Oh, Christmas Tree

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I love Christmas like a fat kid loves cake.

So it pains me to admit this year, I kindof hate our tree.

Specifically, the lights.

We switched to all LED lights this year for our tree, and (as I suspected they might be) they are aesthetically hideous.

Oh, Christmas Tree

The thing I love about a beautiful Christmas tree is turning out the regular lights, and basking in the warm glow it casts over the room. The light catches the sparkle of the ornaments and plays up the shadows and bright spots through the green branches.

LED lights just don’t do that. Their output is so low that they barely illuminate themselves, nevermind things around them. They are eerie, otherworldly pinpoints, distracting and ruining an otherwise beautiful and charming centrepiece of holiday decor.

Instead of the tree casting a warm glow over the room, the room is dim and dark, and reminiscent of an after-hours office, lit by the glow of a computer monitor someone accidentally left on. The ornaments are completely lost. The tree looks like a bushy blob.

These fucking lights are ruining my Christmas.

I am very tempted to rip these POS lights out and re-do the tree with the beautiful incandescents that actually look like Christmas. But since this is a cut tree, that’s just a disastrous mess waiting to happen.

But you’d better believe these lights are going straight on Craigslist the instant Christmas is over this year. I’d throw them in the trash outright, if they weren’t also so bloody expensive. Though I kindof want to anyhow, just as an extra Fuck You to this failed attempt at environmental friendliness.

I’ll probably just buy a festive, Christmas Lamp to offset the creepy factor in that room. But you’d better believe it’ll have an incandescent bulb, bitches.

Best Spam Ever

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From: Miss Freya [mailto:[random.address]@gmail.com]
Sent: Monday, December 06, 2010 10:53 PM
To: Jennifer Watkiss
Subject: Dear Internet User

DEAR RECEIVER,

You have just received a Taliban virus. Since we are not so technologicaly advanced in Afghanistan, this is a MANUAL virus. Please delete all the files on your hard disk yourself and send this mail to everyone you know.

Thank you very much for helping us.

Thanks & Regard’s

Miss Freya

—————————

I really did just receive this. Plain text, no links, attachments. So ridiculously silly it made my morning.

Sex-y

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If we’re friends on Facebook, you may recall me mentioning about a month ago that we think we’re having a boy.

Gender Reveal party cupcakes

I say “think” because the ultrasound tech wouldn’t tell us. The Vancouver-Coastal health authority has a policy that they do not tell expectant parents the sex of their fetus until 20+ weeks of gestation. Our ultrasound was booked for 19w5d.

I’m going to allow space for a couple small rants here:

Seriously? Seriously. Two days. You think if I were the kind of person who was likely to opt for selective elimination of a fetus with a sex I wasn’t happy with, two days would make a difference? Comeon VCH, let’s grab some common sense here. I know you need to draw a line in the sand, but why can’t my midwives even call two days later to get the gender results? You suck.

Also, midwives. Seriously? You have been in business how long and you do not know about the “sex only revealed after 20 weeks” rule? And that no, you don’t get to book another ultrasound just to have the sex shown because you weren’t smart enough to book it for post 20-weeks in the first place? I sincerely hope (especially in my 3am-wide-awake-to-panic moments) that your skills at labour-coaching and baby-catching are FAR SUPERIOR to your skills in medical administration and procedure.

Anyhow. Thanks to that little administrative hiccup, we are left with the option whether or not to find out our damn selves which flavour of tiny human we’ll be responsible for come March.

And I can’t decide whether or not to do it.

I was definitely excited to know before the magical “20-week” ultrasound, and feel a little disappointed that we don’t know for sure. My conflict comes with WHY I want to know.

It’s not the money (we can afford a private ultrasound), or the names (we have preferred names for boys and girls picked out).

It all comes down to the shopping.

I hate to think that I’m going to fall victim to subjecting my offspring to society’s current gender constructs of “pink is for girls and blue is for boys,” etc.

