Resolving Timeline Issues

Archive for the ‘Humour’ Category

This was originally going to be about the Calgary Flames and the Abbotsford Heat jumping the queue for the swine flu vaccine, but this conversation is much more entertaining:

Darren (glancing over at the title to this post): Don’t include the Icehogs in that.

Me (blank look): Who?

Darren: The Icehogs. They’re Chicago’s farm team.

Me: [raises eyebrows]

Darren: Yeah, they’re getting new jerseys. They’re going to have a picture of a hog with a surgical mask.

rockfordiceswine(Image shamelessly taken from the Blackhawks chat boards)

 

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While watching the news with a clip of Stephen Harper singing and tickling the ivories at the National Arts Centre:

Stephen [singing]: “I get by with a little help from my friends / I get high with a little help from my friends”
Me: He has friends?
Darren: He gets high?

While over at friends’ house for dinner last night (the have a 7 month old):

Me: Yeah, for swimming lessons, Darren gets to go because I will be THAT parent that I warn my candidates about.
Darren: And if she gets into hockey you can be Sarah Palin!

I admire a man who likes to live dangerously.

I was sitting here thinking I should really post something a little more Christmas-like and came across a post talking about the perfect Christmas tree.

My story is nowhere near as heroic as this one, or as kind and gentle as this one, it is rather more humourous, although not quite so humourous as this one.

I have told anecdotes about my dad in the past, most recently a conversation involving 4 inch foam and how I they brought me home from the hospital. My dad is a practical sort. Inventive. Frugal. Combine practical + frugal + inventive and you get some pretty interesting solutions to problems. Like the Christmas tree.

When I was 12, my old cat died at the age of 22. We got a kitten a bit later (who is now 20 or so). We named her Missy. It was short for Mischief. It had been about 15 years since my parents had had kittens and I guess they kind of forgot about the whole Christmas tree and kittens thing (see: climbing).

That year, we didn’t have tinsel because the cat might eat it, we got kitten-safe decorations and dad went out to find a tree (see: frugal). Living on Bowen Island, he’d just go out somewhere and chop down a tree (usually a pine under my mother’s orders). That year, he found a nice tree, chopped it down, put it in the usual 5 gallon bucket ‘o dirt (yes, we didn’t have a stand – necessity, mother of invention, frugality, etc) and stood it up. Then mom and I decorated it.

A couple of days later we came home to a downed tree. Dirt and needles everywhere, and a small kitten named Missy looking very pleased with herself. Up until then, she hadn’t tried to climb trees. Period.

Mom was not so pleased. In fact, I’m surprised Missy is now 20 years old. A lot of mom’s ornaments broke that day and she was Not Impressed.

So dad fixed the tree (what, you think he was going to spend the money on gas to go get another one, did you? I said he was frugal) and decided that with the kitten around, he had to secure the tree appropriately. My suggestion was to buy a proper tree stand (yeah, right, see: frugal, above).  He shut the kitten in my bedroom (I didn’t care – I am her human after all) and stood the tree up, plumped it up, grafted some new branches in where needed (he had gotten extras just in case) and refilled the dirt after I vacuumed the carpet.

Oh, a word about the carpet: it was this thick white, wool looped stuff – really tight loops that the kitten loved to dig her claws into. And that pine needles get stuck in. It was also thick enough to hide, say, extra nails you might drive into the floor, just in case you might need to, oh I don’t know, anchor a Christmas tree to the floor?  Below that floor was, well, nothing, really. A crawl space built on bedrock.

So dad stands there and ponders the tree and I swear, I almost saw the lightbulb go on over his head, when he dashed out to his workshop and came back with a hammer, some really big nails and a roll of wire.

And proceeded to string the wire (3 strands) from the tree to nails pounded into the floor.  The carpet was thick enough to hide the nails so rather than pulling the nails, dad would leave them there. When they sold the house years later, the new owners didn’t realize that there were still extra nails in the floor.

I refer to it as the redneck tree.

Overheard:

Dad (on phone): So you guys will need nursery stuff – send a list of what you want.
Me: Oh. Okay.
Dad: well? Haven’t you been looking?
Me: Well the crib I want is at costco, but its pretty pricey.
Dad: What else do you need?
Me: (thinking: didn’t this man raise a child? me?) Well, we’ll need a stroller and carseat.
Dad: Oh you don’t need the carseat until later!
Me: [crickets]
Dad: Hellooooo?
Me: If we don’t have a carseat, how do we get the baby home from the hospital?
Dad: You hold it!
Me: (thinking he wouldn’t get a Britney reference) Well. Um. Now all children have to be in a carseat if they’re in the car. When they get too big for a carseat, they have to go in a booster seat until they’re 8.
Dad: Damn government, interfering with this stuff. When we brought you home from the hospital, we just put 4-inch foam in the back of the station wagon, on the bottom and so it went up against the back rest, you know? and then we just laid you down back there. So that if we had to stop suddenly and you slid forward, you wouldn’t hurt your head, because of the foam, you know?
Me: [crickets]
Mom: (in background) You can’t do that anymore.
Me: You know, I bet that’s why they changed the law. Someone saw you taking me home like that, called child protective services, and they changed the law. Its all about me.
Dad: It could shed some light on what happened to you though.

How I ever made it into adulthood astounds me.

On Wednesday, I had a doctor’s appointment* and got a sample package thing from the maternity clinic. It was from Huggies. In the package were various coupons, a sample of an eensy weensy diaper, some diaper wipes for sensitive skin (also from Huggies) and a sample of some parenting magazine.

About the diaper:

1. Its teeny tiny. I didn’t know they made diapers that tiny. And THIN. Christ, if this is how they’re making diapers now they’ve come a LOOOOONG way from when I used to baby sit.

2. Its got pictures of Winnie the Pooh on the outside.

Odd, I thought the poo was supposed to go INSIDE the diaper.

*And yes, everything is fine. My blood pressure was 115/65. Truth be told, its been a rough couple of weeks at work and as he was strapping the cuff on my arm, I actually thought, “If my blood pressure is through the roof, he’ll write me a note and I can get out of work! Yes!”

Instead, I got a lecture about how I should sit up and stand up slowly and avoid hot baths, hotubs and showers.

Fetal heartrate was 161 beats per minute, which according to some old wives’ tale, means its a gurl.***

Big ultrasound is December 28. Yes, we’re going to find out the sex.

**I wonder what kind of search terms I’m going to get with that one?

***Oh and here’s proof that you can get funding for any sort of study. Yes, its from the Canadian Medical Association Journal. Their conclusion? The Drano method of predicting the sex of babies is not accurate.
Duh….

I heart Jon Stewart. And most of America seems to as well. A few weeks ago, the New York times ran a rather lengthy article on him, asking if he’s the most trusted man in America:

at a time when Fox, MSNBC and CNN routinely mix news and entertainment, larding their 24-hour schedules with bloviation fests and marathon coverage of sexual predators and dead celebrities, it’s been “The Daily Show” that has tenaciously tracked big, “super depressing” issues like the cherry-picking of prewar intelligence, the politicization of the Department of Justice and the efforts of the Bush White House to augment its executive power.

And now, Canadians, we all have a reason to heart Jon Stewart: he did a bit on the Canadian election last week.

Go. Watch. Laugh. Heart Jon Stewart.


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