up over The Harbor boat up dinner club to the east. We’d lay on the beach and watch meteor showers; the northern lights, and the milky way.

Anyways. Zebra Mussels.

I just took a look on the Minnesota DNR list of infested lakes. I’m not going to lie, I held my breath a bit as I got closer and closer to Pokegama. It does have watermilfoil, which I remember hearing about. That presents it’s own trouble and hopefully they’re on the motherfucker to get it fixed. Dunno. In my head I’ll say they are. But to my knowledge, my lake is clean.

Each time we’d pack up the station wagon and head to Grand Rapids from Minneapolis, we knew that once we hit Lake Mille Lacs near Garrison, we were up north. The air got cleaner and cooler. The tree lines changed to more birch. Relax. It’s all good. (Maybe why I never took to smoking pot, I got that feeling from going up north. Dunno.) We could stop and stretch our legs, dip our toes in the water (even if the ice had just come off), let our Chinese Pug go TT. If we were really good, we could run into the Trading Post and buy a beaded coin purse or a fake bow and arrow. I still have my beaded coin purse by the way. Hoard much?

We went Ice Fishing on Lake Mille Lacs one weekend when I was younger. I was terrified of the fishing holes in the cabin; my sister entertained my brother and I by shoving Bugle chips up her nose and then eating them, and one of the workers at Eddie’s  plowed out a patch on the ice for me so I could spend my days ice skating (which I was limited to in increments of 10 minutes. How do you know it’s cold in Minnesota? Your mom would rather have you inside a fish house fighting with your brother instead of outside ice skating.) True story.

Later, we’d hit boat launch fishing expeditions on Lake Mille Lacs which really turned into a drinking expedition with a little fishing thrown in for fun. In case we didn’t get enough bevvies in, we would head to the Blue Goose when the guys were done cleaning the fish. From there, shit gets fuzzy. Needless to say, these annual trips with my brother and sister and friends were some of my funnest fun.

So when Jerry told me, while touring the DNR building, that Lake Mille Lacs was declared catch and release only for Walleye Fishing, I was shocked. WHAT? Lake Mille Lacs is one of the largest, premier Walleye fishing lakes in Minnesota. What’s up? Well, Jerry says, Zebra Mussels have a part in that. Fok! Fok you Zebra Mussels!

Now, after getting home and reading a bit about it, it seems that the reason for the  diminishing Walleye population on Mille Lacs isn’t quite figured out yet but yes, Zebra mussels that have camped out on the floor of 35% of the lake that they are able to (the other 65% of the lake bottom is too soft) they could affect the natural walleye population but they just don’t know (I dunno, I guess when they say “climate change” I assume they have no clue. They’re just throwing terms on the wall to see what will stick.)

I did read a quick article that the Zebra Mussel population may be decreasing for the first time in years. I hope so.

And  ya know what? All of that has absolutely nothing to do with today’s post. GOTCHA!

See, standing in that DNR building at the State Fair and looking at that shopping cart covered in Zebra Mussels, all I could think about what’s hanging off of me to weigh me down and make me perform (in life mostly but ya, sport too) at diminished capacity. What are my Zebra Mussels?

Netflix (srsly); Social media; TV (not as much anymore since we dumped cable, piss off Time Warner); ANW (did you see that last night? No one won. I just spent a fucking season watching this stupid “sports” show and no one won. Uhhhhh, buhbye), and Drudge. Not to mention people who I allow to affect my Quan. Phone games (if I don’t save Panda’s each day then, I dunno, Panda’s won’t be saved.)  Whatever it is that causes drag through life. I need a Department of Juli Resources to develop a program to decrease my drag. Oh ya, that’s me. I guess. Is that why “Life Coaches” are a thing in America? So we don’t have to be responsible to actually make changes ourselves? ‘Cuz now I understand. I don’t want one, but I get it now.

Connect. Plug in, to real people, not e-plugs. I need to do that more. Sure, most people drive me crazy but geez, there has to be some out there that don’t. And, let’s be honest, it’s quite possible that I drive others crazy. Improbable, I know, but possible. Heh. So work on that stuff too. So I don’t become someone else’s Zebra Mussel. That would make me very sad and very not proud. So I’ve got work to do.

Do you?

Welcome to Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average. 

Garrison Keillor

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Monday Bacon: Old Fashioned

Posted on September 11, 2016 by tosabarbell
oldfash

Diamonds aren’t this girl’s best friend, a maple bacon Rye Old Fashioned is.

I will admit, that at almost 50, I have (at times) unrealistic expectations on what a good relationship is between a man and a woman. I blame my grandparents and Nora Roberts.

Now, I’m not saying my grandparents were perfect and as is sometimes the case, my relationship with them was completely different than that of someone else’s. My cousins in Wisconsin had an entirely different view of Grandma than I grew up with and while I’m sorry that they didn’t get the good parts, I’m glad I did.

See, my Grandma was a lady. In every sense of the word. Now, she didn’t grow up rich, in fact she grew up as opposite of rich as one can be. She did not have an easy life but she grew up with class and by the time I came around, I got to see how Grandpa treated her. Always loving; always respectful, never in any way that would give a stranger the impression that he didn’t adore her. He loved to tease her and she would reply with a calm smile knowing she was being teased but wanted to let her husband have his fun. One of my most special memories of Grandma was one of our last. When she was in the nursing home, had completely lost any memories of me and most of her husband but he was teasing her about donuts appearing out of thin air and she just smiled her calm smile with a twinkle in her eye and I could just feel her knowing that her husband was there having some fun.