But the reality is, the gender-neutral stuff I’ve found is just nowhere near as aesthetically pleasing (or downright adorable) as the “boy” and “girl” things.

I really don’t give a damn whether my boy plays with dolls or my girl plays with trucks or any of that. And it’s not like we’d go painting the nursery with unicorns and butterflies vs. monster trucks and spaceships (we’re not painting at all. Beige is FINE).

It’s just that everything I see that looks interesting to me seems to fall under the headings of “baby boy things” vs. “baby girl things.”

And I just hate to think that’s the only reason I’d be finding out.

I do also just like the idea of knowing more about the little person-to-be currently occupying the majority of my abdominal cavity. Knowing whether he or she is a he or she (assuming normal gender assignment, etc.) makes it feel a little more humanizing. A little less alien. And a little more like I’ve been “wined and dined” before being taken advantage of for lo these nine long months.

But mostly, the shopping.

So tell me internets, what would (or did) you do?

Eating NOLA

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When Jen mentioned she and Brandon were making a temporary move to Louisiana in the new year, I left a comment pledging my undying love for New Orleans, and implored her to visit if they’d be near the city.

So of course, she asked for any recommendations of places to go and things to see. And I realized I didn’t ever actually share much of anything from our trip on here. Except Freddie.

As has become typical with any trip Neil and I take, most of our itinerary and planning revolved around food. And with its unique regional cuisine, fresh ingredients and access to amazing seafood, New Orleans ranks among the top foodie cities in America.

The Starting Place

In the past few years we’ve clued in to the fact that taking a cooking class wherever you end up traveling is an excellent way to sample some regional delicacies and learn about the history of an area. So much of a region’s development is shaped by the foods they have and the things they can grow, hunt and gather. Cajun cuisine (along with the rest of the culture) is a fascinating pastiche of French, Spanish, Ethiopian, Caribbean and Native American cooking and customs. Tinted by the spirit of a fiercely independent state full of people who were used to doing things their own way and are still (at least deep-down) a bit annoyed by the Louisiana purchase.

Miss Pat at the New Orleans School of Cooking

We spent an afternoon with Miss Pat at the New Orleans School of cooking, where we were introduced to New Orleans through its food, and sampled a number of dishes in this demonstration cooking class. It helped set the stage for understanding a lot more about the city as we wandered and ate.

The Seafood

Being incredibly close to the gulf coast as well as right on the Mississippi river, a huge amount of New Orleans food revolves around both fresh- and salt-water seafood. Two key stops included Deanie’s for their incredible, ridiculous, incredibly ridiculous seafood platter. It’s exactly what it looks like – a giant plate of deep-fried sea creatures for your enjoyment (Shrimp, Catfish, Crayfish Hushpuppies, Oysters, topped with a Soft Shell crab) . And this was the half-platter. There’s one twice as large.

1/2 Seafood Platter @ Deanie's

We also hit up the legendary Acme Oyster house for some fresh-shucked gulf-coast oysters. These babies are HUGE. I was intimidated. I don’t normally like Oysters that much. I mean, I don’t mind them, but I’ve never gone wild for the oysters I’ve had here in BC. These oysters are different. They were delicious. Big, buttery, smooth, with a bit of that saltwater tang. Love. Sit at the bar and chat with the shuckers.

ACME Oyster Bar

We also ate a number of Creole soups & stews (Jambalaya, Etouffe, turtle soup) with various seafoods as well as learning how to properly eat a Crayfish during Jazz Brunch, thanks to our server at the Court of Two Sisters (Twist off the heads-only suck them if you’re hardcore and/or brave-peel the tail. Devour).

The Sandwiches

You can’t go to New Orleans without trying some of their famous sandwiches: The Po’ Boy, the Muffaletta, the Lucky Dog. Okay, you can probably skip the Lucky Dog, but it is an excellent way to soak up all the booze you’ll be drinking (more on that later).

