It's a Me Thing #3: I Like it Both Ways.

It is, at long last, my final semester as an undergraduate. I have completed all the specific requirements necessary for my B.A. (in English!) and I am now merely filling my few remaining credit hours in a couple of interesting electives: Publishing 372 and Gender Studies 300. Both of them (although perhaps Publishing, at first glance, might not appear so) are particularly interesting: the former has discussed, at least so far, the details of the editing and publishing process (something particularly interesting to a hopeful author like myself) while the latter is centred on the apparent "crisis of masculinity", throwing around terms like "metrosexual" and "ultramasculine" in classroom discussion as rapidly and easily as "Tuesday" and "coffee break".

This gender studies class is actually, for the first time in recent memory, so based in interesting discourse that I find myself sitting back and paying thorough attention at all times (even when I don't need to take notes!). The crux of the debate is this: there is a dichotomy and a disparity between the "traditional" or "stereotypical" male and the "modern" or "feminist" man, and this shift/discourse/increased awareness is creating what many deem a "crisis" -- i.e., our typical notions of what and who is truly "male" are changing rapidly.

What I have found the most engaging part of the debate -- and which, perhaps ironically, also irks me the most -- is this juxtaposition of the "good" and "feminized" man against the "bad" and "masculinized" one. The former is emotionally available, sentimental, gentle-natured, well-dressed, socially aware, and politically correct; the latter, a plaid-and-denim-wearing, beard-growing, beer-drinking, fart-and-fart-joke-making chauvinist who comes home to a hot meal, a devoted spouse, and a UFC pay-per-view match on TV. The "good" man is romantic, has no problem with his wife playing breadwinner, and opposes the traditional nuclear family (the "good" man loves babies and has no issue with a good ol' diaper change). The "bad"? He nary washes a dish, stirs a pot, or folds a single pair of boxers; his hair is close-cropped, and his work boots are irreparably stained with caulking paste and testosterone. One, the debate espouses, simply cannot equal the other; the "good" and the "bad" are to be forever at odds. And yet, here I ask, why? Why can't they interact? Like yin and yang, what's wrong with a little bit of both? And really, at the base of it, what's so wrong with a man's man anyways?

This is supposed to be good.

And this? Big man, real bad. REAL bad.

Perhaps I am the minority -- in my gender studies class, I certainly must be -- but I've always been partial... nay, inclined... to the more rugged specimens of the opposite sex. Boyfriend, in fact, is a perfect example: bias aside (okay, maybe not entirely), he has broad shoulders, an imposing stature, and a consistent 5 o'clock shadow spread across a jawline so sharp and square that I could use it to cut tempered steel. Before meeting him, I asked a girlfriend of mine if he was a good prospect for me and she described him thus: "Well, if you're into that square-jawed, full-lipped, broad-shouldered, tall, muscular, stereotypically good-looking type... then yes. You know, if that's your thing."

Uh, no. That didn't sound appealing to me in the slightest.

ZOMG WIN!!!!11!!1 LOL ROFLCOPTER

My girlfriend, of course, was herself partial to the effeminate, full-lashed, ectomorphic artist type -- the kind that sipped juniper tea, wore fringed scarves and skinny jeans, and was summarily described as "man-pretty" -- the doe-eyed Pattinson type, if you will, which explained her ill-concealed aversion to my own brand of sexy. I, however, being of the sort that doesn't like a better half that can share my jean collection, was more than happy to meet (then soon-to-be) boyfriend, and have been pleased with my selection since then. (Ya did good, kid.)

It's not just his looks, though: boyfriend is a GUY. Like, a total DUDE. I regularly say to some comment or action of his, "You are such a boy sometimes!" to which he casually and matter-of-factly replies, "Well, yeah. I know. ...sorry." 90% of the time, our TV is tuned to football or hockey games; he likes bacon (on almost everything), and has quite the affinity for a good brew. He works construction in the summer; he played football in university; he rarely cooks, and I don't think he's folded a piece of laundry in his adult life. He swears, he burps, he power-lifts; he's desperate for a big, thundering motorcycle and in the meantime he drives a Mustang. He's a man, in both good ways and bad: he hates putting away clean dishes from the dishwasher (the process is usually accompanied by a series of Homer-Simpson-like groaning); he built our bed-frame himself, but hates tucking in the sheets on the mattress. Boyfriend is not what one would consider to be "short of testosterone"... and yet, he's also a very sweet guy, and I don't think he generally gets enough credit for it.

