A Meme. . . All About Me! Me!

Schmutzie has tagged me for a meme. . . Woot, I feel special.

The rules of this meme are as follows:
- Respond to and rework the meme.
- Answer the questions on your own blog.
- Replace one question and add one question.
- Tag 8 people

So um. . . As far as tagging people, I don't have eight friends, so if you are actually reading this, consider yourself tagged and I will have officially fulfilled my meme spreading duties.

What are your current obsessions?

Growing delicious things on my balcony, and eating bananas.

Which item from your wardrobe do you wear the most often?
My one and only pair of maternity jeans. . . I wear them and wear them until the giant elastic bit starts to stretch out and I start to lose them while walking. I then pick a day in which, a) I don't have to go anywhere, or b) It is warm enough to wear a skirt or dress, and wash them in hopes that the washing machine and drying process will return them to their original size.

What's for dinner?
I haven't decided yet. . . I am thinking stir-fry and pot stickers but that would involve me going to the store and yesterday when I went to the store I tripped over the line painted on the street and bruised up my knees real good!. . . So I'll probably just leave dinner to Das Piper tonight.

What is your greatest fear at the moment?
That my doctor's appointment this afternoon won't go as smoothly as all the ones before it. . . Possibly due to the face/knee plant I did yesterday, even if my stomach didn't even come close to hitting the ground.

What are you listening to?
Um, iTunes on random. . . at this particular second it is Joel Plaskett Emergency - Written All Over Me. . . For anyone interested, Joel Plaskett is playing at the Distrikt on the 6th. . .it's a Wednesday I know, but will someone please come with me?

If you were a god/goddess what would you be?
Definitely not one of those Greek ones that disguise themselves as animals to have sex with hot chicks. . . That's just weird and kind of wrong.

What are your favourite holiday spots?
Beautiful British Columbia. Particularly the island of Galiano. It's got hippies just like salt-spring, only without as much of the touristy weekender stuff. . . Although it's quickly going that direction.

What are you reading right now?
Heather Armstrong's "It Sucked And Then I Cried: How I Had A Baby, A Breakdown, And A Much Needed Margarita".

What are four words that describe you?
Bloated, nauseated, grumpy, glowing.

What is your guilty pleasure?
Just like Schmutzie, who tagged me for this meme, I watch 'The Hills", usually in secret online while Das Piper is at work. . . And while I am getting things off of my chest. . . I've been watching since it was Laguna Beach. . . I am going to go hang my head in shame now.

What is one thing you could never live without?
A personal music device of some kind. . . I don't care if it's my iPod or whatever, if it has headphones and plays my music I am happy.

What is your favourite spring thing to do?
Bring out all of my summer clothes and organize them according to style and colour. . . This organization will last all of a week or so before I give up on it entirely.

Where are you planning to travel next?
To northern Saskatchewan for the Ness Creek Folk Festival. . . I will be a real earth mother with my dirty hippy feet and giant pregnant belly.

What is the best thing you ate or drank lately?
Yesterday, after I tripped over the line painted on the road, I bought myself a deep and delicious cake and some pink lemonade and all was good.

When was the last time you were tipsy?
I don't even remember anymore. . .New Years probably. . . I mysteriously developed aversions to every vice I had. Turns out I was pregnant.

What is your favourite ever film?
Um, normally I would say Kevin Smith's Dogma, which I do love dearly. But the reality is that when I have nothing else to watch, or need some cheering up, I run straight into the arms of Pauly Shore. . . I am Bio-Dome's bitch.

What is the biggest life lesson you've learned from your kids?
Woman who say that they were never sick, and that pregnancy was the greatest 40 weeks of their lives are bitches and liars and should be ashamed of themselves for making it look so easy. That's false advertising!

What song can't you get out of your head?
Two songs ago, iTunes shuffle decided I should listen to Jack Black's 'Fuck Her Gently', and who am I to question iTunes shuffle? . . . Now I have that line about Zanzibar stuck in my head.

What book do you know you should read but refuse to?
"What To Expect When You're Expecting". . . It's just a big list of things you can't do, followed by a big list of everything that will go wrong if you do, followed by a big list of everything that will go wrong no matter what you do. . . I don't need that kind of stress in my already paranoid mind.

What is your physical abnormality/abnormal physical ability?
I can make things explode with my mind. . . I just choose not to.


GIST #9 of 365: A Day Of Cravings

1) Peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

2) Mushroom soup

3) More bananas

4) Chocolate covered raisins

5) Mmmm, bananas


Bear Grylls Is A Big Fat Fake!

I am a huge fan of Les Stroud and his OLN show 'Survivorman'.

