I stand (well, actually, I sit) before you a changed woman. Through trials and tribulations, frustration and near death, I have beaten down the demons and tackled the powerful beast that has had a hold on me for so long.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have finally quit pop.
I use pop almost as a verb because, to me, it was never just a thing, it was a habit. I can say this now since I don't do it anymore: the first thing I would do when I got up in the morning was pour and drink a nice glass of pop. Isn't that disgusting? Coffee and tea are universally accepted as morning beverages, but I don't drink either of them, and pop gave me that jolt that I needed to face the day.
What's even more disgusting is that I didn't stop all day. I was lost without a glass beside me, not because I was thirsty, but because it had become a habit. Not to mention, I was addicted to the constant steam of caffeine. There were days when I would drink more than a full 2-litre bottle by myself. As of today, I haven't had a single drink of pop in two weeks, and that's like an eternity in pop-addict years.
What I didn't realize is how quickly I would see a change. The first few days I panicked when I found myself eating more, but only until I noticed that the food I craved had gone from chocolate bars and popcorn, to cereal and fruit. Not only that, the times I was eating had changed, too. My old routine was, fill up on pop all day, let the caffeine suppress my appetite, and then snack the night away. Now, I have a big breakfast, I eat smaller meals throughout the day, and snacks just don't seem appealing without my Big 8, so they've been reduced to a minimum .
Another big difference in my routine is water. By replacing pop with water. while I may have to parade to the bathroom every ten minutes, I've found a way to stave off a snack-attack and get my eight recommended glasses per day. Drinking a whole lot of water might not seem like a life-altering activity for most, especially for those who do it already, but for someone who lived and breathed cola and nothing else, it's a big deal. You'll just have to take my word for it.
And the best part about quitting pop: incentive. I haven't dropped 50-pounds or anything, but my favorite jeans are now too big, my grandmother told me I lost weight, and better still, I feel much better. All this in two weeks? What will I feel and look like after one year? I can't wait to find out.
My one remaining obstacle is exercise. It's not that I don't like to exercise...no, wait, that's exactly what it is. I get that some people enjoy it, and that it makes some people feel better, but I'm just not one of those people. I've joined the gym before, and no matter how long I go or how many different machines I try, it's just not for me.
I'll admit that I make way too many excuses about exercising. I suppose I could manage to find an hour to go for a walk, but I won't, since the thought of leaving these screaming kids with their dad after he's spent 10 hours at work just seems unfair. So what's a girl to do?
I've narrowed the field to two options (not counting gastric bypass surgery, which seems very appealing at times). First is the Wii Fit. This little balance board comes with games that help you lose weight by shifting your body around in ways that it probably wasn't meant to shift. No matter, if it works, I don't care much about defying the laws of physics. I've heard tales of people having lost almost 30 pounds since Christmas, and that sounds pretty promising to me.
The second option is Zumba. Zumba is a 30 minute class that combined disguises cardio fitness with fun little salsa-like dance moves. I know a few people who have gone, had a great time, and whose legs burned like a bugger the next day.
Convenience is making me lean toward Wii Fit, but I'm open to suggestions.
In any case, I'm hoping to be about 60 pounds lighter by the time my friend's September wedding rolls around. You can start praying for me right about.....now.
In case you're wondering, I normally wouldn't chronicle my personal weight-loss efforts with a bunch of strangers, but I figure it's a good way to be accountable. Knowing I've told readers about my goals will give me more motivation to reach them.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
The Best and Worst of 2008
With movie awards season just around the corner, I thought I'd name a few of my own contenders - the winners, and the losers.
Best Action Movie: Rambo. Lots of guy stuff, but a good enough story to keep girls watching and interested. Beware of gore, though. Most of this flick isn't pretty.
Best Movie I Bet You've Never Seen Award: Felon, with Stephen Dorff and Val Kilmer. Pick it up. Other good candidates in this category are Defiance, Reservation Road, Battle in Seattle, and Religulous.
Biggest Disappointment: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Too much hype, not enough substance. They lost me when Jones escaped nuclear disintegration by hiding in a refrigerator. I'm guessing fans of the original movies weren't huge fans of this one, for good reason. Honorable mention in this category goes to the Sex and the City Movie. The powerful, independent, sassy television characters were replaced with whiny, insufferable spinsters with too much money and not nearly enough to talk about anymore. Men, you will hate this movie. Don't say you haven't been warned.
The Triple Threat Award: Pride & Glory. Acceptable plot, fantastic acting by Edward Norton and Jon Voight, and Colin Farrell in a police uniform. Enough said.
Best Chick Flick: No contest, this award goes to P.S. I Love You. This movie wasn't just sad, it was the heaving sobs-, angina-, unprecedented heartbreak-causing kind of sad that hasn't been produced since Rose peeled Jack's fingers off the raft in Titanic. If after watching this movie you don't want to drag Gerard Butler by the hair to a Vegas wedding chapel, there must be something wrong with you. Guys, you'll probably hate this one, too, but you'll have to get over it.
Best Comedy: Zack & Miri Make a Porno. It's stylishly crass and obscene, and the "entrpreneurial aspects" remind me of a plan that could easily have been hatched in Cape Breton. It was by far the funniest movie I've seen all year. Role Models, with a typical Stiffler and a hilarious Paul Rudd, is a deserving runner-up.
Worst Comedy: This is a tie between Semi-Pro and Step Brothers, as you might have expected from me. I'm giving these movies two big thumbs down for two main reasons; first of all, I think Will Ferrell is a complete imbecile and should not be allowed out of his house unchaperoned (I know he's a millionaire and that most people think he's hilarious, but I don't get it. At all.). The biggest reason for my bad review of these two flicks is because I've seen them both before. I think they were called Blades of Glory and Talladega Nights. Honorable mentions in this category are You Don't Mess With the Zohan and The Love Guru. All proof, in my opinion, that there is a fine line between humor and simple-mindedness.
Most Obvious Rip-Off: Made of Honor. After years of being friends, character A decides to profess their love for character B. Character B makes character A their head attendant, only in a reversed gender role. Character A plots to break up the wedding while being forced to be happy for character B and help with the wedding arrangements. Hilarity ensues. Dramatic proclamation of love towards the end of the movie, and they all lived happily ever after. See: My Best Friend's Wedding.