Neil and I were strongly divided on sandwich preference. I came away preferring the muffaletta, a hot italian sandwich of olive salad and cold cuts in a Sicilian sesame loaf. You would not believe how badly I have been craving one the past few months. Along with a pint of Abita Amber Ale. Made worse, of course, by the fact that cold cuts and beer are both on the naughty list for pregnant ladies. You’d better believe it’ll be one of the first things I make once the kidlet appears.

Neil was partial to the Po’Boy. Specifically the Fried Oyster Po’Boy. He likes more crunch and texture in his sandwich, and this one delivers. Lettuce, tomato, tons of condiments and a hefty helping of protein – the aforementioned fried oysters, catfish, shrimp, ham, roast beef, turkey… the list goes on. I had the Debris: a motley assortment of meat shrapnel in a sandwich. Easy to grab and economic to share for lunch, our favourite Po’Boys were at Mother’s Restaurant, which also happened to be around the corner from our hotel.

Po' Boy at Mother's

The Sweets

Beignets. Is there anything more to say than this? Ok, yes. With Cafe au Lait. Can you go wrong with deep-fried dough and sweet, hot, creamy coffee? I don’t think you can. Pro tip: scoop the extra icing sugar into your coffee. Buzz for a good 2-3 hours. Repeat as necessary.

Beignets & Cafe au Lait

The Sauce

If you’re seriously into spirits, New Orleans is an excellent place to visit. It’s the birthplace of the Hurricane, the Sazerac and the Vieux Carre among others. We didn’t really manage to get into the cocktails on this trip. We did have hurricanes at Pat O’Brien’s piano bar, which led to this:

Pat O'Brien's Piano Bar

But that does not mean we didn’t have our fair share of drinks. New Orleans is home of the alcoholic “to go” cup. Walk into any bar or up to a hole in the wall, order a drink, pay and walk away. You could get a gigantic vat of bud-light for $5 if you hate yourself, but there is also a great local beer, Abita, and we drank great quantities of their Amber Ale while roaming around the French Quarter.

Also, that whole “wandering around the quarter on a hot evening, drinking a lot of beer” thing is where the Lucky Dog comes in handy.

Lucky Dog

The Splurge

The hands-down best meal we had while in New Orleans was at Emeril’s NOLA.

I’m not a big fan of the wacky “BAM” infomercial turned food network guy, but damn, it’s clear he knows and loves his food. Everything was cooked with the care and precision needed to make its flavours really shine. And he’s a big proponent of the “farm to fork” movement to highlight local eating. I now know what my last meal on earth would be, if I had to make that call: Emeril’s fried chicken. It’s that good.

The Summary

We also did a few other touristy things in the city that were fun and delightful: Took the streetcar around town and through the garden district, the ferry over to the charming village of Algiers, a carriage ride through the french quarter, a bus tour of the city and an after-dark voodoo walking tour. I’d recommend any of them. But we had the most fun, by far, roaming around eating and drinking our way through as much food & beverage as we could stuff into ourselves. The French Quarter is actually really small and where we spent most of our time. But it’s just a tiny part of the city, and there was so much more food, culture, art and shopping than the limited bit we managed to consume in the four days we were there.

Regardless, even from that limited time, New Orleans stole a piece of my heart. It’s one of the few American cities I’ve visited that I would happily move to. Everyone we met was incredibly friendly, and the city just had such a warmth to it. It was confident and sophisticated, but not afraid to just be silly, have fun and let its hair down. The “bon temps” really do “roule” there. I can’t wait until we go back.

Leaky, the TMI Post

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(Heed the title. This deals with bodily fluids. You have been warned!)

I think the hardest thing about being pregnant has been how obvious it makes the lack of control we have over what happens in our own bodies.

I’m not talking about the things we can do that impact how our bodies will react, like feeding ourselves different types of foods and drugs, or even getting pregnant in the first place. I’m talking about after those things have been done, the vast number of involuntary responses our bodies engage in to keep things running.

