Sleeping with the Enemy

Kyle and I have a big spoon/little spoon arrangement that requires both of us to sleep on our right sides. Last week, Kyle hurt his ribs at soccer and asked if we could switch sides of the bed so that he could lay on his uninjured left side.

Me nattering away:
Okay.
We can switch.
But I don't want to be close to the alarm clock. The light keeps me awake.
You know what I read? Most people sleep on their right sides and scientists think that it's because sleeping on your right puts less strain on your heart.
Also, you know how people have a "good side" and a "bad side" of their face? I heard somewhere that the bad or ugly side of your face is the one that you squish all night while sleeping on your side.

Kyle interrupting:
So you mainly sleep on your stomach?

Me continuing to natter:
No actually, I prefer to sleep on my side....

HEY!

Kyle kills himself laughing while Iadminister the beats.

Weird Science

While I was doing my master's degree, I spent a lot of time searching for articles and books in various university libraries. One day in the medical library, I was delighted to find a whole three-foot shelf filled with bound copies of the academic journal "Diseases in Poultry". It blew my mind that there are people out there who devote their working lives to the research of chicken sickness.

My experience in graduate school is that there are a lot of people in academia who become fascinated with a very specific topic and dive deeply into it. More deeply than anyone else could possibly care to go. At research presentations, I usually followed for the first five minutes after which time I blanked out and began hatching various escape plans.

Some people sneer at academics and their whole-hearted pursuit of one microscopic corner of the world. Others resent government money devoted to research, especially research that seems impractical or disconnected from daily life. While I understand these reactions, I love to know that there people who are passionately pursuing knowledge. I appreciate that our society supports the love of learning and diving deeply. And I especially love the ridiculous outcomes...

Each year, Harvard gives out Ig Nobel Prizes, awards for bizarre and funny research. In 2009, prizes were awarded for the following:
Veterinary medicine prize - cows with names give more milk than cows without names
Peace prize - empty beer bottles make better weapons than full ones, being more likely to fracture skulls in bar brawls
Chemistry prize - researchers found a way to make diamonds from tequila
Physics prize - physicists outlined the reasons that pregnant women don't tip over
Biology prize - researchers discovered that kitchen waste can be reduced to 90% of it's weight by exposing it to the bacteria in panda poop
Public health prize - the invention of a bra that in case of emergency, can be converted into two protective face masks, one for the now braless woman and another for a needy bystander. Below is a photo of the inventor accepting her Ig Nobel prize.

At least one wish came true

Someone at work asked me to describe Kyle. Among with many positive adjectives, I used the word "unsentimental" to describe him.

This past summer, we attended the wedding of a lovely couple. After signing the guest book, we were directed to a table that was covered in rocks and sparkly pens. The couple wanted every guest to be involved in the ceremony and had requested that each person write a wish or prayer for the couple on a stone. At a later point in the ceremony, every guest would walk toward the blissful couple and place his or her rock in a vase.

I felt some pressure as considered how I would distill my hopes for them into one power-house of a word. I wanted my word to be unique, meaningful, and not cheesy. I can't remember now but I think that after much deliberation, I settled on "laughter". My choice was disappointingly cheesy and not very unique, considering the fact that a person can buy stones with gold etching of this word in any new-agey bookstore or card shop.

Throughout my agonizing search for the prefect word that would express my soul, I couldn't help but notice that Kyle had quickly finished writing on his stone. Had he had some kind of epiphany? Was writing on rocks the secret key to Kyle's self-expression?

I asked to see his stone and when he handed it over, read the following:

Many rocks

Year of the manatee

I hope all of you had a peace and joy-filled holiday. Kyle and I had a variety of delicious Christmas dinners with many lovely people - Dec 23 stew with Kyle's family, Christmas-eve goose with Kyle's cousins, Christmas day turkey with my clan, and another fabulous boxing day pizza party/80s dance-off at Murray's house.

My family has become very laid-back about presents, which I appreciate immensely. The new rule is that you don't have to buy anybody a present unless you see something that you really want to get for them. And if you get a present from somebody you don't need to reciprocate.

This year my present from my parents was this -













Rosa the Manatee - An Undersea Adventure: a plush Manatee with cassette tape. It totally cracks me up.The box has a very 1990s liberal feel - allowing consumers to sleep well at night knowing that in addition to buying a plush toy, they have donated money that will "directly help in protecting a manatee and his habitat from endangerment". I haven't listened to the tape yet but I assume it outlines Rosa's idyllic aquatic life as it is interrupted by heinous motor boat propellers. My mom says she found it in a bargain bin somewhere a few years ago.