Worth All the Fuss: The Dark Knight. Heath Ledger really was as amazing as people say and deserves all the posthumous praise he has received. I'm not even a fan of comic book-based movies, but I really enjoyed this film.
"What the....?" Movie of the Year: The Life Before Her Eyes. You might have to watch it twice to fully grasp the gravity of the plot and answer your questions from the first time around. I thought it was fantastic, and not the typical thoughtless, contrived drivel I'm used to.
The "I Can't Believe I Liked That" Award: Mad Money. It's not exactly a thinking man's work of cinematic genius, but it's not a bad little flick when you have a few hours to kill. Runners-up are Bedtime Stories and Twilight.
Scariest Movie of the Year (quite possibly a candidate for Scariest Movie in History): The Strangers. I literally shook in my bed the entire night, and refused to go to the bathroom for fear of being brutally murdered by psychotic intruders.
Two Hours of Your Life You'll Never Get Back: Mirrors with Keifer Sutherland. Honorable mentions (though there are hundreds, I'll only name a few) are Fool's Gold, The Eye, and One Missed Call.
These are just a fraction of the hundreds of movies I've watched in the past year. I really need to revamp my social life.
Best Action Movie: Rambo. Lots of guy stuff, but a good enough story to keep girls watching and interested. Beware of gore, though. Most of this flick isn't pretty.
Best Movie I Bet You've Never Seen Award: Felon, with Stephen Dorff and Val Kilmer. Pick it up. Other good candidates in this category are Defiance, Reservation Road, Battle in Seattle, and Religulous.
Biggest Disappointment: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Too much hype, not enough substance. They lost me when Jones escaped nuclear disintegration by hiding in a refrigerator. I'm guessing fans of the original movies weren't huge fans of this one, for good reason. Honorable mention in this category goes to the Sex and the City Movie. The powerful, independent, sassy television characters were replaced with whiny, insufferable spinsters with too much money and not nearly enough to talk about anymore. Men, you will hate this movie. Don't say you haven't been warned.
The Triple Threat Award: Pride & Glory. Acceptable plot, fantastic acting by Edward Norton and Jon Voight, and Colin Farrell in a police uniform. Enough said.
Best Chick Flick: No contest, this award goes to P.S. I Love You. This movie wasn't just sad, it was the heaving sobs-, angina-, unprecedented heartbreak-causing kind of sad that hasn't been produced since Rose peeled Jack's fingers off the raft in Titanic. If after watching this movie you don't want to drag Gerard Butler by the hair to a Vegas wedding chapel, there must be something wrong with you. Guys, you'll probably hate this one, too, but you'll have to get over it.
Best Comedy: Zack & Miri Make a Porno. It's stylishly crass and obscene, and the "entrpreneurial aspects" remind me of a plan that could easily have been hatched in Cape Breton. It was by far the funniest movie I've seen all year. Role Models, with a typical Stiffler and a hilarious Paul Rudd, is a deserving runner-up.
Worst Comedy: This is a tie between Semi-Pro and Step Brothers, as you might have expected from me. I'm giving these movies two big thumbs down for two main reasons; first of all, I think Will Ferrell is a complete imbecile and should not be allowed out of his house unchaperoned (I know he's a millionaire and that most people think he's hilarious, but I don't get it. At all.). The biggest reason for my bad review of these two flicks is because I've seen them both before. I think they were called Blades of Glory and Talladega Nights. Honorable mentions in this category are You Don't Mess With the Zohan and The Love Guru. All proof, in my opinion, that there is a fine line between humor and simple-mindedness.
Most Obvious Rip-Off: Made of Honor. After years of being friends, character A decides to profess their love for character B. Character B makes character A their head attendant, only in a reversed gender role. Character A plots to break up the wedding while being forced to be happy for character B and help with the wedding arrangements. Hilarity ensues. Dramatic proclamation of love towards the end of the movie, and they all lived happily ever after. See: My Best Friend's Wedding.
Worth All the Fuss: The Dark Knight. Heath Ledger really was as amazing as people say and deserves all the posthumous praise he has received. I'm not even a fan of comic book-based movies, but I really enjoyed this film.
"What the....?" Movie of the Year: The Life Before Her Eyes. You might have to watch it twice to fully grasp the gravity of the plot and answer your questions from the first time around. I thought it was fantastic, and not the typical thoughtless, contrived drivel I'm used to.
The "I Can't Believe I Liked That" Award: Mad Money. It's not exactly a thinking man's work of cinematic genius, but it's not a bad little flick when you have a few hours to kill. Runners-up are Bedtime Stories and Twilight.
Scariest Movie of the Year (quite possibly a candidate for Scariest Movie in History): The Strangers. I literally shook in my bed the entire night, and refused to go to the bathroom for fear of being brutally murdered by psychotic intruders.
Two Hours of Your Life You'll Never Get Back: Mirrors with Keifer Sutherland. Honorable mentions (though there are hundreds, I'll only name a few) are Fool's Gold, The Eye, and One Missed Call.
These are just a fraction of the hundreds of movies I've watched in the past year. I really need to revamp my social life.
Powerless
So, how has your 2009 been so far? Good I hope. Here's a little taste of mine.
"You have reached Nova Scotia Power's outage line. To report an outage, or for outage updates, press one." BEEP
"To report a complete loss of power, please press one." BEEP
Happy New Year.
We first lost power a little before 3pm on Thursday. Not a big deal, we thought. We're right in the middle of town, I'm sure it won't be off for long.
Within about an hour, our generator-less house, completely reliant on electric heat, was getting pretty chilly. We all put on an extra sweater, gathered in the living room, and hoped the French doors would keep some warmth in until the power was restored.
We were wrong.
At a little after 4pm, with grumbling tummies and no means to cook, we bundled up and braved the blizzard, making our way to the only open restaurant in Port Hawkesbury. Half a kilometer later, we knew our efforts were in vain, since there was about four feet of snow on Reeves Street. Home we went, where we dined on cheese, cereal, and cookies. Yummy.
