In response to this morning's posting, Dave did waaaaaay too much work sifting through my old blog postings not to use one of his suggestions for a new blog title. And seeing as how I just sliced the hell out of my thumb making dinner tonight, I laughed my ass off at the thought of naming my blog "Not To Be Trusted With Knives.1" And seeing as the point of this blog, as far as I can tell, is to amuse myself, let's go with that and see how it works out.
1For reference, this is the blog posting to which this title refers.
Showing posts with label inanity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inanity. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Now I have two, two ouchies!
So I come home from Third Tuesday last night and, realizing that a Bellini 
and a few nachos do not a dinner make1, I decide to cook some pizza. Now, since I lack a proper oven mitt2, I took the pizza out of the oven using a dish towel. A very thin dish towel. And when I discover3 that it's rather hot and going to burn me through said dish towel, what do I do? I touch the damn cookie sheet with the index finger of my other hand, like as if I'm going to grab it with my bare hand because it's too hot to hold with a dish towel. Ya, that's right, skin directly on metal.
So now I have a burnt index finger to go with middle finger that I slammed the door on the day before. I think I may have burnt my fingerprint right off my finger. I'm now contemplating going on a crime spree in which I commit said crimes with only my left index finger, since they won't be able to get any prints.
So, yes, now I have two, two ouchies! The Count would be proud.
So now I have a burnt index finger to go with middle finger that I slammed the door on the day before. I think I may have burnt my fingerprint right off my finger. I'm now contemplating going on a crime spree in which I commit said crimes with only my left index finger, since they won't be able to get any prints.
So, yes, now I have two, two ouchies! The Count would be proud.
In a tangentially related story, when we were little, my sister was afraid to go in the basement because she believed the Count, who she was afraid of, lived in the drier in the laundry room. Which is funny, because it would have made more sense to be afraid of those things that really did live in the basement.
1For the record, I was planning to get something to eat, but the people at 3T were too fascinating and I got all caught up in conversations and didn't get around to actually ordering any food.
2Note to self: put "oven mitt" on Christmas wish list.
3I say "discover" like I really didn't know that when taking a cookie sheet out of a 450 degree oven the cookie sheet is going to be, well, 450 degrees.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
I have an ouchy
You know what is a really good way to take your mind off your injured foot?
Slam the door on your finger. Don't just close it, but really slam it good and hard. Seriously.
Slam the door on your finger. Don't just close it, but really slam it good and hard. Seriously.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Limpy
So apparently you really are supposed to train for a half marathon.
Yes, once upon a time, I registered to run the half at the Royal Victoria Marathon under the mistaken assumptions that:
Another incorrect assumption was my belief that carrying one's CareCard with them during events in which they have the potential to become injured will protect them from injury. As it turns out, carrying one's CareCard only prevents injuries of the severity that require use of said CareCard. Injuries that don't quite require medical attention are fair game.
Also, when someone says something like "If you injure a foot, Beth, make sure it's the left one. I've injured my right foot, so if you injure your left, we can drive Lauren's car together - you on the gas and me on the clutch - if Lauren happens to injure herself" is just tempting fate.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. First things first. I should tell you about how we were 15 minutes late starting the race. There were 6 of us staying at my old roommie1 Dani's new place in Victoria. Another lesson learned on this trip: 30 minutes is not nearly enough time to get 6 people up, dressed, fed and out the door for a race. But the time we arrived, the start line looked like this:
Just a few volunteers standing around. The thousands of people running the half marathon - long gone.
Figuring "thank goodness for chip time!" we took a quick photo and headed out:
Well, Dani and I headed out. Tim went in search of the bag check to leave his jacket before he started, Jo and Sheila, who were going to run the 8K2 rather than the half marathon went in search of its start line and Lauren, who ran the full marathon which didn't start for another 45 minutes, went with J & S. We ran 3 km before we caught up with the slowest of the half marathon walkers, that's how far behind we were. And we were reported by the cops... as we ran past one of the cops stationed along the route to control traffic we heard him say into his walkie-talkie "10-4, I've got two runners coming along here." I said to Dani, "They are onto us! Quick, run!" Hee hee.. running humour.
Around about the time we caught up with the walkers, I told Dani to go on ahead of me. I'm not nearly as fast as her and knew if I continued to try to keep up with her, it would spell trouble, so she went off on her way and I continued to run at my slower pace. The route was very pretty, going through Beacon Hill and then out at a road along the water. My body started to realized that I was really, truly going to make it keep running and, for a while, seemed OK with this decision. Then a pain showed up in my left foot, but it decided to try out my right foot to see if it preferred that location, and next transferred itself to both my knees simultaneously, followed by my lower back. A slight headache showed up, but I'm pretty sure that was because they had very poorly spaced water stations and I was getting a bit dehydrated. I grabbed two cups of water at the next water station, and then found there there was another water station very soon after. Weird. Finally, the pain decided it liked my left foot best out of all the places it had tried out and took up permanent residence there. At first I figured it would go away as it had before and kept running. When it firmly stood its ground, I decided that perhaps a 2 minute walk (instead of my usual 1 min walk for every 10 minutes of running) would help. It did not. Finally, around about the 15 km mark I asked myself, "Is it worth continuing to run on this foot that is clearly unhappy about being run on and risking a more serious injury that could put you out of hockey?" Once I phrased it that way, I knew what I had to do. I had to walk, or rather limp, the last 6 km of the race. After all, any form of exercise that isn't hockey is just off-ice conditioning, in my opinion. And so I limped. And limped. And limped. I limped so much that my right hip and ankle started to hurt from overcompensation. And yet I continued to limp. Because really, what else are you going to do? I certainly wasn't injured enough to stop at the medical stop (although I did think about it) and I had to get to the finish line, where my friends would be waiting for me.
As I continued on my way, I started to resent the volunteers who were positive, cheering on the runners and walkers with a "good job!" When I ran the Vancouver half, I found these cheers to be really motivating, but as I limped along, berating myself for not having trained more, all I could think is "You people are so insincere! I'm not doing a good job! I'm doing a terrible job!!" A few volunteers along the way did seem to notice my limp and the grimace that I'm sure was on my face and gave me a sympathetic smile and that was muchly appreciated.
In the end, I hobbled over the finish line, got my medal and, surprisingly, found my friends who had finished a half hour before me. And that was the end of the race I never should have run!
My plan now, as I sit here icing my feet4, is to take a small break from running. I may do the occasional run if the mood strikes me once my feet are healed, but winter is time to focus on hockey and skiing. Come the new year, I'll start thinking about the Scotiabank half marathon, which happens in June. But I'm going to train for it. No really, I've learned my lesson!
1Firefox's spellcheck tells me that "roommie" is not a word, but suggests that I actually mean "commie" here.
2I say "were going to" because they didn't, in the end, get to run. As it turns out, the start line for the 8K (which started at the same time as the half) was already taken down by this point.
4I'm icing my left foot, which was the main injury, and my right ankle, which feels strained from having limped on it for 6 km, as well as everywhere else I've had to walk since then. My feet are the thermostat to my body however, so making them cold is making the rest of me cold too, despite being in my warm bed with two blankets and a warm laptop on top of me!
Yes, once upon a time, I registered to run the half at the Royal Victoria Marathon under the mistaken assumptions that:
(a) registering and (b) announcing to the blogosphere that I have registered should be sufficient motivation to get me up off my butt and back into running.Note to self: the above assumptions are incorrect. Two weddings (and all the associated events), a softball league, wisdom teeth extraction and my general delinquency this summer all combined to give me sufficient excuses to not train adequately. And by "adequately" I mean "at all." But I registered, dammit, and I was going to run come hell or high water.
Another incorrect assumption was my belief that carrying one's CareCard with them during events in which they have the potential to become injured will protect them from injury. As it turns out, carrying one's CareCard only prevents injuries of the severity that require use of said CareCard. Injuries that don't quite require medical attention are fair game.
