Calibrating...

Today, I bought a Wii Fit Thingie (itsa board, itsa game, thus dubbed ‘Thingie’).  This purchase was done in typical ‘Mii’ fashion.  Do I technically own a Wii?  No.  I’m borrowing a Wii console from the residents of The Lane since they have every known video playing device since and including Atari hooked up to a monster flatscreen TV in the Man-Cave.  In fact, the extraction of the wee little Wii from the cable collective required meticulous precision and the steady hand of a neurosurgeon cutting tie wraps and detangling chords and wires and stuff.  Anyway, Girly Girl Manor has the use of a Wii and now ownership of a Wii Fit Thingie.  I got me a huge ‘bar-gann’ on Thingie because I bought it for a fraction of the price on Kijiji (cyber buying/selling-site extraordinaire).  The man I purchased it from was so nice. He happily delivered it directly to me AND complimented me on my outfit.  Better service than most retailers.  I am such a smart consumer.

I would soon understand why he was happily selling Thingie barely used and fresh out of the box only once.  I would realize quickly why he showered me with compliments of my attire; he knew what Thingie was going to do to my ego.  But for me, I ignorantly trotted off with my bargain and unveiled my grand purchase to The Monkey declaring Thursday to be Pizza and Wii night!  Woo Hoo!

So The Monkey, who is very knowledgeable about all things Wii, informs me how to navigate through and assign our cute little Mii’s (which we had earlier created and made sickeningly adorable and mother-daughter matchy matchy).  So there we are, perched big-grinned on the couch, anticipating our maiden voyage of Thingie.  I am feeling moderately smug, such a good deal.  AND this Wii-fun extravaganza is right up my alley; fun with goals, objectives, timelines, healthy activity...it is perfect.  I even get to go first.  This. Truly. Is. Exciting.

First of all, I step on the board and it sighs. SIGHS.  Apparently I’m too heavy for the board and it needs to tell me this.  After a short calibration (it’s that bad you need to calibrate?), it asks me my age and my height.  Okaaay, how bad can that be?  Then it asks me how heavy are the clothes I’m wearing.  Thingie must assume I’m going to account for clothing weight?  Sure.  I choose ‘snowsuit and cement boots’ as the option.  Calibrating again (not good).  Thingie then declares my BMI number (Bullshit Mathematical Insult) in big bright letters next to a colourful bar scale ranging from “oh look how cute and fit you are” to “you obviously have given up on yourself”.  Adding insult to injury, my cute perky, happy little cute fit Mii is simultaneously transformed into the pathetic bulbous character who looks, old, tired and completely defeated.  A perfect likeness to me.  

Oh.  It gets better.  

Next Thingie assesses my balance.  Apparently Thingie doesn’t read my blog.  Balance? Really?  “Oooopsie!  You are slightly off balance.  Perhaps you’re not using your abdominals enough and it’s affecting your posture and ability to stand upright.  You probably spend too much time sitting at your desk at work and not enough time with your family being active.  More core work will help you not waste these precious years with your daughter and also so you don’t continue to slouch, deteriorate your spine and shrink from your already below average height.”   

I hate Thingie.

Now we move onto testing more balancing ability.  I’m accused again, of not only being unbalanced, but questioned;  “Do you fall down while trying to walk?”  So Thingie knows about my affection for wine too.  This isn’t software, it’s black magic.

“I will now calculate your Wii age. Calibrating....” You’ve got to be shitting me.  My ‘Wii age?’  I’ve own this piece of shit equipment for what? three hours and it’s going to tell me how old I am based on my ability to stand upright and my poor choice in clothing attire?  

You’re Wii age is:  45.  

Kijiji Posting:

“Free to good home; gently used Wii Fit with original box.  Possible calibration issues.  Will not be delivered, but you can pick it up on my curb.  First come, gets this judgmental piece of crap.”

Pick One

Well, after a short hiatus, I’m back.  Whew.  The last few weeks have felt like someone put a brick on the gas pedal and I’ve been going 130 in an 80 zone (not that I’ve EVER done that, it’s simply a metaphor).  Life got extraordinarily busy, AND interesting, AND challenging AND fun all at the same time  Speeding is not a good thing for a type 'A' over-analytical control-freak perfectionist who is trying to find Qi, and serenity and balance.  

Livin' in the fast lane.  That's the life of a Superwoman.

Now, I’m not claiming to be a superwoman, but for some insane reason, I really really REALLY want to be one.  I’m probably drawn to the way-cool costume with great accessories. But c'mon?!  Who can resist knee length patent leather red boots and a cape to match?  I’m seeing a tiara and maybe a funky locket that houses a secret crystal from a mystical planet that is the source for my superhuman powers...yet I digress.  Whatever the reason, I am taking great masochistic pleasure in turning myself inside out trying to over-achieve in all four quadrants of my life: family, work, home and health.  Want to know how I’m doing?  As I type, I’m doing kegels, baking muffins, filling out permission slips and reviewing work for tomorrow....   

I know I’m not alone.  There are many who aspire to super-human status.  Think that might be you?  Answer these six questions:

1. Do you run a ‘things I have to do today’ list while showering? Has the drafting of said list caused you to forget to shave an entire leg upon exiting the shower? (This is worse if you’re a guy).
2. Have you ever decided that stale crackers and a packet of mayonnaise at your desk represents a balanced lunch?
3. Can you locate dog treats, work receipts, vitamins and silly bands in your suit pocket?
4. Do you consider crafting sandwich buddies for lunches your creative outlet?
5. Do you catch yourself wondering how the ‘Mystery of the Fairyland Secret’ will end?
6. Is meditation ever interrupted by the sound of your own snoring?

If you answered ‘yes’ to these questions, I’m not sure I should congratulate you...

Was it simpler in the good ol’ days?  I just recently finished ingesting four seasons of MadMen.  According to my reliable source (cable television), in the early 60’s women were summarily categorized; vixen, wife, mother, working woman, or bohemian.  It appears women were relegated to a single category, but not two at once.  At the end of each episode one question kept swirling itself around in my mind; I wonder if it was easier with the rigid iron clad gender roles or more difficult?  I’m not talking morally correct, ethical or just, I’m talking just plain easier.   

I wonder where I would’ve fit in in the early 60‘s?  What category would I have fallen into?  Hard to say really.  Could I see myself in a steno pool?  Would I be meeting my husband at the door with a kiss and a cocktail?  Would I be the doting mother hosting a luncheon of the PTA?  Would I be meeting a lover in a hotel after hours?  Would I hang out in a club listening to disjointed artistic mumblings and raging against the system? 

I bet I would have tried all of them at some point.  I’m sure my family and friends would become concerned with my rebelliousness and indecisiveness.  They would expect me to make up my mind, to pick something, to settle down.  I’m sure someone would recommended me to a psychiatrists couch.  The Dr. would nod and scratch notes and I’m certain prescribe a hefty bottle of pills for my nerves and another bottle to help me sleep.   I would have drifted in a blissful state of sedation and delusion.   

In my medicated haze, I bet I would’ve have dreamt I was superwoman.