By 6pm (which was, by the way, the time NSP had originally forecast the power to be restored), our house was freezing. We would have gone to stay with someone who had heat, but the roads were impassable and the weather didn't look to be improving. We broke out the comforters and candles, turned on the radio, and hunkered down.
We waited. And waited and waited. The novelty of, "there's no lights and no TV, let's play with flashlights" wore off rather quickly, and soon we were two cranky adults and two bored children, all freezing to death in the dark.
Approximate restoration time went from 6pm, to 11:30pm, to 5am Friday. The flames of anger raging inside us did not, unfortunately, keep us warm at all.
The evening hours were spent mostly in silence. I cursed the power company, plotted murder on half a dozen people, tried to visualize a beach in Mexico, re-evaluated my thoughts about homeless people, explained the difference between candles and "decorative candles", planned the purchase of alternate heating sources, snapped at my husband, and swore to donate money and blankets to Social Services first thing in the morning.
We had to resign ourselves to the inevitability of bedtime, and wondered how we would make it through the night in a house with an internal temperature hovering around two degrees. With no hope of power restoration in sight, we called it a night. The sleeping arrangements were finalized and I found myself in bed with the two kids, both in layers and layers of socks and sweaters, our rib cages partly crushed by the seven comforters required to keep us semi-warm. My husband, ever the martyr, held his own in another bed with what blankets remained. It was a long, cold night.
Imagine our surprise to wake up and still have no power. We waited, most impatiently, for a few hours, but gave up when we could see our breath. To the in-laws we went, until the power was restored at 4pm on Friday.
We returned home and cranked every heater we had. By about 7:30pm, we were finally comfortable enough to remove a layer of clothing and start living again.
And at 7:47pm, the power went out.
The expletive-laced tirades that followed are not repeatable in this fine family newspaper.
What little heat had returned to our house was gone in no time flat, and like the worst case of deja-vu ever, we huddled in the living room, under blankets, listening to the radio.
I swore to keep calling the power company, and I did repeatedly until I thought their phone might explode. Let it explode, I thought; this is ridiculous. I'll call every fifteen minutes until they get so tired of hearing my voice, the person answering will drive to Port Hawkesbury and climb the pole to fix it themselves, just for the sake of shutting me up.
Maybe it worked, or maybe it was sheer coincidence, but regardless, the lights came on at 10:30pm. By 11:00, thanks to a few powerful space heaters, the kids were warm and sleeping in their beds.
I could easily write an entire article about Nova Scotia Power, but I won't. Intelligent, professional journalists have (and will continue to have) a field day writing about a huge corporation with mind-blowing profits and constant rate hikes, who still have not adjusted their equipment and practices to Nova Scotian weather conditions, even though those conditions have existed since the dawn of electricity. I'll leave it to them to sort out. My fingers are still too numb to type it all.
"You have reached Nova Scotia Power's outage line. To report an outage, or for outage updates, press one." BEEP
"To report a complete loss of power, please press one." BEEP
Happy New Year.
We first lost power a little before 3pm on Thursday. Not a big deal, we thought. We're right in the middle of town, I'm sure it won't be off for long.
Within about an hour, our generator-less house, completely reliant on electric heat, was getting pretty chilly. We all put on an extra sweater, gathered in the living room, and hoped the French doors would keep some warmth in until the power was restored.
We were wrong.
At a little after 4pm, with grumbling tummies and no means to cook, we bundled up and braved the blizzard, making our way to the only open restaurant in Port Hawkesbury. Half a kilometer later, we knew our efforts were in vain, since there was about four feet of snow on Reeves Street. Home we went, where we dined on cheese, cereal, and cookies. Yummy.
By 6pm (which was, by the way, the time NSP had originally forecast the power to be restored), our house was freezing. We would have gone to stay with someone who had heat, but the roads were impassable and the weather didn't look to be improving. We broke out the comforters and candles, turned on the radio, and hunkered down.
We waited. And waited and waited. The novelty of, "there's no lights and no TV, let's play with flashlights" wore off rather quickly, and soon we were two cranky adults and two bored children, all freezing to death in the dark.
Approximate restoration time went from 6pm, to 11:30pm, to 5am Friday. The flames of anger raging inside us did not, unfortunately, keep us warm at all.
The evening hours were spent mostly in silence. I cursed the power company, plotted murder on half a dozen people, tried to visualize a beach in Mexico, re-evaluated my thoughts about homeless people, explained the difference between candles and "decorative candles", planned the purchase of alternate heating sources, snapped at my husband, and swore to donate money and blankets to Social Services first thing in the morning.
We had to resign ourselves to the inevitability of bedtime, and wondered how we would make it through the night in a house with an internal temperature hovering around two degrees. With no hope of power restoration in sight, we called it a night. The sleeping arrangements were finalized and I found myself in bed with the two kids, both in layers and layers of socks and sweaters, our rib cages partly crushed by the seven comforters required to keep us semi-warm. My husband, ever the martyr, held his own in another bed with what blankets remained. It was a long, cold night.
Imagine our surprise to wake up and still have no power. We waited, most impatiently, for a few hours, but gave up when we could see our breath. To the in-laws we went, until the power was restored at 4pm on Friday.
We returned home and cranked every heater we had. By about 7:30pm, we were finally comfortable enough to remove a layer of clothing and start living again.
And at 7:47pm, the power went out.
The expletive-laced tirades that followed are not repeatable in this fine family newspaper.
What little heat had returned to our house was gone in no time flat, and like the worst case of deja-vu ever, we huddled in the living room, under blankets, listening to the radio.
I swore to keep calling the power company, and I did repeatedly until I thought their phone might explode. Let it explode, I thought; this is ridiculous. I'll call every fifteen minutes until they get so tired of hearing my voice, the person answering will drive to Port Hawkesbury and climb the pole to fix it themselves, just for the sake of shutting me up.
Maybe it worked, or maybe it was sheer coincidence, but regardless, the lights came on at 10:30pm. By 11:00, thanks to a few powerful space heaters, the kids were warm and sleeping in their beds.
