We had a kitchen table discussion last night about our most embarrassing experiences. DH told us how he choked on water in the middle of a lecture and cough/sprayed it all over himself and the room. Yup, moderately embarrassing, but in the big scheme of things probably only a 2/10 or so. I was going to give it a 1/10, but then Medium Fry told a story about how she was - I'm not really sure what - rummaging in her backpack at the bus stop? And people were judging her for being disorganized? At 7am? Yeah, nope. No one even noticed. 1/10 for entirely self-manufactured discomfort, which bumped DH's water story to a 2/10 by default.
DH anted up: he spilled coffee on his lap at work and spent an hour hanging out in his underwear with his pants tied to a fan to dry out. Sure it's a group office, but only one other fellow was there to witness the scene. If there had been a larger audience, or even if DH didn't have such excellent legs, I would give this story a 4/10, but even he wasn't all that uncomfortable about the whole thing. (His colleague, on the other hand...) 3/10 for semi-private, highly relatable clutziness, with solid pants-free-at-work plot twist.
Small Fry, who still runs around the house naked telling everyone to "squeeze my chubby buns!", surprised no one by not having any embarrassing moments to share at all. (I'm helping his future self get over himself by posting the chubby buns thing here. You're welcome, Future Fry.)
These people! It's like they've never lived! I sometimes say I'm not easily embarrassed but in reality I used to be like Medium Fry, imagining my way to mortification over every little thing. I've just built up a tolerance by repeatedly making an ass of myself. I think of it as being sortof like the flu vaccine in that it's demonstrably helpful in protecting yourself from embarrassment, even if not 100% effective against every strain you're likely to come up against, plus you have to keep doing it regularly to reap the benefits. Hence the repeat offences.
The family-friendly story I shared was about a time I was doing field work with a bunch of men (not unusual, but important here for flavour). I had a site map rolled out on the hood of one of the work trucks and I was being so boss babe, jabbing at the map, delegating and directing: you'll tackle this and we'll tackle that; we'll adjust the site to accommodate these issues; I'll check this out to make sure it's not a problem; etc. "Everyone on board?" Nods all around, so I pushed back off the truck and there they were: two enormous dust-free circles, obviously boob in origin. We all just... looked at them for a bit. The silence was such that you could hear my boss-ness deflate slightly. And then we went about our work and never spoke of it again. 4/10 for mild group discomfort coupled with unfortunate ego effects.
The not family-friendly story I didn't tell was about a time I accidentally left a "small appliance" in a hotel bed one morning when I was out for a field stint. (What can I say? Guess I'm just a roll-over-and-fall-asleep-after kind of gal.) I came back to my room that afternoon and the first thing - the only thing - I saw was my trusty travel companion on my pillow, tucked halfway under the blanket like it was having a li'l naparoo. I could literally see the housekeeper in my mind, torn between full pillow display acknowledgement and discreet tucked-in plausible deniability. I do not get paid enough for this shit. Is there anything in the training manual about this? Please let there be gloves in the cart somewhere.
This was day one of my week-long stay, and I honestly, truly considered packing my bags and leaving town. All my previous inoculations together were only like 10% effective, tops, so I had to fall back on a combination of, 'You'll never see these people again' and 'They're [profession] - they've definitely seen worse.' (Have they, though?)
The scars are still too fresh for me to rank this one accurately - personally, it's feeling like at least a 7.5/10, but I'll leave it to you to decide for yourself. Just as soon as I work up the gumption to press the Publish button...
Friday, March 29, 2019
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
Fortunately / Unfortunately
I redid my first aid certification recently. Actually over a month ago, but it's taken me this long to recover enough to talk about it.
In my experience (i.e., recertifying every three years for work), first aid class has gotten progressively more on board with modern notions like personal space - or, more likely, not getting sued for fostering any in-class molestation. This is cool by me; I'm from Saskatchewan, so a very generous amount of personal space is basically my birthright. Approximately 1.8 square kilometres will do most days. So with the exception of tying splints, in which case you still get control over any crotch-adjacent bandaging, first aid class is now more like first aid reiki - you sortof wave your hands around and pretend to do something useful for your patient's (similarly imaginary) ailments.
Unfortunately, this particular instructor was having none of that personal space business, and in fact insisted on walking us all slooowly through each individual, highly touchy step, as if to achieve maximum touchiness: "Now, gently press your partner's orbital bones to check for fractures." "Now, press along their jawline." "Now, open their mouth and look inside for blood or broken teeth."
Fortunately my partner happened to be a very obedient young fellow, so when I growled, "Do NOT touch my face," he sat promptly back on his heels with his hands clasped in front of him and did a straight-ahead stare at the wall until I gave the go-ahead to check my neck and shoulders for injury.
I mean, I don't want anyone touching my face at the best of times - it's plain creepy, plus what if there's a chin hair?
