Day 59
I am zen. I am zen. I am zen.
It's all good.
Whatev'
See? I am super cool. And it doesn't bother me in the slightest that two walls are in completely the wrong place. That's okay. I'm zen. I am so zen that I don't even care how they do it, just that they do it. Properly would be crazy awesome.
Every time our contractor comes upstairs and says, "We have an issue," I smile beatifically. I put a maniacally cheerful smile on my face and say, a little too brightly, "Well, let's go solve it!". He gives me a worried look because my eyes are slightly glazed over from my incredibly blissed-out state of zen. He most likely assumes otherwise. And I'm quite sure that's why walls sometimes go in the wrong places: he's told his crew that I am unpredictable and they should just get in and out as fast as possible. And don't make eye-contact.
And with a house as old as this, one would expect issues. I've come to learn that for every grimace or beard-scratch, it will be another thousand dollars.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Gmail is Freaking Me Out
So I sit down for the first time today and get ready to have a quick Gmail chat with Husband. I guiltily tuck into a Draft Root Beer (too much sugar but sooooo good) and the first sponsored links I see on my Gmail page are
BARIATRIC SURGERY
SPECIAL K CHALLENGE
and
KASHI: Cereal Nutritional Value.
And I say, "Come ON Gmail! It's just a root beer! One. Give me a break!"
And then I realize, I am a profoundly disturbed individual.
Exhibit A:
I am talking to my laptop
Exhibit B
I am assuming that it is sentient
Exhibit C
I am so paranoid that I think it's sentient and mean-spirited.
And this is why I am absolutely insane.
BARIATRIC SURGERY
SPECIAL K CHALLENGE
and
KASHI: Cereal Nutritional Value.
And I say, "Come ON Gmail! It's just a root beer! One. Give me a break!"
And then I realize, I am a profoundly disturbed individual.
Exhibit A:
I am talking to my laptop
Exhibit B
I am assuming that it is sentient
Exhibit C
I am so paranoid that I think it's sentient and mean-spirited.
And this is why I am absolutely insane.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Unexpected Item in Bagging Area
All the big chains are doing it. And it seemed like a good idea at the time. But in reality, it's a colossal pain in the ass.
The self-check-out. Isn't that what you do when passing a reflective surface and can't resist the urge to check your bad self out?
Why a self-check-out? What do cashiers do? I did the shopping - you do the checking out. It's always worked that way. Do you want me to go and make some cookies in the bakery too? Or grab some carts from the parking lot?
You start. A mellow female voice asks you, "Have you scanned your club card?"
Okay, here you go.
"Begin scanning items."
Wee. I can do this nooooo problem.
"Unexpected item in bagging area."
What? I didn't put anything in the bagging area! 'PLEASE REMOVE ITEM.'
There's nothing TO remove. What are you talking about? PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.
Okay. Fine. I'll wait. Tap tap tap....here comes assistance. The friendly lady with the weird eyebrows and the apron comes over to scan her card and all is well.
Until. UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA.
What? What do you mean it's 'unexpected'? You just scanned this! You know it's a head of lettuce. You just TOLD me it cost me ONE. FORTYNINE. I heard you say it all 'technical' like.
PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.
Okay. I will wait. Again.
Friendly lady with apron comes over again. We go through the entire process again.
And again. This happens nine times. I'm not kidding. Nine. This was quickly turning into unhappy hour. The line-up behind me was growing.
I start talking to the Self Checkout. I start asking it rhetorical questions. "Item removed from your douche-bagging area! C'mon! WORK with me!"
This system is quickly becoming the world's most expensive punching-bag.
After nine visits from the increasingly less-friendly cashier, I am finally done. I owe the machine $100.23. BECAUSE BILL EXCEEDS ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS, CUSTOMER ID REQUIRED. PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.
I can't feel my legs.
Self-checkout could also be a euphemism for suicide.
The self-check-out. Isn't that what you do when passing a reflective surface and can't resist the urge to check your bad self out?
Why a self-check-out? What do cashiers do? I did the shopping - you do the checking out. It's always worked that way. Do you want me to go and make some cookies in the bakery too? Or grab some carts from the parking lot?
You start. A mellow female voice asks you, "Have you scanned your club card?"
Okay, here you go.
"Begin scanning items."
Wee. I can do this nooooo problem.
"Unexpected item in bagging area."