Also, when someone says something like "If you injure a foot, Beth, make sure it's the left one. I've injured my right foot, so if you injure your left, we can drive Lauren's car together - you on the gas and me on the clutch - if Lauren happens to injure herself" is just tempting fate.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. First things first. I should tell you about how we were 15 minutes late starting the race. There were 6 of us staying at my old roommie1 Dani's new place in Victoria. Another lesson learned on this trip: 30 minutes is not nearly enough time to get 6 people up, dressed, fed and out the door for a race. But the time we arrived, the start line looked like this:
Just a few volunteers standing around. The thousands of people running the half marathon - long gone.
Figuring "thank goodness for chip time!" we took a quick photo and headed out:
Jo, Dani, Sheila, me, Lauren & Tim.
Well, Dani and I headed out. Tim went in search of the bag check to leave his jacket before he started, Jo and Sheila, who were going to run the 8K2 rather than the half marathon went in search of its start line and Lauren, who ran the full marathon which didn't start for another 45 minutes, went with J & S. We ran 3 km before we caught up with the slowest of the half marathon walkers, that's how far behind we were. And we were reported by the cops... as we ran past one of the cops stationed along the route to control traffic we heard him say into his walkie-talkie "10-4, I've got two runners coming along here." I said to Dani, "They are onto us! Quick, run!" Hee hee.. running humour.
Around about the time we caught up with the walkers, I told Dani to go on ahead of me. I'm not nearly as fast as her and knew if I continued to try to keep up with her, it would spell trouble, so she went off on her way and I continued to run at my slower pace. The route was very pretty, going through Beacon Hill and then out at a road along the water. My body started to realized that I was really, truly going to make it keep running and, for a while, seemed OK with this decision. Then a pain showed up in my left foot, but it decided to try out my right foot to see if it preferred that location, and next transferred itself to both my knees simultaneously, followed by my lower back. A slight headache showed up, but I'm pretty sure that was because they had very poorly spaced water stations and I was getting a bit dehydrated. I grabbed two cups of water at the next water station, and then found there there was another water station very soon after. Weird. Finally, the pain decided it liked my left foot best out of all the places it had tried out and took up permanent residence there. At first I figured it would go away as it had before and kept running. When it firmly stood its ground, I decided that perhaps a 2 minute walk (instead of my usual 1 min walk for every 10 minutes of running) would help. It did not. Finally, around about the 15 km mark I asked myself, "Is it worth continuing to run on this foot that is clearly unhappy about being run on and risking a more serious injury that could put you out of hockey?" Once I phrased it that way, I knew what I had to do. I had to walk, or rather limp, the last 6 km of the race. After all, any form of exercise that isn't hockey is just off-ice conditioning, in my opinion. And so I limped. And limped. And limped. I limped so much that my right hip and ankle started to hurt from overcompensation. And yet I continued to limp. Because really, what else are you going to do? I certainly wasn't injured enough to stop at the medical stop (although I did think about it) and I had to get to the finish line, where my friends would be waiting for me.
As I continued on my way, I started to resent the volunteers who were positive, cheering on the runners and walkers with a "good job!" When I ran the Vancouver half, I found these cheers to be really motivating, but as I limped along, berating myself for not having trained more, all I could think is "You people are so insincere! I'm not doing a good job! I'm doing a terrible job!!" A few volunteers along the way did seem to notice my limp and the grimace that I'm sure was on my face and gave me a sympathetic smile and that was muchly appreciated.
In the end, I hobbled over the finish line, got my medal and, surprisingly, found my friends who had finished a half hour before me. And that was the end of the race I never should have run!
My plan now, as I sit here icing my feet4, is to take a small break from running. I may do the occasional run if the mood strikes me once my feet are healed, but winter is time to focus on hockey and skiing. Come the new year, I'll start thinking about the Scotiabank half marathon, which happens in June. But I'm going to train for it. No really, I've learned my lesson!
1Firefox's spellcheck tells me that "roommie" is not a word, but suggests that I actually mean "commie" here.
2I say "were going to" because they didn't, in the end, get to run. As it turns out, the start line for the 8K (which started at the same time as the half) was already taken down by this point.
4I'm icing my left foot, which was the main injury, and my right ankle, which feels strained from having limped on it for 6 km, as well as everywhere else I've had to walk since then. My feet are the thermostat to my body however, so making them cold is making the rest of me cold too, despite being in my warm bed with two blankets and a warm laptop on top of me!
Monday, August 20, 2007
Name My Gadgets
Anthropomorphizing1 my iPod and my Palm Treo in yesterday's blog posting got me to thinking... I really should name them. My iPod and my Palm Treo, I mean.
Do you have any good ideas for what I should call them? The only rule is that you can't use Vancouver Canucks player names. I have some other, um, electronics that I've named after Canucks.
1or would that be technopomorphizing?
Do you have any good ideas for what I should call them? The only rule is that you can't use Vancouver Canucks player names. I have some other, um, electronics that I've named after Canucks.
1or would that be technopomorphizing?
Saturday, July 07, 2007
7/7/7
While not as exciting, imho, as 6/6/6, today is 7/7/7. So happy 7/7/7 all y'all.
And to all those couples who are getting married today because they think it will bring their marriage good luck... um, good luck?
OK, now I'm off to a Jack & Jill for Erika & Paul (that sounds really weird... shouldn't it be called an Erika & Paul?) at a cabin somewhere out near Mission. And I'm supposed to be getting ready instead of blogging. Stupid half year resolution! I'm outta here!
And to all those couples who are getting married today because they think it will bring their marriage good luck... um, good luck?
OK, now I'm off to a Jack & Jill for Erika & Paul (that sounds really weird... shouldn't it be called an Erika & Paul?) at a cabin somewhere out near Mission. And I'm supposed to be getting ready instead of blogging. Stupid half year resolution! I'm outta here!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Dropper of All Things Valuable
I was talking to my sister today and she was telling me about how she really wants an iPhone, but she is hestitant to get one when they come out since she is "dropper of all things valuable." I think this trait must be genetic, because I am also a DoATV. I drop my iPod on a regular basis (thank dog for the protective rubber case I have on it). I've dropped my digital camera a couple of times (always onto my carpeted floor though, so it's been ok so far). I even dropped my beloved new phone on the bus the other day (can anyone say "heart attack"?)! And then tonight, I broke the pot for my coffeemaker! Now, that might not seem to meet the V requirement of DoATV, especially when you consider that I had partially melted the handle of that pot in a previous episode of airheadedness, wherein I had left it sitting on the oven and then turned on the wrong burner1 when I went to cook something, resulting in fire and melted plastic all over the stove. And so the handle was only very tenuously attached to the pot itself and I was pretty sure that I would one day spill a pot full of boiling hot coffee all over myself. So really, it's probably better that I knocked the pot off the pile of dishes in the dish drying rack, as opposed to getting third-degree burns over significant portions of my body. However, it does leave me in a bit of a predicament. I have a perfectly good coffeemaker, but no pot in which to make said coffee. What's a girl to do? Can you replace the coffee pot? I mean, you'd need to get the exact right model, or it wouldn't fit. But do they sell just the coffee pot part? If so, where? It would seem quite environmentally unfriendly to trash a perfectly good coffeemaker and get a new one just because you went and smashed the pot. People of the internets, I need your help! What do I do??
Also, on the topic of my airheadedness, I lost my key no fewer than once per day for the last three days. On Sunday I went for a run and so I had taken my key off the keychain to carry it in this little wrist band keyholder thing I have. I returned home from my run, absentmindedly put my key down and went about my day without thinking about it again until I went out. At that point, I checked my purse to make sure I had my keychain, which I did. But I had forgotten that the key was not attached to the key chain. So I locked myself out. Had to borrow the landlords's key to get back in. Spent hours looking for my key. Which turned out to be sitting underneath my laptop the entire time. *Sigh*
Oh man, it's so late right now. I'm up way past my bedtime. I have to be up in five and a half hours. And, of course, I won't be able to make myself any coffee in the morning!! Arrgh!