"Now, palpate your partner's abdomen." What the?! "DO NOT TOUCH MY ABDOMEN." *Straight-ahead stare.* "Okay, fine, you can check my legs now."
Okay, I really don't want anyone touching my abdomen. That fucking shar-pei disaster zone is no one's business but my own. It gets 5 square kilometres of personal space - I don't even want you seeing it through a telescope.
Unfortunately, the instructor had other tricks up her sleeve. Namely, constantly interrupting herself to tell stupid stories in the middle of our practice exercises. So you'd be standing there with your arms around your partner, with the absolute entirety of your personal-space-requiring being pressed against their back and your leg up their butt (that is, the-position-no-longer-known-as-the-Heimlich), and the instructor would interrupt the lesson to tell the class a little tale about something. And, like, should I keep hugging this stranger? Should I let go? How long is this fucking story? Worst of all, if I am unable to not-notice how firm this young fellow's abdomen is that I'm awkwardly hugging while this idiot goes on about this one time she saved someone from choking at a nursing home, it is surely inevitable that he will be unable to not-notice how not-firm mine is while she goes on about why it's no longer called the Heimlich Maneuver.
And finally, just when I thought I couldn't wish any harder for the ground to swallow me whole, came the point when she decided we should try out a modified j-thrust position "for pregnant women or very large individuals", which involves going under the armpits and doing compressions over the sternum. Or in my case, for poor Joshua (his name was Joshua) to have to stand there with his arms around me, trying his best to avoid making contact with my rather substantial bosoms while the instructor... told another story. We don't remember which story this was because we both literally died of embarrassment. Dead. I am writing this from beyond the grave.
I initially thought this post was going to follow the format of the storytelling game, Fortunately / Unfortunately, but now that I'm remembering it the whole thing was basically just a two-day death spiral of unfortunateness. My hope is that someone out there will glean even a tiny bit of sick glee from my sad tale, and maybe even the wisdom to always book first aid with someone you wouldn't mind heavily violating your personal space for two days. But I think the most fortunate ending of all would simply be if Joshua and I never see each other, ever again.
In my experience (i.e., recertifying every three years for work), first aid class has gotten progressively more on board with modern notions like personal space - or, more likely, not getting sued for fostering any in-class molestation. This is cool by me; I'm from Saskatchewan, so a very generous amount of personal space is basically my birthright. Approximately 1.8 square kilometres will do most days. So with the exception of tying splints, in which case you still get control over any crotch-adjacent bandaging, first aid class is now more like first aid reiki - you sortof wave your hands around and pretend to do something useful for your patient's (similarly imaginary) ailments.
Unfortunately, this particular instructor was having none of that personal space business, and in fact insisted on walking us all slooowly through each individual, highly touchy step, as if to achieve maximum touchiness: "Now, gently press your partner's orbital bones to check for fractures." "Now, press along their jawline." "Now, open their mouth and look inside for blood or broken teeth."
Fortunately my partner happened to be a very obedient young fellow, so when I growled, "Do NOT touch my face," he sat promptly back on his heels with his hands clasped in front of him and did a straight-ahead stare at the wall until I gave the go-ahead to check my neck and shoulders for injury.
I mean, I don't want anyone touching my face at the best of times - it's plain creepy, plus what if there's a chin hair?
"Now, palpate your partner's abdomen." What the?! "DO NOT TOUCH MY ABDOMEN." *Straight-ahead stare.* "Okay, fine, you can check my legs now."
Okay, I really don't want anyone touching my abdomen. That fucking shar-pei disaster zone is no one's business but my own. It gets 5 square kilometres of personal space - I don't even want you seeing it through a telescope.
Unfortunately, the instructor had other tricks up her sleeve. Namely, constantly interrupting herself to tell stupid stories in the middle of our practice exercises. So you'd be standing there with your arms around your partner, with the absolute entirety of your personal-space-requiring being pressed against their back and your leg up their butt (that is, the-position-no-longer-known-as-the-Heimlich), and the instructor would interrupt the lesson to tell the class a little tale about something. And, like, should I keep hugging this stranger? Should I let go? How long is this fucking story? Worst of all, if I am unable to not-notice how firm this young fellow's abdomen is that I'm awkwardly hugging while this idiot goes on about this one time she saved someone from choking at a nursing home, it is surely inevitable that he will be unable to not-notice how not-firm mine is while she goes on about why it's no longer called the Heimlich Maneuver.
And finally, just when I thought I couldn't wish any harder for the ground to swallow me whole, came the point when she decided we should try out a modified j-thrust position "for pregnant women or very large individuals", which involves going under the armpits and doing compressions over the sternum. Or in my case, for poor Joshua (his name was Joshua) to have to stand there with his arms around me, trying his best to avoid making contact with my rather substantial bosoms while the instructor... told another story. We don't remember which story this was because we both literally died of embarrassment. Dead. I am writing this from beyond the grave.