I could easily write an entire article about Nova Scotia Power, but I won't. Intelligent, professional journalists have (and will continue to have) a field day writing about a huge corporation with mind-blowing profits and constant rate hikes, who still have not adjusted their equipment and practices to Nova Scotian weather conditions, even though those conditions have existed since the dawn of electricity. I'll leave it to them to sort out. My fingers are still too numb to type it all.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
2008 - A Year in Quotes
Quotes are great, aren't they? I've taken my favorites from this past year and compiled them here, to take you into 2009 with a bit of a chuckle (and occasionally, a nod of agreement).
The world is filled with irony, and here is proof: "I think the results last night prove the wisdom of my investment." -- Hilary Clinton, after winning an early primary, on lending $5m of her own money to her presidential campaign. I'm sure it seemed like a good idea at the time, Hilary.
"We have no business qualifications, we don't understand marketing, and we're not very good at anything." -- Michael and Xochi Birch, who are set to make in excess of $850 million from the sale of the Bebo social networking site to AOL. Meanwhile, there are as many "X-rings" at Tim Horton's as there are double-doubles.
"I live to play hockey. I like to go camping and hang out with the boys, do some fishing. I don't want kids. I'm a redneck." -- Levi Johnston, boyfriend of Bristol Palin, and father of the baby she had a few weeks ago. Hindsight sure is 20/20. Quotes coming out of Hollywood are always good for a laugh: "I feel like I am 20 again, but with arthritis." -- Sylvester Stallone, 61, on his return as as Rambo. No word, however, on whether arthritis was the purpose of the massive amounts of injected anabolic steroids.
"There's always someone younger and prettier." -- Actress Gwyneth Paltrow, 35. She should really have a talk with Demi Moore.
"If I see something sagging, bagging and dragging, I'm going to nip it, tuck it and suck it." -- Dolly Parton reveals her anti-aging procedure. At least she's honest about it, right?
"What is the difference between God and Bono? God doesn't wander down Grafton Street thinking he's Bono." -- Irish TV personality Louis Walsh. Now THAT was funny.
"They are steeped in sin and, if eaten long enough or in quantity, will almost certainly kill you." -- Actress Emma Thompson on the scourge of potato chips. I think that description comes from Keira Knightly's diet book, "I've Been Starving Since 1992: An Actress' Guide to Deprivation and Anorexia".
"Everyone over 50 should be issued every week with a wet fish in a plastic bag by the Post Office so that, whenever you see someone young and happy, you can hit them as hard as you can across the face." -- Richard Griffiths, the 61-year-old actor. He might be bitter, but I bet he eats chips without shame.
"I go three, maybe four times a year to get tested for sexually transmitted infections and most of the time I don't even need to." -- Kelly Osborne. If you didn't laugh at that, you need to read it again.
One of the most interesting figures of 2008 was Sarah "Caribou Barbie" Palin. There are so many fantastic quotes by and about her, that I had a hard time picking out my favorites. Here are a few gems: "If BS were currency, Palin could bail out Wall Street herself. If Palin were a man, we'd all be guffawing... But because she's a woman — and the first ever on a Republican presidential ticket — we are reluctant to say what is painfully true." ―conservative columnist Kathleen Parker, writing in National Review. Thank you, Kathleen, my thoughts exactly.
"According to expense reports, Sarah Palin charged the state of Alaska over $21,000 for her children to travel with her on official business. In fairness to Gov. Palin, when she leaves them home alone, they get pregnant." ―Seth Meyers on Saturday Night Live's "Weekend Update". That one might be mean, but it's so funny I couldn't resist.
"I'm like, OK, God, if there is an open door for me somewhere, this is what I always pray, I'm like, don't let me miss the open door. Show me where the open door is." -- Sarah Palin. And to think, Americans nearly ushered that level of Paris Hilton-esque eloquence right into the White House. Yikes.
On the bright side, President Elect Barack Obama let fly a few funny, sometimes inspirational, quotes of his own, like: "Washington is a place where good ideas go to die." Excellent point.
He also said, in his victory speech on November 4, "If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer." Those lines will be quoted for years to come.
Finally, what would a list of memorable quotes be without a zinger from the outgoing George W. Bush: "I'll be long gone before some smart person ever figures out what happened inside this Oval Office." Goodbye and good luck, Mr. Bush.
Happy new year, everyone!
The world is filled with irony, and here is proof: "I think the results last night prove the wisdom of my investment." -- Hilary Clinton, after winning an early primary, on lending $5m of her own money to her presidential campaign. I'm sure it seemed like a good idea at the time, Hilary.
"We have no business qualifications, we don't understand marketing, and we're not very good at anything." -- Michael and Xochi Birch, who are set to make in excess of $850 million from the sale of the Bebo social networking site to AOL. Meanwhile, there are as many "X-rings" at Tim Horton's as there are double-doubles.
"I live to play hockey. I like to go camping and hang out with the boys, do some fishing. I don't want kids. I'm a redneck." -- Levi Johnston, boyfriend of Bristol Palin, and father of the baby she had a few weeks ago. Hindsight sure is 20/20. Quotes coming out of Hollywood are always good for a laugh: "I feel like I am 20 again, but with arthritis." -- Sylvester Stallone, 61, on his return as as Rambo. No word, however, on whether arthritis was the purpose of the massive amounts of injected anabolic steroids.
"There's always someone younger and prettier." -- Actress Gwyneth Paltrow, 35. She should really have a talk with Demi Moore.
"If I see something sagging, bagging and dragging, I'm going to nip it, tuck it and suck it." -- Dolly Parton reveals her anti-aging procedure. At least she's honest about it, right?
"What is the difference between God and Bono? God doesn't wander down Grafton Street thinking he's Bono." -- Irish TV personality Louis Walsh. Now THAT was funny.
"They are steeped in sin and, if eaten long enough or in quantity, will almost certainly kill you." -- Actress Emma Thompson on the scourge of potato chips. I think that description comes from Keira Knightly's diet book, "I've Been Starving Since 1992: An Actress' Guide to Deprivation and Anorexia".