This morning I stumbled upon a funny post outlining "Ten Words You Need to Stop Misspelling" . What better way is there to start the New Year than with a little grammatical self-improvement? And much to my delight, the author used a manatee to illustrate proper use of it's/its. (click on the picture to enlarge)

Is it over before it begins?

December 6-18, 2009, world leaders and celebrities alike will be meeting in Denmark for the Copenhagen Climate Summit. The goal is to get together to create the Copenhagen protocol - a statement of intent about climate change. Unlike Kyoto, this will not be a "binding agreement".

In my eyes, it's probably a good thing that Canada won't be making any promises that will go unkept. However, after reading this article in the London Telegraph, I think the arrival in Copenhagen makes a more powerful statement of intent than will any document produced at this summit.

The Copenhagen airport is expecting up to 140 private jets during the peak arrival period alone. The airport is so far over its capacity that these planes will have to drop off their passengers and then go park at other Danish and Swedish airports before returning to pick up their VIP passengers.

Car rental companies are having a difficult time supplying enough limousines to meet the demand of those attending the climate summit. There will be over 1200 limos rented over the week. According to rental company manager Majken Friss Jorgensen, "We haven't got enough limos in the country to fulfil the demand. We're having to drive them in hundreds of miles from Germany and Sweden."

Yikes.

Let's give this another go...

Over the past months, I've often wondered if I should resurrect the old blog. I miss having a creative outlet and connecting with people this way.

Last week, I dreamt that an old acquaintance angrily told me I should keep blogging. That has motivated me to give it a shot. That same night, I also dreamt that I had pooped in a snow globe...which goes to say that I probably shouldn't take this whole dream-messages thing too seriously.

For those of you who still have links to this blog on your own websites, thanks for your faithful optimism.

Stay tuned...

Confession

Last Thursday, I wore another new shirt without washing it. But don't despair. Even though I don't heed my own advice, I do have the capacity to learn. I sniffed the armpits before I put it on.

Last night I saw a TV news clip about how people should always wash new garments because some of them have been treated with the chemical formaldehyde. Formaldehyde is connected with increased risk of cancer. Shoot.

In non-grubbiness-related news, I spotted some Canada geese hanging out on the river today. Even though they terrify me, Canada geese are a hopeful indicator of spring. Beside the geese there was a flock of smaller birds sleeping on the ice. At first I thought they were ducks and I was super pumped. However, upon closer inspection they turned out to be seagulls...which are not associated with spring but are just a sign of near-by dumpsters.

Open Letter 2

Dear Person Who Tried on My Shirt Before I Bought It,
Even without meeting you, I know we share some things in common. We both shop at Ricki's and we were both drawn to the fun bright-green work shirt. We both tried on the shirt but for some reason, you didn't buy it. Too big? Too green? Too awesome?

Unlike you, I decided to buy the shirt and take it home. Today is St. Patrick's Day. I wanted to get into the spirit of the day by wearing my new green shirt. Unfortunately, I hadn't taken the time to wash it. I know I should have washed it. I know I am gross.

As I was putting on the shirt, I thought about the creepy factory chemicals and dyes that would be riding around on my skin all day. What I didn't think about was the other thing that we now have in common - smelling of your body odour.

At work, when I lifted my elbow to pour my cup of coffee, I caught a whiff of B. O. I quickly looked around to spot the offender. Little did I know, the offender was not in the room. A few smelly wafts later, I figured out that the smell was coming from me. I was confused, as I distinctly remembered applying antiperspirant only an hour earlier.

After some covert underarm investigation, I realized that the offending odour was not emanating from my armpits but from my shirt. My awesome new green shirt. Ugh! All day I have walked around smelling of your B.O.. I spent my working hours holding my arms close to my body to prevent your essence from ascending into the nostrils of my coworkers.

Person Who Tried on My Shirt Before I Bought It, you made me keenly aware of the value of lesson I learned as a young child. I should always, ALWAYS wash my clothes before wearing them.

The Lady

I celebrated my birthday last week. I turned 28 and had a lovely day. Kyle and I went out for dinner at La Chaumiere, a french restaurant on 17th ave. I have trouble with high-class dining experiences. My trouble is that I am not very classy and consequently, quite awkward.

