**If you’re just here looking for Palm –> Yahoo Calendar Syncing instructions - scroll down, they’re just past the jump**

I’m a bit of a freak for organization, and I’ve been managing my calendar for the past few years from a semi-ancient Sony Clie (Palm OS 4.0), and using the Palm Desktop on each of my three computers, since the Hotsync software doesn’t seem to be compatible with Outlook 2003, and I use Outlook Express (sans calendar) at work.

Obviously I’m sick of that solution, as it’s clunky, requires me to carry my Sync cable around to each computer, and Palm Desktop lacks any semblance of functionality outside of “this event occurs at this time, would you like a reminder or not?”

I figured I’d start using Google’s pretty calendar application instead. Or so I thought.

The people at Palm seem to be the only ones who use their particular format of calendaring (.dba) which doesn’t import into Outlook or GCal. I couldn’t find any sort of conversion tool to make it a .csv - Excel was worse than useless - and I figured I’d have to either use the Palm Desktop forever, or manually enter every appointment I have in the future and go through the year of events to re-enter every birthday, anniversary and other recurring entry I’ve ever made.

I just don’t have that kind of time. Who does?

Thankfully, after an hour or so of searching for solutions I discovered that the good people at Yahoo have partnered up with those at Intellisync (whose product version I have doesn’t work with Outlook 2003 or Google) so that those using the Palm OS can one-click sync their PDA’s to the online Yahoo calender!

Enter the chorus of angels from on high, etc., hallelujah and amen.

I can’t believe nobody else did this.

Unfortunately most people in my life are Googleholics, using gmail, gcal and gchat. While I’m sure I could export the yahoo.csv into gcal, I’d really REALLY love it if Google also stepped up and started offering support for syncing directly from my Palm PDA into their calendar.

In the meantime, I suppose you’ll find me on yahoo - peechie1980. See you there!
(more…)

I ventured out to Abbotsford a couple times this past weekend for Neil’s 10-year High School reunion. A note to those who don’t know any of their partner’s high school friends (especially when said partner has kept in touch with exactly no-one) - damn yo, those things are BORING!

Thankfully I managed to keep myself entertained by coming up with some creative metaphors for the uh… enhancements… some girls had made since graduating.

**I’ll add the disclaimer here that I have no beef with those who decide to get plastic surgery. It’s not for me right now, it may be some day, who knows. But in the meantime, I reserve the right to mercilessly mock those who make themselves look completely unnatural for reasons I’ll probably never understand**

It all started last week when we were at Safeway, and some chick walked by with a rack that, despite its mass, completely defied gravity. Neil was, being a guy, called out for gawking, and I replied to his gaping maw by stating that I too could have those installed for a fee. However, I prefer to put my money into something more stable.

Then I realized that those certainly don’t look as if they’re going anywhere.

Enter the first set of fake tits at the reunion, we instantly remembered the Safeway incident, and the financial metaphors began to flow. It’s surprising how easily the two (no pun intended) bounce (I couldn’t help myself) off each other (bahahaha….. oy.).

Me: I’d really like to have a firmer grasp on my finances
He: If those were your finances, I’d DEFINITELY like a firm grasp on them!

He: Perhaps you’d like to invest in something with a higher interest yield
Me: True, though those seem to be bearing PLENTY of interest

Ok go - your turn!

I’m thinking that I’ve been pretty vague in the laundry list-ing of the goings on in my world these days on the watercooler. Since I know there’s at least a few of you out there who use it to keep up with the goings on of things in my world, here’s a breakdown of what the hell I’ve been up to:

Things with Neil are going really well. We just moved in together, the day after our three month-iversary in fact. The date was total coincidence - it was really the only weekend day we had available until sometime in August. It also sounds like it was rushed to some people - but that’s how we roll. He’s the first (and I hope the last) boy I’ve deemed worthy enough to share personal space with, so it’s overwhelming and exciting and amazing all at once. And I can say with absolute conviction that the only reason it works at all is because we have two bathrooms. Some things should definitely remain a mystery.

Work is officially crazy busy again. I think it’s going to take much more of a toll this year. As I’ve learned working with volunteers and members of non-profits in general, it’s a bit of a Catch 22. The passion and selflessness of those involved with the organization are what makes it such a rewarding place to be. However, while they’re at their day jobs, I’m at the club acting on that passion and selflessness - then when they make their way here, putting in their time being passionate and selfless, I’m trying to give the same amount of myself to my friends, family, and other interests that I’m passionate about. Since perception is everything, and so many people fail to see anything that doesn’t happen right in front of their faces, it takes a toll trying to manage an image of working hard for the organization while they’re not here, and maintaining some sort of work-life balance.