What? I didn't put anything in the bagging area! 'PLEASE REMOVE ITEM.'
There's nothing TO remove. What are you talking about? PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.
Okay. Fine. I'll wait. Tap tap tap....here comes assistance. The friendly lady with the weird eyebrows and the apron comes over to scan her card and all is well.
Until. UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA.
What? What do you mean it's 'unexpected'? You just scanned this! You know it's a head of lettuce. You just TOLD me it cost me ONE. FORTYNINE. I heard you say it all 'technical' like.
PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.
Okay. I will wait. Again.
Friendly lady with apron comes over again. We go through the entire process again.
And again. This happens nine times. I'm not kidding. Nine. This was quickly turning into unhappy hour. The line-up behind me was growing.
I start talking to the Self Checkout. I start asking it rhetorical questions. "Item removed from your douche-bagging area! C'mon! WORK with me!"
This system is quickly becoming the world's most expensive punching-bag.
After nine visits from the increasingly less-friendly cashier, I am finally done. I owe the machine $100.23. BECAUSE BILL EXCEEDS ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS, CUSTOMER ID REQUIRED. PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.
I can't feel my legs.
Self-checkout could also be a euphemism for suicide.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Next Time: air travel
I've just had an AWESOME vacation to the place I wanted most to see in the world: Paris, France.
Sacre bleu, it was fantastic. I actually saw dudes on bicycles wearing suits and berets and carrying baguettes. I would not make that up. I make a lot of shit up, but that's not one of them.
There's much to chronicle, but for now, I keep chanting to myself: Make a List. All the things I wish I'd done differently. Please chime in. I, for one, am like Mr. T from the A Team who had to be tranquilized every time he went on a plane. I can totally relate to that, and I wouldn't refuse an offer of anesthetic on the rocks.
Stupidest Thing I Took To Europe:
-Ceramic hair straightener (just go with the flow)
-Jewelry (never wore)
-Too. Many. Clothes.
-Too. Many. Shoes.
Best Thing I Took To Europe:
-Gravol
-Military jacket
-Flat shoes
-Reversible dress
-Camera
Next time I'm on a plane, I hope to remember this:
-order a vegan meal in advance:
"Chicken or beef?""Chicken or beef?""Chicken or beef?""Chicken or beef?" Neither, thanks. Because I forgot to order a special meal in enough time, I had to make do. One kind attendant said, "Honey, aren't you hungry?" When I explained that I was vegetarian and forgot to order a meal, she said, "I'll see if I can find you something in the back". She brought me a cheese-drenched pasta dish. I was so hungry I was almost tempted to eat it. But I know what happens if I do that and since I was sitting in a window seat and would have to leap over two people and fight my way to the toilet IMMEDIATELY, I didn't risk it.
I have a friend who, for the past several years, has been working his way through all the special diets you can order from on planes. Just because. He's gone from Kosher to Fruitarian and says it doesn't matter what you order, as long as you order. It's always fresher and you always get served first. Done.
-buy a bottle of Gatorade. Or five.
Okay, you can't pack it because they'll confiscate it. Husband is convinced this serves two purposes: the theatre of safety and being able to charge you seventeen dollars for a bottle of water. What I had forgotten is just how much moisture gets sucked out of your body on a plane. If I were a grape, I'd be a raisin a few hours later. Gatorade tastes like vomit, but it does rehydrate you. Possibly even better than water in this case. And get a seat near the loo.
-earplugs
This makes a HUGE difference. I didn't use them on the flight over and it's pretty hard to sleep with a jet engine running. They help. A lot. Especially if there are people chatting up a storm nearby.
-Gas-X
Changes in cabin pressure can make you gassy. If you're on a weird schedule, have been eating strange food and your system is out of whack, plane-travel can make you a time bomb. Sorry to whomever has to sit near me. I'll take some Gas-X next time. The ginger tea did NUTHIN'....
-lip balm
Grape to raisin again. What is WITH that? I was putting it on every 30 minutes!
Other Tips:
Travel with someone calm. (I don't recommend myself at all.)
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Operation Basement Storm 2
An open letter to the City of New Westminster:
Dear City,
Hi! How are you? We're fine. Because now that we have met your plumbing inspector twice, we're, like, changed people.
Oh, it was so funny! I love your sense of humour - it's like you know just how to punk someone but good! On June 23 your Plumbing Inspector Jason made an on-site inspection of our project with regard to drain tile and its sustainability in our basement renovation. That was a big sentence!