I initially thought this post was going to follow the format of the storytelling game, Fortunately / Unfortunately, but now that I'm remembering it the whole thing was basically just a two-day death spiral of unfortunateness. My hope is that someone out there will glean even a tiny bit of sick glee from my sad tale, and maybe even the wisdom to always book first aid with someone you wouldn't mind heavily violating your personal space for two days. But I think the most fortunate ending of all would simply be if Joshua and I never see each other, ever again.
Wednesday, February 27, 2019
Canuda Triangle
LAKEWOOD, NJ 08701
Room 210, Third Desk from the Right, Operator ID #4516
January 22, 2019, 1:42:13pm
Pre-Shipment Info Sent to Shipper
LAKEWOOD, NJ 08701
Room 210, The Desk in the Corner by the Window with All the Plants, Operator
ID #3371
January 22, 2019, 1:45:02pm
Shipping Label Created, Shipper Awaiting Item
LAKEWOOD, NJ 08701
Warehouse B, Door 6B, Lovingly Handled by Operator #0144
January 22, 2019, 1:52:00pm
Shipment Received, Package Acceptance Pending
LAKEWOOD, NJ 08701
Warehouse B, Rack 075B, Shelf 452, Fifth Box from the Left, Operator ID
#3610
January 22, 2019, 1:52:00pm
Shipment Accepted at Warehouse Facility
LAKEWOOD, NJ 08701
Warehouse B, Door 9B, Fork Loader 5, Bottom Pallet, Operator ID #3511
January 22, 2019, 2:13:12pm
Shipment Shipped to Shipping Origin Facility
Safe Travels, Little Friend
TRENTON, NJ DISTRIBUTION CENTER
Warehouse 3, Door A, Fork Loader 12, Sixth Pallet, Employee #40849
January 22, 2019, 3:46:45pm
Shipment Arrived at Shipping Origin Facility, Package Acceptance
Pending
TRENTON, NJ DISTRIBUTION CENTER
Warehouse J, Rack 61, Shelf 23, Operator ID #00946
January 22, 2019, 3:51:33pm
Shipment Accepted at Shipping Origin Facility
TRENTON, NJ DISTRIBUTION CENTER
Warehouse J, Door D, Fork Loader 4a, Top Pallet, Operator ID #18645
January 22, 2019, 4:25:58pm
Shipment Shipped to Shipper Regional Facility
JAMAICA NY INTERNATIONAL DISTRIBUTION CENTER
Main Warehouse, Door 5B, Fork Loader 12, Sixth Pallet, Operator ID
#0144
January 22, 2019, 6:01pm
Shipment Accepted at Shipper Regional Facility
JAMAICA NY INTERNATIONAL DISTRIBUTION CENTER
January 23, 2019, 9:36am
Shipment Processed Through Shipper Regional Facility
CANADA
January 25, 2019
Your item has arrived in CANADA.
CANADA
Your item is in transit in CANADA.
CANADA
Still in CANADA somewhere, don't know where exactly or how long it might be.
CANADA
How big even is CANADA? Shame it doesn't have any cities or landmarks or anything one could track by.
CANADA
February 27, 2019
Your item has been delivered in CANADA.
Good luck on the return shipping if you don't like it.
Friday, February 22, 2019
Skip to My Loo
I found an AirBNB with a disco ball in the bathroom. It's in Amsterdam, which might have made you say, "Of course!" - that's what I said, anyway - but on further examination I don't know why that's an "of course" kind of thing. I really don't know much about Amsterdam, it just seemed somehow less weird than a disco ball bathroom in - well, basically anywhere else that I can think of. All I can think of right now is Regina, but still.
As fun as it seems to have a disco bathroom, I decided that someone with more, er, "festive" travel plans would surely make better use of it than our family would. It's also the only bathroom in the apartment and with my small bladder I really can't afford Small Fry enjoying his famously leisurely sit-ins even more than usual.
In imagining the kind of traveler who would feel the need to pay a premium for a vacation rental with a disco bathroom, I began to wonder what kind of traveler I am. Obviously I'm not too fussed about how well my bathroom raves are going to pan out, and I'm never worried about curating my Insta feed (where disco WC would surely be a slam dunk), but if not those admirable objectives, what do I stand for as a traveler?
I reviewed our pending European itinerary to see if I could find any overarching themes. The research suggests our overarching themes are generally a bit sedate, at least compared to my imaginary bathroom-rave-Instagram-vacation competitors. I'm not sure how I've allowed these imaginary people to make me feel like my vacations are boring, but whatever - they'll find out what it's like when they grow up and have kids. And insomnia. And laundry. Yeah, screw those guys; I'm still cool even if I select AirBNBs based purely on practical considerations like 2+ bedrooms and a washing machine.