I’m a bit of a control freak. I don’t enjoy the heady adrenaline rush of going super fast or throwing myself off of or out of things quite far off the ground, because I don’t feel like I control the outcome (and it has the potential to be, in my opinion, very poor). I also don’t enjoy getting completely wasted, because I don’t like the out-of-control feeling I get if I do.

I like to feel like I have at least come conscious influence over what’s happening and how things are going, and to know that I can opt-out of a long, strange trip if I’ve had enough of that ride and would like to get off.

And this damn pregnancy thing keeps reminding me that “HAHA TOO BAD FOR YOU!”

Like last night.

I’d already had a rough weekend, what with the other aches and pains and general discomfort of growing another human. (And by-the-by, for those who have the same misgivings I did, mostly fueled by stories of women who loooooooooove being pregnant, there is nothing symbiotic about this relationship. It’s a full-on parasite.)

So I was lying in bed, unwinding with a book (Superfreakonomics), when all of a sudden FLUID STARTS LEAKING FROM MY NIPPLE! Not at any significant volume, just a few drops that landed on my arm. But it scared the everloving shit out of me. Not quite literally, but damned close. I screamed loud enough for Neil to come running, looking worried (until he started laughing at me).

You just try having drops of tepid liquid land on your arm, under the covers where no tepid liquid should be, and see how calm and unsurprised you are!

I suppose the books did say this could happen. But not really when, or that it would happen totally out of the blue for no reason at all and completely without warning. Unless there is something in my subconscious that feels particularly nurturing when applying economic principles to everyday life.

I am still committed to the outcome of this particular biological process, but damn, this is already enough of a strange and uncomfortable ride, and I could do without these kind of surprises on top of that.

Mistakes? I think maybe ur doin’ it rong.

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I haven’t written much about our finances lately, mostly because they are now incredibly boring. We haven’t had any recent milestones or breakthroughs. We haven’t figured out a way to drastically slash our tax bill any further or pay off our mortgage sooner than expected.

But between a conversation a couple weeks ago on twitter about whether to purchase pet insurance, and a recent post on Get Rich Slowly about “Budgeting for Mistakes” I realized there is something we’ve done that’s saved our hide a number of times that I didn’t write much about.

Savings accounts for “things that will certainly go wrong someday, we just can’t know when.”

So first off, I obviously take issue with the fact that the writer calls these unexpected expenses “Mistakes.” I find it hard to consider an emergency vet trip, house repair or car repair a mistake. Mistakes are avoidable. The only avoidable problem in this scenario is not budgeting for the fact that all of the above will probably happen at some point.

We’ve been socking away small amounts of money into accounts specifically for those things for the past number of months, and it’s saved us from upsetting our day-to-day budget quite a few times. We’ve sailed through a $450 vet bill, a $380 car repair and replacing a $150 sink, all quite recently, all practically without blinking.

Making sure there’s money in those accounts definitely cuts into our regular disposable income, but I happen to much prefer having the money available when these things do come up, rather than finding a way to scrape those costs out of our monthly budget while already dealing with the stress of a sick dog or broken car.

Sierra writes in her post that she’s going to try padding her budget by an extra 5% each month, and if no “mistakes” come up, then shuffling that money on to her debt repayment. I think it’s a good start, but in my experience will probably leave her in a feast or famine situation with these mistakes, instead of actually solving her problem.

The way we’ve ended up structuring our accounts has been to make an educated guess on what kind of unforeseen expenses come up in a year in all those areas and try to build up enough in those accounts that we can cover the bill when it inevitably comes. It’s actually pretty easy when it comes to cars or houses.

