I'm just gonna say this one time, and I expect to never have to say it again, understand? I'm gonna say it in my sternest Mom Voice to really get the point across: I'm pissed, I mean business, don't fuck with me on this. Ready?
Cauliflower is not and never will be an acceptable substitute for actual delicious foods.
What is with this cauliflower "flatbread" and "pizza crust" b.s. I keep seeing everywhere? Cauliflower "mac and cheese"? Cauliflower "mashed potatoes"?! That's fricking sacrilege. And y'know what else, stop saying "Oh it's so good, it's just like the real thing, you just have to try it!" and other such nonsense. I have tried it, and it is clearly not mashed potatoes, it's cauliflower in drag. Mashed potatoes are like a warm, buttery hug for your feelings. Mashed cauliflower is like a grainy, watery kick in the ass when you're already down.
I don't care if it's low in carbohydrates. I'm eating mashed potatoes because I want carbohydrates. Fluffy carbohydrates. Lots of them. What the hell have you got against carbohydrates, anyway? You want less carbohydrates? Eat fewer mashed potatoes, fool, don't completely throw the spuds out with the cooking water and then aggressively Pinterest-shame the rest of the world into doing it too.
But never mind how I feel about this nonsense - how does cauliflower feel about it? Cauliflower will never be potatoes, and that's okay - cauliflower should just be itself. I mean, no one really likes cauliflower, but you know what they like even less? A phony. Quit trying to make cauliflower something it's not. It's not even coming close to passing the... whatever the potato equivalent of the Turing Test is. Tater Test? Tuber Test? Whatever. You're giving it a complex. Cut it out right now.
And while you're out messing around with cauliflower, you are neglecting your once-beautiful relationship with your old friends pizza, mac & cheese and mashed potatoes. How do you think they felt when you ditched them for the skinny, trendy bitch on the block? After all the times they helped you celebrate holidays, feed your movers, numb yourself after a shitty week at work? They were there for you all through your childhood, then they kept you alive on a budget through college, and then the relationship came full circle when they were there for your kids' formative years, too. How could you just ghost on them like that? That's cold, man. Cold.
Listen, I get it - you've been with them for, like, literally your entire life and maybe you wanted to try a little sumpin' new. But you didn't have to dump them like that. Surely there's room for another dish at the table, if you know what I mean.
I've chatted with them all and - lucky you - they're willing to forgive and forget, so I've got a plan for you to make it up to them: Friday night, you invite pizza over for supper - just like the old days, y'know? Saturday, catch up over brunch with mac & cheese. Sunday, toss a nice roast in the slow cooker and promise mashed potatoes extra butter, just like they like, if they'll come join you for dinner. It's tradition.
You can even have a little cauliflower on the side if you want. Florets; steamed; cheese sauce. Just like nature intended.
Friday, March 4, 2016
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
Holiday in the Holiday Inn
I'm attending a conference this week. I think conferences are like little holidays: I get to dress up, make dubious first impressions on lots of new people, eat plenty of mini desserts, marinate extensively in the hotel hot tub, and sleep sprawled out all by myself in a fluffy fresh king-sized bed each night. These are things parents don't often (EVER) get to do, and I find them immensely refreshing. Aaahhh.
In theory the conference-holiday is also educational in nature, but in practice ... well, in practice I'm actually a terrible student. It's not for lack of enthusiasm - I always get so pumped when I'm deciding which conferences to attend each year. I think, I'm going to learn so much! I'm going to think big, smart thoughts! This is going to be amazeballs! But then I have to sit still and listen to people yammer on all day and I am reminded anew that I have the attention span of an underachieving goldfish. At one conference I attended, I spent an entire day making words out of the letters in the periodic table. (To be fair, why would they leave something as distracting as a giant periodic table in the room?) At another I developed a decorative font for each member of my family. So far at this conference, the only notes I've written down are a list of awkward conference encounters and 65 different versions of my signature. Where have I been for the past 2 days?!
In an attempt to squeeze some good out of my inadequate attentional abilities, I humbly offer my dear readers the following thoughts - they're not big, they're not smart, but dammit they'll have to do:
First of all, it is a certifiable miracle that I made it through university. Shout out to my goldfishy-self for overcoming my own grievous limitations.