Awkward moment number one:
We enter the restaurant and are greeted by the Parisian maitre d'. Let's call him Jacques. Jacques consistently addresses me as "the lady".
Jacques reaches for my coat but I quickly wriggle out of it by my own power. Not missing a beat, Jacques extends his right hand to receive my coat and give me my coat check ticket. Not understanding what's going on, I reach for the coat hanger in Jacques' left hand. After an awkward tussle, I realize that a lady lets a gentleman hang her coat for her.

Awkward moment number two:
Jacques leads us into the dining room. He pulls out Kyle's chair for him. Seeing an opportunity to avoid having my chair managed for me, I quickly pull mine out and poise myself to sit down. Jacques panics (in a very calm, classy way). He abandons Kyle mid-sit and quickly turns to my chair, pushing it into my legs as I flop down. Our timing is poor and my chair is about 12 inches away from the table. Without standing up, I shuffle my chair toward my plate. A lady does not stand up to move her own chair.

Awkward moment number three:
Before we see our menus, Jacques asks if we would like an "aperitif".
I request a glass of wine. Does that even count as an aperitif? He asks me what kind of wine I would like. Flustered, I ask, "Do you have a house red?". I know they probably don't, but I can't remember the names of any wines. I'm buying time. Jacques asks, "What type of grapes do you like?". I'm tempted to say, "red ones" but hold myself back. A lady does not engage in smart-assery. I flash him a plebian smile and ask him to choose for me.

Awkward moment number four:
The meal consists of a beautiful blue cheese/strawberry salad and beef tenderloin. We finish with a gorgeous creme brulee. As we exit the restaurant, I find my coat ticket and hand it to Jacques. This round, I know what's coming. The lady is prepared. I have always hated having a man hold my coat open for me but Jacques and his fine manners have won me over. Jacques holds out my coat. I twist my head behind me so that I can find my coat sleeves without groping Jacques. After a few misses, I successfully guide my arms through the arm holes and exit the building, biding Jacques a good night.

Some final Christmas cheer

Merry Christmas

I am in an Advent state of mind. I'm in a season of waiting, a season of longing, a season of wondering when Jesus will show up. One of my most loved Christmas songs has always been "O Come O Come Emmanuel" and I have been resonating with it these past weeks.

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

I feel alone as I mourn my old faith - a faith that was more certain, more well-defined, more at home in the church. I feel captive to my uncertainty as I wait on my new faith to take shape and grow roots. I have been waiting for Jesus and looking for him, fearing that he might never appear in the ways he used to.

At the entrance to my work, there is an agency sign sheltered by a tall peaked wooden structure. To decorate for Christmas, a large star was placed on top of the shelter, making it reminiscent of a manger. Over the past month, I have been mindful of this symbol every morning when I drive into work - pointing me to where Jesus can be found. The God of the broken-hearted is with the struggling kids I work with. When I join with them, I find Jesus.

In places and situations that cause me to wonder where God is, I am privileged to be able to make him apparent as I bring my own compassion, humour and help. I've found that God feels nearer when I am thankful. I have many things to be thankful for.

My hope for myself and for you is that this will be a season in which we can hold the tension between longing and expectant rejoicing. A season in which we can hope for something greater, take delight in the good in our lives, and bring blessing to the lives of others.

re⋅joice

1.	to be glad; take delight (often fol. by in): to rejoice in another's happiness.

2.	to make joyful; gladden: a song to rejoice the heart.

Fifiths and Fourths

I've been tagged by Avey to put up the fifth photo in my fifth folder. Here it is:















This photo was taken on my 26th birthday. Kyle and I were attending the wedding reception of one of my co-workers. It was the most expensive event I have ever attended. The wedding was held on four different levels of an art gallery. We started at the top level with drinks and hors d'oeuvres, third for dinner, and second for cappuccino and chocolate fountain. It was one of those events where I'm unsure as to which fork I should use at what time. Thankfully, the people we sat with were funny and laid back Newfies. When served a lime sorbet to cleanse our palates between courses, Newfie Man complained that his ice cream was just a "limey ice ball".

Just for fun, here is the fourth photo in our fourth folder. It's pretty out of focus:














This was taken two Christmases ago in Florida. There was a lizard hiding behind the washing machine in our condo. Kent's girlfriend and I chased it out, trapped it in an ice bucket and put it outside. This photo was taken as we were trying to build a sort of gateway to force him into the bucket. I loved him.

If they'll play along, I'm tagging my sisters Amisha and Heather.