For anyone who hasn't watched the show, here's how it works:

Les Stroud gets dropped off in a remote location with about 20-25 Kg of camera equipment, His trusty multi-tool, his harmonica, and sometimes, if he's lucky, some kind of broken down mode of transportation to re-create an actual survival situation like say . . . running out of gas in the middle of a dessert, or. . . Getting lost while kayaking or some such thing. With these things he films his survival for 7 days after which his safety crew send out search parties to go get him.

Not only is he a survival instructor and avid outdoors man, Les Stroud is also a fantastic film maker, resulting in breathtaking shots of some of the worlds most remote and exotic places. This also results in very pleasantly framed shots of him eating some pretty disgusting plants and animals, and cool time-lapse views of him making shelters, or spending hours upon hours trying to light a fire by rubbing sticks together.

What comes through in all of this is Les's undeniable love and respect for nature.

Bear Grylls is apparently trying to find the same success with his show 'man vs. wild', the problem being that he has none of the qualities that make Les Stroud an interesting survivalist and film maker.

Bear Grylls would rather run around naked being filmed by a camera man as he pretends that he is concurring nature all on his lonesome, and giving people advice that would get them killed were they actually in a survival situation.

(Yes it's important to cover your head in the desert, but pissing on your shirt and making a hat out of it is going to get you 3rd degree sunburn. And sure, you have to be willing to eat some pretty gross stuff to survive, but eating lizards and scum dwellers without removing digestive tracks or cooking them at all will give you any number of crippling diseases. Also, wading around in the water and sticking your bare hand into a mysterious hole in the Louisiana swamp to 'noodle' for catfish will at best result in a wounded hand from the catfish bite, and at worse get either your hand bitten off by a snapping turtle or your leg bitten off by an alligator. And as I mentioned earlier you're not going to cook that catfish anyways, so even if you catch it, it'll still kill you.)

Even the name of his show suggests his complete wankerness by suggesting that survival is a competition, that the wild is something to be beaten and conquered instead of revered, respected, and learned about in order to survive.

I want him taken off of television he is simply irresponsible, and watching him only makes me angry now that I have realized that an episode resulting in his horrible death isn't ever going to happen because the entire production is so obviously a gigantic illusion.

Mind you, that is only my opinion, and lord knows I am not the person who decides what goes on television. So I am willing to negotiate. Instead of taking this lunatic off of television all together, I would settle for the competition he seams so insistent upon. Here's my plan:

1) Convince Les Stroud to lower himself to Bear Grylls' level if only for a couple days.

2) Find a location that neither Les Stroud nor Bear Grylls has ever shot from. . . I am not sure where, anywhere would do.

3) Drop them both there miles apart from each other, and see who survives the longest.

My bet is that Les Stroud wouldn't even have to stay his usual 7 days because there is no way Bear Grylls would last that long.


My Thumbs Aren't All That Green, But They Are Nostalgic And Ambitious.

With the snow gone now, and days like today where the temperature is due to climb to a whopping sun-tanning level of 22 degrees, I am finding myself lingering along the racks of seedlings and blooming flowers that have popped up in stores recently.

The luscious green leaves, and musky dirt smell bring back memories of the dining room table in my childhood home, protected with newspaper, strewn with pots and seeds and bags of potting soil, and my dad doing his best to keep our dirt covered little fingers out of our mouths and off of the furniture while still making sure that every seed made it into a dirt filled pot with enough room and water to grow.

I remember rubbing down the ends of Popsicle sticks on the driveway to make the perfect little stakes I could write on to mark my plants. It occurs to me now that this was probably the perfect activity to keep me out of the way while my dad went back and corrected all of my hard work.

The best part came every day from then on when I would run to check their progress, trying hard to resist the urge to touch the little green sprouts emerging. They looked to soft and cute, and my fingers itched to feel them just a little tiny bit, but dad said that it would hurt them.

Now, every spring, without fail, I remember these things, and feel a desire to grow something, anything, even one thing, just to say that I did. This year is no different.

Well, this year is a little different. It's different in that I have suddenly found all kinds of ambition that hasn't been there in past years, and certainly hasn't been around for much of anything lately, what with my heavy napping schedule and all.

I've found myself becoming more and more interested in the idea of urban agriculture. I am coming to like the idea of supplementing store bought food with home grown. The idea of taking a sense of ownership and pride over what I am eating, and the sense of safety that comes from knowing what has gone into my ingredients and where they have been in the interim.

Not only that, but I have read much about how gardening can be a soothing and rewarding hobby, and that having living breathing plants around can have a great effect on a person's mental health.

In my research I came across this discovery news segment, and although I don't have THAT much ambition for gardening, it certainly shows how far urban agriculture can go to creating sustainable communities. It also makes me feel like I am helping in some way by planning my own tiny apartment balcony garden.

If anyone else is interested in greening their thumbs a little this summer, please let me know, I find my ambition becomes more sustainable when I have friends around to get excited with me.