Secondly, since I went to the trouble of writing them down, I figure I might as well post my list of awkward conference encounters:
- People I'm stalking to secure consultation results, permits, and the like.
- People I'm stalking because they are biology rock stars and I secretly love them a little. (A lot.)
- People I'm stalking purely out of interest's sake, morbid fascination, or the like.
- People I've fired.
- People who were so offensive during their job interviews that I didn't hire them.
- People I've lost all respect for and will never work with again.
- People with oral hygiene issues.
- Work nemeses.
- Friends' creepy exes.
- Idiotic-question-askers.
- This one second cousin or something I have who I don't actually know at all but always run into at conferences.
And finally, my favourite word to spell with the periodic table: RhUBaRb.
In theory the conference-holiday is also educational in nature, but in practice ... well, in practice I'm actually a terrible student. It's not for lack of enthusiasm - I always get so pumped when I'm deciding which conferences to attend each year. I think, I'm going to learn so much! I'm going to think big, smart thoughts! This is going to be amazeballs! But then I have to sit still and listen to people yammer on all day and I am reminded anew that I have the attention span of an underachieving goldfish. At one conference I attended, I spent an entire day making words out of the letters in the periodic table. (To be fair, why would they leave something as distracting as a giant periodic table in the room?) At another I developed a decorative font for each member of my family. So far at this conference, the only notes I've written down are a list of awkward conference encounters and 65 different versions of my signature. Where have I been for the past 2 days?!
In an attempt to squeeze some good out of my inadequate attentional abilities, I humbly offer my dear readers the following thoughts - they're not big, they're not smart, but dammit they'll have to do:
First of all, it is a certifiable miracle that I made it through university. Shout out to my goldfishy-self for overcoming my own grievous limitations.
Secondly, since I went to the trouble of writing them down, I figure I might as well post my list of awkward conference encounters:
- People I'm stalking to secure consultation results, permits, and the like.
- People I'm stalking because they are biology rock stars and I secretly love them a little. (A lot.)
- People I'm stalking purely out of interest's sake, morbid fascination, or the like.
- People I've fired.
- People who were so offensive during their job interviews that I didn't hire them.
- People I've lost all respect for and will never work with again.
- People with oral hygiene issues.
- Work nemeses.
- Friends' creepy exes.
- Idiotic-question-askers.
- This one second cousin or something I have who I don't actually know at all but always run into at conferences.
And finally, my favourite word to spell with the periodic table: RhUBaRb.
Monday, February 1, 2016
Don't Try This at Home, Kids
I conducted an bit of an inadvertent social experiment before the holidays last year. I didn't specify the dress code for a party in the invitation, then when people followed up with me to be sure they were going to be dressed appropriately, I told them it was "casual-fancy." This seemed like a perfectly reasonable statement to me at the time: I knew what dress I was planning to wear, and IMHO it was straight up casual-fancy. Zero confusing. But apparently it was not quite so clear to others. Some folks latched on to the "fancy" part; some to the "casual" part; some - inexplicably - to leather pants; and some to the ambiguity itself - one fellow had debated wearing a tuxedo jacket with pyjama bottoms, figuring they would average each other out somewhere around casual-fancy. (Statistics!) Lesson learned. I now know better for next time.
Turns out I was also subjected to a bit of an inadvertent social experiment at the holidays last year. Before I get started, let me ask you: if you saw the rating "Ages 17+" on a board game, what would it mean to you?
I'll tell you what it meant to me. It meant something like, wellll, it's maybe going to be a little racy, or maybe have some of the more exciting 4-letter-words in it, but if it was really bad it would be rated R or 18+ or something, right? I mean, 17+ practically screams, "NOT-18+". Which in turn meant to me that any older children of mine had probably been exposed to dirtier jokes and rottener words just by virtue of having been around me for so long. (Law of averages and stuff.) Which in turn-in turn meant to me that 17+ would probably be okay for someone who is, say, 15+ and not too sheltered.
Consequently, it meant to Medium Fry that I bought her Cards Against Humanity for Christmas.
And then it meant that when the kids were gathering up games to take to my parents' house for Christmas that I said, "Sure you can bring that."