The pet thing was a bit trickier (which is what got me thinking about this in the pet insurance discussion). I think everyone agreed that it’s a very good idea to have some sort of financial backup to support a pet’s illness or injury – the debate was whether to build up a savings account of your own, or to pay an insurance premium. For us personally, we chose to go the savings account route, and trust that should our dog end up as one of the few who gets an illness where treatment costs drastically more than we can afford to pay (cancer, etc.), we would just keep her comfortable until that was impossible, and put her down. We have a point at which she is, after all, “just a dog.” That view is not held by everyone. I suppose if you are the type to purchase kitty cardiology or puppy chemo you might want to go the insurance route (though I’d be wary about knowing exactly WHAT the insurance would cover).

But the big key with any of these expenses (and where I think Sierra might fall down) is that while they can be annualized and averaged over a period of time, the ACTUAL expense very rarely shows up in such a neat way. Our car ran like a dream for over a year. This year we’ve had a sensor to replace, the brakes are near the end of their life and we really should be replacing the windshield. Same thing with our condo: great, until very recently when we had to replace a bathroom sink, and the kitchen faucet’s on the fritz. We spent about $1500 in emergency/extra treatments for the dog this year, the first such expenses she’s had in her life.

Since Sierra’s got debt she’s still trying to pay off, I do agree that it should take precedent over building up a bunch of different emergency accounts while she’s got an immediate need for the cash, but by depending on a small monthly surplus, rather than a small security account that’s slowly but surely growing, she might not notice it helps all that much.

Update: If you want a comprehensive read about how someone else is doing this (she’s got her savings system set up almost identically to ours) check out heather’s post.

SOLD!

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We got Agnes the lamb from a livestock auction. A fairly typical one, from what I can tell after reading up on them.

It was the saddest place I’ve ever been.

I am not generally one to be overly sentimental about animals. I’ve had my share of pets die. I eat animals regularly. I was in 4H as a kid and had lots of farming friends. Lots of family friends are hunters and I spent my high-school years living in a mostly rural area.

But I still believe we owe it to animals to treat them humanely, with respect, and like the intelligent, feeling creatures they are. Whether they are destined to live out their years in our yards, or end their lives on our walls or dinner plates.

This auction made it clear that many people do not consider it their responsibility to treat their animals even as well as they treat their cars.

When we started down the “let’s raise our own meat” road, we originally went to the auction looking for pigs. The pigs there were all slaugher-house rejects. And if you have read anything in the last few years about the conditions on factory farms, you should realize it takes a LOT for an animal to be rejected from a commercial feedlot processing farm.

At least half of the pigs had hernias growing out of their bellies the size of their heads. About a third had open sores on their hides. Most of these were the size of a large coin, but one was about 5 inches across. All the sores were caked with dirt and shit. A few of the pigs were lame, and had just enough oomph to be able to drag themselves into the barns, ring, and back again (if an animal can’t move under its own power, it must be put down, as that’s a risk indicator for brain disease).

One buyer was using the pre-auction viewing time to check out the pigs, and was viciously kicking them to get them to move around so he could see all sides of them. A pig doesn’t need more than a solid nudge with a boot or a firm slap on the hide to get up and get going.

Did you know that pigs are among the most intelligent mammals on the planet? They fall between dolphins and dogs. And these 20-ish pigs were hurt, sick and scared.

Most of them went for under $50/head to discount butchers & processors. Do you know where your bacon comes from? Do you buy it based on price per pound? Think about it.

But the pigs weren’t the worst thing I saw that day.

That special honor goes to one very sad looking jersey cow.

She was literally skin and bone. She had sores on her hip bones where the skin had rubbed away because of lack of padding. I could count every. single. rib. in glaring detail. Her over-used udder dragged on the ground, where she occasionally stepped on it.

This does not happen to an animal overnight.

I don’t know the history of the person who owned her and let her get to that state. But I do believe it’s the responsibility of any animal owner to either pass that animal on or end its life before it gets to that state. Even if she were destined to go to the glue factory anyhow, waiting that long for it to get that bad before dumping (because that’s what it is, dumping) her at the auction is just cruel.