And she let him.

Grandma always had her fingernails painted; I never heard her raise her voice yet her boys always showed her love and respect; she almost always wore dresses (I remember she had a pair of pink polyester pants she liked to wear. I just thought it was pretty cool that my Grandma wore pink polyester pants), and never ever, ever never, EVER showed any impropriety in any way. That was Grandma.

Now, clearly, I’ve not adopted all of Grandma’s traits. I was only 21 when she died and was 17 when she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s so the majority of my memories of her were from my childhood. But even in my early teens I was in awe of her and I just felt deep down that I would never quite match up the goodness of my Grandma. Which made her all the more special.

However, I am like my Grandma in one major way and that is of being Old Fashioned (not the tasty beverage but I love those too) when it comes to my behavior around men, especially as a wife of one. Oh sure, there have been times in my past where I was a silly girl with not enough self esteem so I went searching for some in ways that did not honor myself or my values but eventually we all grow out of those (ya, I know not all of us do. Kinda the point of today.) But I believe that how I behave around other men and how women behave around, especially, married men says a lot as to how they wander through life.

See, I’m nearly ancient. I believe a woman, married or single, should not put herself (yes, often times this is out of her control, not the point of today) in a situation where “grey” area becomes questionable as to motives. In simple speak, don’t be flirty with married men. Ever. Don’t hang on them; don’t constantly touch them; don’t behave in a way that if someone were seeing how you’re behaving from across the room, they could wonder if you’re coming on to someone. I believe all of that IS in our control.

Do we give hugs to other men? Yup! Sometimes even kisses (Marcel of Strongman Champions League will give you three, he’s special.) But we don’t linger in these hugs; we don’t portray in any way inappropriate thoughts where the receiver of these “good touches” feels uncomfortable. Matt knows this. It may not even be physical contact. When I have an interaction on the computer with a man, Matt knows about it (someday I’ll tell you about one of the funniest PM interactions on the planet I had recently with our favorite 3 Floyds bartender. When asking if we can do a little something special for Matt’s birthday dinner we have coming up there this coming Friday, he thought I meant a threesome with HIM being Matt’s little something special. We lulzed pretty hard about that one. I don’t think Gregg the bartender was serious but even so, we lulzed. I also told Gregg that he’s not ready for Matt;)

I don’t share these things to cover my ass with Matt, I share these things to avoid any type of impropriety of having a private conversation with another man, no matter how innocent the conversation may be. I dunno, I just saw my Grandma walk through life where no one ever questioned her actions and thought, ya-I like that.

I’ve known women (and men for that matter) whom are extremely, physically affectionate. In almost all cases, that’s fine. Whatev, that’s how they want to walk through life. I think I am too but I try to respect boundaries and I do understand that those boundaries are fairly subjective. We had a situation earlier this Highland Games season where one woman, a very nice woman, made my husband feel uncomfortable with her affectionate behavior. Honestly, that blew me away.

See, if you know Matt you already know that he’s kind, and funny, and smart, and strong, and super hunky, and a good person. What you may not know is that in most cases when it comes to women, he’s completely oblivious. I’ve seen women rub up against him when I’ve stepped away from my seat out in public and it cracks me up because he doesn’t even know it’s happening. I’m pretty sure that it would take a woman shoving her bare tits in his face before he realizes he’s being flirted with, it’s hilarious. So when he told me of this situation where he had to hotstep it da fuck out of this women’s personal space (that, it sounds like, she had invaded in the first place) so no one would take a look and wonder if there’s something going on between the two of them, I took notice.

Now, I know that there was never any intention by this person to make him uncomfortable (okay, I don’t know. But I trust it to be so. She and I are no longer friendly but I do trust this) but, in my opinion, there are times where she was too physical with married men. Again, this is most likely on me and my being so old fashioned. In fact, another man brought her name up at a post Games dinner later in the year about how flirtatious she was being. Matt shared his story and I chimed in, “At times she’s too physical with married men, or at least, my married man.” Now, she was not there to defend herself and this is something I’d gladly tell her face to face. Because I don’t think she knows that there are times where she may cross a line. But that was my feeling.

Unfortunately, my feeling got shared from someone else sitting at that dinner but instead of saying, “OMG Juli’s such a bitch, she said you’re grabby on her hubs and even Matt said that he’s felt uncomfortable around you” the message got switched to, “Ya, so Juli said that you sleep around with all the Pro’s and chase an old flame.” Um, ya. Not so much but whatev. I feel bad that two of us got played by one stupid girl who never left the junior high and likes to hurt other people with her words. I feel bad that she made this other nice woman feel bad. I wish I would have just grabbed her and pulled her aside and said something like, “ya know, I don’t think you know you do this but sometimes you’re a bit grabby on the married or committed men of the world. It may be I’m too old fashioned but it may be that it can raise flags as to your intentions and I know you’re a good person and would never want that to be portrayed. Cool?”  I wish I’d have done that.

Anways. I never saw my Grandma put her hands on another married man and while she did give hugs, it was always in plain sight of Grandpa. I never once saw my Grandpa question my Grandma’s behavior . This wasn’t blind trust, this was respect for each other and their relationship. I like that. Yes, it’s old fashioned, but it’s me. Obviously, sometimes my delivery of that belief gets me in trouble. But I stand by it. I live it. My husband knows it, and, by the way also lives it.

Sorry not sorry.

Appearances are a glimpse of the unseen.

Anaxagoras

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