Finally, it meant that Medium Fry - poor, poor Medium Fry - played Cards Against Humanity with both her parents and her grandparents on Christmas Eve. She didn't even have the option of deploying a booze buffer against the horror of the situation, because alcohol is clearly labeled 18+ so naturally I didn't buy her any of that.
If you weren't already familiar with the obscure 17+ board game age rating, it apparently stands for "do NOT play this with or buy this for any members of your family, ever".
And in one final, bitter social experiment this recent holiday season: Cards Against Humanity is an excellent gauge for discerning who is the most horrible person in the room (apparently by more than one measure). I'm not sure whether I am relieved or saddened to report that that person is me.
Turns out I was also subjected to a bit of an inadvertent social experiment at the holidays last year. Before I get started, let me ask you: if you saw the rating "Ages 17+" on a board game, what would it mean to you?
I'll tell you what it meant to me. It meant something like, wellll, it's maybe going to be a little racy, or maybe have some of the more exciting 4-letter-words in it, but if it was really bad it would be rated R or 18+ or something, right? I mean, 17+ practically screams, "NOT-18+". Which in turn meant to me that any older children of mine had probably been exposed to dirtier jokes and rottener words just by virtue of having been around me for so long. (Law of averages and stuff.) Which in turn-in turn meant to me that 17+ would probably be okay for someone who is, say, 15+ and not too sheltered.
Consequently, it meant to Medium Fry that I bought her Cards Against Humanity for Christmas.
And then it meant that when the kids were gathering up games to take to my parents' house for Christmas that I said, "Sure you can bring that."
Finally, it meant that Medium Fry - poor, poor Medium Fry - played Cards Against Humanity with both her parents and her grandparents on Christmas Eve. She didn't even have the option of deploying a booze buffer against the horror of the situation, because alcohol is clearly labeled 18+ so naturally I didn't buy her any of that.
If you weren't already familiar with the obscure 17+ board game age rating, it apparently stands for "do NOT play this with or buy this for any members of your family, ever".
And in one final, bitter social experiment this recent holiday season: Cards Against Humanity is an excellent gauge for discerning who is the most horrible person in the room (apparently by more than one measure). I'm not sure whether I am relieved or saddened to report that that person is me.
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Fakers Never Prosper
In my never-ending quest for sleep, I recently went to see an "alternative health practitioner". I won't even bother telling you what kind because it's all equally ridiculous horseshit, but at this point - that is, approaching the eight-year anniversary of the start of my torrid affair with insomnia - I decided I'm willing to accept a placebo effect.
Actually, I can sortof see why people go to quacks. Sortof. You get your placebo effects. You get the feeling that you're doing something about your problems (real or imagined). And what I think is probably the biggest draw, you get a fresh new audience to listen to your (real or imagined) problems - a sympathetic audience. A caring audience (never mind that they're robbing you blind while "caring"). This is in direct contrast to your actual medical doctor, who you might (rightly) suspect has long since decided you are a fruitloop, and to your friends and family, who are probably** sick to death of hearing you yammer on about your endless health-related "issues" and associated internet "research".
** DEFINITELY
While I was speaking with my quack about my insomnia, I did notice how over-the-top supportive and understanding she was but I was so focused on getting my placebo effects and getting out that I almost didn't think to soak up this important potential contributor to my effects - whoops! Once she felt I had been thoroughly validated as a human with insomnia, we moved on to "treatment". (I'm sorry - I actually can't stop with the quotation marks. Be grateful I'm not telling you this story in person; it's probably even more annoying with air quotes.)
And the treatment - oh, the treatment. It was like a solid hour of bad sex, with an excessively earnest partner. (I know you know what I'm talking about.) Oddly, given that I was paying for the experience, I just felt bad for the gal and thus deferred to that old bad sex standby: I faked it.
(What is it you think you're doing, exactly?)
*noncommittal sounds*
(Aw, did you just SAY that?)
I'm doing just great, thanks.
(What is going ON here?)
... Oh, yep, I'm definitely feeling it now.
(Is this over yet?)
*slightly more enthusiastic noncommittal sounds*
(Oh thank gawd this is over.)
Hey, that was great! Welp, gotta run!
(Nope, not a chance in hell.)