Something I don't think I fully realized before my itinerary review is just how keen I am on balconies and terraces. We are staying in a lot of places with balconies or terraces. And, full disclosure, bidets. What can I say? I've watched the interweb videos and I am looking forward to experiencing the same, apparently life-changing magic of bidets that those brave netizens have enjoyed. I once had to use a public toilet that was stuck in a permanent, vigorous flush mode and frankly I found the ensuing cool mist quite refreshing on the ol' undercarriage. It was a little tricky getting my tights back on afterward given the general wide-scale dampness, but I have high hopes for a system that delivers a more targeted rinse cycle.
We have some home renovation goals for after we return from vacation, that may well be informed by our experiences during the trip. If you notice we've installed a disco ball in the bathroom, you'll know the grand AirBNBidet experiment turned out to be a wash.
As fun as it seems to have a disco bathroom, I decided that someone with more, er, "festive" travel plans would surely make better use of it than our family would. It's also the only bathroom in the apartment and with my small bladder I really can't afford Small Fry enjoying his famously leisurely sit-ins even more than usual.
In imagining the kind of traveler who would feel the need to pay a premium for a vacation rental with a disco bathroom, I began to wonder what kind of traveler I am. Obviously I'm not too fussed about how well my bathroom raves are going to pan out, and I'm never worried about curating my Insta feed (where disco WC would surely be a slam dunk), but if not those admirable objectives, what do I stand for as a traveler?
I reviewed our pending European itinerary to see if I could find any overarching themes. The research suggests our overarching themes are generally a bit sedate, at least compared to my imaginary bathroom-rave-Instagram-vacation competitors. I'm not sure how I've allowed these imaginary people to make me feel like my vacations are boring, but whatever - they'll find out what it's like when they grow up and have kids. And insomnia. And laundry. Yeah, screw those guys; I'm still cool even if I select AirBNBs based purely on practical considerations like 2+ bedrooms and a washing machine.
Something I don't think I fully realized before my itinerary review is just how keen I am on balconies and terraces. We are staying in a lot of places with balconies or terraces. And, full disclosure, bidets. What can I say? I've watched the interweb videos and I am looking forward to experiencing the same, apparently life-changing magic of bidets that those brave netizens have enjoyed. I once had to use a public toilet that was stuck in a permanent, vigorous flush mode and frankly I found the ensuing cool mist quite refreshing on the ol' undercarriage. It was a little tricky getting my tights back on afterward given the general wide-scale dampness, but I have high hopes for a system that delivers a more targeted rinse cycle.
We have some home renovation goals for after we return from vacation, that may well be informed by our experiences during the trip. If you notice we've installed a disco ball in the bathroom, you'll know the grand AirBNBidet experiment turned out to be a wash.
Monday, January 28, 2019
My Monkeys, Myself
The past year has been a big one for milestones around these parts: my company turned 5, DH and I celebrated 15 years together, I
turned 40, my kids reached milestone birthdays of their own, Medium Fry
started university, and as if to tie a bow on the already bumper year,
this week marks Frecklicious' 10th anniversary - and this, my 300th
post. 300! Who knew I had so much to say? (Yes, that was a joke - we all know I can't stop talking.)
Talking about talking... you know what it's like when someone is planning a wedding and every conversation you have with them for like the entire year leading up to it has to revolve around seating arrangements, floral arrangements, "colours" and so on? (Heaven forbid they're doing an extended engagement 'cause then you have to hear about it for two years!) Well, I am currently planning a seven-month tour of Europe and although I'm really, really trying not to be all wedding-y about it, it is just so dang exciting (to me) that details of the trip keep bursting out of my mouth (to you) despite my best intentions. The worst part is that I've been planning it for four years so it's been like the extendedest engagement ever - ick!
So, yeah, couple of housekeeping items to address here: One, my sincere apologies to anyone whose wedding rambles I've ever rolled my eyes at. I get it now. (Sortof.) And two, more apologies to everyone who has had to listen to me vacation ramble for the past four years.
Actually, while we're here I might as well throw in a preemptive apology for the next few months before we fly away 'cause I'm prolly not going to magically become able to contain myself at this point.
What I can promise you, though, is that this will not suddenly become a "travel blog" and I very solemnly swear to never cause you to retch up your lunch by referring to myself as a "travel writer." I think there's no way to avoid acknowledging the context of traveling when I'm telling my little stories here, but I'm envisioning it being more about the monkeys than the circus, if you know what I mean. Previous experience suggests that no matter where we are I will find ways to embarrass myself, DH will find ways for me to (lovingly!) make fun of him, and Small Fry will continue to be a source of comedic relief and consternation, all of which I consider fair game for Frecklicious. (Medium Fry will be staying home to attend school while the rest of us travel, but who knows - she may guest star on occasion.)
I suspect an extended family trip will unlock parts of our personalities that we don't even know exist - like how DH used to believe he was laid-back before he had children. I'm excited and, honestly, not a small amount of nervous about the things we will learn about ourselves and each other, but I'm confident it will make for some ridiculous stories. Thank you for stopping by these past 10 years, and stay tuned for the next ones!