1I constantly, despite my best efforts to avoid it, turn the wrong burner on. If I want to turn the front burner on, 9 times of out 10 I'll turn the back burner on. I believe I suffer from stove dyslexia.
Also, on the topic of my airheadedness, I lost my key no fewer than once per day for the last three days. On Sunday I went for a run and so I had taken my key off the keychain to carry it in this little wrist band keyholder thing I have. I returned home from my run, absentmindedly put my key down and went about my day without thinking about it again until I went out. At that point, I checked my purse to make sure I had my keychain, which I did. But I had forgotten that the key was not attached to the key chain. So I locked myself out. Had to borrow the landlords's key to get back in. Spent hours looking for my key. Which turned out to be sitting underneath my laptop the entire time. *Sigh*
Oh man, it's so late right now. I'm up way past my bedtime. I have to be up in five and a half hours. And, of course, I won't be able to make myself any coffee in the morning!! Arrgh!
1I constantly, despite my best efforts to avoid it, turn the wrong burner on. If I want to turn the front burner on, 9 times of out 10 I'll turn the back burner on. I believe I suffer from stove dyslexia.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
The Funniest Spam I Received This Week
This delightful piece of spam somehow escaped my spam filter and ended up in my inbox. I usually just ignore things like this, that are obviously spam, but for some reason I read this one and couldn't help but laugh:
For the record, that's not actually a link there... I took out the link and just made it blue & underlined... those spammers will be getting no link love from the likes of me!
Dear Sir/Madam,The spammers have now taken to trashing spammers in their spam. And you just know some people get this email and thought, "Ya, it's about time the bank warned us about spammers trying to get us to go to false websites where they steal our banking info! Now I'm going to click on this link and type in all my banking info! That'll show you, spammers!"
RBC Financial Group always looks forward for the high security of our clients. Some customers have been receiving an email claiming to be from RBC Financial Group advising them to follow a link to what appear to be a RBC Financial Group web site, where they are prompted to enter their personal Online Banking details. RBC Financial Group is in no way involved with this email and the web site does not belong to us.
RBC Financial Group is proud to announce about their new updated secure system. We updated our new SSL servers to give our customers a better, fast and secure online banking service.
Due to the recent update of the servers, you are requested to please update your account info at the following link.
https://www1.royalbank.com/english/netaction/sgne.html
RBC Financial Group
Security Advisor
RBC Financial Group
For the record, that's not actually a link there... I took out the link and just made it blue & underlined... those spammers will be getting no link love from the likes of me!
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Things That Pissed Me Off Today
Now that I'm gainfully employed, not only do I have to get up before noon, but I also have to wear something other than jeans & a T-shirt or my PJs. And since I have this complex wherein I believe that no one will take me seriously because I'm so short, I dress up in business attire for work to try to appear more like a professional and less like a kid. Which means heels. And nylons. Today, I have a bone to pick with nylons.
This is the size chart for a typical pair of nylons:
Do you notice anything funny about the sizing? Why the f is there no size "A" in nylons?? There's B, C and D... but no "A"! I fall within what would be the "A" category if there was one. Basically, this means that, unless I gain 20+ lbs*, it is impossible for me to get nylons that will actually fit me. And if they had called the smallest available size "A" instead of calling it "B," I might have said, "OK, I'm just an abnormally short person." But they didn't. They called the smallest available size "B" - it's pretty much like they are saying "we know that there are people smaller than those for whom we are willing to make nylons - this is implied in the "A" category that we haven't included - but we just don't want to make nylons for you "A" people. Suck it, shorty!"
Why am I so pissed off about nylons you ask? Because I inevitably rip every pair of nylons I ever own, because they are always too big for me and I'm constantly having to pull them up, whereupon they rip. And so I spend a stupid amount of money buying friggin' nylons. And I don't have a lot of money because, despite being gainfully employed, most of my money is going to be going to pay off my student loans!
Speaking of which, that's the other thing that pissed me off today. As you may recall, I had gone into the bank on the weekend to try to get info on paying back my loans, but they couldn't get through on the phone to their own student loan centre, so they arranged to call me back once they had talked to the student loan centre. Here's a list of the things that pissed me off in this transaction, in chronological order:
*for the record, I am NOT going to gain 20 lbs for the sole purpose of being able to have nylons that fit me.
This is the size chart for a typical pair of nylons:
Do you notice anything funny about the sizing? Why the f is there no size "A" in nylons?? There's B, C and D... but no "A"! I fall within what would be the "A" category if there was one. Basically, this means that, unless I gain 20+ lbs*, it is impossible for me to get nylons that will actually fit me. And if they had called the smallest available size "A" instead of calling it "B," I might have said, "OK, I'm just an abnormally short person." But they didn't. They called the smallest available size "B" - it's pretty much like they are saying "we know that there are people smaller than those for whom we are willing to make nylons - this is implied in the "A" category that we haven't included - but we just don't want to make nylons for you "A" people. Suck it, shorty!"
Why am I so pissed off about nylons you ask? Because I inevitably rip every pair of nylons I ever own, because they are always too big for me and I'm constantly having to pull them up, whereupon they rip. And so I spend a stupid amount of money buying friggin' nylons. And I don't have a lot of money because, despite being gainfully employed, most of my money is going to be going to pay off my student loans!
Speaking of which, that's the other thing that pissed me off today. As you may recall, I had gone into the bank on the weekend to try to get info on paying back my loans, but they couldn't get through on the phone to their own student loan centre, so they arranged to call me back once they had talked to the student loan centre. Here's a list of the things that pissed me off in this transaction, in chronological order:
- I get to my office after a meeting and there is a message from the bank to call them back. I call back and am asked, "Are you aware that we have a special account manager for health care professionals?" I'm pretty sure they asked me this because when they left a message on my voice mail, they heard that I'm "Dr. Beth." I explained that I'm a Ph.D., not an M.D., but then I asked why health care professional get their own special account manager - do they get some special perks? "Health care professionals are very busy and can't always come in during bank hours, so they have an account manager who can provide service for them." Now, this strikes me as elitist. I have nothing against health care professionals, but other people are busy too!
- I am then informed that the bank's student loan centre didn't have my updated addres, so I have to call them to tell them my new address. "Wait," I say, "You have my correct address, but you don't give it to your student loan centre? I'm supposed to tell them separately?" How was I supposed to know that? It's the same bank, just a different office! And she was talking to them on the phone, why couldn't she just tell them my new address??
- I am also informed that she can give me an estimate of how much I will have to pay per month for Ontario student loans and how much for Canada student loans, but she can't tell me how much I need to pay on each of the individual accounts (you may recall that I have 14 separate loans with the bank, because that's how they handed out the student loan money - 2 or 3 separate loans per term). "Wait," I say, "I'm expected to make 14 separate transactions every single month? Why can't they all be put together?" "I don't know," she tells me, "You'll have to call the student loan centre to find out what they can do."
- So I call the bank's student loan centre. Somehow they have my updated phone number, but not my updated address. How is it possible that they got the new phone number, but not the new address? I mean, I got the new phone number on the exact same day as the new address! I know that I have never called the bank's student loan centre ever before, so they had to have gotten my new phone number from the regular part of the bank... why didn't they get my address too?
- The person I talked to at the student loan centre seemed completely unaware of how student loans work, how they are to be paid off or what the loan forgiveness program is. She was unable to tell me if I have to make 14 individual payments every single month or not, and the totals she gave me for my Ontario and Canada student loans do not match what it says in my account on the OSAP website, nor do they match the numbers listed in my online banking. And from the length of time it took her to calculate these numbers, I'm pretty sure quantum mechanics were involved, which may explain why nothing in this whole situation makes sense.
*for the record, I am NOT going to gain 20 lbs for the sole purpose of being able to have nylons that fit me.
Monday, March 05, 2007
I Should Not Be Trusted With Knives
Now, you might be wondering, "didn't she learn after the first time that she should be more careful? or after the second time??" I'm a scientist people! We require replication to have any confidence in anything!
Hypothesis: cutting your hand hurts.
