Resolving Timeline Issues

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Hey! It’s Moving Day! I registered my own domain and transferred all the stuff over there!

So you’ll need to change your bookmarks to point to http://resolvingtimelineissues.ca, the new home of Resolving Timeline Issues.

The new feed will be there shortly, so update your feed readers from there.

So last Saturday, there was a tweetup/meetup/whatever over at Timbre Restaurant on Commercial Drive (and I totally recommend the crab cakes benny). They were very accommodating, especially since there’d been a miscommunication about the number of kids who would be there. All the kids were very well behaved.

Anyways, it was fun. I acquired a bunch of clothes for the Poptart from Michelle. The only reason the Poptart has to be upset now is that she has no good reason to go around naked all the time any more. :)

You can check out these other people for more details because I had one glass too many of wine last night and woke up with a headache:

Musings From Mt. Rogo

Strocel.com

Scatteredmom

Michelle Kent Photography

The Tsunami Mommy

A Lot of Loves

See Theo Run

Muggabug

Crunchy Carpets

Left Coast Mama

(List shamelessly stolen from Scatteredmom – who bakes really good cookies:

Also, in blog news I registered, or attempted to register, my own domain last night. It’s currently cued for manual processing (I have no idea what that means) so keep an eye out to where to redirect your feeders, bookmarks, etc. Maybe. :)

The loonie store is a wondrous place. I found these salad containers there – they have a compartment in the lid where you put your dressing so when you’re ready to eat, you just push this button on top, and pop! the dressing goes into the container below (hopefully you put some salad in there first). Give it a shake and your salad is ready to eat (so long as you have a fork. I suppose you could use your hands, but that would get messy).

My point is, you never know what you’re going to find at the loonie store. And wouldn’t you be interested in finding out what other people’s loonie stores carry? OMG. Loonie store nirvana.

If you do and you want to participate in an exchange, pop on over to Just One Miss’  Dollar Store Challenge (yes, it originates in the US so it’s a “dollar store” not a “loonie store” – although I find our name much more entertaining).

The way it works: you leave a comment, and you’ll be contacted via email for your mailing address and then you’ll be paired up with someone. Take $20 and go to the loonie store and buy some stuff. Put it in a box and mail it to the person you were matched up with. You’ll receive a box too. Then you can blog about it. Or whatever.

But Miss wants more Canadians! So go. Comment. And sign up by March 10 (that’s Wednesday, people).

You’re running out of time to RSVP for the meetup/tweetup/whatever. If you want to go, you have to fill out the form by Thursday, March 4th. Otherwise, you won’t be able to hang out with some uber-cool people like Scatteredmom (who is bringing these cookies! if that doesn’t make you want to show up, I don’t know what will); Left Coast Mama; Amber; Carrie; Zoeyjane (whose name is actually Terra); Crunchy Carpets (whose name is also Kerry but spelled differently) and a bunch of other people (sorry I didn’t include everyone but I’m getting tired of making links). Oh and the Poptart will be there.

So go. Sign up. Have fun and hang with some really cool people for a bit and have some brunch.

Logistics:

Date: Saturday March 6, 2010
Time: 11:00am (please be on time as much as possible!)
Place: Timbre Restaurant, 2068 Commercial Drive, Vancouver BC

As Canadians, we’re thought of as apologetic. Humble, even, sometimes (and good god, isn’t that arrogant of me? :)). We set out to Own the Podium this year in the 2010 Vancouver Olympics. That is, the program wanted us to win the most medals overall beating out our neighbours to the South even. Well, we didn’t. And really, at having roughly 10 times the population of us and a much larger pool of athletes to draw from, they should have a lot more medals than us.

We ended up with 26 (including both men’s and women’s hockey gold medals. We own hockey again!). The US put in a really good show (gotta love the Flying Tomato) and ended up with 37, the most medals ever at any Olympic games. Germany (who also has a much larger population than Canada) ended up with 30.

So the Own the Podium people said the program didn’t meet it’s objectives. But you know what, peanuts?

What? says the peanut gallery.

We have the most gold medals EVER at any single Olympic games. EVER. That’s a pretty good feeling and accomplishment for a country with about 33 million people in it. Own the Podium? Yeah, I’d say we own the podium with a golden post-o glow.

This week’s Girl Talk Thursday is about getting your bitch on. Let it all out. Please note, there is more than one f-bomb in here.

I’d normally have posted yesterday, but yesterday I really didn’t have anything to bitch about. My life is pretty good. The thing I’m going to bitch about offends me deeply, on a fundamental level.