Talking about talking... you know what it's like when someone is planning a wedding and every conversation you have with them for like the entire year leading up to it has to revolve around seating arrangements, floral arrangements, "colours" and so on? (Heaven forbid they're doing an extended engagement 'cause then you have to hear about it for two years!) Well, I am currently planning a seven-month tour of Europe and although I'm really, really trying not to be all wedding-y about it, it is just so dang exciting (to me) that details of the trip keep bursting out of my mouth (to you) despite my best intentions. The worst part is that I've been planning it for four years so it's been like the extendedest engagement ever - ick!
So, yeah, couple of housekeeping items to address here: One, my sincere apologies to anyone whose wedding rambles I've ever rolled my eyes at. I get it now. (Sortof.) And two, more apologies to everyone who has had to listen to me vacation ramble for the past four years.
Actually, while we're here I might as well throw in a preemptive apology for the next few months before we fly away 'cause I'm prolly not going to magically become able to contain myself at this point.
What I can promise you, though, is that this will not suddenly become a "travel blog" and I very solemnly swear to never cause you to retch up your lunch by referring to myself as a "travel writer." I think there's no way to avoid acknowledging the context of traveling when I'm telling my little stories here, but I'm envisioning it being more about the monkeys than the circus, if you know what I mean. Previous experience suggests that no matter where we are I will find ways to embarrass myself, DH will find ways for me to (lovingly!) make fun of him, and Small Fry will continue to be a source of comedic relief and consternation, all of which I consider fair game for Frecklicious. (Medium Fry will be staying home to attend school while the rest of us travel, but who knows - she may guest star on occasion.)
I suspect an extended family trip will unlock parts of our personalities that we don't even know exist - like how DH used to believe he was laid-back before he had children. I'm excited and, honestly, not a small amount of nervous about the things we will learn about ourselves and each other, but I'm confident it will make for some ridiculous stories. Thank you for stopping by these past 10 years, and stay tuned for the next ones!
Monday, December 31, 2018
Dietary Delight
'Tis the season for Resolutions! You surely all know by now that I love Resolutions, and I'm pleased to say that I went through my 2018 Resolutions today and found that I achieved (or at least made good progress toward) most of the goals I set for the year. I'm also a big fan of lists, and since one of my best motivational tricks is to put something I've already completed on my lists so I have something to check off straight away, I also achieved several retroactive Resolutions that I didn't even know about until now. I am winning so hard this year!
Know what I didn't do? Again? Lose a shit-ton of excess weight. It's almost a recurring joke that I put it on the list each year, and it really is a recurring joke the mental efforts I take to avoid the actual efforts involved in attaining this particular Resolution. I've noticed a few fallacies I'm particularly prone to, and from that compiled the following fun list of diet personalities. (And by "fun" I mean uncomfortably close to home and possibly offensive. Per usual.)
* * *
The Last Supper: "Might as well enjoy food while I still can." And by this you mean all the food, as if you are stockpiling calories for the end of days. Oh wait - due to a neat trick of biology, you can stockpile calories! Expect to gain 10lbs before you even get started on your diet.
The Spring Cleaner: "Get this shit out of here!" If it's not in the house you can't eat it, right? Ahh, now your cupboards look like the rejects aisle at the food bank - nice! Not necessarily a bad approach, unless of course you live with other people who are not on your diet. And who emphatically do not want tinned lentils for an afternoon snack. Expect to lose 2lbs off your rolls and 20 points in the polls.
The Conscientious Objector: "I can't let all this perfectly good food go to waste..." Of course you can't! Much better it goes to waist instead. Expect to gain 5lbs, and probably be on Hoarders one day.
The False Starter: "Okay, for really real this time!" Except you can't start on a Sunday - that's family dinner night! But Monday was just so hard this week, and what kind of monster starts things on a Tuesday? By Wednesday the whole week is basically a write-off... you'd better just start fresh next week. Expect to gain a rather perplexing* 5lbs** this month.
* I mean, all you ever think about is dieting, how can you be gaining weight?!
** If combined with a tendency to Last Supper-ing, gain 10lbs.
The Eclectic: "This one will work for sure!" You've been simply passionate about every fad diet and food trend that has ever existed. Like, ever. You own a bewildering number of oddly specific small appliances - juicers, blenders, fat-free fryers, grillers, shakers, makers, bakers, takers, and partitioned toddler plates for adults (?) - your pantry rivals Bulk Barn in its selection of obscure ingredients, and you could open a Museum of Modern Health Trends with the 30-year retrospective of home gym equipment languishing in your basement. Expect to lose 5lbs now, gain it back in a month when you lose interest, and have no friends because your constant proselytizing is freaking exhausting.
The Intellectual: "Ugh, paleolithic peoples would totally have eaten bananas if they were available!" You have acquiesced to the fact that you need - well, not 'help', exactly, more like 'inspiration' - to kick-start your diet, but you can't help but dwell upon the fallacies and flaws of each plan you look into. It's just that you're so much smarter than diets! Expect to lose the same 20lbs over and over until you either die of a heart attack or gain some humility, whichever comes first.