"Everyone over 50 should be issued every week with a wet fish in a plastic bag by the Post Office so that, whenever you see someone young and happy, you can hit them as hard as you can across the face." -- Richard Griffiths, the 61-year-old actor. He might be bitter, but I bet he eats chips without shame.
"I go three, maybe four times a year to get tested for sexually transmitted infections and most of the time I don't even need to." -- Kelly Osborne. If you didn't laugh at that, you need to read it again.
One of the most interesting figures of 2008 was Sarah "Caribou Barbie" Palin. There are so many fantastic quotes by and about her, that I had a hard time picking out my favorites. Here are a few gems: "If BS were currency, Palin could bail out Wall Street herself. If Palin were a man, we'd all be guffawing... But because she's a woman — and the first ever on a Republican presidential ticket — we are reluctant to say what is painfully true." ―conservative columnist Kathleen Parker, writing in National Review. Thank you, Kathleen, my thoughts exactly.
"According to expense reports, Sarah Palin charged the state of Alaska over $21,000 for her children to travel with her on official business. In fairness to Gov. Palin, when she leaves them home alone, they get pregnant." ―Seth Meyers on Saturday Night Live's "Weekend Update". That one might be mean, but it's so funny I couldn't resist.
"I'm like, OK, God, if there is an open door for me somewhere, this is what I always pray, I'm like, don't let me miss the open door. Show me where the open door is." -- Sarah Palin. And to think, Americans nearly ushered that level of Paris Hilton-esque eloquence right into the White House. Yikes.
On the bright side, President Elect Barack Obama let fly a few funny, sometimes inspirational, quotes of his own, like: "Washington is a place where good ideas go to die." Excellent point.
He also said, in his victory speech on November 4, "If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer." Those lines will be quoted for years to come.
Finally, what would a list of memorable quotes be without a zinger from the outgoing George W. Bush: "I'll be long gone before some smart person ever figures out what happened inside this Oval Office." Goodbye and good luck, Mr. Bush.
Happy new year, everyone!
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Dear Mrs. Claus
Dear Mrs. Claus,
In case you're wondering why I addressed this letter to you instead of Santa, I'm assuming the North Pole works much the same as the rest of the world, and that the wife gets the final say in the decision-making process.
I have tried my hardest to be a good wife and mother this year. I have wiped 142 runny noses, attended 73 baseball/soccer/football games, done 451 loads of laundry, prepared over 1000 meals/snacks/lunches, watched Disney movies in steady rotation, and cleaned the toilet more times than I care to count, among other things.
I would not be deserving of anything were I not to first ask for health, happiness, and prosperity for all my family and friends. I want everyone I love to have a great holiday and get everything on their list.
I've already spent a ridiculous amount of money on presents for my kids, so I don't have to worry about them on Christmas morning; besides, I'm sure your husband will be getting their long and detailed letters any day now. I've decided instead to make a few requests for myself.
To save us both a lot of time, you could simply leave a money tree, a fleet of nannies, and a magic, self-replenishing bottle of patience under the tree. However, I realize that's a bit unrealistic, so I'll give you a few more suggestions.
First, I'd like a pre-planned, delicious, nutritionally-balanced meal plan for all 365 days of the year. Breakfast and lunch menus are optional, but instructions for supper are in great demand. Please keep in mind that easy and fast is always preferred, and you're more than welcome to bring me any groceries required to prepare the recipes. Also, the fewer ingredients the better. I should also mention, this meal plan should cover all four members of my household: myself, the one who doesn't like chicken, the one with the seafood allergy, and the one who currently won't eat anything but Spongebob noodles and Lucky Charms. Good luck.
Secondly, even if only for 24 hours, since this is my last Christmas as a woman in my 20s, I'd like the body of a Brazillian super model, a one-week vacation to the tropics, a professional photographer, and about eight dozen rolls of film.
I'd also like the patent for a fabric that is soft and practical (like cotton), yet wipe-able (like vinyl). It also must be completely resistant to the following types of stains: grass, mustard, blood, greasy fingerprints, every type of paint, and Spongebob noodles.
Next, I'd like a mobile, ergonomically designed, multi-purpose capsule, for the purposes of completing tasks in the presence of my children which are, at the present time, pretty much impossible. This capsule would, ideally, be soundproof, to allow me to finally have a phone conversation without the constant plea, "MOM!" ringing in my ear. It might also include a "bathing feature", since my only times to shower in peace are the six or so minutes at the beginning of "Toy Story 2" and the moments immediately preceding my passing out from exhaustion at bedtime.
Speaking of bathrooms, not only could I use a giant bulls-eye painted at the bottom of the toilet bowl, but I'd also like a fingerprint-activated, password-protected shampoo dispenser, so my more-expensive-than-is-necessary-for-boys shampoo might last more than a week, and not be used as "look Mommy, bubbles".
Onto the kitchen; please, Mrs. Claus, if you have any mercy, you'll bring me a dishwasher. STAT. While you're at it, you might as well get me the Swiffer family again. It's not as if they won't need replacing soon, anyway.
If possible, I'd like you to rid the world of a few cartoon television programs, namely Caillou, The Mole Sisters, and Pokoyo. And, while I'm not suggesting anything violent, the world would be no worse off without those weird and annoying spandex people from Four Squared. Especially the one with the braces. I'm just saying.
As long as I'm pushing my luck, I also ask that you wave a wand of some sort to ensure I don't burn my Christmas turkey or drop a pie or something. Things like that tend to happen in this house.
Should you find my list to be a little too unreasonable, I'll settle for Colin Farrell in a big, red bow under the tree. I'm flexible like that.
Well, Mrs. Claus, I guess that's it for this year. I promise to leave some milk and cookies for Santa and a few carrots for the reindeer. There will be a package on the table addressed to you; it may be breakable and feel a lot like a case of wine, but you can assure Santa that it's just a harmless token of my appreciation for your help.
Merry Christmas
In case you're wondering why I addressed this letter to you instead of Santa, I'm assuming the North Pole works much the same as the rest of the world, and that the wife gets the final say in the decision-making process.
I have tried my hardest to be a good wife and mother this year. I have wiped 142 runny noses, attended 73 baseball/soccer/football games, done 451 loads of laundry, prepared over 1000 meals/snacks/lunches, watched Disney movies in steady rotation, and cleaned the toilet more times than I care to count, among other things.