When I'm having a horrible day (or even a wonderful one), he is never short of bear hugs and heaps of feel-better kisses. He holds my hand in public -- or on the sofa, or in bed, or across the stick shift when he's driving -- and he tells me he loves me daily (in fact, multiple times a day). Multiple times as well, I have come home from an awful day or a harrowing week to find a bouquet of flowers, vase-d and watered, sitting on the table, or a box of fresh sushi on the kitchen counter because he knows I'm too exhausted to cook. He does the dishes for me when I make dinner; he buys me teddy bears every once and a while when he goes on trips; and he's actually quite talented (for a guy) at expressing his frustrations (just don't tell him I told you, or he'll kill me). And, perhaps most telling of all, boyfriend is going to be a teacher, a stereotypically female-dominated profession in which he will need to both teach relevant material an engage productively with a wide variety of students. Boyfriend has, as far as I'm concerned, successfully planted a foot in both worlds, and I am very proud of him for doing so.

I did good? Oh, yeah. I definitely did good.

Long story short, I think boyfriend maintains a pretty good balance. That's not to say he doesn't have his pitfalls, of course -- but then again, whether I attribute those flaws to his personality or his masculinity, it is occasionally hard to tell. Purposely annoying me to entertain himself, such as by flicking my nose or tickling the sides of my feet? Probably just good-old-boyfriend-ness. Leaving piles of clean laundry in conspicuous lumps in front of my closet so he doesn't have to fold them himself? I'll chalk that one up to boyhood. Picking his nose and flicking the boogers on the carpet? A healthy mixture of both, I think. (Really, only a true man could be that gross).

For the most part, though, I think boyfriend maintains a good balance, somewhere between this type of guy and this other sort of specimen. He's a manly man when he needs to be, but he's far from misogynistic, and if you know him well enough you can easily tell that he's a good guy through and through.

Although, his loofah is shaped like a tire... eh. We'll leave that one to the psychologists.

Things that Suck # 3: People Cannot Spell.

Contrary to popular belief, I generally do not consider myself a grammar nazi. I don't correct the speech patterns of strangers, and I rarely do so for my friends; I don't get insanely upset when people type "u" instead of "you" when they send me a text (although "wut" and "lyk" absolutely make me ill); I don't obsess over casual capitalization (in fact, on Facebook I tend to avoid it altogether -- it just makes me feel better when I see all the other pseudo-conversations going on); and I never joke or tease when boyfriend asks me to spell a word for him (the English language is difficult, and I get that). Even when foibles and faux pas do frustrate me to no end, I usually just put on a brave face and stew on it quietly while the rest of the conversation continues.

There "were" a bunch of cars in the ditch. Not there "was", there "were". ...imbeciles. 

Sometimes, though, a person just can't help getting frustrated. I mean, when your English professor -- your 400-level English professor -- sends you an email telling you that "your going to have to send me those dates again", you can't help but grind your teeth. And when you open your new novel for your winter gender studies course -- a novel, might I add, that won awards from the American Library Association  -- and it mentions "changing the breaks in the car", you (okay, I) want to fling the book down in frustration, as I'll never be able to enjoy it properly with that mishap flashing like a police light in the back of my eyes as I read.

Spelling and grammar drive me absolutely nuts sometimes. Comma splices? Like papercuts. The "were are we going today" thing? Stubbing your toe on a sharp corner. And the your/you're conundrum? Warm liquor, on a hot day, with a mild flu, next to a garbage dump, with a horde of mosquitos aiming Kamikaze missions at your ears. Oh, and you have blisters. Lots and lots of giant, angry blisters.

I'm not coming out until they're gone. Or have surgically attached Webster's Dictionary to their bottom lips. Whichever comes first.