Replications: 3.
Conclusion: I accept the hypothesis (p < 0.05*).
*sorry. The nerd in me required a statistical analysis, albeit a completely made up one.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
The Latest Crazy Undertaking in the Life of Beth
OK, so it's not totally crazy. For example, it's not as crazy as making your life a Choose Your Own Adventure where your blog readers get to vote on things you do in life so that you end up showing up to a blogging conference in a dragon costume, like so:
So, I'm not that crazy. The crazy undertaking of which I speak is that, starting tomorrow, I am following the Food Guide. For a month. And recording everything I eat. Danielle and another friend of ours, Sheila, who is also in the Dietetics program, have decided to do this since, as dietitians, they will be telling people to follow the Food Guide, so they really should see what it is like to do it themselves. And I, as usual, am tagging along for the ride. I even made my own personalized Food Guide (.pdf), using some of my favourite foods as examples (you can play along at home and make your own personalized Food Guide by going to the Health Canada site). As a female, age 19-30*, I am allowed the following number of servings in a day:
And "Food Guide Servings" are a heck of a lot smaller than what you or I usually think of as a serving. For example, one English muffin = 2 servings. 50g (or 1.5 oz) of cheese (that's a piece of cheese about the size of your thumb) = 1 serving. And 6 spears of asparagus = 1 serving**. And for you meat eaters, 1/2 cup of meat = 1 serving - that's just 125 mL or 2.5 oz of beef!
The plan is to record everything we eat and try to actually consume the recommended number of servings. Now, the amount of food that the Food Guide allows us looks like it is going to be a fair bit less than what we usually eat - not overly surprising, seeing as how the Food Guide is meant for the "average Canadian" and I'm pretty sure that training for a half marathon is slighty more activity than the "average Canadian" gets... not to mention the fact that, compared to Danielle & Sheila (who regularly run half marathons, are training for a triathalon, are hardcore utli players and bike to school every day) I look like a sedentary couch potato. So, we've decided that if we do, indeed, end up eating more servings than the Food Guide recommends, we'll try to make those from the Fruit & Veg group. Danielle & I made up booklets in which to easily record all this and I dug through my many boxes of dishes to find my extra sets of measuring cups, as I think we'll be doing a lot of measuring to figure out how many servings of things we'll be getting. As well, I'm sure that we'll be consuming things not included in the Food Guide***, and those things will be recorded and duly noted as well. The point is not necessarily to follow the Guide rigidly (as it is a guide, not a hard and fast program - and we nutritional scientists are fond of saying "things are OK in moderation!"), but to get a sense of how easy or difficult it is to follow the Guide.
As I'm sure you are all *dying* to know how this goes, I'll be sure to keep you posted.
*I better enjoy this year, as next year I enter the 31-50 age range (omg, how depressing is that!) and I'm only allowed 7 servings of Fruit & Veg and 6 servings of Grain Products! That's TWO less servings of food every single day! =(
*um, wtf? Who the hell only eats 6 spears of asparagus???
*** coffee, Diet Pepsi, sweet sweet alcohol, I'm looking in your direction
So, I'm not that crazy. The crazy undertaking of which I speak is that, starting tomorrow, I am following the Food Guide. For a month. And recording everything I eat. Danielle and another friend of ours, Sheila, who is also in the Dietetics program, have decided to do this since, as dietitians, they will be telling people to follow the Food Guide, so they really should see what it is like to do it themselves. And I, as usual, am tagging along for the ride. I even made my own personalized Food Guide (.pdf), using some of my favourite foods as examples (you can play along at home and make your own personalized Food Guide by going to the Health Canada site). As a female, age 19-30*, I am allowed the following number of servings in a day:
And "Food Guide Servings" are a heck of a lot smaller than what you or I usually think of as a serving. For example, one English muffin = 2 servings. 50g (or 1.5 oz) of cheese (that's a piece of cheese about the size of your thumb) = 1 serving. And 6 spears of asparagus = 1 serving**. And for you meat eaters, 1/2 cup of meat = 1 serving - that's just 125 mL or 2.5 oz of beef!
The plan is to record everything we eat and try to actually consume the recommended number of servings. Now, the amount of food that the Food Guide allows us looks like it is going to be a fair bit less than what we usually eat - not overly surprising, seeing as how the Food Guide is meant for the "average Canadian" and I'm pretty sure that training for a half marathon is slighty more activity than the "average Canadian" gets... not to mention the fact that, compared to Danielle & Sheila (who regularly run half marathons, are training for a triathalon, are hardcore utli players and bike to school every day) I look like a sedentary couch potato. So, we've decided that if we do, indeed, end up eating more servings than the Food Guide recommends, we'll try to make those from the Fruit & Veg group. Danielle & I made up booklets in which to easily record all this and I dug through my many boxes of dishes to find my extra sets of measuring cups, as I think we'll be doing a lot of measuring to figure out how many servings of things we'll be getting. As well, I'm sure that we'll be consuming things not included in the Food Guide***, and those things will be recorded and duly noted as well. The point is not necessarily to follow the Guide rigidly (as it is a guide, not a hard and fast program - and we nutritional scientists are fond of saying "things are OK in moderation!"), but to get a sense of how easy or difficult it is to follow the Guide.
As I'm sure you are all *dying* to know how this goes, I'll be sure to keep you posted.
*I better enjoy this year, as next year I enter the 31-50 age range (omg, how depressing is that!) and I'm only allowed 7 servings of Fruit & Veg and 6 servings of Grain Products! That's TWO less servings of food every single day! =(
*um, wtf? Who the hell only eats 6 spears of asparagus???
*** coffee, Diet Pepsi, sweet sweet alcohol, I'm looking in your direction
Saturday, January 27, 2007
At The Grocery Store
As a nutritional scientist, I consider it my duty to assess the contents of other shoppers's purchases when waiting in line at the grocery store checkout. The vast majority of the time, what people are buying is appallingly bad for you and I get to feel all smug and superior in a "what is this world coming to? why isn't anyone buying any whole grain products??" kind of way.
Today, I'm standing in the line up at Safeway and a cute boy walks into the line up behind me and starts emptying his basket onto the conveyor belt thingy. Oh my god, he's buying sprouted grain bread - not Wonder Bread! Look at that, he's getting whole grain crackers! And oatmeal! And the eggs with the omega-3 fatty acids! And then I look at my pathetic order... frozen french fries; pre-manufactured veggie burgers; the cheapest, omega-3-less eggs they sell; a huge vat of salsa. Oh my god, does he see I'm buying the cheap eggs with artery clogging saturated fats in them? Is he judging my frozen french fries? I want to yell, "but I'm on my way to the produce store to buy my fresh fruits and veggies next! I swear! And I'm getting multigrain bread at the bakery on the next block! Honest!" I can't even bring myself to look at him, lest his eyes tell me what he's surely too polite to say aloud: "Your grocery order is pathetic." Or perhaps not everyone is as critical as me about other people's groceries. Or perhaps he wasn't even looking at my order and he really was interested in the headline on that tabloid* he was looking at. Hard to say really.
It seems like there really should be some sort of grand conclusion to the posting, some moral to this story. But there isn't.
*FYI, did you know that Katy Holmes has been turned into a Stepford wife?
Today, I'm standing in the line up at Safeway and a cute boy walks into the line up behind me and starts emptying his basket onto the conveyor belt thingy. Oh my god, he's buying sprouted grain bread - not Wonder Bread! Look at that, he's getting whole grain crackers! And oatmeal! And the eggs with the omega-3 fatty acids! And then I look at my pathetic order... frozen french fries; pre-manufactured veggie burgers; the cheapest, omega-3-less eggs they sell; a huge vat of salsa. Oh my god, does he see I'm buying the cheap eggs with artery clogging saturated fats in them? Is he judging my frozen french fries? I want to yell, "but I'm on my way to the produce store to buy my fresh fruits and veggies next! I swear! And I'm getting multigrain bread at the bakery on the next block! Honest!" I can't even bring myself to look at him, lest his eyes tell me what he's surely too polite to say aloud: "Your grocery order is pathetic." Or perhaps not everyone is as critical as me about other people's groceries. Or perhaps he wasn't even looking at my order and he really was interested in the headline on that tabloid* he was looking at. Hard to say really.