I would not be deserving of anything were I not to first ask for health, happiness, and prosperity for all my family and friends. I want everyone I love to have a great holiday and get everything on their list.
I've already spent a ridiculous amount of money on presents for my kids, so I don't have to worry about them on Christmas morning; besides, I'm sure your husband will be getting their long and detailed letters any day now. I've decided instead to make a few requests for myself.
To save us both a lot of time, you could simply leave a money tree, a fleet of nannies, and a magic, self-replenishing bottle of patience under the tree. However, I realize that's a bit unrealistic, so I'll give you a few more suggestions.
First, I'd like a pre-planned, delicious, nutritionally-balanced meal plan for all 365 days of the year. Breakfast and lunch menus are optional, but instructions for supper are in great demand. Please keep in mind that easy and fast is always preferred, and you're more than welcome to bring me any groceries required to prepare the recipes. Also, the fewer ingredients the better. I should also mention, this meal plan should cover all four members of my household: myself, the one who doesn't like chicken, the one with the seafood allergy, and the one who currently won't eat anything but Spongebob noodles and Lucky Charms. Good luck.
Secondly, even if only for 24 hours, since this is my last Christmas as a woman in my 20s, I'd like the body of a Brazillian super model, a one-week vacation to the tropics, a professional photographer, and about eight dozen rolls of film.
I'd also like the patent for a fabric that is soft and practical (like cotton), yet wipe-able (like vinyl). It also must be completely resistant to the following types of stains: grass, mustard, blood, greasy fingerprints, every type of paint, and Spongebob noodles.
Next, I'd like a mobile, ergonomically designed, multi-purpose capsule, for the purposes of completing tasks in the presence of my children which are, at the present time, pretty much impossible. This capsule would, ideally, be soundproof, to allow me to finally have a phone conversation without the constant plea, "MOM!" ringing in my ear. It might also include a "bathing feature", since my only times to shower in peace are the six or so minutes at the beginning of "Toy Story 2" and the moments immediately preceding my passing out from exhaustion at bedtime.
Speaking of bathrooms, not only could I use a giant bulls-eye painted at the bottom of the toilet bowl, but I'd also like a fingerprint-activated, password-protected shampoo dispenser, so my more-expensive-than-is-necessary-for-boys shampoo might last more than a week, and not be used as "look Mommy, bubbles".
Onto the kitchen; please, Mrs. Claus, if you have any mercy, you'll bring me a dishwasher. STAT. While you're at it, you might as well get me the Swiffer family again. It's not as if they won't need replacing soon, anyway.
If possible, I'd like you to rid the world of a few cartoon television programs, namely Caillou, The Mole Sisters, and Pokoyo. And, while I'm not suggesting anything violent, the world would be no worse off without those weird and annoying spandex people from Four Squared. Especially the one with the braces. I'm just saying.
As long as I'm pushing my luck, I also ask that you wave a wand of some sort to ensure I don't burn my Christmas turkey or drop a pie or something. Things like that tend to happen in this house.
Should you find my list to be a little too unreasonable, I'll settle for Colin Farrell in a big, red bow under the tree. I'm flexible like that.
Well, Mrs. Claus, I guess that's it for this year. I promise to leave some milk and cookies for Santa and a few carrots for the reindeer. There will be a package on the table addressed to you; it may be breakable and feel a lot like a case of wine, but you can assure Santa that it's just a harmless token of my appreciation for your help.
Merry Christmas
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Keeping Up with the Clauses
While chatting with my friend a few weeks ago, I asked her what her son (who is the same age as mine) is getting for Christmas. I won't repeat what my verbal reaction was to her response of, "a laptop. That's his big gift". Good grief, I should certainly hope so.
Every evening we listen to "Letters from Santa" on the radio, and it astounds me what children are asking for this year. Instead of dolls and trucks, the kids wanted digital cameras, four-wheelers, cell phones, and "a Wii". A Nintendo Wii is a video gaming system that costs almost $400, and that's not including games or extra controllers, which are also very pricey.
Another friend of mine was supposed to come over for lunch last week since she was going to be in town shopping. She called that morning to cancel, and said she wasn't coming after all, since her loan wouldn't be processed until the following day. Huh? I came to find out the woman was borrowing $2000 from the bank in order to buy presents.
Yesterday I was picking up a lay-away, and there was a young woman in line ahead of me. When the sales associate emerged from the back room, she and two other workers were carrying more boxes than I could shake a stick at. It was a sea of pink - all toys for little girls, from Easy Bake Ovens to Barbies to Hanna Montana swag. I couldn't help but be curious as to how much this woman's order was going to cost, especially when she needed three carts to hold it all. I'll cop to bending my ear slightly to hear the cashier tally up the toys, and I'll also cop to nearly wetting my pants when she said $948. Be still my heart. At this point I couldn't resist; "How many kids do you have," I asked her. Her answer: two. In case you're interested, that's $474 per. And that's just from one store.
The breaking point for me was last night, when I found myself wrapping presents for my dog, Bear MacDonald. Me! Wrapping dog presents! What has happened to us?
Many years ago, kids were thrilled to wake up Christmas morning to see a present under the tree. Present, singular. I doubt in the days of the Great Depression that folks were spending the equivalent of a mortgage payment on their children.
As a matter of fact, Christmas, as a holiday, has undergone a complete transformation in the years since our grandparents were young. It used to be a time for celebrating the religious aspects of December 25th, of being with family, and enjoying a nice meal if you were lucky. Gifts have always been part of the deal, I suppose, but back in the day they were of secondary importance to attending mass and celebrating family.
I'm not suggesting you should burn your tree and head to church, but one thing I have realized, after years of trying to "keep up with the Clauses", is that the best parts of Christmas have nothing to do with presents. When I walk into the mall the third week in October and see holly and chocolates everywhere, it automatically makes me cranky. Shopping has turned into hysteria, and the stress involved in making a list, roaming the stores for hours, people bumping into your cart, kids screaming - that's not fun or festive. Neither is having kids tear open wrapping paper, glance at a toy, and toss it aside to get to the next one.