That thing happens to be Jacques Rogge. And the IOC in general.

Last night, the Canadian Women’s Hockey Team beat their US counterparts in the Olympic Gold Medal game. And I say beat rather than “won against” because the Canadian ladies blanked the US ladies 2-0. It was awesome and I am so incredibly proud of our women for dominating the game from the outset.

After the game, they got their beer on and went out onto the ice after all the spectators had left and climbed on the zamboni. And the IOC is all offended by this, and Hockey Canada, being Canadian has apologized.

NEWSFLASH: Hockey players like to drink beer after the game! Also, the sky is blue!

THEN, and OMG my blood pressure (for real this time), Jacques Rogge says something about how women’s hockey will have to become more international and widespread and not so dominated by two countries if it is to stay in the Olympics.

Really, Jacques? Really? Never mind that it took half a century for men’s hockey to become internationally competitive.

And how dare you, you arrogant prick – you couldn’t even wait until after the Olympics were said and done and let the women have their moment?

Fuck you, Jacques Rogge. You owe an apology to all female hockey players, especially the Canadian and American women, who, through no fault of their own, grew up playing with the boys and men. This is how they train. How about the IOC put money where their mouth is to encourage women in other countries to train with the men, and allow girls into boys’ leagues like they do here?

You also owe an apology to the Finnish women who are spectacular in their own right, and all the women all over the world who have fought against cultural stances that may prevent women from participating in traditionally male-dominated sports.

And you owe an apology to Canada and the US – for being so disrespectful that you can’t even let us have our moment.

Fuck you, Jacques Rogge.

Amber’s subject on Crafting her Life this week is time management; specifically, how we do it with kids. I’d already decided years ago that, when I had a kid, he/she would be the priority and if dinner didn’t get made so be it. That’s what the delivery menus on top of the fridge are for. The only thing I’m persnickety about is toilets. The toilets get cleaned without fail every week.

I have this recurring idea about tying swiffer cloths to the baby’s knees so that she’ll swiffer the floor when she crawls around, but she’d probably eat them. And while it’s good to get more fibre in your diet, I’m not sure that’s the kind of fibre they mean. Instead, I have a roomba which I love to no end. I just clear the floor, set up the virtual walls if necessary, turn it on and leave the house for an hour or more. It’s awesome and gets about 90% of the stuff, which meets my “Good Enough” standard.

My theory is, make as much time as you can. Cut corners. Like, leave the spilled cheerios on the floor if they’re not too much in the way – the baby will eat them later anyways. We call these floorios. (Hey, the floor’s clean; I ran the roomba!)

You may know this by now, but I hate cooking. I can do it, and I’m pretty decent at it, I just hate it. The chopping, the prepping, the CONSTANT WASHING OF THE HANDS AND OMG, MY CUTICLES. There’s a reason those cooking shows make it look so easy: they have entire teams of people to do the prep work for them.

At least once a week, usually twice, I’ll make a chunk of meat for us to eat. Usually a chicken, often a roast if I have one in the freezer, and I usually have at least one. Because I’m hate cooking (and really, the constant basting with a chicken is just a pain in the butt), I’ll often use my crockpot. In the past, I always managed to overcook the meat, resulting in tough chicken and tougher roasts.

Awhile back I ordered a crockpot with my airmiles that has a meat thermometer. And it has automatic settings for beef, poultry and other things (venison, maybe? not that we eat Bambi).  And it’s brainless. Season the meat however you like (if you’re making a chicken, put in a rack or make 7 or 8 balls of tinfoil and put them in the bottom with the chicken on top), tie the legs of the chicken if necessary, shove the thermometer in, and cycle through the “Auto” settings until you get to the one you want.

I’m still not sold on beef roast in the crockpot, but the chicken comes out falling-apart tender (no really, I was removing one from the crockpot and it literally fell apart down the middle and onto the floor, which was really annoying and the Poptart learned some new words that day which I’m hoping she won’t remember).

Today, I mixed up some garlic, brown sugar, olive oil and some spices, slapped it on and in the chicken, tied the bird up and threw it in the pot. It’s almost done now, and it took me all of 5 minutes preparation.

That bird will be sandwiches for Darren’s lunch tomorrow, salad on Saturday at lunch, and salad or sandwiches for lunch on Sunday.

So I cut a few corners, and consider it Good Enough, and I get a few minutes extra to myself. Or to play with the baby. Or drag my neighbour out for a walk while I schlep the baby on my back.

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