The Old Timer: "I'll just keep doing what works for me!" Would we be having this conversation if it were truly working? And are those ankle weights? Expect to lose 5lbs, but at the steep personal cost of consuming a lot of cottage cheese and Diet Coke.
The Perfectionist: "As soon as I'm not so stressed out..." Or maybe when the kids are all in school, or when your back doesn't hurt so much, or when Jupiter aligns with Mars. Whatever it is, it is clear that conditions must be absolutely perfect in order for you to ingest more fibre. Congratulations, here's your 5lbs.
The Princess and the Pea: "It's just so hard because of my [insert multiple conflicting conditions of varying credibility here]." Hey, have you ever heard of the Paralympics? Actually, y'know what, never mind. Just take your 5lbs and go.
The Theist: "Please, baby Jeebus!" Remember kids, the Lord helps those who help themselves, and He did not mean to seconds. 5lbs, honey. Next!
The Optimist: "Welp, New Year and Orthodox New Year were busts. Good thing for Lunar New Year!" Expect to lose 2lbs, gain 5lbs back celebrating the latest flip of the calendar page, and start again - all with a smile, somehow.
The Pessimist: "Honestly, why even bother?" With that attitude, you're exactly right. Expect to gain 5lbs. Of course.
The Realist: "Honestly, why even bother?" OMG, so true! Here's your 5lbs.
The Sailor: "Fuck it." Is this also Pessimistic, or perhaps Realistic? Either way, I totally agree. 5lbs.
The Polycephalist: Any or all of the above, in whatever combination suits your needs at the moment. Personally, I tend to run about 25% each Last Supper, Spring Cleaner and Old Timer (CICO my dudes!) with varying degrees of most of the others, depending on my mood. Let's not talk about the weight gain one might expect when employing this particular combination, k?
Finally, we have...
The Metabolism: "I guess I'm just naturally thin!" Listen, this entire post was designed to be so profoundly unrelatable to you that you could not possibly read this far, so it is not my fault if you are offended by my saying what the other struggling 99% of humanity is thinking when you say shit like that in January: please fuck off.
* * *
Happy New Year to all my dear readers, and may all your Resolutions become realities this year.
Know what I didn't do? Again? Lose a shit-ton of excess weight. It's almost a recurring joke that I put it on the list each year, and it really is a recurring joke the mental efforts I take to avoid the actual efforts involved in attaining this particular Resolution. I've noticed a few fallacies I'm particularly prone to, and from that compiled the following fun list of diet personalities. (And by "fun" I mean uncomfortably close to home and possibly offensive. Per usual.)
* * *
The Last Supper: "Might as well enjoy food while I still can." And by this you mean all the food, as if you are stockpiling calories for the end of days. Oh wait - due to a neat trick of biology, you can stockpile calories! Expect to gain 10lbs before you even get started on your diet.
The Spring Cleaner: "Get this shit out of here!" If it's not in the house you can't eat it, right? Ahh, now your cupboards look like the rejects aisle at the food bank - nice! Not necessarily a bad approach, unless of course you live with other people who are not on your diet. And who emphatically do not want tinned lentils for an afternoon snack. Expect to lose 2lbs off your rolls and 20 points in the polls.
The Conscientious Objector: "I can't let all this perfectly good food go to waste..." Of course you can't! Much better it goes to waist instead. Expect to gain 5lbs, and probably be on Hoarders one day.
The False Starter: "Okay, for really real this time!" Except you can't start on a Sunday - that's family dinner night! But Monday was just so hard this week, and what kind of monster starts things on a Tuesday? By Wednesday the whole week is basically a write-off... you'd better just start fresh next week. Expect to gain a rather perplexing* 5lbs** this month.
* I mean, all you ever think about is dieting, how can you be gaining weight?!
** If combined with a tendency to Last Supper-ing, gain 10lbs.
The Eclectic: "This one will work for sure!" You've been simply passionate about every fad diet and food trend that has ever existed. Like, ever. You own a bewildering number of oddly specific small appliances - juicers, blenders, fat-free fryers, grillers, shakers, makers, bakers, takers, and partitioned toddler plates for adults (?) - your pantry rivals Bulk Barn in its selection of obscure ingredients, and you could open a Museum of Modern Health Trends with the 30-year retrospective of home gym equipment languishing in your basement. Expect to lose 5lbs now, gain it back in a month when you lose interest, and have no friends because your constant proselytizing is freaking exhausting.
The Intellectual: "Ugh, paleolithic peoples would totally have eaten bananas if they were available!" You have acquiesced to the fact that you need - well, not 'help', exactly, more like 'inspiration' - to kick-start your diet, but you can't help but dwell upon the fallacies and flaws of each plan you look into. It's just that you're so much smarter than diets! Expect to lose the same 20lbs over and over until you either die of a heart attack or gain some humility, whichever comes first.