People: let me tell you this now, for your own good. Yes, I notice when you make mistakes. No, for the most part, I don't judge. However -- and I mean this with the greatest of emphasis -- when you make a career out of your English knowledge (as a novelist, for example, or a professor) then I expect you to know how to form your words properly. In fact, on that note, what the hell are the editors doing? I was copy editing in seventh grade, people. Seventh grade. And even then, I was far beyond making the there/their mistake that seems to pepper my messages like buckshot every time I open them.

And no, purposely misspelling words to sound funny makes you neither cute nor funny. Ever seen Deliverance? You know that guy that starts hopping around spastically while the banjos are duelling? You see how everyone else is laughing? Well, in the movie, they're laughing with him. In real life, I'd be laughing at you. Oh, sorry, I misspelt that. I meant to say "throwing rocks". I would be "throwing rocks at you", as you sent me this asinine crap, in an attempt to knock the tar out of your noggin in at least some small, measurable way.

Ah-DUR-HUR-HUR. ...that is what you sound like. Like the wrong end of a gassy baby. And no, you are not even halfway this cute as you do it.

In fact, the prospect that you are typing these horrific, malformed lumps of language voluntarily and consciously is the only method I have left to cope with their existence. If I were, at any time, to believe that you truly thought that we should put our coats on hangars before we walked through the hanger, I would not only have to remove you as a Facebook friend but likely remove you from existence as well.

The F#*@ did you just say to me?

In the meantime, however, as I sip (shaking with caffeine or anger, I'm not quite sure) at my venti dark roast, pausing occasionally to type my next sentence or drop my heavy head into my shaking, defeated hands...

Wake me up when they're too old and brittle to use a keyboard.

...I will leave you with this. "Disorientated" is not the way you feel when you're confused or lost in the car. You are "disoriented". "Disorientated" means affecting this state on another person. It is a state which can be achieved by certain activities such as spinning a person around to disorientate them, which would thereby cause them to be disoriented.

Or, you know, maybe by slamming their heads into a wall a few times and then beating them senseless with a dictionary. That can disorientate a person too. 

...you know, so I've heard.

Life on a Budget # 1: The Grocery Store

I will be the first one to admit, I took a couple of days off over the Christmas break. ...okay, so I took almost three weeks off. But to be honest, I think I deserved it: it was my first Xmas break lasting longer than 5 days since pre-provincial team basketball circa 2000. Competitive basketball has been great, but it has also been very hard on me: I wish I could say it was a rare occurrence to fly home to Alberta on the 22nd and back to BC on Boxing Day morning, but it wasn't -- in fact, it was commonplace. And so, this year, I decided to spend as much time at home as I could -- 15 days, in fact -- and to spend the majority of it relaxing at home, helping my mom cook her amazing holiday dinners, and generally helping her out while also adding in a healthy dash of free time for myself.

Reindeer love carrots, and will wait patiently for them under the kitchen island for the entirety of the cooking process.

We gave Santa the option of cookies or a rawhide chew stick. Santa chose both.

But now, finally, blissfully, (painfully) things are getting back to normal. Gone is the hip-high prairie snow, the heated tile floor, the copious amounts of space, the tail-wagging, toe-licking foot warmer snuffling affectionately at my ankles; replacing them are hardwood, an unmade bed, pre-semester reading assignments, and (most importantly, and also most devastatingly) cooking for myself. On top of that, not only do I have to reacquaint myself with the process, but I have to purchase the necessary component parts -- and, try though he might to convince me, boyfriend's claim that frozen pizza and smoothie ingredients do a full refrigerator make is neither realistic nor palatable. Thus, a-shopping I must go.

And here, I stumble into yet another problem (oh joy! ...the sarcastic kind, not the awesome Christmas kind). After blowing a considerable amount of dough buying (albeit really super awesome!) Xmas gifts for my friends and family, I'm a little strapped for cash all of a sudden. I need money for edible, not gift-able, things, and it's sadly reawakened me to the fact that a grocery store (of all things!) can be a treacherous place for a spendthrift. 