I like to watch Christmas Daddies on television. I enjoy decorating my house and putting up the Christmas tree (in December, not the day after Halloween). I love to see my kids' excitement when they open their gifts, like anyone else.
However, I refuse to put myself in the hole for the sake of being able to tell my friends about the insane amount of money I spent on gifts. When the wrapping paper is cleaned up and the turkey is gone, the bills still roll in. Does it mean I love my kids any less because I don't spend as much as other parents do? No, not at all. The kids are just as happy to open something that cost $5 as they would be to open something that cost $40.
It's parents who take Christmas to the point of excess, not children. We're setting a dangerous precedent by trying to outdo one another and make each Christmas bigger and better than the one before.
I should mention, the presents for Bear MacDonald were a bone, a ball, and a bag of Snausages, purchased for about $6, at the repeated request of my children. I consider it proof that Christmas doesn't have to cost a fortune to make kids happy.
Every evening we listen to "Letters from Santa" on the radio, and it astounds me what children are asking for this year. Instead of dolls and trucks, the kids wanted digital cameras, four-wheelers, cell phones, and "a Wii". A Nintendo Wii is a video gaming system that costs almost $400, and that's not including games or extra controllers, which are also very pricey.
Another friend of mine was supposed to come over for lunch last week since she was going to be in town shopping. She called that morning to cancel, and said she wasn't coming after all, since her loan wouldn't be processed until the following day. Huh? I came to find out the woman was borrowing $2000 from the bank in order to buy presents.
Yesterday I was picking up a lay-away, and there was a young woman in line ahead of me. When the sales associate emerged from the back room, she and two other workers were carrying more boxes than I could shake a stick at. It was a sea of pink - all toys for little girls, from Easy Bake Ovens to Barbies to Hanna Montana swag. I couldn't help but be curious as to how much this woman's order was going to cost, especially when she needed three carts to hold it all. I'll cop to bending my ear slightly to hear the cashier tally up the toys, and I'll also cop to nearly wetting my pants when she said $948. Be still my heart. At this point I couldn't resist; "How many kids do you have," I asked her. Her answer: two. In case you're interested, that's $474 per. And that's just from one store.
The breaking point for me was last night, when I found myself wrapping presents for my dog, Bear MacDonald. Me! Wrapping dog presents! What has happened to us?
Many years ago, kids were thrilled to wake up Christmas morning to see a present under the tree. Present, singular. I doubt in the days of the Great Depression that folks were spending the equivalent of a mortgage payment on their children.
As a matter of fact, Christmas, as a holiday, has undergone a complete transformation in the years since our grandparents were young. It used to be a time for celebrating the religious aspects of December 25th, of being with family, and enjoying a nice meal if you were lucky. Gifts have always been part of the deal, I suppose, but back in the day they were of secondary importance to attending mass and celebrating family.
I'm not suggesting you should burn your tree and head to church, but one thing I have realized, after years of trying to "keep up with the Clauses", is that the best parts of Christmas have nothing to do with presents. When I walk into the mall the third week in October and see holly and chocolates everywhere, it automatically makes me cranky. Shopping has turned into hysteria, and the stress involved in making a list, roaming the stores for hours, people bumping into your cart, kids screaming - that's not fun or festive. Neither is having kids tear open wrapping paper, glance at a toy, and toss it aside to get to the next one.
I like to watch Christmas Daddies on television. I enjoy decorating my house and putting up the Christmas tree (in December, not the day after Halloween). I love to see my kids' excitement when they open their gifts, like anyone else.
However, I refuse to put myself in the hole for the sake of being able to tell my friends about the insane amount of money I spent on gifts. When the wrapping paper is cleaned up and the turkey is gone, the bills still roll in. Does it mean I love my kids any less because I don't spend as much as other parents do? No, not at all. The kids are just as happy to open something that cost $5 as they would be to open something that cost $40.
It's parents who take Christmas to the point of excess, not children. We're setting a dangerous precedent by trying to outdo one another and make each Christmas bigger and better than the one before.
I should mention, the presents for Bear MacDonald were a bone, a ball, and a bag of Snausages, purchased for about $6, at the repeated request of my children. I consider it proof that Christmas doesn't have to cost a fortune to make kids happy.
Friday, December 5, 2008
How To Live With a Woman
Talking to my other married friends, conversations about our husbands crop up pretty often. On a good day, these conversations probably include praise, and on a bad day, they probably don't.
We all love our husbands, don't get me wrong. They're great men, even acceptable roommates at times. However, there are several very common, very specific habits and behaviors with which most men seem to need a bit of guidance.
(Notice how I said most men, not all men; if the Great October Doggy Debacle has taught me anything, it's that certain groups can be extremely sensitive with generalizations, no matter how humorous my intention. Save your, "I hate you and I hope your dog eats you" mail this time, it's supposed to be funny. Jeez.)
Anyway, if a manual existed, written by wives to help their husbands peacefully cohabitate as married men, I suggest it might contain some of the following passages:
Article 9 - Wives will inevitably spend time on the phone, and certain components of these conversations you must learn to live with. These components include, but are not limited to: call duration, which is under your wife's sole discretion; due to female propensity for conversation, the half-hour long gab-fest your wife had with the same friend already this morning, is not relevant to the current phone call; your wife's index finger sticking up in the air can be translated as "please wait one minute before again inquiring as to the current location of the potato chips, unless you want me to switch fingers."
Article 22a (i)- In a recent study, it was proven that the amount of physical human energy required to lift the lid on a laundry hamper is .0035kW, roughly the same amount of energy exerted when blinking. Since the release of this data, the World Coalition of Wives (WCW) has unanimously decided that dirty laundry left ON TOP of or BESIDE the hamper, instead of IN the hamper, can, without consequence, be burned in a hole in the back yard.
22a (ii) - There shall be no return guarantee should any of the following items be left in the pocket of previously-worn jeans: paper money, coins, tissue, receipts, bank cards, screws/washers/bolts of any kind.
22b - Since exertion data is similar to that of hamper lids, cupboard doors shall be taken off the hinges and placed on the kitchen floor should they regularly be left open, hopefully serving as a reminder that simply closing them when you're done is much less tedious than reinstalling them.
