Resolving Timeline Issues

Archive for February 2010

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.

So awhile back, scatteredmom and I had a conversation about a tweetup/meetup/whatever in March. And like anything on Twitter, it sort of exploded (but in a good way! It’s great to see that people want to get together). Most of the tweetups/meetups/whatevers seem to be downtown or on the west side so we thought we’d change things up and head for East Vancouver. Specifically, Commercial Drive.

So Crunchy Carpets sent me a tweet awhile later suggesting Timbre Restaurant. I eventually got ahold of them and we have a date and time set! Finally! It took so long because teething is hell and I needed someplace that was licensed because it’s always happy hour somewhere (but that’s a different post, entirely).

Date: Saturday March 6, 2010
Time: 11:00am
Place: Timbre Restaurant, 2068 Commercial Drive, Vancouver BC

RSVP by March 4 (see below)

I’ve told the guys at Timbre that we’ll be about 20 people, so please to click here and  fill out the form by March 4 . I’m sure they’ll be accommodating if we’re a bit over.

Note: this is not just directed to moms! Bring spouses! come by yourself! All welcome! 🙂

This week’s GTT is all about the Olympics. Of the non-athletic variety. Nerd Olympics, if you will.

Everyone knows I live in the Vancouver suburbs, right? It is All Olympics, All The Time, and frankly I’m a wee bit tired of it. Olympicked out, if you will. Isn’t three days enough? or one?

I am, after all, the queen of Try Almost Anything Once (with the exceptions of heroin and crack and other illegal substances and various other things that offend my not-so-delicate sensibilities). In fact, if Trying Almost Anything Once was an Olympic event, I’d get a gold medal.

What would you medal in?

I wrote a bit back about my pet driving peeves. And while these tend to make my blood boil, there’s one other thing that really, really, bugs me.

I am a grammar queen.

“Could have”, people, not “could of”. Hell, I’ll even accept “could’ve”.

Know the difference between their, there, and there they’re.

OMG, my blood pressure.

Which brings me to my issue with CTV’s Olympic Song: “I believe”

It bugs me. Okay, so I’m a bit of a metalhead, but that’s not the reason the song bugs me. It bugs me because it’s gramatically incorrect, all for the sake of a rhyme:

I believe in the power that comes
From a world brought together as one
I believe together we’ll fly
I believe in the power of you and I

It’s you and me. You wouldn’t say “I believe in the power of I” would you?

And this bad grammar is being broadcast all across Canada and around the world.


When I was in university, I had this professor who we’ll call James (because that was his name). He was an interesting character and a social constructivist. Which simply means that he believes we shape and in turn are also shaped by the world we live in. James explained this by using the example of diamonds. Diamonds, you see, are not valuable in and of themselves. They are only valuable because we assign value to them. They are therefore not worth buying.

I asked him what his wife thought of this. He laughed and moved on to the next student.

About a year later, I was picking up something from his house. He wasn’t home, so his wife helped me. She had the biggest diamond on her wedding/engagement set I’d ever seen. I guess I know who won that argument.

Call me a pessimist or jaded, but I tend to view Valentine’s day in much the same way. That is, it’s a social construct: it’s valuable because we (and Hallmark) have assigned value to it. That it’s the one day out of the year where we have to tell those we love that we love them. That we do things for them that we’d normally never do on any other day.

Bitter? Maybe a little. Neither Darren, nor myself are over-the-top romantics. I’d rather let him know every day that I love him and appreciate him for all he does. Isn’t that what being in a relationship is about, anyways?

I make no secret of the fact that I started getting along a lot better with my parents, particularly my father, when they moved out on me.* My dad and I are just waaaay too much alike to get along well for long periods of time. Although I find that since I’ve been on zoloft, he is much more bearable.** Or maybe that’s the other way around. Regardless, we get along better now, likely due to a combination of distance and medication.