Sure thing, anytime! Call me!
Hm, I wonder if I can get some placebo action for my conflict avoidance problem, too?
Actually, I can sortof see why people go to quacks. Sortof. You get your placebo effects. You get the feeling that you're doing something about your problems (real or imagined). And what I think is probably the biggest draw, you get a fresh new audience to listen to your (real or imagined) problems - a sympathetic audience. A caring audience (never mind that they're robbing you blind while "caring"). This is in direct contrast to your actual medical doctor, who you might (rightly) suspect has long since decided you are a fruitloop, and to your friends and family, who are probably** sick to death of hearing you yammer on about your endless health-related "issues" and associated internet "research".
** DEFINITELY
While I was speaking with my quack about my insomnia, I did notice how over-the-top supportive and understanding she was but I was so focused on getting my placebo effects and getting out that I almost didn't think to soak up this important potential contributor to my effects - whoops! Once she felt I had been thoroughly validated as a human with insomnia, we moved on to "treatment". (I'm sorry - I actually can't stop with the quotation marks. Be grateful I'm not telling you this story in person; it's probably even more annoying with air quotes.)
And the treatment - oh, the treatment. It was like a solid hour of bad sex, with an excessively earnest partner. (I know you know what I'm talking about.) Oddly, given that I was paying for the experience, I just felt bad for the gal and thus deferred to that old bad sex standby: I faked it.
(What is it you think you're doing, exactly?)
*noncommittal sounds*
(Aw, did you just SAY that?)
I'm doing just great, thanks.
(What is going ON here?)
... Oh, yep, I'm definitely feeling it now.
(Is this over yet?)
*slightly more enthusiastic noncommittal sounds*
(Oh thank gawd this is over.)
Hey, that was great! Welp, gotta run!
(Nope, not a chance in hell.)
Sure thing, anytime! Call me!
Hm, I wonder if I can get some placebo action for my conflict avoidance problem, too?
Saturday, January 9, 2016
Resolutions Schmesolutions
It's Resolution Season at my house! I just love New Year's Resolutions. They feel so fresh and exciting and possible at this time of year. A whole new calendar full of days unsullied by your failings just stretching out in front of you like an open highway! But, like, a nice smooth Alberta highway, not a lousy Saskatchewan highway - that's a few weeks away still. There are no potholes in your Resolution highway at the beginning of the New Year. You can still refuel your Resolution easily and frequently. The lackluster scenery of Lean Cuisines and 1% cottage cheese day in, day out hasn't ground down your will to live willpower...
... yet.
Oh, sorry. Where was I? Right - I love Resolutions! I make zillions of them all year long. I make them at the New Years, of course. And I didn't misplace that apostrophe, I literally mean ALL the New Years. You got a culture or a calendar with a different year in there somewhere? I am gonna find it and make some Resolutions on it. I even make Resolutions on the school calendar - every semester! Each Sunday night I make my Resolutions for the Monday ahead. Sometimes I even make them on Saturday night, just in case that works out better than when I make them on Sundays.
It's January 9th today. I've had some successes so far, namely working out lots and trying new recipes and implementing Tofu Tuesdays despite the strongly reluctant Tuesday night dinner crowd at my house. I had a massive caffeine withdrawal headache on January 1 and the sugar shakes up until about January 7, but that's no big deal - I Resolve that stuff about six times a (Gregorian calendar) year. I'm tough.
What IS slowly killing me, and getting harder rather than easier with each passing day, is not-Facebooking. Do you have any idea how many quotable quotes my kids have said in the past 9 days? How adorably selfie-genic I've been this week? How many humblebrags and witty comments and hilarious marital woes I've been forced to withhold?! How am I supposed to carefully curate others' perception of my life?? No one has Liked me all week!
I tried scrolling through LinkedIn a bit to take the edge off but it's just not the same.
I washed the floors today and forced the whole family to openly admire my efforts. Still no good.
Finally, friends, it has come to this. I mean, how else is anyone going to know I wrote a new blog unless I post in on my Facebook feed? Right? RIGHT?!
You may have won this battle but you haven't won the war, Resolution - I will see you on the Lunar New Year my old foe. Or maybe next Saturday night! You just never know when I will strike...