I’ve also got social plans out the wazoo for most of the rest of the summer. This coming weekend is Neil’s High School Reunion. The weekend after is my family reunion. The one after that - my Dad’s birthday. A week following is a rowing regatta in Victoria. The next weekend is Sue’s birthday, then a few days later is my birthday, then Brigette’s stagette the following weekend. Another seven days and Neil and I have a wedding to attend. Brigette & Markus’ wedding is fourteen days after that, and suddenly it’s September. In between that we’re also attempting to make it up to his parents’ place for a visit, a weekend in Tofino, and an official housewarming.

Crazy you say? Of course! But I really wouldn’t have it any other way. The only thing I’m really worried about is how much I’ve been neglecting the TiVo - but I think it’ll forgive me.

And I thought weekends were supposed to be RELAXING.

Hah.

Good things:

-I managed to move most of the big furniture to the new place (yes, I moved - remind me to post more about that soon…).
-I picked up some neat, and relatively easy revenue for work, and in turn made myself some cash working on Sunday.

Bad things:

-I moved. Moving sucks. Hate hate hate.
-I worked on Sunday, which involved getting up at THREE AY-EM to be at a film set by 4:30. (I rented some club equipment to a production company filming a Lexus commercial, and went along as the manager of said stuff. Film sets are the most boring places on earth, but the food is really, really good.)

I do have more to say, but my brain won’t let the thoughts come out in anything other than “bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

How was your weekend?

I’ve gotten mixed reactions when I talk to friends about the appropriateness and level of acceptance with which we (we being women) react to being awoken in the week hours with Ess-Eee-Ex.

The general conesnsus seems to be that they’re not really all that impressed with it. They’d rather sleep.

I strongly disagree.

Why?

The best explanation I can offer is that it’s somewhat akin to having a steamy dream, and waking up and it’s ACTUALLY HAPPENING. You know, instead of waking up spooning the dog.

What about you - are you pro or con mid-night nookie?

During my dearth of content, Josh commented with

Stuck creatively? Write about creativity!! It’s a topic I love to hear about…what inspires you? How do you like to express your creativity most? What are the biggest obstacles to your creative expression?

It’s taken a while to figure out how to write about what inspires me… where my ideas come from. How do I find the content for my stories?

Life.

Simple as that. As soon as I start thinking about how ridiculous a situation is, and the words, phrases and gestures I’d use as I describe them to a friend, I start translating that to text in my brain, and at the end of it all we get a blog post.

Of course, the old adage comes out at this point that if you have a great experience, you’ll probably tell 2 or 3 people about it, but if you have a horrible experience, you’ll gripe about it to everyone you possibly can. And boy oh boy did dating provide some great fodder for that! As did the roommate and car troubles and taking transit, etc. etc.

Eliminate those, eliminate the easy content. Finding a soapbox and ranting about something is easy. Finding humour in my own or others’ misfortune is equally so. Finding stories in living the good life though, bringing the love and passion and zeal for family and friends and life in general into a story and making that compelling and entertaining to the reader is a whole other beastie. One that writers such as dooce & Julie Leung have managed to excel at. One that I am just getting used to.

Choosing to write personal stories that way makes it doubly hard. It requires not only writing well, but approaching life from a whole other angle. It requires living and capturing the golden moments, instead of taking them for granted and glossing over them. It requires opening up and revealing personal emotions that are far more sensitive than generic annoyance and fits of impotent rage.

So while I soak up all the shiny happy, I’m doing my damndest to figure out a way to bring it all to you, gentle readers, in a way that doesn’t make you want to throw up in your mouth a little.

Of course if you’re getting impatient with all that, you could do something like wear leggings with a mini-skirt and kitten heeled plastic flip-flops in my presence and watch my head explode.

The test in one word: DAMN.

Motherfucking pants were rocked. Unfortunately, those pants were mine.

More after the jump… (more…)

A new humpday feature on the Watercooler. Blog Jeopardy.

I give you a category and answer, you comment with questions, hilarity (hopefully) ensues.

For the innagural edition, the category is “Hodge-Podge”

The answer: “Seed and Coffee”

Don’t forget to phrase your response as a question!

Heather posted last week about how she’s trying to expand her cooking repertoire. I was going to leave my roast chicken recipe in her comments, but since it turns out so damn tasty, I thought I’d share it with everyone:

Rosemary Roast Chicken:

Obtain roasting chicken. Check centre cavity for giblets and remove if present. Icky Squicky dance appropriate and accepted.

Rinse bird and pat dry with paper towel.

Rub all over with olive oil, dried rosemary, fresh salt and pepper. Spank and/or dance with fleshy carcass if the mood strikes.

Play voodoo doll with one lemon and stab liberally with fork, pretending it’s a hated co-worker/ex-boyfriend/authority figure. YMMV.

Shove lemon inside carcass. Apologize to bird for violating it. Don’t necessarily mean it.

Stab chicken with Meat Thermometer in the thigh. Better it than you. Unless you like that salmonella thing.

Put dead, drowned, rubbed, violated, wounded chicken in small coffin (aka roasting pan) and roast in a 400 degree oven for about 35 minutes or until meat thermometer reaches “chicken done” range.