And that long introduction is to say that over the past 15 (?!!) years, we’d see each other over long weekends, holidays, etc. I’d usually drive to their place and could leave when I wanted to because I had my car. We’d email once a week and my mom would call once a week or so. Except when they took off to Mexico every year and then I’d be lucky to get an email once every three weeks.

Since having the Poptart, however, they have been visiting. A lot. Not that I mind because hey, free childcare and the Poptart gets to see her grandparents. I just find it a bit strange that over the past 15 years of weekly phone calls (maybe) and emails (maybe) they suddenly start visiting once a month so grandma can get her baby fix.

And it is abundantly clear that the purpose of the trips are to visit their grandchild. Which is absolutely wonderful. My dad is a completely different person around her and my mom absolutely loves playing with and talking to her. It was only over Christmas that she finally made friends with my dad and he nearly started crying when he was finally able to hold her.

And they are coming into town today, despite swearing to avoid the area during the Olympics.

And it is wonderful.

*No, really. They moved out on me. They bought a condo in the city where I stayed while in university, and retired to their property up north. I didn’t pay rent, but I paid all the other bills, including the property taxes.

**He is also clinically depressed, but refuses to take antidepressants or go to counseling. His medication of choice is Glenfiddich – not to excess mind you, just enough to take the edge off at the end of the day.

So this week’s topic on Girl Talk Thursday are the things you’re too chicken to do. While there are obvious things, like heroin or agreeing with Sarah Palin, here’s a top 5 list of Things You Will Never, Ever See Me Do Because I Am a Princess:

5. Be on a show like “Survivor”: really. I just enjoy my creature comforts too much and hate bugs with the fire of 10,000 suns.

4. Camping: see above re: creature comforts and bugs. Add to that campfires. They’re just gross. The whole “living off the land” just isn’t me. I mean, food comes from the supermarket, right?

3. Take a Math Class: I haven’t taken math since second year university. Math, she is not my strength. I am wrestling with this one though, because I would like to be confident doing math. I really would. Math scares the bejeezus out of me.

2. Pet a bumblebee: my mother does this and it gives me the heebie-jeebies. She actually pets them. See above re: insects. There are few things worse than buzzy insects. In fact, the one thing I can think of is my number one.

1. Pet, hold or otherwise touch a snake. Darren will often regale me with the tale of how he once caught a garder snake and took it to his mother (after he showed it to his father who cringed and said, “Go show your mother” – good man); she was making burgers, or something. She took the snake, stuffed some meat in its mouth and sent Darren on his way with the snake.

Really. That story just makes my skin crawl. I’m the person you see running full tilt out of the aquarium where they have the various snakes behind tempered glass.

The scene in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone where the snake comes out of it’s cage?????? OMG, just kill me. I watch it through my fingers.

And don’t get me started on “Snakes on a Plane.” Yes, I watched it. And I cringed and jumped all over the place. And then went and scrubbed myself with a brillo pad in the shower because EW.

Which sounds like a really good idea right now. GAH.

The scene: in the car, dropping Left Coast Mama off and preparing to go in to pick up the Poptart:

Me: Oh, a meter.
Left Coast Mama: Oh that’s okay. They don’t monitor the meters at 6:15pm on a Sunday.
Me: Right.

20 minutes later, I get back to the car, put the Poptart in and find this gift on my windshield:

Famous Last Words

(Click to embiggen if you like).

Edited to add: in no way am I blaming Left Coast Mama, who arranged for a group of us to go to High Tea at the Secret Garden, and whose husband, the ever-gentlemanly @AnthonyFloyd, took care of the Poptart for a couple of hours.

I just happen to have the worst parking luck ever. I almost always luck out and find a spot, but am prone to getting parking tickets. Like the time I parked (illegally) to dash into a bakery for 5 minutes, came back out and found a By-law officer writing me a ticket. I hopped in the car and drove off before they could say anything though. And then there was the time on Commercial Drive when the meter expired 10 minutes before I got there and I had a ticket. On a Sunday. At 5pm.

February 2010


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