Obsession

Alright, alright, I've been really preachy the last week or so. Sorry about that. Well, not really sorry, more like, I'll take a little break from it, ok?
There is something about September that is very calming. Unless you are me, in which case total obsession about new apartment has worked its way into every living, friggin breathing moment of the day.
Having plenty of wonderful friends is a blessing and many of them have gotten in touch in the past few days, bringing tales of good fortune such as new babies and new jobs. My response?
I HAVE A NEW APARTMENT WE ARE MOVING IT IS SO GREAT I AM SO EXCITED IT HAS A HUGE LIVING ROOM. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? WE OWN AN APARTMENT! WE HAVE TO REDO THE BATHROOM I THINK I MEAN IT DOESN'T ACTUALLY LOOK BAD BUT THERE ARE TILES THAT...THEN IN THE NEW APARTMENT YOU'LL COME STAY RIGHT? IT IS SO WONDERF... Hello? Hello? Are you there? Hello?
Oddly enough they don't seem any happier when I switch into my second and third favorite topics; feminism and politics. Hm.
I hereby promise to bite my tounge when it comes to apartments and if anybody needs a soap box I have one for sale.

Manly Girl

It turns out there are plenty of young gentlemen who are angry at obstinate feminists. So it is not just a matter of age. Perhaps I was WRONG? Nah, just kidding.
Last night I went to the first FI (Feminists of Iceland) meeting of the season. The meeting was packed and the speakers were members of parliament, one representative per political party. Most of it was the regular yada yada "we are all working towards a more egalitarian, integrated society" blah blah. Some of it was really interesting, one party does not have a problem with putting down a 50% rule, meaning that all parties must have a 50% female election list. I don't even agree with that but hey, fine by me. One party has no problem with the lack of women holding public offices and that there is no reason why more than 2 of the 9 supreme court judges should be women. Fine, I won't be voting for them any time soon. One party wants to make domestic violence an offence where the police are entitled to remove the offender form the home, not just depending on whether the victim presses charges.
There quite a few men in the audience, which made me really happy.
This morning, one of them posted message on the feminist message board. He stated a number of things:

• that the woman who greeted him at the meeting was as skinny as a model (and that is important because...?)
• that the idea for ending domestic violence was horrible, because what he does in his home is his business. Which I will kindly remember if he ever enters my home.
• that feminists are not for meritocracy - which is really funny considering that one of the topics of discussion was the woman judge who was not appointed to the supreme court even though her CV far surpassed the judge's who was appointed (and oddly enough happened to be the prime minister's cousin)
• that he was really mad.

Yes, I agree, he is mad. I can totally understand that my feminist ideas are not for everyone. But to get your undies in a bundle because desperate measures are needed to end domestic violence? Oh, buddy.
Makes me wanna cry like the manly girl that I am.

You Say That Like it's a Bad Thing.

It has been brought to my attention that I am opinionated and full of myself. Really?
Also I have been told that I am an obstinate feminist. Really?
And once, someone told me I avoid arguments. Really?

The three statements have two things in common:
A) They were made by men of a certain age.
B) They were made to sound as if they were bad things.

What these gentlemen fail to understand is that these are things I like about myself. I have no interest in changing them.
I am opinionated, I have opinions and I express them.
I am full of myself, who else should I be full of?
I am most decidedly an obstinate feminist and I will wear that on a T-shirt if needed.
I do avoid arguments because I often fail to see the point of them - but I think that statement is made all the more funny in light of the other two.

Sometimes, men of a certain age have grown so accustomed to having things their way, that when somebody (read: younger woman) comes along who doesn't give them the proper amount of adoration, they simply don't know what to do. Except feel the need to express their displeasure.
However, I don't see them saying the same thing to men my age. Men my age, who have the same problems with authority as I have, are generally described as assertive and passionate.
An exercise I often entertain, when I feel that a particular approach seems patronizing, is that I simply consider what the effect would be if this were said to a man. And true enough, most of the time the result is that those words would not be used.
More importantly, I usually know I am doing something right once the old geezers start belly aching.

We have a Winner

It had to happen, after all the panic, anxiety and cardboard box purchasing; we bought an apartment.
I am petrified. I have never been more nervous in my life, nor have I ever owned anything more valuable than a computer - and that was a gift. Even my bike was bought at the annual police auction from the lost and found.
I keep trying to calm myself down with the thought that the bank actually owns 80% of it.

It is not helping.

I have gonged the gong bowl.

I switched to 70% decaf.

Watched funny movies.

I have stretched, practiced yoga, applied acupressure, eaten healthy.

I have read every newspaper I know online to make myself grateful for how blessed we are.
I have looked into all the self help books I have lying around (and that is a lot of books), I've gone to the library.
I have knitted.
I have organized the bills, the tool box, the sowing kit.
I have made a couple of different iron-on decals.
I have ironed on the iron-on decals.
It is not helping.
There is no help for how to deal with horror that overwhelms you when you actually fulfill a life long dream.
I felt a similar tingle when we got married, but I thought that was just the whole big hoopla that always surrounds weddings. Also, there was a slight hint of this when I got my degree. But this is now three days of tummy-ache-hand-wringing-jaw-clenching-craziness.
There is no question that the apartment isn't the right one, I knew it was, just like I never doubted that I wanted to spend my life with my husband and that I wanted to get a degree even though it definitely shook up our lives.
This is the one.

In Fact this does resemble the early days of courtship far more than any materialistic satisfaction I was expecting.
Could it be I'm falling in love with an apartment?