... yet.
Oh, sorry. Where was I? Right - I love Resolutions! I make zillions of them all year long. I make them at the New Years, of course. And I didn't misplace that apostrophe, I literally mean ALL the New Years. You got a culture or a calendar with a different year in there somewhere? I am gonna find it and make some Resolutions on it. I even make Resolutions on the school calendar - every semester! Each Sunday night I make my Resolutions for the Monday ahead. Sometimes I even make them on Saturday night, just in case that works out better than when I make them on Sundays.
It's January 9th today. I've had some successes so far, namely working out lots and trying new recipes and implementing Tofu Tuesdays despite the strongly reluctant Tuesday night dinner crowd at my house. I had a massive caffeine withdrawal headache on January 1 and the sugar shakes up until about January 7, but that's no big deal - I Resolve that stuff about six times a (Gregorian calendar) year. I'm tough.
What IS slowly killing me, and getting harder rather than easier with each passing day, is not-Facebooking. Do you have any idea how many quotable quotes my kids have said in the past 9 days? How adorably selfie-genic I've been this week? How many humblebrags and witty comments and hilarious marital woes I've been forced to withhold?! How am I supposed to carefully curate others' perception of my life?? No one has Liked me all week!
I tried scrolling through LinkedIn a bit to take the edge off but it's just not the same.
I washed the floors today and forced the whole family to openly admire my efforts. Still no good.
Finally, friends, it has come to this. I mean, how else is anyone going to know I wrote a new blog unless I post in on my Facebook feed? Right? RIGHT?!
You may have won this battle but you haven't won the war, Resolution - I will see you on the Lunar New Year my old foe. Or maybe next Saturday night! You just never know when I will strike...
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Top 5 Secret EPP Levels
We asked top players for their favourite little-known EPP levels, and compiled this sweet Top 5 list from their comments. Which ones have you conquered, and which ones have conquered you?!
Section 31.0: Grandmother Protection Plan
The GPP describes the protective and mitigative measures to be employed during the pre-adolescent and adolescent years of the Frecklepelt Eldest Child Project.
Section 32.0: EPP Contradicts Itself
This Section describes the protective and mitigative measures to be employed when the EPP contains incompatible, inconsistent or downright contradictory mitigation. Includes challenges such as:
- Tables 11-1, 11-2 and 12-1 vs. Alignment Sheets
- Sketchy Consultation Results
- To Silt Fence or Not To Silt Fence
Section 33.0: EPP Contradicts Reality
This Section describes the protective and mitigative measures to be employed when the EPP basically fails to align with the world, like, at all. Includes challenges such as:
- Alignment Sheets vs. Construction Drawings
- They Called THAT a Wetland but Not This?
- Three Foot Deep Mulch Layer
Section 34.0: Failure to Follow EPP
This Section describes the protective and mitigative measures to be employed when some aspect of the EPP has been contravened, whether inadvertently or intentionally. Includes challenges such as:
- None of These People Have a GPS
- What Does the Purple Lath Mean?
- Finger Pointing 101
Section 39.999: Complete Shitting the Bed on Following the EPP
Challenges vary widely but suffice to say that when you encounter this Level, you'll know it. Successful completion can be achieved by various means, including:
- Not Going to Jail
- Shoot, Shovel and Shut Up: the Alberta Way
- Collecting Paycheque and Going on a Loooong Vacation
Section 31.0: Grandmother Protection Plan
The GPP describes the protective and mitigative measures to be employed during the pre-adolescent and adolescent years of the Frecklepelt Eldest Child Project.
Section 32.0: EPP Contradicts Itself
This Section describes the protective and mitigative measures to be employed when the EPP contains incompatible, inconsistent or downright contradictory mitigation. Includes challenges such as:
- Tables 11-1, 11-2 and 12-1 vs. Alignment Sheets
- Sketchy Consultation Results
- To Silt Fence or Not To Silt Fence
Section 33.0: EPP Contradicts Reality
This Section describes the protective and mitigative measures to be employed when the EPP basically fails to align with the world, like, at all. Includes challenges such as:
- Alignment Sheets vs. Construction Drawings
- They Called THAT a Wetland but Not This?