It seems like there really should be some sort of grand conclusion to the posting, some moral to this story. But there isn't.
*FYI, did you know that Katy Holmes has been turned into a Stepford wife?
Thursday, January 25, 2007
The Unending Cycle of Syrup and Toaster Waffles
- Justify buying toaster waffles in order to use up the last of the syrup you have in your fridge.
- Use up the last of the syrup.
- Justify buying syrup on the grounds that you need it to eat up the last of those toaster waffles you bought.
- Repeat.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Overheard in Vancouver
Having recently read two fellow Vancouver bloggers postings about things "overheard in Vancouver" (Barefoot, 2007; Doppelganger, 2007)*, I was inspired to record this comment that I overhead on a bus in Vancouver today**:
*Sorry. Flashback to APA*** citation style.
**"today" was actually "yesterday" but the time I have posted this, possibly further back in history by the time you read this. I heard this on a bus heading downtown and wrote**** this posting on my Palm Pilot with attachable keyboard on the next bus I was on, heading out to the 'burbs. I <3 technology.
***No, not the American Poultry Association. Although they do have a book called "Living with Chickens," by which I am intrigued. However, I'm not sure what citation style they use.
****Ever since I first saw 8 Mile******, which I saw in the theatre when it first came out, everytime I take a long bus ride, I feel like I should be writing a rap song. Granted, Eminem wasn't writing on a Palm Pilot and I couldn't write a rap song to save my life, so writing blog posts will have to be sufficient.
******I just have to say that the sex scene between Eminem and Britney Murphy in 8 Mile is one of the hottest sex scenes I've ever seen on film*******.
*******Have you been able to follow all these footnotes? Is it nerdy to have more writing in footnote form than in the actual body of the posting? Is it nerdy that I wrote the HTML code to superscript the asterisks******** while composing this on my keyboard on the bus? Was it nerdy, as Danielle contended, that I went to the library and took out the a book on computer programming, by Stephen Hawking, and the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy*********? I also got Timothy Findley's Not Wanted on the Voyage, but Danielle said that just made it look like I was trying not to look to geeky by throwing some literature in there.
********I would have written the HTML code for the hyperlinks as well, but I didn't have the URLs of those things to which I wanted to link.
*********Which I picked up so as to complete my Hitchhiker Trilogy entries on my other blog
"A gun license is good for 5 years, but my medicinal marijuana license is only good for one. You do the math."
*Sorry. Flashback to APA*** citation style.
**"today" was actually "yesterday" but the time I have posted this, possibly further back in history by the time you read this. I heard this on a bus heading downtown and wrote**** this posting on my Palm Pilot with attachable keyboard on the next bus I was on, heading out to the 'burbs. I <3 technology.
***No, not the American Poultry Association. Although they do have a book called "Living with Chickens," by which I am intrigued. However, I'm not sure what citation style they use.
****Ever since I first saw 8 Mile******, which I saw in the theatre when it first came out, everytime I take a long bus ride, I feel like I should be writing a rap song. Granted, Eminem wasn't writing on a Palm Pilot and I couldn't write a rap song to save my life, so writing blog posts will have to be sufficient.
******I just have to say that the sex scene between Eminem and Britney Murphy in 8 Mile is one of the hottest sex scenes I've ever seen on film*******.
*******Have you been able to follow all these footnotes? Is it nerdy to have more writing in footnote form than in the actual body of the posting? Is it nerdy that I wrote the HTML code to superscript the asterisks******** while composing this on my keyboard on the bus? Was it nerdy, as Danielle contended, that I went to the library and took out the a book on computer programming, by Stephen Hawking, and the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy*********? I also got Timothy Findley's Not Wanted on the Voyage, but Danielle said that just made it look like I was trying not to look to geeky by throwing some literature in there.
********I would have written the HTML code for the hyperlinks as well, but I didn't have the URLs of those things to which I wanted to link.
*********Which I picked up so as to complete my Hitchhiker Trilogy entries on my other blog
Friday, January 19, 2007
Yes, I'm Still Talking About my Graduation
So, I finally got off my butt and scanned the grad photos that I finally got. I had originally hoped to send my grad photos out with my Christmas cards, thus saving a bunch of $$ on mailing, but when I got the proofs in mid-December, the photographer informed me that it would take 5 WEEKS to print my photos. I'm not sure why I can walk into Shopper's Drug Mart and print digital photos in a matter of minutes, but it takes these guys 5 WEEKS to print their digital photos, but, hey, I'm not a photographer, right? But, seriously, 5 WEEKS?? No one will even remember, let alone care, that I graduated by 5 WEEKS after the proofs are in... at least as evidenced by the fact that no one wants to hire me. Hmph. Apparently I am in a mood today.
OK, so back to the main point of this posting, which was not, despite all evidence thus far to the contrary, to complain about the slowness of digital printing these days. The point was this: to share with you my two favourite photos from the shoot. I love these photos because of the sheer ridiculousness of them.
First up, we have Beth and the pole.
Why I am standing like this? Am I in love with this pole? Why am I caressing it? Did the photographer actually position my hands like that, since apparently I am incapable of knowing how to hold my hands against a pole? Where does one find such a pole? Why is there no background in this pole-centric location? What am I looking at? What is behind that mysterious smile? Why is my robe so very, very pink? And, of course, what's the deal with the puffy hat? Clearly, this photo raises more questions than it answers.
Second up, is Beth sitting on a throne-like chair. I'd like to
point out (not that it is strictly necessary, as how could you miss it really?) the sheer number of props in this photo. The big leather chair, the book I'm holding, the globe in the background, the puffy ha, the bookcase full of books behind me... and they are *real* books, not a facade and not a pull down screen with a picture of books on it. *Real* books... JUST LIKE THE GREAT GATSBY!! I was highly disappointed when I got this photo back, as the proof had a clock on one of the higher shelves behind me, but it was cropped out in the final print. Because I really feel that this photo needs one more prop. I like to think of the props as each representing something. The books represent the large body of knowledge that I learned over the years and then forgot. The globe represents all the places in the world that I didn't visit because I was spending all my time and money on school, the book that I'm holding, but clearly not reading represents all the procrastinating that I did. The leather chair represents... um, can someone help me out with what the leather chair represents? And the clock, well the clock represents how friggin' long it took me to do the Ph.D. (or, as phrased ever so eloquently by my supervisor, "Don't you think you are getting a little long in the tooth?). So really, without the clock, it loses the full effect, don't you think?
OK, so back to the main point of this posting, which was not, despite all evidence thus far to the contrary, to complain about the slowness of digital printing these days. The point was this: to share with you my two favourite photos from the shoot. I love these photos because of the sheer ridiculousness of them.
First up, we have Beth and the pole.
Why I am standing like this? Am I in love with this pole? Why am I caressing it? Did the photographer actually position my hands like that, since apparently I am incapable of knowing how to hold my hands against a pole? Where does one find such a pole? Why is there no background in this pole-centric location? What am I looking at? What is behind that mysterious smile? Why is my robe so very, very pink? And, of course, what's the deal with the puffy hat? Clearly, this photo raises more questions than it answers.
Second up, is Beth sitting on a throne-like chair. I'd like to
Thursday, January 11, 2007
30
1 - # of neices I have
2 - # of countries to which I have been*
3 - # of continents to which my neice had been before the age of 1
4 - # of blogs for which I currently write
5 - current +/- of both of the Sedin twins
6 - # of homes in which I have lived**
7 - # of provinces to which I have been***
8 - # of email addresses I have
9 - # of weddings I've been to in my life
10 - # of servings of fruits & vegetables you should be consuming per day
11 - # of years of postsecondary education I have
12 - # of biological aunts and uncles I have
13 - movie that I want to see
14 - # of cousins I have
15 - current # of points Taylor Pyatt has this season
16 - age at which I got my driver's license****
17 - # of feeds on my Google Reader
18 - # of items on my blogroll
19 - jersey number of Canucks captain, Markus Naslund
20 - age at which I got married
21 - # of kilometers I'm planning to run in May
22 - age at which I got my B.Sc.
