Friday, January 30, 2015

It's a Report!

It's a Report!

Birthday: 11:59pm, the evening of its due date
Birth Place: home office delivery
Size: mostly 8.5 x 11
Thud Factor: 295 adorable pages

Our Birth Story:
The proud parents are pleased to announce the arrival of their much-anticipated Deliverable. Immediately upon learning they were expecting a Deliverable, the couple gathered together ten of their closest colleagues to share in their journey. The couple wishes to extend their sincere thanks to everyone involved - we couldn't have done it without you!

It was a difficult labour, lasting approximately one year. Many tears were shed during this time, but the proud parents now couldn't be happier - they love their little Deliverable, typos and all, and in return, Deliverable is already contributing to supporting its parents. What a Wunderkind!

The couple is still together, and feel closer than ever before. Mom wonders whether she will ever fit into her pre-Deliverable jeans again, but Other Mom didn't love her for her looks anyway so no matter. The couple is presently enjoying some much-deserved time off, but say they expect to make more Reports together over the next 3, 5 and 10 years - if not more frequently!

Report has all the staples and binder clips it needs, but if you wish to send a gift, the proud parents wouldn't say no to a congratulatory beverage. Or three.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Viva Lost Wages

I've never been to Las Vegas and to be honest, I have no real interest in ever going. Granted, people who go there seem to like it, but I'm of the mind that you already have to be the sort of person who goes to Vegas before you're ever inclined to be a person who goes to Vegas. I'm just going off of what I've heard from other Persons Who Go to Vegas, but I made up a bit of a quiz to see if I should go and the results suggest it's probably not a good idea: I'm too pragmatic to gamble. I don't care for Celine Dion. I'm biologically predisposed to be intolerant of heat and humidity. Despite what my family seems to think, I actually don't drink all that much. And, most of all, I don't like people, or crowds, or noise.

Let's be honest here: if I avoid going to the mall because it's too overstimulating, what are the chances I'm going to like Vegas? It is pretty much specially engineered to be not my cup of tea.

You know what's as much Vegas as someone like me can handle? Going to Costco. Costco is like Vegas for introverts. I mean, instead of an STI you come home with a twelve-pound block of Parmigiano Reggiano, but either way it's pretty tough to explain to your spouse what the hell you were thinking at the time.

It's never not-busy at Costco - it's somehow always crawling with people, and sure, they might not be quite as colourful as folks you'd see in Vegas, but the people watching is still pretty solid. (What is he going to do with two gallons of mustard? How many children do those people have?!) The lighting is intense and disconcerting. The roar of a thousand flatbed shopping carts, and dozens of children chanting, "Sam-PLE! Sam-PLE!" drowns out all rational thought. You are actually, literally trampled by old ladies stampeding the chicken cordon bleu samples table. The lineups challenge your will to live. Ultimately, you arrive back home with an empty wallet, a headache, and lingering psychological chills from your close brush with the rot of modern society.

Come to think of it, I probably shouldn't go to Disneyland, either.

Probably the one major difference between Costco and Vegas - aside from all the drugs and debauchery and ill-advised marriages officiated by Elvis impersonators, of course - is that no one is going to steal your purse in Costco. I mean, they'd have to abandon the hard-won spoils of their flatbed cart and stand in line at the door to get out - major disincentives.

Oh, but there's more to Vegas than even that! you say? I see your line of thought, and raise you: we have tickets to Cirque du Soleil in April, right here in Calgary. I'm taking the kids to Costco for a few samples first.

Full. Vegas. Experience.

Saturday, January 3, 2015

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Loosen Your Belt

Hey, remember that old Disney cartoon where Goofy is all calm and reasonable as a pedestrian but as soon as he gets behind the wheel he goes nutso? Well, I would never have accused DH of being entirely calm or reasonable, but I discovered this week that he is capable of a level of crazy I never knew existed. His heretofore unknown dark side is released from the bonds of conscience and loosed upon the world not by driving a car or drinking a potion, but rather by the mysterious force of an all-you-can-eat tropical resort buffet. For this reason, it shall be named "Buffadrian". And Buffadrian wants you to get his money's worth.

The kids found Buffadrian confusing and frightening. Most of their lives they've been subjected to constant reminders to eat their fruits and vegetables, but when they returned from the buffet line with nutritionally-balanced plates Buffadrian shook fistfuls of crab legs at them and growled through a mouthful of prime rib, "Why are you little idiots eating salad?! Stop that this instant and go get more animals!" Gravy frothed at the corners of his mouth. The kids glanced nervously at me - Ms. Eat Your Vegetables herself - then decided I was the least terrifying parent at the moment and scurried off to load up on meat.

Buffadrian turned his deranged gaze to my plate - more vegetables! Buns! In fact, no meat at all! "Oh, shut up," I said preemptively, "I'm saving myself for dessert." Buffadrian's mental buffet ledger, however, accounts only for transactions made in cash, credit and animal protein. He rolled his eyes dramatically and sighed - never mind that I went on to eat a fish fillet and a cool half-dozen mini desserts, I was just one more person he would have to eat for this night.

But that was a challenge Buffadrian was willing to tackle.

Unfortunately for DH, this was a decision made by Buffadrian yet suffered by himself, beginning just as soon as the siren song of the buffet had released its hold on his personality. Later that night when he asked the family, "Why did you make me eat so much?" - while he cradled his distended belly and rocked in pain - he genuinely seemed to mean why did we, personally, by the act of clearly not eating enough buffet, directly force him to make up for our collective shortfall by eating All The Things?

I patted his Food Baby and smiled, knowing that there would be a breakfast buffet the next morning and that I would soon be the proud progenitor of twins.