He was all friendly and fun and he said to our contractor, "Yeah, totally, man - go ahead with the framing and concrete pouring! Pour that concrete! It'll be awesome!"
So our contractor, who's one of those naive and trusting dudes did it, and we paid him for it.
Here's the hilarious part: today Jason comes back, and he's all "No way dude! I changed my mind. This has all gotta come out!" So we're all laughing, ha ha ha. You can't just get concrete to 'come out' no matter how much it likes show tunes. It's pretty solid, you know?! Man, that guy's a card.
Then he's all, "I cannot authorize the work to continue unless my directions are followed," and we're laughing so hard we're crying. "Hahaha! Like our project is on hold now and we still have to pay for your fuck-up!" Pffft! Imagine!
Contractor's looking at me with the saddest eyes.
Dude.
No.
Well. Okay. But we've all make mistakes! It's okay as long as we take responsibility for them.
So we have forwarded the invoice for the work Jason instructed to be done, and are certain that the City of New Westminster will reimburse us for this.
WE CAN PLAY TOO, DOUCHEBAGS!
Dear City,
Hi! How are you? We're fine. Because now that we have met your plumbing inspector twice, we're, like, changed people.
Oh, it was so funny! I love your sense of humour - it's like you know just how to punk someone but good! On June 23 your Plumbing Inspector Jason made an on-site inspection of our project with regard to drain tile and its sustainability in our basement renovation. That was a big sentence!
He was all friendly and fun and he said to our contractor, "Yeah, totally, man - go ahead with the framing and concrete pouring! Pour that concrete! It'll be awesome!"
So our contractor, who's one of those naive and trusting dudes did it, and we paid him for it.
Here's the hilarious part: today Jason comes back, and he's all "No way dude! I changed my mind. This has all gotta come out!" So we're all laughing, ha ha ha. You can't just get concrete to 'come out' no matter how much it likes show tunes. It's pretty solid, you know?! Man, that guy's a card.
Then he's all, "I cannot authorize the work to continue unless my directions are followed," and we're laughing so hard we're crying. "Hahaha! Like our project is on hold now and we still have to pay for your fuck-up!" Pffft! Imagine!
Contractor's looking at me with the saddest eyes.
Dude.
No.
Well. Okay. But we've all make mistakes! It's okay as long as we take responsibility for them.
So we have forwarded the invoice for the work Jason instructed to be done, and are certain that the City of New Westminster will reimburse us for this.
WE CAN PLAY TOO, DOUCHEBAGS!
Monday, June 28, 2010
main-lining lentil soup.
Mealtime is a celebration, an occasion to come together as a family to nourish the body, mind and soul. It is also a time to teach children about nutrition and manners, how to have polite conversations. Any disagreements are handled within a framework of reason and dialogue.
And maybe a few tantrums for good measure.
The latter is the norm in our house. I dreamed of mealtime celebrations. Instead, I usually have indigestion. So now I'm sitting here at Wit's End waiting for help to arrive.
Parenting 911: What is the nature of your emergency?
ME: My kids refuse to eat anything that isn't cereal.
Parenting 911: Do they eat melted cheese?
ME: Yes. That too. Sorry.
Parenting 911: It's okay. Just calm down. What exactly did you put in front of them on the table?
ME: Uh...uh...hang on...it was...a...lentil soup.
Parenting 911: Homemade or store-bought?
ME: Homemade.
Parenting 911: Oh dear. That's more serious then. Because you've taken out the massive sodium content of a packaged soup, so they're less likely to eat it now.
ME: (sobbing) I know! I know! I just want them to be healthy! I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. Can I get an IV so that I can get these vitamins and minerals into them?
Parenting 911: It's okay Ma'am. We've never heard of anyone main-lining lentil soup. Have you tried bribing them with dessert?
ME: Yes.
Parenting 911: Alright that's not recommended either. You have probably made it worse.
ME: Oh my God! They're only little! What HAVE I DONE!?!
Parenting 911: I've got help on the way...stay on the line with me until they arrive, okay?
ME: Okay. It's just that... I didn't know what else to do!
Parenting 911: We're going to do everything we can, okay? Okay? Are you still with me? Ma'am?
ME: Hang on! I'm having a heated argument with my husband. There's a blame-storm going on over here now too!