23 - age at which I got my M.Sc.
24 - age at which I passed my Ph.D. comprehensive exam
25 - age of my neice, in months
26 - # of songs currently on the "sex" playlist on my iPod
27 - 33
28 - # of blog entries I currently have labeled with the tag "photos"
29 - age at which I got my Ph.D.
30 - number of times I've traveled around the sun
*pathetic, eh?
**for the record: (1) my parents's house in Milton, ON, (2) apartment in Hamilton, ON, (3) apartment in Milton, ON, (4) apartment in Burnaby, BC, (5) first basement suite in Vancouver, BC, (6) current basement suite in Vancouver, BC
***BC, Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Ontario, Quebec, PEI
****and it was like 2 months after my 16th birthday, FYI
2 - # of countries to which I have been*
3 - # of continents to which my neice had been before the age of 1
4 - # of blogs for which I currently write
5 - current +/- of both of the Sedin twins
6 - # of homes in which I have lived**
7 - # of provinces to which I have been***
8 - # of email addresses I have
9 - # of weddings I've been to in my life
10 - # of servings of fruits & vegetables you should be consuming per day
11 - # of years of postsecondary education I have
12 - # of biological aunts and uncles I have
13 - movie that I want to see
14 - # of cousins I have
15 - current # of points Taylor Pyatt has this season
16 - age at which I got my driver's license****
17 - # of feeds on my Google Reader
18 - # of items on my blogroll
19 - jersey number of Canucks captain, Markus Naslund
20 - age at which I got married
21 - # of kilometers I'm planning to run in May
22 - age at which I got my B.Sc.
23 - age at which I got my M.Sc.
24 - age at which I passed my Ph.D. comprehensive exam
25 - age of my neice, in months
26 - # of songs currently on the "sex" playlist on my iPod
27 - 33
28 - # of blog entries I currently have labeled with the tag "photos"
29 - age at which I got my Ph.D.
30 - number of times I've traveled around the sun
*pathetic, eh?
**for the record: (1) my parents's house in Milton, ON, (2) apartment in Hamilton, ON, (3) apartment in Milton, ON, (4) apartment in Burnaby, BC, (5) first basement suite in Vancouver, BC, (6) current basement suite in Vancouver, BC
***BC, Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Ontario, Quebec, PEI
****and it was like 2 months after my 16th birthday, FYI
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Meez
I had made a cool one of me doing some wicked stick handling, but then discovered that I would have to pay "5 Coinz" to have my Meez hold a hockey stick. Kind of surprising, given that I didn't think Americans were all that into hockey, so I wouldn't imagine that it would be a popular item that they'd want to charge for. Perhaps they had to pay a Canadian to tell them what the heck a hockey is?
Also, most of the animations made the avatar look like they are having a seizure, so I chose this relatively low key "drinking coffee" animation. And I also happen to drink a lot of coffee. I couldn't figure out how to change the hair colour (I'm sure it was right there in front of me, but I couldn't find it), so I just left it with brown hair, even though my hair is more red now since I tried to dye it blonde).
Oh ya, and I'd like to point out that I'm wearing platform shoes.
Update: I figured out the hair colour thing (as you can see, I know have my red hair). I know you must all be terribly relieved by this.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Stoled
As you know, I like to steal ideas from pay homage to other fine writers of the blogosphere. I noticed that Rebecca over at Larocque and Roll made up her New Year's resolutions by hitting random play on her iTunes and devising resolutions based on the first ten songs that came up. Go here to read her list. Good resolutions, yes? So I decided to give it a whirl with the songs on my iPod... check out what I ended up with:
#1 - The Jeep Song by the Dresden Dolls - I should get an SUV this year? That doesn't seem very practical for someone who lives in a city.
#2 - Gravity by the Dresden Dolls - Yes, I really should start obeying the law of gravity. All this flying around I've been doing is arousing suspisions.
#3 - Fake Tales of San Francisco by the Arctic Monkeys - I should move to San Fran... no fair, I've totally been trying to do that! Hmmm... maybe it means I should be telling more lies?
#4 - Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace - I guess I really should tame this animal I have become. Or, wait, animal... animal... perhaps it means I should get a kitten!
#5 - First Orgasm by the Dresden Dolls - Oh wow. What do I do with this one? I need to have more orgasms??
#6 -I Love Myself Today by Bif Naked - Good song, but is this really how I should be getting these more orgasms?
#7 -38 Years Old by The Tragically Hip - Ah, perhaps this is where the more orgasms should be coming from - a 38 year old. Not the one in the song, mind you, because he's never even kissed a girl.
#8 - Basket Case by Green Day - Clearly I am one, to still be writing this posting....
#9 - Underwhelmed by Sloan - Hmph. That doesn't sound promising at all.
#10 - Only Love by Groove Coverage - I give up!
OK, that didn't quite work out as well as Rebecca's. So, I think what I really need to do this year is stop saying "stoled"*... I have no idea where on earth I picked this up, but I've said it for as long as I can remember. And it sounds soooo trashy! So, if you hear me saying "stoled", unless I'm referring to someone who is wearing a stole, please berate me accordingly.
*As in "I stoled this idea from Rebecca."
#1 - The Jeep Song by the Dresden Dolls - I should get an SUV this year? That doesn't seem very practical for someone who lives in a city.
#2 - Gravity by the Dresden Dolls - Yes, I really should start obeying the law of gravity. All this flying around I've been doing is arousing suspisions.
#3 - Fake Tales of San Francisco by the Arctic Monkeys - I should move to San Fran... no fair, I've totally been trying to do that! Hmmm... maybe it means I should be telling more lies?
#4 - Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace - I guess I really should tame this animal I have become. Or, wait, animal... animal... perhaps it means I should get a kitten!
#5 - First Orgasm by the Dresden Dolls - Oh wow. What do I do with this one? I need to have more orgasms??
#6 -I Love Myself Today by Bif Naked - Good song, but is this really how I should be getting these more orgasms?
#7 -38 Years Old by The Tragically Hip - Ah, perhaps this is where the more orgasms should be coming from - a 38 year old. Not the one in the song, mind you, because he's never even kissed a girl.
#8 - Basket Case by Green Day - Clearly I am one, to still be writing this posting....
#9 - Underwhelmed by Sloan - Hmph. That doesn't sound promising at all.
#10 - Only Love by Groove Coverage - I give up!
OK, that didn't quite work out as well as Rebecca's. So, I think what I really need to do this year is stop saying "stoled"*... I have no idea where on earth I picked this up, but I've said it for as long as I can remember. And it sounds soooo trashy! So, if you hear me saying "stoled", unless I'm referring to someone who is wearing a stole, please berate me accordingly.
*As in "I stoled this idea from Rebecca."
Friday, January 05, 2007
These Are The Daves I Know, I Know
The other day I happened across this site: Dave Wear*.
And it got me thinking about how I'd been meaning to write a posting about all the Daves I Know, I Know.
Of course, I have to start with none other then Dave, of Touch You Last fame**. I went to high school with Dave, although I can't say that we really knew each other very well back then. He's married to one of my bestest friends in the whole wide world, so I know him much better now. As I've said before, Dave introduced me to the world of blogging, so anyone who likes my blog has Dave to thank.
Dave B. He was my first... um, something that I shouldn't be putting on the record, seeing as it's illegal in most places***. I met Dave B when I taught him how to teach PBL. He also plays on my ball hockey team.
Dave S-J. He's also on my ball hockey team. Sometimes he and Dave B. play on the same line -- the Double Dave line, as it were.
Dave K is a colleague of mine and he promised me a birthday drunk for my upcoming b-day. I thought it was a typo and he meant birthday "drink," but no, he did, in fact, mean "drunk." Dave is from Newfoundland.