We ended up with our lamb, because the young sheep and goats all actually looked pretty good. It’s definitely a reality of farm life that sometimes your animals breed more young than you have space for. Especially if you’re running a dairy operation and only have the need or space for one or two males on your farm. And in reality, sometimes animals do need to go to the glue factory. They are old, and now a financial liability. The auction serves a purpose.

But the upcoming end of an animal’s life should NOT be an excuse to starve, abuse, ignore or otherwise mistreat it.

And the auction houses do have highly visible signs stating that bringing obviously abused and/or neglected animals to auction is an offense under the animal cruelty act and will be reported to and potentially investigated and prosecuted by the SPCA.

Problem is, the auction fills such a need in a world where we care less about the welfare of our food animals than almost anything else, that nobody involved in the system reports the violations, because that would mean this convenient dumping ground would go away.

When economic times are tough, it’s easy to say “I can’t afford all this organic/biodynamic/ethically-raised meat” and that’s a valid point. But that doesn’t mean it’s an excuse to buy the cheap stuff if this is how it’s being treated on its way to your plate.

If you wouldn’t stand by idly and watch an animal starve, or go up and kick the legs out from under a lame pig with as little care as you’d kick the tires on a car, or punch your dog in the face (who isn’t even as smart as a pig), then why do you think it’s okay to eat meat from animals who’ve had exactly that done to them in the name of “cost savings.”

Learn to love a lentil, and save up for the happy steak. Please. For the jersey cow.

Baa Baa tasty sheep

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Remember Agnes?

We’ve finally come full-circle and are taking her back to the mainland from whence she came.

This time in little pieces!

Agnes the lamb. Magically delicious!

After a summer of mowing my in-laws’ lawn with her flock-mates, she headed off to the slaughter house and came back as about 55 pounds of meat. We cooked up a roast last night, she’s DELICIOUS!

Because I felt like death through pretty much the entirety of Agnes’ growing season, the initial drop-off was the only time I met her. I never did see Gloria and Miserere while they were alive.

Agnes was probably about 1.5 months old when we got her. Most likely recently weaned, since she had no idea what to do about the first bucket of grain she got when the hot sun meant the sheep ran out of an adequate supply of grass. By all accounts, the sheep were almost entirely pleasant, excellent groundskeepers, and remarkably easy to get into the truck for their final trip. They put the “laughter” in “slaughter!”

Our start-up costs were not insignificant (about $1000 for the pen, yard, electric fence and sundry other small supplies & feed). But the lambs themselves were about $150 each. Plus a processing fee. They ate primarily grass, so growing costs were almost nil. Aside from any repairs needed to the plywood roof over the winter, and some extra electric fencing this summer’s experience showed would be nice to have, next year’s costs will only be the sheep.

Looking at the current grocery rates, BC Lamb is going for anywhere from $27/lb for a rack of lamb down to $4.50/lb for a shoulder roast.

Our lamb ended up costing $2.75/lb plus the cutting fee (about $0.50/lb if I recall correctly). We’ve got roasts, racks, shanks, stew, bones for stock and even some offal for the dog. And if the roast we had last night is any indication, we’re in for a winter of amazingly tasty meals.

We also have the added benefit of knowing most of our lamb’s history, what she was fed, and that she lived a perfectly lamby life, eating grass and cavorting in a pasture with other sheep.

My only regret is that we don’t have a better idea of her origin (we don’t actually even know what her breed really is) and her earliest days. Our auction experience was pretty disturbing (another post, coming soon), and I’d hesitate to purchase animals from that particular auction house again. Sadly, most literature I’ve read on the livestock industry and its seedy underbelly claims that our experience was closer to the rule than the exception.

But! On the bright side, we do have a freezer full of lamb that lived happily and lambily for the majority of her life.

Now, who wants to come for dinner?

The Moving of the Things

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Whoops. We’re not even into double-digit days here, and I’ve already missed a couple days of BloPo-ing for the NaMo.