Parenting 911: Oh, Jesus! Send out an APB, we've got an attempted food bribery in progress, and a blame-storm. Use Caution! I repeat USE CAUTION!
I WISH, there was a Parenting 911 and they'd actually come over and I could hand it over and say, "I'm outta here. Have fun!" But nay. Mealtime is a source of agony and I don't know how to handle it. So I blog.
The parenting books say, "Kids learn to listen to their bodies and it's important because a toddler who is in the habit of listening to her own body will resist unwanted sexual acts, self-destruction and drug abuse. Forcing a kid to eat when her body tells her she is full gives the message: "What you feel doesn't count. I know what you do and do not need" So she's more likely to cave into peer pressure later."
This made PERFECT sense to me. I shared it with Husband who dismissed it with, "She's not full. She just doesn't want to eat peas."
That also makes perfect (I hate to admit it) sense.
So then the experts say, "Give options with limits.". Okay, "Would you like to have your soup in your mouth or shoved up your nose?" Either way - this soup is getting in there.
I grew up in a household that insisted on a clean plate before you left the table. I hated it. The addition of a family dog who was equally sly was the greatest thing that happened to me. Until my parents caught on and the dog and I were both in trouble. He got over it WAY faster than I did and I'm sure he didn't pass on his food issues to his puppies. But he also ate his own barf.
Regardless, I made a vow to myself that I would never do that to my kids. But now, there's a part of me that says, "Why the hell not?" The conscientious part says, "Because it's torture and your children won't have positive associations with food..." Blah blah blah
What this boils down to is control. If I can't master this now, what will this lead to in the teen years?
Our house is a normal house, right? I mean apart from the vegan thing, which, let's face it - is pretty unusual. And my kids knew what life was like before Mummy went all Vegan Health Whacko. They remember the days of pork loin...and chocolate-chip cookies for dessert. Not so much anymore. I'm okay with them eating that kind of stuff somewhere else, (well, not really, but it's not a battle I choose not to fight). But since I'm the cook, I make what I gotta make. I mean, I hear ya, sistahs. But lump it.
I am flat out of ideas. I need your help! Help me Obi Wan! Or all my amazing readers! Chime in!
And maybe a few tantrums for good measure.
The latter is the norm in our house. I dreamed of mealtime celebrations. Instead, I usually have indigestion. So now I'm sitting here at Wit's End waiting for help to arrive.
Parenting 911: What is the nature of your emergency?
ME: My kids refuse to eat anything that isn't cereal.
Parenting 911: Do they eat melted cheese?
ME: Yes. That too. Sorry.
Parenting 911: It's okay. Just calm down. What exactly did you put in front of them on the table?
ME: Uh...uh...hang on...it was...a...lentil soup.
Parenting 911: Homemade or store-bought?
ME: Homemade.
Parenting 911: Oh dear. That's more serious then. Because you've taken out the massive sodium content of a packaged soup, so they're less likely to eat it now.
ME: (sobbing) I know! I know! I just want them to be healthy! I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. Can I get an IV so that I can get these vitamins and minerals into them?
Parenting 911: It's okay Ma'am. We've never heard of anyone main-lining lentil soup. Have you tried bribing them with dessert?
ME: Yes.
Parenting 911: Alright that's not recommended either. You have probably made it worse.
ME: Oh my God! They're only little! What HAVE I DONE!?!
Parenting 911: I've got help on the way...stay on the line with me until they arrive, okay?
ME: Okay. It's just that... I didn't know what else to do!
Parenting 911: We're going to do everything we can, okay? Okay? Are you still with me? Ma'am?
ME: Hang on! I'm having a heated argument with my husband. There's a blame-storm going on over here now too!
Parenting 911: Oh, Jesus! Send out an APB, we've got an attempted food bribery in progress, and a blame-storm. Use Caution! I repeat USE CAUTION!
I WISH, there was a Parenting 911 and they'd actually come over and I could hand it over and say, "I'm outta here. Have fun!" But nay. Mealtime is a source of agony and I don't know how to handle it. So I blog.
The parenting books say, "Kids learn to listen to their bodies and it's important because a toddler who is in the habit of listening to her own body will resist unwanted sexual acts, self-destruction and drug abuse. Forcing a kid to eat when her body tells her she is full gives the message: "What you feel doesn't count. I know what you do and do not need" So she's more likely to cave into peer pressure later."