The Old Timer: "I'll just keep doing what works for me!" Would we be having this conversation if it were truly working? And are those ankle weights? Expect to lose 5lbs, but at the steep personal cost of consuming a lot of cottage cheese and Diet Coke.
The Perfectionist: "As soon as I'm not so stressed out..." Or maybe when the kids are all in school, or when your back doesn't hurt so much, or when Jupiter aligns with Mars. Whatever it is, it is clear that conditions must be absolutely perfect in order for you to ingest more fibre. Congratulations, here's your 5lbs.
The Princess and the Pea: "It's just so hard because of my [insert multiple conflicting conditions of varying credibility here]." Hey, have you ever heard of the Paralympics? Actually, y'know what, never mind. Just take your 5lbs and go.
The Theist: "Please, baby Jeebus!" Remember kids, the Lord helps those who help themselves, and He did not mean to seconds. 5lbs, honey. Next!
The Optimist: "Welp, New Year and Orthodox New Year were busts. Good thing for Lunar New Year!" Expect to lose 2lbs, gain 5lbs back celebrating the latest flip of the calendar page, and start again - all with a smile, somehow.
The Pessimist: "Honestly, why even bother?" With that attitude, you're exactly right. Expect to gain 5lbs. Of course.
The Realist: "Honestly, why even bother?" OMG, so true! Here's your 5lbs.
The Sailor: "Fuck it." Is this also Pessimistic, or perhaps Realistic? Either way, I totally agree. 5lbs.
The Polycephalist: Any or all of the above, in whatever combination suits your needs at the moment. Personally, I tend to run about 25% each Last Supper, Spring Cleaner and Old Timer (CICO my dudes!) with varying degrees of most of the others, depending on my mood. Let's not talk about the weight gain one might expect when employing this particular combination, k?
Finally, we have...
The Metabolism: "I guess I'm just naturally thin!" Listen, this entire post was designed to be so profoundly unrelatable to you that you could not possibly read this far, so it is not my fault if you are offended by my saying what the other struggling 99% of humanity is thinking when you say shit like that in January: please fuck off.
* * *
Happy New Year to all my dear readers, and may all your Resolutions become realities this year.
Wednesday, November 28, 2018
Sunny Side Up
I have a friend who traveled extensively for sports in his youth and, later, for work, and he told me once that he regretted not getting out and enjoying the places he visited when he had the chance - as he told it, his experiences in all these far-flung places were largely limited to hotel rooms and event centres. This story really struck a nerve with me and I have since made a concerted effort to enjoy the hell out of every place I travel.
Of course, it's easy to enjoy places you travel to when you're on vacation, because you're on vacation - how bad could it even be? Given my job, however, I mostly travel to small towns in rural western Canada, and mostly during the hectic field season - basically the very antithesis of a state of vacation, in places that are on precisely no-one's bucket list.
But you know what? I mostly do enjoy these places, or at least aspects of these places. There's nearly always a positive nugget in there somewhere. Worst case scenario, I come away with a ridiculous field story, which is in itself a positive thing in my books. As they say, Wherever you go, there you are, and I do believe the ability to find the sunny side in your travels has a lot to do with the attitude you're packing along. I always aspire to pack my very best attitude; failing that, I also pack an assortment of colourful field gotch to choose from when I need a mood boost in the morning. As they don't ever say, but maybe should, With colourful underpants and enough coffee, anything is possible.
(Honestly, that should be my company slogan, although I might have to classy it up a bit before I put it on letterhead - any of you folks know Latin?)
He probably doesn't even remember the conversation, but I've had so many delightful experiences in so many little podunk places since embarking on my Positive Travel Attitude phase that my friend deserves a thank-you for the inspiration. Thanks, buddy! (He doesn't read this, but don't worry - I'll buy him a beer sometime and tell him in person.)
I was considering making an adventure map to share here, with a little pin at each oddball place and a cutesy little happy story to accompany each pin, but on consideration it just seemed too - how to put it delicately? - Instagrammy-bullshit for me to follow through with. It felt like I was sullying those magical moments, like staging a yoga pose in front of a beautiful mountain view and posting it for fake internet points. Gross.
Instead, I will stay firmly on-brand and tell you about a time when I embarrassed myself in the field. (I'd just like to point out that another friend of mine once suggested I rarely "put myself out there" - I contend that oversharing is indeed a form of putting oneself out there, and if anything I do it too much. But I digress. Also too much.)
Picture it: Chain hotel in a small town, the kind with the free popcorn in the lobby. I check in and have a nice chat with the young-ish, not-unattractive fellow at the front desk. He showed me something funny going down on one of the hallway security cameras and we had a laugh. I headed to my room, hopped in the shower, and realized two things: one, I forgot to give the guy my rewards card, and two, I forgot to get popcorn. I threw on some comfy clothes and a pair of Bama socks (too lazy to put on real shoes at this point in the day) and headed down to the lobby.