Article 35a - While you will be attracted to other women, as is only natural, the following subjects should not be included in spousal conversations about this issue: Angelina Jolie, Christina Aguilera, sister-in-law, wife's best friend, any woman you work with. The following women are acceptable alternatives: Sandra Bullock, Julia Roberts, any 80s super model, Cindy Day.
35b - The following men are to be acknowledged as subjects women worldwide are allowed to drool over without recourse: Richard Gere, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, brooding British/Irish/Australian men, anyone who used to be/is/might someday become a Calvin Klein underwear model, former teen heartthrobs, professional athletes, selected persons in uniform.
Article 41 - It is never a good idea to discuss your wife's weight. There is no wiggle room in this clause and it is the only area of a relationship where honesty has no value. Unless a forklift is required to transport her to the grocery store or it has become necessary to physically cut her out of the house, the issue of weight should be ignored at all costs. (Note about the theory that suggests women gain 15lbs once they become comfortable and secure in a relationship. While the WCW acknowledges the validity of this theory, it is relative to the theory whereby men not only gain a few pounds themselves, but also cease performing any romantic or spontaneous gesture, usually at the same point in said relationship; hence, both are cancelled out and should not be issues of contention.)
Article 50 - The number of pairs of shoes required by any wife can be calculated according to the following formula: divide the number of pairs by the square root of the number of delicious meals you've consumed in the past year, add 14, subtract the number of recent unprovoked crying jags, multiply by the hypotenuse of her happiness, and there's your answer. Or you could just trust that she needs more than one pair for work and one pair for church, and leave well enough alone. The latter might be a wiser option, especially since you've yet to explain why you need 16 hammers.
There you go ladies, I've done my part. You might want to keep an eye out for excerpts from the rebuttal manual, though.
**Note**
I feel it necessary to give credit to my friend Lianne for the "hypontenuse/square root" stuff. Though her formula was different and for another topic entirely, I stole the idea and the words and the comedic mathematics from her. I don't think she'll mind too much, since now I'm going to refer you to her very excellent and hilarious blog, the link for which can be found on the left of this page. It's the bloggideeblogblog one. Good reading.
We all love our husbands, don't get me wrong. They're great men, even acceptable roommates at times. However, there are several very common, very specific habits and behaviors with which most men seem to need a bit of guidance.
(Notice how I said most men, not all men; if the Great October Doggy Debacle has taught me anything, it's that certain groups can be extremely sensitive with generalizations, no matter how humorous my intention. Save your, "I hate you and I hope your dog eats you" mail this time, it's supposed to be funny. Jeez.)
Anyway, if a manual existed, written by wives to help their husbands peacefully cohabitate as married men, I suggest it might contain some of the following passages:
Article 9 - Wives will inevitably spend time on the phone, and certain components of these conversations you must learn to live with. These components include, but are not limited to: call duration, which is under your wife's sole discretion; due to female propensity for conversation, the half-hour long gab-fest your wife had with the same friend already this morning, is not relevant to the current phone call; your wife's index finger sticking up in the air can be translated as "please wait one minute before again inquiring as to the current location of the potato chips, unless you want me to switch fingers."
Article 22a (i)- In a recent study, it was proven that the amount of physical human energy required to lift the lid on a laundry hamper is .0035kW, roughly the same amount of energy exerted when blinking. Since the release of this data, the World Coalition of Wives (WCW) has unanimously decided that dirty laundry left ON TOP of or BESIDE the hamper, instead of IN the hamper, can, without consequence, be burned in a hole in the back yard.
22a (ii) - There shall be no return guarantee should any of the following items be left in the pocket of previously-worn jeans: paper money, coins, tissue, receipts, bank cards, screws/washers/bolts of any kind.
22b - Since exertion data is similar to that of hamper lids, cupboard doors shall be taken off the hinges and placed on the kitchen floor should they regularly be left open, hopefully serving as a reminder that simply closing them when you're done is much less tedious than reinstalling them.
Article 35a - While you will be attracted to other women, as is only natural, the following subjects should not be included in spousal conversations about this issue: Angelina Jolie, Christina Aguilera, sister-in-law, wife's best friend, any woman you work with. The following women are acceptable alternatives: Sandra Bullock, Julia Roberts, any 80s super model, Cindy Day.
35b - The following men are to be acknowledged as subjects women worldwide are allowed to drool over without recourse: Richard Gere, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, brooding British/Irish/Australian men, anyone who used to be/is/might someday become a Calvin Klein underwear model, former teen heartthrobs, professional athletes, selected persons in uniform.
Article 41 - It is never a good idea to discuss your wife's weight. There is no wiggle room in this clause and it is the only area of a relationship where honesty has no value. Unless a forklift is required to transport her to the grocery store or it has become necessary to physically cut her out of the house, the issue of weight should be ignored at all costs. (Note about the theory that suggests women gain 15lbs once they become comfortable and secure in a relationship. While the WCW acknowledges the validity of this theory, it is relative to the theory whereby men not only gain a few pounds themselves, but also cease performing any romantic or spontaneous gesture, usually at the same point in said relationship; hence, both are cancelled out and should not be issues of contention.)
Article 50 - The number of pairs of shoes required by any wife can be calculated according to the following formula: divide the number of pairs by the square root of the number of delicious meals you've consumed in the past year, add 14, subtract the number of recent unprovoked crying jags, multiply by the hypotenuse of her happiness, and there's your answer. Or you could just trust that she needs more than one pair for work and one pair for church, and leave well enough alone. The latter might be a wiser option, especially since you've yet to explain why you need 16 hammers.
There you go ladies, I've done my part. You might want to keep an eye out for excerpts from the rebuttal manual, though.
**Note**
I feel it necessary to give credit to my friend Lianne for the "hypontenuse/square root" stuff. Though her formula was different and for another topic entirely, I stole the idea and the words and the comedic mathematics from her. I don't think she'll mind too much, since now I'm going to refer you to her very excellent and hilarious blog, the link for which can be found on the left of this page. It's the bloggideeblogblog one. Good reading.
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