For those hard to reach places

After a long hiatus in blogging I often feel like I need something spectacular to share. I don't have any crazy adventures to write of but I did recently receive a very quirky gift.

When I was in England, my friend told me about pope-soap-on-a-rope. From the moment I learned of the product, I wished for one. A couple of weeks ago, Karen and Greg left their dog Lhotse (or as Kyle calls her, Bleeder) with us again for a weekend. When they returned from Seattle, they brought me this hand-shaped soap-on-a-rope.























Awesome.

The Rules

Last week I stumbled upon a website that I have been enjoying tremendously. It's called 1001 rules for my unborn son. It's an ongoing project filled with great advice that made me pause, smile, and read until I'd gone through them all (304 as of today).

I even employed one of the rules this last week at my company Christmas party- "Rule 243. There is no need to tell anyone you are leaving the bar (or in my case, the party). It's called an Irish Goodbye. And it comes in handy."

Here are a few more of my favourites:

258. No vanity license plates.

245. Look people in the eye when you thank them, especially waiters.

242. Hang artwork at eye-level.

235. When singing karaoke, choose a song within your range.

232. There is exactly one place where it is acceptable to wear gym clothes.

168. Be cool to the younger kids. Reputations are built over a lifetime.

148. When handling a frog, be gentle.

125. A t-shirt is neither a philosophy nor an advertisement. It’s a shirt. Wear it plain.

86. Never criticize a book, play, or film unless you have read or seen it yourself.

14. Men with facial hair have something to hide.

One of my not-so-favourite things

When people ask me what I do, I usually tell them I'm a psychologist. This isn't technically true yet but it's the easiest way to explain what I do.

My least favourite response is: Are you analyzing me right now?

What am I supposed to say to that? That's just awkward.

I have two requests, internet.
First - give me some funny one-liners I could respond with.
Second - write a comment about the most frequent/funny/annoying response when people learn your vocation or hobby.

Trouble from above

Monday night I was sitting at my desk writing a court report when I heard a strange tapping noise above my head. I looked up, praying there weren't mice in the ceiling. In an instant, water was dripping like crazy onto my desk.

I ran up to the staff suite and found a spare garbage can to catch the water. While I waited for the on-call maintenance guy, I climbed atop my desk with the intent of removing the already water-stained ceiling tile before it was completely soaked. As I was pushing the tile, an object started slipping toward me from inside the ceiling. I scrambled to get out of the way as a giant blue mop bucket plummeted toward my head. Hm...I'm guessing that the ceiling leak might be an on-going problem.

Nun Watch Update: After a very long dry spell, I saw three nuns this evening while walking to the University with Kyle. They were all wearing white winter jackets to match their habits.

Adventures in dog sitting

Saturday 12 pm
Lhotse is the lovely dog of our friends Karen and Greg, who are in Europe for two weeks. We are taking care of her for the second week of their trip. Kyle and I drive to Taco Time to pick up Lhotse from her first set of dog-sitters.
Jamie: Is there anything we should know before we take her home?
Other dog sitters: No. Not really. She will pretend to be chewing her bone on the floor while sneakily destroying your carpet. Watch out.
Jamie: Okay. I can handle that.

Saturday 2 pm
Kyle and I are in the off-leash park, walking Lhotse and our dog Chaz.
Jamie: Lhotse's butt looks weird.
Kyle: Yeah?
Jamie: It looks like she has balls. Is that normal?
Kyle: I don't know. I've never had a girl dog.
Jamie: Me neither.

Saturday 5 pm
Kyle and I are looking out the kitchen window, watching the dogs in the back yard.
Kyle: Chaz is still humping Lhotse. Why is he being such a tool?
Jamie: They've been going at it forever. They need to take a break.
Kyle: Maybe I should take Chaz back to my parents' house.
Jamie: Yeah, he can't keep this up. He's an old man and needs to rest.

Sunday 2 am
I'm awoken in the middle of the night. I hear Lhotse making weird noises.
Jamie: Kyle, get up. Somethings going on with the dog.
Kyle stumbles out of bed and into the kitchen. From bed I can hear him.
Kyle: Lhotse, are you okay? You're hurt. Where are you bleeding from?
Kyle: *!$^&*
Jamie: What? What's wrong?
Kyle: Come check this out. See where she's bleeding from.
I wander into the kitchen to see blood all over the kitchen floor, emanating the area of Lhotse that had earlier appeared to be her balls. She's in heat.