This made PERFECT sense to me. I shared it with Husband who dismissed it with, "She's not full. She just doesn't want to eat peas."
That also makes perfect (I hate to admit it) sense.
So then the experts say, "Give options with limits.". Okay, "Would you like to have your soup in your mouth or shoved up your nose?" Either way - this soup is getting in there.
I grew up in a household that insisted on a clean plate before you left the table. I hated it. The addition of a family dog who was equally sly was the greatest thing that happened to me. Until my parents caught on and the dog and I were both in trouble. He got over it WAY faster than I did and I'm sure he didn't pass on his food issues to his puppies. But he also ate his own barf.
Regardless, I made a vow to myself that I would never do that to my kids. But now, there's a part of me that says, "Why the hell not?" The conscientious part says, "Because it's torture and your children won't have positive associations with food..." Blah blah blah
What this boils down to is control. If I can't master this now, what will this lead to in the teen years?
Our house is a normal house, right? I mean apart from the vegan thing, which, let's face it - is pretty unusual. And my kids knew what life was like before Mummy went all Vegan Health Whacko. They remember the days of pork loin...and chocolate-chip cookies for dessert. Not so much anymore. I'm okay with them eating that kind of stuff somewhere else, (well, not really, but it's not a battle I choose not to fight). But since I'm the cook, I make what I gotta make. I mean, I hear ya, sistahs. But lump it.
I am flat out of ideas. I need your help! Help me Obi Wan! Or all my amazing readers! Chime in!
Friday, June 18, 2010
The Butterfly Effect
I've read about the chaos theory. This was developed in France by Henri Poincaré in 1890 when he was renovating his basement.
The butterfly effect is some kind of metaphor that encapsulates the concept of sensitive dependence on initial conditions in chaos theory; namely that small differences in the initial condition of a dynamical system may produce large variations in the long term behavior of the system. What this means is that once you take away someone's washer and dryer, they lose the will to live.
You'd think these two are completely unrelated but nay. I used to eat healthy food for breakfast. Today? School chalk and a cup of coffee. Because I have no washing machine. Bear with me...
Although this may appear to be unusual behavior, according to Wikipedia it makes perfect sense: for example, a ball placed at the crest of a hill might roll into any of several valleys depending on slight differences in initial position. But if one of those valleys is renovating its basement, it will likely go there and explode into a million peices causing the owners of the valley to stab themselves repeatedly with forks.
Where do butterflies come into it? The theory is that one butterfly could have a far-reaching ripple-effect on everything. Philip Merilees said, Does the flap of a butterfly’s wings in Brazil set off a tornado in Texas? And the resounding conclusion was, "Who the hell cares, where's my washing machine!?"
All my self-soothing platitudes like, "It's only downstairs, it won't affect us at all" are utter bullshit of course. I just didn't realize it would cause me to lose all interest in tidiness and organization. I don't care what I wear because I can't find anything clean under the mountain of clothes in my closet. And when that happens, I don't put things away, my kitchen becomes ruled by crumbs, and the dog is allowed on the furniture.
The butterfly effect is some kind of metaphor that encapsulates the concept of sensitive dependence on initial conditions in chaos theory; namely that small differences in the initial condition of a dynamical system may produce large variations in the long term behavior of the system. What this means is that once you take away someone's washer and dryer, they lose the will to live.
You'd think these two are completely unrelated but nay. I used to eat healthy food for breakfast. Today? School chalk and a cup of coffee. Because I have no washing machine. Bear with me...
Although this may appear to be unusual behavior, according to Wikipedia it makes perfect sense: for example, a ball placed at the crest of a hill might roll into any of several valleys depending on slight differences in initial position. But if one of those valleys is renovating its basement, it will likely go there and explode into a million peices causing the owners of the valley to stab themselves repeatedly with forks.
Where do butterflies come into it? The theory is that one butterfly could have a far-reaching ripple-effect on everything. Philip Merilees said, Does the flap of a butterfly’s wings in Brazil set off a tornado in Texas? And the resounding conclusion was, "Who the hell cares, where's my washing machine!?"
All my self-soothing platitudes like, "It's only downstairs, it won't affect us at all" are utter bullshit of course. I just didn't realize it would cause me to lose all interest in tidiness and organization. I don't care what I wear because I can't find anything clean under the mountain of clothes in my closet. And when that happens, I don't put things away, my kitchen becomes ruled by crumbs, and the dog is allowed on the furniture.
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