"Hi again," said front desk guy.
"Hey," I said, through a mouthful of popcorn, "I forgot to give you this when I checked in." And handed over my rewards card.
Except I didn't hand over my rewards card. I handed him my room key.
In my defense, they both have a little picture of a bag of popcorn on them - they honestly look very similar - and it had been a long day.
Front desk guy just stared at the card, with his jaw *literally* hanging open. We stood there like this for an uncomfortably long time - in retrospect, sortof an insultingly long time - me staring at him wondering why he wasn't giving me my reward points, and him staring at the room key this popcorn-munching old coug had just handed him.
I eventually realized I'd given him the wrong card and switched them out. He gave me my points; I shuffled off to my room. It wasn't until then that I realized the implication of what I'd done (seriously, it was a long day), and then the implication of him not taking the damn room card. I mean, did he really need to be quite so aghast about it? Was it really that hard a decision? Jeebus.
So yeah, I do put myself out there - way out there, apparently, and not necessarily intentionally, but still. It was a bit of a worst case scenario, but by employing my Positive Travel Attitude I was able to glean not only a ridiculous field story, but also an incredibly ballsy pickup technique to share with you. Feel free to give it a try the next time your self esteem needs to be taken down several notches.
Of course, it's easy to enjoy places you travel to when you're on vacation, because you're on vacation - how bad could it even be? Given my job, however, I mostly travel to small towns in rural western Canada, and mostly during the hectic field season - basically the very antithesis of a state of vacation, in places that are on precisely no-one's bucket list.
But you know what? I mostly do enjoy these places, or at least aspects of these places. There's nearly always a positive nugget in there somewhere. Worst case scenario, I come away with a ridiculous field story, which is in itself a positive thing in my books. As they say, Wherever you go, there you are, and I do believe the ability to find the sunny side in your travels has a lot to do with the attitude you're packing along. I always aspire to pack my very best attitude; failing that, I also pack an assortment of colourful field gotch to choose from when I need a mood boost in the morning. As they don't ever say, but maybe should, With colourful underpants and enough coffee, anything is possible.
(Honestly, that should be my company slogan, although I might have to classy it up a bit before I put it on letterhead - any of you folks know Latin?)
He probably doesn't even remember the conversation, but I've had so many delightful experiences in so many little podunk places since embarking on my Positive Travel Attitude phase that my friend deserves a thank-you for the inspiration. Thanks, buddy! (He doesn't read this, but don't worry - I'll buy him a beer sometime and tell him in person.)
I was considering making an adventure map to share here, with a little pin at each oddball place and a cutesy little happy story to accompany each pin, but on consideration it just seemed too - how to put it delicately? - Instagrammy-bullshit for me to follow through with. It felt like I was sullying those magical moments, like staging a yoga pose in front of a beautiful mountain view and posting it for fake internet points. Gross.
Instead, I will stay firmly on-brand and tell you about a time when I embarrassed myself in the field. (I'd just like to point out that another friend of mine once suggested I rarely "put myself out there" - I contend that oversharing is indeed a form of putting oneself out there, and if anything I do it too much. But I digress. Also too much.)
Picture it: Chain hotel in a small town, the kind with the free popcorn in the lobby. I check in and have a nice chat with the young-ish, not-unattractive fellow at the front desk. He showed me something funny going down on one of the hallway security cameras and we had a laugh. I headed to my room, hopped in the shower, and realized two things: one, I forgot to give the guy my rewards card, and two, I forgot to get popcorn. I threw on some comfy clothes and a pair of Bama socks (too lazy to put on real shoes at this point in the day) and headed down to the lobby.
"Hi again," said front desk guy.
"Hey," I said, through a mouthful of popcorn, "I forgot to give you this when I checked in." And handed over my rewards card.
Except I didn't hand over my rewards card. I handed him my room key.
In my defense, they both have a little picture of a bag of popcorn on them - they honestly look very similar - and it had been a long day.
Front desk guy just stared at the card, with his jaw *literally* hanging open. We stood there like this for an uncomfortably long time - in retrospect, sortof an insultingly long time - me staring at him wondering why he wasn't giving me my reward points, and him staring at the room key this popcorn-munching old coug had just handed him.
I eventually realized I'd given him the wrong card and switched them out. He gave me my points; I shuffled off to my room. It wasn't until then that I realized the implication of what I'd done (seriously, it was a long day), and then the implication of him not taking the damn room card. I mean, did he really need to be quite so aghast about it? Was it really that hard a decision? Jeebus.
So yeah, I do put myself out there - way out there, apparently, and not necessarily intentionally, but still. It was a bit of a worst case scenario, but by employing my Positive Travel Attitude I was able to glean not only a ridiculous field story, but also an incredibly ballsy pickup technique to share with you. Feel free to give it a try the next time your self esteem needs to be taken down several notches.
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