GIST#8 of 365

1) At this rate it will take me much much more than a year to complete the Grace in Small Things excersize. . . I am not a psychologist or anything, but I am pretty sure my subconscious self is intentionally drawing it out because my once bitter little brain is actually liking it.

2) Most women, especially pregnant women, bitch and moan and complain and cry when their partners come home drunk from a night out with friends. . . . This is really hard to do when said partner comes home drunk with gifts of french fries and foot rubs.

3) It's not raining anymore! I don't really mind rain all that much, but I like sunshine more, and according to the weather network there will be plenty of it this weekend.

4) Multi-grain wheat thins.

5) Although it broke Das Piper's back to do it, and although I will not be able to really enjoy it at all this summer for obvious reasons, the deck is up at the local pub. That is as much a sign of spring as robins and tulips.


Yes, Susan Boyle Has Talent. Why Is That So Suprising?

It has already been admitted on this blog way back in August of 2007, I am a tabloid junkie. But really, usually only the covers, and I almost always turn away when there is any mention of Simon Cowell. Mostly because the sight of his overly erect man nipples under too-tight grey T-shirts makes me uncomfortable.

I did however, make the mistake of paying attention long enough to find out about the new British you-tube sensation, Susan Boyle. It only served to make me angry.

The story goes that Ms. Boyle showed up on the set of 'Brittan's Got Talent' with a heartbreaking story about a promise to her dead mother, and was laughed at and ridiculed while telling the judges and studio audience about how she is 47, unemployed, lives alone with her cat, and has never been kissed.

The laughter and eye rolling stopped immediately when Ms. Boyle opened her mouth and started to sing. . . and then everyone went crazy. Over night this woman was famous, I've seen her on every channel during news hour, she's got the top video on You-Tube, and the entertainment magazines are boasting interviews about her lonely life and talent secrets.

But why? I mean, she can sing, sure, I guess, I only really sat through the first half of the You-Tube video, and yeah, I'll admit that she has talent.

But is it really so shocking to the world that ugly people can have talent too?

Have we been living in the glamorized dream world of Britneys and Christinas, Lindsays and Meilys for so long that, as a society, we've just all together ruled out the possibility that someone can have talent without plucking their eyebrows, having a personal trainer, and wearing designer clothing. . . Or, God forbid, be over the age of 40?

I think it's sick. It makes me uncomfortable, it makes me feel bad, it gives me this weird uneasy feeling in my stomach as I try to figure out if this woman is aware that on some psychological level she's back in the high school locker room being befriended my the popular girls as a joke. If she knows that the kindness she is being shown will last only until some great final act of humiliation is reached, or until her 15 minutes ends and she find herself alone once again with only her cat to sing to.

I don't know what it is about Susan Boyle and the media storm surrounding her that gives me a heavy feeling of foreboding in my chest, but I'd be willing to bet it has a lot to do with the little person growing inside of me, the kind of world s/he is about to enter, and my powerlessness to completely shield them from it.


A Really Boring Post With Lots Of Math.

I have decided that I want to use cloth diapers.

(Das Piper was weary to agree at first, until I assured him that I would do all of the diaper loads of laundry if he did the other laundry.)

Every time I tell this to anyone, especially mothers, the look at me with horror and bewilderment before pointing out that I live in an apartment building with coin op laundry and therefore can't use cloth diapers.

Well, for the record, yes I can, and I plan to give it a real try, because:

A) I have been occasionally accused of being a bit granola, and liking the earth kind of comes with that territory.

And B) Even with the coin op laundry, it is cheaper.

Now, math has never been my strong suit, but basic addition and multiplication, with the help of my calculator, isn't too much for my little brain to handle, so here we go.

Cost of a 40 pack of pampers diapers: 13.95$ Canadian.

That's about 0.35$/diaper.

Average baby uses about 7-10 diapers a day, according to "What To Expect in The First Year". I would assume a practical parent would budget for 10 a day just to be sure. I know I would.

So let's put the number of diapers needed in a week at 70.

giving us the approximate cost of 24.50$ per week for the next two years at least.

Assuming that I turn out to be a potty training goddess and my kid is out of diapers right at the 24 month mark, that puts the overall cost, not including wet wipes, at 2,352$

Cloth diapers, run a little high on start up cost, and assuming that I only want to do diaper laundry twice a week, which I do, I'll need about 40 - 50 diapers. which cost around 10$ a piece, maybe a little more if you want the fancy all in one diapers with all the fancy buttons so that they're one size fits most. which I do. . . those ones run around 15$ a diaper.

50 cloth diapers at 15$ a diaper is 750$

Cost of laundry detergent is 7.99$ for the liquid form of my brand, and does about 20-40 loads.
I never use the actual recommended amount because it's way too much, and for diapers you are supposed to use half of the recommended amount anyways, so lets say 40 washes, if not more.