My biggest problem? I like food -- the good kind. I'm not a glutton (I think...) but given the choice between fresh olives and canned, herbed goat cheese and Kraft powdered parmesan, and extra lean ground beef and the pink-and-grey marbled kind, I will choose the former 99% of the time (and the other 1% is usually if I know I'm just giving the finished dish away. But even then, pride usually wins out and I buy the good stuff anyways). Tack onto that the fact that boyfriend and I (boyfriend more by association) are pointedly healthy eaters, and navigating the enormous yellow aisles becomes even more terrifying than before (why is everybody pushing me?!). I have, however, over time -- and a great deal of coaching from dear mother -- managed to eke out a few standard rules that make life behind the squeaking grocery cart just that little bit easier (and cheaper!) to handle. And so, without further ado:

How to Shop at the Grocery Store with a Budget (and not Leave with 300 packages of Ramen Noodles)

1) Avoid processed foods. 

At first glance, those boxes of frozen gush look both simple and cheap ($3.00 apiece! Oh, boy!) but there are a few important things people rarely take into account: namely, size, quality, and packaging. Quality pretty much goes without question -- there's a reason those pictures on the front look so bloody appetizing, because these people know perfectly well you would never buy their product if they showed what it actually looked like inside.

This is the box.

This is why I'm no longer hungry.

And then there's the portion size. Yes, it says it's only 300 calories for creamy pasta, but there's a reason: the box is only about 2/3 full of food, and another 1/4 of that is made up of black plastic packaging. And even though it seems cheap, it's actually less so than you think: nearly 40% of that cost is based on the pretty picture and the square package, so you're really just paying for cardboard (and I don't just mean the guck they expect you to eat).

2) Not all meat is created equal. 

Yes, I will admit it: I prefer chicken breast to thigh, I like my ground beef extra lean, and I never buy meat pre-seasoned. But beyond that, there's something I do that few people seem to think about: I buy the cheapest package (but only of the best stuff).

Let me explain. A single package of chicken breasts is usually in the range of $14 per kilogram, and that's about six chicken breasts worth (which I usually buy in one go, then freeze individually). But within these packages, the individual prices can range from as low as $11 to as high as $17 -- but each box only contains six breasts. So which one do I buy? Why, the cheap one of course. Think of it like free portion control: chicken breasts are hefty pieces of meat. You only ever eat one chicken breast in one go, so why not buy one that's a measly 50g smaller in weight than the other? Not only are you saving calories, you're saving cost (and meat tends to add up fast).

Next, don't fall for the "I'll carve it myself and it'll be cheaper" crock. I did once, accidentally: I found a box of chicken breasts for nearly 2/3 of the price of the others, didn't look carefully enough at it, and took it home -- only to discover that it was bone-in. Oh, no matter, I thought: it's still cheaper, I'll just cut the bones out. And so I tried that. And I failed miserably. In fact, I failed so badly, that by the end of the process I had to pan-fry chicken pieces instead of baking the breasts like I wanted because I'd hacked them up so badly. And, on top of that (duh) when the bones were cleared out, they made up about 20% of my chicken -- weight that was still included in my price. Two lessons learned that day: 1), there is a reason butchers are certified professionals; and 2), there's a reason bone-in skin-on meat is cheaper: because you're paying for the weight of all the crap you won't eat, which means that all the different kinds of chicken breast are essentially the same price-per-weight.

3) Know your seasons.

My mom and I went grocery shopping while I was home for Christmas, and decided to pick up some fruit for dessert. Pineapples were on special (one of my favourites) and were also very good quality, because winter time is pineapple season. When we went to look at strawberries, however, we were shocked: where the average box of red, juicy berries averages $3 or so, these were priced at $8.99. Why? Strawberries are not in season, and so the cost of growing them is much higher (not to mention the quality goes way down). Google fruit and vegetable seasons to know when foods are both tastiest and cheapest, and make a point of having a wide variety of recipes so you can easily use whatever is most readily available (and affordable).

4) Finally, never shop unprepared (or hungry).

Studies have shown that the hungrier a grocery shopper is, the less likely he or she will be able to resist temptations for sweets, processed foods, and extra items. As well, bringing a list (and a snack) means that you rarely make impulse purchases, and less food gets wasted.

Even if you aren't 100% sure of what you are cooking for the whole week, try to plan at least 3 days' worth of meals and just shop more frequently. The fresher you buy your food, the better it will taste, and the less time it spends in your fridge or on your counter then the less likely you'll be to forget about it, let it go bad, and essentially throw (stinky) money down the drain.