Sunday 1pm
Kyle returns from walking Lhotse.
Kyle: I had her in the off-leash park but we came to a big group of dogs and three of them started coming after her, sniffing aggressively. I had to put her on her leash and take off.
Jamie: Yeah, maybe we shouldn't take her to the off-leash park anymore. The last thing I want to tell Karen and Greg when they get back is that their dog was gang-banged at the park.

Sunday, 3pm
Lhotse is desperately lonely and crying on the back porch.
Jamie: Maybe we should let her in. She's really sad. What if we block off the kitchen and let her stay in there?
Lhotse runs in, leaping with joy as we're reunited after two long hours apart. Her tail is wagging like crazy, acting acting much like a propeller and spraying drops of blood everywhere.

After cleaning up the mess, we become the Macgyvers of dog sitting. Our problems are solved with the creative use of simple household objects - an old pair of underwear, a pad, some scissors (for a tail hole), a safety pin, and some duct tape.

Hammacher Time!

Hammacher Schlemmer came in the mail last week. Last year, I was angered by all of the catalogues we receive now that Kyle's contact information has been "rented". This year I got excited when I saw Hammacher Schlemmer because I knew that I could use it to get Kyle going. I laid in bed one night reading aloud to Kyle the descriptions of my favourite Hammacher Schelmmer treasures. I laughed out loud when Kyle rewarded me with an emphatic, "I wish there was some way I could punish that company!"

One of my favourites was the Only Stainless Steel Wallet. This beauty is woven with 25,000 steel threads. Thankfully, it is resistant to corrosive materials such as salts, acids, and seawater. It is the perfect gift for your elderly loved-one who fears identity theft - "the tightly woven steel also passively resists radio-frequency hacking--the latest identity theft technique that attempts to scan newer credit cards." Identity thieves are now scanning people's pockets? Whoa! The problem of identity thievery is much worse than I thought. Peace of mind for only $89.99

With the Keep your Distance Bug Vacuum, you too can kill bugs from a distance of up to two feet. "The lightweight plastic design allows complete control while chasing flying insects." It's only $49.99! If I had this little lovely, I could avoid picking up crunchy bug bodies without making Chaz eat them off the floor.

One of the most impressive items was the 14 M.P.H. Cooler. For those of us who live and think metric, that's the 22.53 km/h cooler. It is the world's only rideable three-wheeled cooler. You can travel almost 25km on a single charge, carrying up to 24 pop cans and 9 pounds of ice. Apparently, it handles similarly to a golf cart but has a handy cup-holder located between the drivers' knees. This can be yours for the low, low price of 499.95 US.

Just in time for Christmas, Hammacher Schlemmer sends out the catalogue in which you can find the gift for the person who has everything. Kyle and I are people who have everything...more than everything we want and need. Though it's easy to laugh at the useless Hammacher Schlemmer gifts, my consumption is only a shade less ridiculous. I find Christmas gifts stressful - I get anxious about giving people things they like and feel guilty when I receive things I don't want. For the past few years, our families have gone Grinch-style and decided not to do gifts. Avey has included some great alternatives from World Vision on her blog. Oxfam and Samaritan's Purse have other fun Christmas donation catalogues you may enjoy.

PB Slices

A friend of mine once told me that the secret to successfully marketing a new product is to appeal to the customer's laziness. All you have to do is create a product that will eliminate a simple but mildly annoying task. People will be all over that.

Example: bags of shredded cheese. Is it really that hard to shred your own cheese? No... But I'm still occasionally tempted to lay down six dollars so that I can just pull shredded taco-spiced cheddar out of my fridge on a whim.

The inventor of this product has gone too far. Much too far. The P. B. Slices web site actually says "PB Slices makes peanut butter easy to eat."Hmm...what a conundrum. Easy to eat but difficult to peel. I'm also guessing it's difficult to digest and eliminate from the body. I think I'll choose to go to the massive effort of fighting open a jar, wrestling the peanut butter out with a knife and tearing up my bread as I try to spread it.

Taking it to the streets!

I have noticed an alarming trend on Calgary roads. Fewer people are giving the wave.

People, don't give up the wave! It's a friendly necessity of the road. I make sure to wave extra enthusiastically whenever someone lets me in front of them. I even give a wave when the person might not have intended to let me in.

The sinster side of my love of the wave is that it makes me smoulder with anger when I let someone in and they don't acknolwedge me. I have a friend who used to honk at people, tailgate them, and give them the finger when they didn't wave after being let in. It sounds crazy but I can totally understand that reaction.