40 washes would cover 20 weeks (not including other laundry) which would mean I would need to replace the detergent about 5 times in a 24 month span. A total cost of 39.95$

A load of laundry in my coin-op costs 2.25$. twice a week is about 18$/month.

So 432$ over 24 months.

Total cost of cloth diapers over a 24 month span: about 1,222$

what was that cost for disposables over the same 24 months again?. . . 2,352$

I wonder what I will do with my 1,130$?

Maybe I will take all of those people who tell me it can't be done out for lunch.


GIST #7 of 365

1) Vegetable pot stickers.

2) The baby can officially hear things this week, so Das Piper doesn't talk to me anymore, just my stomach.

Here is what baby has to say back to him:

3) Although yesterday was filled to the brim of crying and vomit and crying and vomit induced headaches, I feel great today!

4) I found the headphones for my ipod so I can have music when I go out!

5) My new CD finally arrived and I love it!

On another note, I can totally see why this working from home thing rarely works out for people. . . I would be done things twice as quickly if I weren't being interrupted every once in a while with fresh baked cookies and strawberries and das piper talking to my stomach.

on another other note, I would like to point out that none of the feelings from the previous post were directed at anyone who actually reads this blog. . . I am much too cowardly to be that obvious. . . actually that's a lie. one of the nice ones is for a friend who reads occasionally.


The Feelings I Have Been Botteling About 5 Anonymous People

1) I am sorry that the recent changes in my life have made me less capable of giving you what you want from me. I am even more sorry that because of this you have chosen to simply discard me. It would have been nice to have the support and help I have given you over the last 4 years reciprocated.

2) I am angry with you, and I probably will be for a long time. I am so angry with you that I cannot even bring myself to miss our friendship. I am, however, glad to see that you have decided to start talking to some of our old friends again, even after you told me that you thought they were pathetic drunks.

3) Thank you for all of your recent support. I know that I have done some pretty shitty things to you in the past, and that there is absolutely no reason for you to show me any forgiveness, let alone extend the hand of friendship. You are, by far, the most suprising friend of this year.

4)If you weren't such a modest person I would probably hate you for being so good at everything. I must confess that the only reason I really liked basketball in elementry school was because it was the only thing that I could do better. But, since you are so modest, and are so willing to help anyone you meet with anything they ask that I am proud to have called you friend for the last 10 years.

5) I would like to congradulate you on having convinced everyone around you, including yourself, that you don't have a problem. I know that this will result in a few more years of you coasting drunkenly through your life in much the same way you have been.


New Pants!

Thanks to the generosity of a very good friend of mine and her mother. I have new clothes! clothes that fit!

Hint: If you show up at people's houses and refuse to sit down because your pants are too tight and you look really uncomfortable, they take pity on you and buy you maternity pants.

Unfortunately the maternity pants were WAY to big because apparently my friend thought I was a first string linebacker for the Saskatchewan rough riders.

And by a lucky happenstance, my dear sweet Das Piper took pity on me as well and had purchased me maternity pants, in the right size, around the same time.

SoOo, when I went to exchange the gigantor pants my friend told me to go ahead and get myself whatever my little heart desired with the store credit.

On the sale rack, I found that for the price of one pair of pants, one can purchase a blouse, two sweaters, and a fancy scarf!

Now I get to go out in public wearing clothes that actually suit my age instead of my collection of over sized bunny hugs that have somehow made it from my high school days.

While shopping I couldn't help but send a little prayer of thanks up to the fashion gods that maternity fashion has taken so many leaps and bounds since my mom was pregnant with my little sister.

I remember having nightmares about my mother, swollen and balloon-like, being eaten by giant hideous pastel coloured flowers.

On a completely different note: Das Piper just made the best stove-stop stuffing EVER IN THE HISTORY OF EXISTENCE!


A Tiny Heart

"It's alive!"

That is what my doctor proclaimed with a laugh as a water-like 'whooshing' came through the static and surrounded me.

"whoosh-whoosh whoosh-whoosh whoosh-whoosh"

I immediately forgot my carefully drawn up list of questions, and the indignity I always feel talking to someone who had just shown me the business end of a speculum.

"Whoosh-whoosh whoosh-whoosh whoosh-whoosh"

I made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob that came from somewhere deep in my stomach causing the doctor's hand to slip.

"whoosh-whoosh whoosh-woo. . . "

I vaguely remember him rattling off some numbers immediately followed by the word 'normal' as he wiped the gel from his equipment and put it away.

I barely remember leaving the office, or going for dinner, or telling friends and family about what we'd heard by trying to recreate the whooshing with my vocal cords.

It's real now.

I have, at the very least, if not a baby, then a tiny heart growing in my abdomen.