Bonus points for being clever enough to remember to take the lid off for the last 5 minutes so the skin gets all crispy. Don’t even pretend you’re not going to eat it like you’re on a diet or something. Everyone knows its the best part, and we also know you’re going to wolf it down as soon as you think nobody’s looking.

It’s ok, your pants will forgive you. You can have salad tomorrow.

Remove cooked and browned chicken from oven and place on tray to rest for a few minutes. cover with foil to keep warm.

While the meat is resting (it’s had a hard day!) throw together some side dishes. There is no shame in making something out of a box and/or can at this point. After all you just Roasted Meat, you June Cleaver you!

Find houseboy (or if you don’t have one, hot boyfriend) to wield tools and carve bird. Failing those, do it yourself, cuz you’re a superstar like that!

Pour glass of favourite libation - down that, then pour another - light some candles, and enjoy your dinner!

Sue wants to know what’s eating Gilbert Grape me lately - here’s the reader’s digest version of some things that have pissed me off in the last week:

1. People who assume any squatting dog is taking a crap. The Stepdog is a girl. Girl dogs squat to pee. It’s a slightly different squat than the poo squat (more of a flat back, less of a humpy hunch to the stance - I’m sure you wanted to know that) - but those who don’t know dogs don’t know that. They just assume that the dog’s taking a dump and I’m not picking up after her. And I *always* pick up after my dogs. I have no desire to give responsible dog owners in this city any worse of a reputation than our less-responsible counterparts have already given us.

2. Public displays of ignorance by people who should really know better. I was listening to a local top 40 station, and heard one of the On-Air Personalities make a gross mispronounciation when reading the entertainment news. She was mentioning something about Brad Pitt & Angelina Jolie’s time spent in “NAM-uh-BEE-ya.” It took two repetitions of the mispronounced word for me to realize she was talking about Namibia (”nam-IH-bee-ya” for anyone else who didn’t know). Now I know that radio voices aren’t paid to find the news or be educated - they’re just paid to read their scripts and push some buttons. But for fuck’s sake, if you’re only paid to READ INTO A MICROPHONE, and only as filler between music and advertising, then maybe brush up on your pronounciation before you slur onto the airwaves. (Radio DJs, I await your hate mail…)

3. People who are clearly wrong, and insist that they’re right. I was driving South on Granville St the other day, and about to turn left onto Pender. As is genearlly accepted when turning left from a one way street, I was on the far left side of the street waiting for the light to change. As I sat there, a car turned into the street head on with me, and the driver proceeded to berate me for being on the “wrong side of the street.” His evidence that I was in the wrong? A lone mail truck parked on my side of the street, pointing the wrong way.

Worst of all, I backed down. I thought the guy in the car was likely a cop (he was driving what looked like an unmarked car, complete with antenna knobs on the roof, etc. - though no flashing lights that I could see…) and that perhaps the road rules had changed yet again (not uncommon in downtown Vancouver these days what with the tearing up of everything to build the new rapid transit lines) and I was mistaken. I drove down the same street later in the day to inspect the signs and see that lo! I was correct! Vindication! And anger that I didn’t stand my ground earlier.

Best quote for a Monday:

I’m trying to be excited that there’s a Canadian team in the Stanley Cup playoffs. Everyone seems to think that’s reason enough to cheer for the damned Oilers. But to me, it’s like cheering for SARS just because lots of people got it in Toronto. -meg @ blogcabin

As for the title of the post.. Grease.. Oil.. get it? funny? ha ha? Ha.. oh nevermind.

I left work “early” today (early in the day, because it was about 1:00pm, late in the week because I was on day 6, hour 44 of my work week, with probably another couple hours tomorrow morning) so I could run a few errands and squeeze in a bit of studying.

I am going to rock the motherfucking pants off of the LSAT. You know, in case you cared.

Thanks to everyone for the suggestions on what to write about - my mojo has been restored.

Of course, said restoration came just in time for me to have a full weekend ahead with the Opera, Work, Hiking, Parties, Errands, Family (pretty much in that order). Maybe even sleep.

Look for the comment inspired entries next week, and enjoy the weekend!

Scene: Bedroom, 4:21am

Me: Fast Asleep
He: *nudge*

Me: *snore*
He: *nudgenudgenudge*

He: *NUDGE!*

Me: mrrrrrf…. huhhhh?

He: Do you smell that?
Me: smell what?
He: smells like skunk!
Me: uh.. a little… I guess….
Me: (thinking “the window is open, we live in Vancouver, WHO CARES AT 4AM!”)

He: *gets up to pee*
Me: *goes back to sleep*

He: *nudge*
Me: WHAT?

He: so that smell? not a skunk.
Me: no?
He: no.
Me: then what?
He: my armpits.

Me: *rolls as far away from him as possible, burying nose in April Fresh duvet cover*