Dave N is another colleague of mine, who also happened to teach a course I took. He runs this website and his email address is "db@..." where the "db" stands for "drinking buddy." And that's his work email.
Another Dave N - my little cousin, he lives in Montreal. Dave S. was a prof that I worked with on a number of projects; Dave H. is married to one of Sarah's colleagues and I met him the last time Sarah was here, as he and his wife were here on a house hunting trip. And then there's another Dave B. who once got really mad about a comment on my blog, so let's not talk about him.
And, of course, there's the Dave from whom I'm divorced****.
Hmmm.... it seems like I know more than just these Daves, but I can't seem to think of any more. So, who are the Daves you know, you know?
*You're welcome, Dave.
**Also known as Daav.
***No, it's not what you are thinking. But good guess.
****effective as of today, actually. Please refrain from making comments on this Dave.
And it got me thinking about how I'd been meaning to write a posting about all the Daves I Know, I Know.
Of course, I have to start with none other then Dave, of Touch You Last fame**. I went to high school with Dave, although I can't say that we really knew each other very well back then. He's married to one of my bestest friends in the whole wide world, so I know him much better now. As I've said before, Dave introduced me to the world of blogging, so anyone who likes my blog has Dave to thank.
Dave B. He was my first... um, something that I shouldn't be putting on the record, seeing as it's illegal in most places***. I met Dave B when I taught him how to teach PBL. He also plays on my ball hockey team.
Dave S-J. He's also on my ball hockey team. Sometimes he and Dave B. play on the same line -- the Double Dave line, as it were.
Dave K is a colleague of mine and he promised me a birthday drunk for my upcoming b-day. I thought it was a typo and he meant birthday "drink," but no, he did, in fact, mean "drunk." Dave is from Newfoundland.
Dave N is another colleague of mine, who also happened to teach a course I took. He runs this website and his email address is "db@..." where the "db" stands for "drinking buddy." And that's his work email.
Another Dave N - my little cousin, he lives in Montreal. Dave S. was a prof that I worked with on a number of projects; Dave H. is married to one of Sarah's colleagues and I met him the last time Sarah was here, as he and his wife were here on a house hunting trip. And then there's another Dave B. who once got really mad about a comment on my blog, so let's not talk about him.
And, of course, there's the Dave from whom I'm divorced****.
Hmmm.... it seems like I know more than just these Daves, but I can't seem to think of any more. So, who are the Daves you know, you know?
*You're welcome, Dave.
**Also known as Daav.
***No, it's not what you are thinking. But good guess.
****effective as of today, actually. Please refrain from making comments on this Dave.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
The Saga of the Jersey
On Sunday, I saw a really nice Canuck jersey in the window of the Sally Ann Thrift Store on Broadway. So, being the naive girl that I am, I thought I could go into the store and buy said jersey. But alas, life is not that simple. When I went in on Monday* and inquired about the jersey, the woman at the counter looked at me like I was slightly crazy and said, "The items in the window are on sale on Wednesday. First come, first served." "OK," I said, "what time do you open?" "10 am," she replies. And then she cryptically adds, "And people usually line up early."
So, today, being Wednesday, I got myself up early** and made the trek down to Broadway, arriving around 9:30. No one is there, so I rejoice: the jersey will be mine! I sit outside the store, eating my rice cakes*** and reading my book until about quarter to, when another couple shows up. We start chatting and ask each other what item in the window we were there to get. To my relief****, they are after a fleece sweater and a jacket, so we figure we will all go home happy.
Then, a monkey wrench arrives in the form of a dark haired woman, who asks us, "Do you have numbers?" We look at her quizzically, "Numbers?" She points to some slips of paper on a table that we hadn't noticed before... 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9. I grab 5 and my new friends grab 6 and 7. Dark Hair informs us that she is 4, but 1 to 3 are nowhere to be found. "What item are you here for?" I ask, hoping she wants something different than the rest of us. "Oh no!" she exclaims, "I'm not getting into THAT again!" More puzzled looks from myself and the couple. "What? Why not?" I ask. "Because if you tell people what you are here for, they will take it just to spite you!" So I'm thinking, "Paranoid much lady?" But I, quite rationally I think, state, "Well, you are ahead of me and there is no point in me wasting my time staying here if you want what I want." "OK," she says, "but I'm only telling you because you aren't ahead of me in line. I want the Canucks jersey!" "Damn!" I think. My new friends give me sympathetic looks, but I know are secretly happy that she didn't want the fleece or the jacket. I admit defeat: "OK, well, I'm outta here then, because that's what I wanted too." Dark Hair then says, "But it might not fit me. You should stick around in case it doesn't." Then adds, with a hint of venom in her voice, "That is, if numbers 1 to 3 don't get to it first." OK, good point, it might not fit her, and since I'd already waited that long, what's a few more minutes, right? So we wait, pondering on the whereabouts of numbers 1 to 3. It gets closer to 10 am and more people arrive. We inquire as to their numbers. Some people don't have numbers and have no idea what we are talking about when we ask them... they stare at us with a look of confusion completely befitting the situation - they just want to go in to check out what's in the store and this whole Wednesday morning madness is beyond their realm of comprehension. Then a boy with an X-box shows up and says he's number 3. "Don't tell anyone what we discussed," Dark Hair whispers to me, "I only told you because you are behind me in line." "Don't worry," I say, "I won't tell." I want to add, "I will take your secret to the grave!! No amount of torture would force the secret from my dying lips!" but I think better of it... she might buy the jersey even if it doesn't fit her, just to spite me for making fun of her. I start to think the thrift store paranoia is rubbing off on me. More people arrive. Numbers 1 and 2 are now there. "What time did you get here?" we ask. "9:05" Number 1 informs us, adding bitterly, "I was late."***** People start to crowd around the door, although I don't understand why, since we all have numbers that determine the order in which we will purchase things, so crowding the door won't help you get that coveted thrifty item. An older lady arrives and starts chatting. It turns out that Older Lady is like the Yoda of the Thrift Store. "Canucks jersey you desire? Hmmm. I sense much impatience in you, young Jedi. Sith Lords, I fear, seek to spite you, they do." She informs us that we must never tell anyone in the lineup what we are there for, as people in front of you in the lineup will buy it and then offer to sell it to you for a higher price. Or they will buy it just to spite you. Looking around at the crowd with narrowed eyes, she tells us in a hushed tone, "some of these people are regulars." We look around too, wondering which person or persons could be the buying-thrift-store-items-for-spite culprit. Or culprits. She tells us the Tale of the Louis Vuitton purses, where the young UBC student lost out on the 2 LV purses she wanted, which turned out to be knock offs, but ended up finding a real LV purse in the store instead, restoring our faith in the venerable principle of "what goes around comes around." We stand, entranced by her story. OK, maybe not entranced. Maybe entertained by the sheer ridiculousness of this situation.