- Three Foot Deep Mulch Layer
Section 34.0: Failure to Follow EPP
This Section describes the protective and mitigative measures to be employed when some aspect of the EPP has been contravened, whether inadvertently or intentionally. Includes challenges such as:
- None of These People Have a GPS
- What Does the Purple Lath Mean?
- Finger Pointing 101
Section 39.999: Complete Shitting the Bed on Following the EPP
Challenges vary widely but suffice to say that when you encounter this Level, you'll know it. Successful completion can be achieved by various means, including:
- Not Going to Jail
- Shoot, Shovel and Shut Up: the Alberta Way
- Collecting Paycheque and Going on a Loooong Vacation
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Nipple Height
Everyone's job is hard in its own way. Part of that is undoubtedly related to personal growth - when you're shiny new to the employment scene, probably most everything seems like a challenge. Take, for instance, this conversation I overheard at the grocery store a few days ago:
Gangly young produce employee (nervously): "Umm, how tall should I stack these mandarins, sir?"
Shorter, middle-aged produce manager (with booming confidence): "Nipple height!"
See how difficult things are when you're new at a job, and how easy they are when you're not? When you are new, you don't even have an expectation of what the expectations might be. Can I, should I make even the most basic of fruit display assembly decisions on my own? What if there is a Mandarin Stacking Standard I'm not aware of? Let me not be a mandarin Icarus, flying too close to the fluorescent glare above! Help, I'm paralyzed with indecision!
And the manager - oh, the authority with which he spoke! All those years of experience culminating in this glorious demonstration of prompt and confident decision making, really showing those young pups how it's done, whipping out those tried and true and not terribly sensible Stacking Standards like a pompous-ass gunslinger...
"... Umm, your nipples or mine, sir?"
Touche, young pup! I had the same concern with the manager's glaringly non-standard standard as soon as he said it. Unfortunately, I was laugh-choking to death on my coffee and didn't catch his response.
I worked at a neighbourhood grocery store in my late teens, and the produce department was one of my favourites to help out in. If only my mandarins were stacked as tall and proud now as they were back then... They were truly a sight to behold. sigh
It was surely the height difference between the two men and not the relativity of this measurement over time on his own person that caused the young fellow to question the nipple-height Stacking Standard, but I still felt a bit of solidarity with him for bravely noting the obvious flaw in his boss' statement. I decided to circle back around with my cart a little while later to see how our lanky hero was faring with his boxes.
The two were nowhere in sight, but I had to reach over my head to get a box of oranges down so I guess we know whose nipples prevailed over logic that day.
Gangly young produce employee (nervously): "Umm, how tall should I stack these mandarins, sir?"
Shorter, middle-aged produce manager (with booming confidence): "Nipple height!"
See how difficult things are when you're new at a job, and how easy they are when you're not? When you are new, you don't even have an expectation of what the expectations might be. Can I, should I make even the most basic of fruit display assembly decisions on my own? What if there is a Mandarin Stacking Standard I'm not aware of? Let me not be a mandarin Icarus, flying too close to the fluorescent glare above! Help, I'm paralyzed with indecision!
And the manager - oh, the authority with which he spoke! All those years of experience culminating in this glorious demonstration of prompt and confident decision making, really showing those young pups how it's done, whipping out those tried and true and not terribly sensible Stacking Standards like a pompous-ass gunslinger...
"... Umm, your nipples or mine, sir?"
Touche, young pup! I had the same concern with the manager's glaringly non-standard standard as soon as he said it. Unfortunately, I was laugh-choking to death on my coffee and didn't catch his response.
I worked at a neighbourhood grocery store in my late teens, and the produce department was one of my favourites to help out in. If only my mandarins were stacked as tall and proud now as they were back then... They were truly a sight to behold. sigh
It was surely the height difference between the two men and not the relativity of this measurement over time on his own person that caused the young fellow to question the nipple-height Stacking Standard, but I still felt a bit of solidarity with him for bravely noting the obvious flaw in his boss' statement. I decided to circle back around with my cart a little while later to see how our lanky hero was faring with his boxes.
The two were nowhere in sight, but I had to reach over my head to get a box of oranges down so I guess we know whose nipples prevailed over logic that day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