10 am. The moment of truth. The keepers of the coveted thrift store items open the door and declare, "Number One." Number One enters the store and they close the door behind her. "They used to just let people in and trust that everyone would be fair about who got there first. But there were too many fights," Yoda of the Thrift Store tells us, "Now they only let us in one by one." Next Number Two goes in. Then Number Three. Then it's Dark Hair's turn; she rushes in and finds that the jersey is still there! She picks up a Leafs jersey and shows it to me through the window, pointing enthusiastically at the hideous thing, as if to say, "Ha ha! You are stuck with a friggin' Leafs jersey, sucka!" And I'm thinking, "Can she really be so cruel as to taunt me this way? What did I do to her?" And I say, "I'd rather slit my throat than wear a Leafs jersey!!" to much laugher from the crowd still waiting outside. When they let me in, I head over to the fitting room, where Dark Hair is about to enter. I'm hoping against hope that the jersey won't fit her. She calls out, "It's a kids size!" To which I reply, "I fit into kids sizes!" She comes out of the fitting room, with the jersey clearly being way too tight for her and exclaims, "It fits me!" Then she adds, "I'm really sorry." I know that if I say what I'm actually thinking ("Are you kidding me? You look ridiculous in that jersey!! You'll need to change your name to Lumpy McLumpyson!!"), I would just sound like I was trying to get her to not buy the jersey so that I could have it. So instead I said, "No need to be sorry. You got here first, so you get the jersey. You win some, you lose some. The jersey looks really nice on you and I hope you enjoy the game tomorrow.******" And then she says, "Well, you can always get the other jersey." I'm dumbfounded. It hits me that she actually thinks that if you don't get the Canucks jersey, you would just wear a Leafs one. Is she on crack?? "It's a Leafs jersey! A Leafs jersey!" I exclaim, the incredulity dripping from my voice. "I'm a Canucks fan! I'd honestly rather slit my throat than wear a Leafs jersey!" And as the realization that she wasn't truly a Canucks fan, she didn't understand the ways of hockey like I do, but she was going to get that cool jersey for cheap and I was going to walk away empty-handed, I felt that maybe all wasn't right with the world. Or maybe, just maybe, it's just a freakin' shirt and this whole seedy underworld of thrift store Wednesday morning free-for-alls is not a place I want to become accustomed to!
*since they weren't open on Sunday when I saw it.
**getting up before 10 am constitutes "early" in my books.
***still detoxing
****because I would feel bad if they had come for the jersey and would be disappointed that I had been there first. Not bad enough to let them have it, but still.
*****I don't know why she sounded so bitter, she got the first freaking number!
******as she had told me that she wanted the jersey because she was going to the Canucks game tomorrow night.
So, today, being Wednesday, I got myself up early** and made the trek down to Broadway, arriving around 9:30. No one is there, so I rejoice: the jersey will be mine! I sit outside the store, eating my rice cakes*** and reading my book until about quarter to, when another couple shows up. We start chatting and ask each other what item in the window we were there to get. To my relief****, they are after a fleece sweater and a jacket, so we figure we will all go home happy.
Then, a monkey wrench arrives in the form of a dark haired woman, who asks us, "Do you have numbers?" We look at her quizzically, "Numbers?" She points to some slips of paper on a table that we hadn't noticed before... 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9. I grab 5 and my new friends grab 6 and 7. Dark Hair informs us that she is 4, but 1 to 3 are nowhere to be found. "What item are you here for?" I ask, hoping she wants something different than the rest of us. "Oh no!" she exclaims, "I'm not getting into THAT again!" More puzzled looks from myself and the couple. "What? Why not?" I ask. "Because if you tell people what you are here for, they will take it just to spite you!" So I'm thinking, "Paranoid much lady?" But I, quite rationally I think, state, "Well, you are ahead of me and there is no point in me wasting my time staying here if you want what I want." "OK," she says, "but I'm only telling you because you aren't ahead of me in line. I want the Canucks jersey!" "Damn!" I think. My new friends give me sympathetic looks, but I know are secretly happy that she didn't want the fleece or the jacket. I admit defeat: "OK, well, I'm outta here then, because that's what I wanted too." Dark Hair then says, "But it might not fit me. You should stick around in case it doesn't." Then adds, with a hint of venom in her voice, "That is, if numbers 1 to 3 don't get to it first." OK, good point, it might not fit her, and since I'd already waited that long, what's a few more minutes, right? So we wait, pondering on the whereabouts of numbers 1 to 3. It gets closer to 10 am and more people arrive. We inquire as to their numbers. Some people don't have numbers and have no idea what we are talking about when we ask them... they stare at us with a look of confusion completely befitting the situation - they just want to go in to check out what's in the store and this whole Wednesday morning madness is beyond their realm of comprehension. Then a boy with an X-box shows up and says he's number 3. "Don't tell anyone what we discussed," Dark Hair whispers to me, "I only told you because you are behind me in line." "Don't worry," I say, "I won't tell." I want to add, "I will take your secret to the grave!! No amount of torture would force the secret from my dying lips!" but I think better of it... she might buy the jersey even if it doesn't fit her, just to spite me for making fun of her. I start to think the thrift store paranoia is rubbing off on me. More people arrive. Numbers 1 and 2 are now there. "What time did you get here?" we ask. "9:05" Number 1 informs us, adding bitterly, "I was late."***** People start to crowd around the door, although I don't understand why, since we all have numbers that determine the order in which we will purchase things, so crowding the door won't help you get that coveted thrifty item. An older lady arrives and starts chatting. It turns out that Older Lady is like the Yoda of the Thrift Store. "Canucks jersey you desire? Hmmm. I sense much impatience in you, young Jedi. Sith Lords, I fear, seek to spite you, they do." She informs us that we must never tell anyone in the lineup what we are there for, as people in front of you in the lineup will buy it and then offer to sell it to you for a higher price. Or they will buy it just to spite you. Looking around at the crowd with narrowed eyes, she tells us in a hushed tone, "some of these people are regulars." We look around too, wondering which person or persons could be the buying-thrift-store-items-for-spite culprit. Or culprits. She tells us the Tale of the Louis Vuitton purses, where the young UBC student lost out on the 2 LV purses she wanted, which turned out to be knock offs, but ended up finding a real LV purse in the store instead, restoring our faith in the venerable principle of "what goes around comes around." We stand, entranced by her story. OK, maybe not entranced. Maybe entertained by the sheer ridiculousness of this situation.
10 am. The moment of truth. The keepers of the coveted thrift store items open the door and declare, "Number One." Number One enters the store and they close the door behind her. "They used to just let people in and trust that everyone would be fair about who got there first. But there were too many fights," Yoda of the Thrift Store tells us, "Now they only let us in one by one." Next Number Two goes in. Then Number Three. Then it's Dark Hair's turn; she rushes in and finds that the jersey is still there! She picks up a Leafs jersey and shows it to me through the window, pointing enthusiastically at the hideous thing, as if to say, "Ha ha! You are stuck with a friggin' Leafs jersey, sucka!" And I'm thinking, "Can she really be so cruel as to taunt me this way? What did I do to her?" And I say, "I'd rather slit my throat than wear a Leafs jersey!!" to much laugher from the crowd still waiting outside. When they let me in, I head over to the fitting room, where Dark Hair is about to enter. I'm hoping against hope that the jersey won't fit her. She calls out, "It's a kids size!" To which I reply, "I fit into kids sizes!" She comes out of the fitting room, with the jersey clearly being way too tight for her and exclaims, "It fits me!" Then she adds, "I'm really sorry." I know that if I say what I'm actually thinking ("Are you kidding me? You look ridiculous in that jersey!! You'll need to change your name to Lumpy McLumpyson!!"), I would just sound like I was trying to get her to not buy the jersey so that I could have it. So instead I said, "No need to be sorry. You got here first, so you get the jersey. You win some, you lose some. The jersey looks really nice on you and I hope you enjoy the game tomorrow.******" And then she says, "Well, you can always get the other jersey." I'm dumbfounded. It hits me that she actually thinks that if you don't get the Canucks jersey, you would just wear a Leafs one. Is she on crack?? "It's a Leafs jersey! A Leafs jersey!" I exclaim, the incredulity dripping from my voice. "I'm a Canucks fan! I'd honestly rather slit my throat than wear a Leafs jersey!" And as the realization that she wasn't truly a Canucks fan, she didn't understand the ways of hockey like I do, but she was going to get that cool jersey for cheap and I was going to walk away empty-handed, I felt that maybe all wasn't right with the world. Or maybe, just maybe, it's just a freakin' shirt and this whole seedy underworld of thrift store Wednesday morning free-for-alls is not a place I want to become accustomed to!
*since they weren't open on Sunday when I saw it.
**getting up before 10 am constitutes "early" in my books.
***still detoxing
****because I would feel bad if they had come for the jersey and would be disappointed that I had been there first. Not bad enough to let them have it, but still.
*****I don't know why she sounded so bitter, she got the first freaking number!
******as she had told me that she wanted the jersey because she was going to the Canucks game tomorrow night.
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