Apologies, but I was busy moving 85% of the things that I own to other places, and back again.

It started innocently enough with the bathroom sink. In a battle of Porcelain Sink vs. Ikea Vase, the vase was the clear winner. The sink didn’t stand a chance. Apparently the sink was somewhat bitter, though, about the unfair matchup, because it exacted its revenge by being the most impossible thing to replace, ever.

The contents of the cupboard below my sink have been living in a couple of laundry baskets for the past couple of weeks, being shuffled through hallways and rooms, depending on where we needed the space.

After a hunt to find the make and model of the sink, procure a replacement, undertaking some some tentative removal experimentation and eventually summoning a work party of husband, dad, brother and a motley assortment of tools used normally for everything from standard household maintenance to aircraft repair, the sink was replaced! Huzzah!

It wouldn’t have been a particularly big deal, except it also butted against the deadline weekend of rearranging the rest of our furniture to make room for other stuff.

We’re off next weekend to visit the in-laws and retrieve our supply of lamb, so we needed to replace the deep-freeze we got rid of during the summer with a smaller model that would fit indoors. Except there wasn’t room indoors without downsizing and moving a bunch of the office furniture out of the way.

We also had to move the TV from the 2nd bedroom (previously the office/TV room, on its way to becoming the baby room) into the living room, which meant losing a bunch of bookshelves, which led to cleaning out the closet in that room and purging a bunch of things, and also swapping the former-TV-room couch with the music room chair (aside: free IKEA Klippan – interested?) so we’d have room for our now trimmed-down book supply and the new glider (thanks mom!) that’s supposed to be delivered sometime in the next week or so.

It’s all cleaning and organizing that we knew was coming, but had procrastinated on dealing with until the last minute. So we’re done, until the next round, when we need to find, procure, make space for and assemble a crib. Personally, I think my idea of some shredded newspaper in a drawer is looking better all the time.

This is what you find when you move a couch in my house.

Come Fly With Me

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So I’m on my way to a conference in Dallas. It’s about 7am at the airport – best time to fly in my opinion. Eliminates most of the infrequent travelers who aren’t hardcore enough to get up this early.

Like I imagine any frequent traveler does, I’ve got an airport routine.

After enduring the hassle & indignity of security & customs, I head straight for the closest newsstand for water, gum & mints.

Then it’s off to grab breakfast. At YVR US departures I like Tim Horton’s. Followed by a beverage stop at Starbucks.

Depending on how much time I have left before boarding, I’ll either hunker down to get some work done, or move straight to loading my pockets for rapid seating.

Food/beverage, cash & visa for online purchases, iPhone, headphones, book or magazine & a scarf/wrap. Everything else is packed back up & stowed.

NaBloPoMovember

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A couple things seem to take over the brief attention span of the internets every November.

First is NaNoWriMo and its ADD cousin, NaBloPoMo. I happened to blog yesterday, so perhaps I shall just keep with it, yes? We’ll see if it lasts until the end of the month.

Second is Movember. For the past few years, Neil’s participated as a proud member of team Mophos, raising funds for men’s health issues.

Not only do I stoically suffer through the lack of delicious beard that he wears for the rest of the year, I also deal with him ending up looking like this at the end of it all:

(Last year’s Mo-spiration was Freddie Mercury. Suggestions for this year? The official theme this year is “luxury”, and the man does own a fedora.)

Anyhow, if you’re so inclined, toss a few dollars either his way, or to Team Mophos overall.

Hasta Mañana!

Halfway!

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As of this writing, I’m 20 weeks, 2 days pregnant. This means I’m a smidge over halfway through the official medically-designated pregnancy length of 40 weeks.

Where oh where did the time go.

Observations up to this point:

I strongly dislike being pregnant. I’m still looking forward to the end result, but I am decidedly NOT one of those women who is all blissful and glowy and bursting with the joy of impending new life. I am cranky and tired and bursting with gas and heartburn and a bad back.

I am, however, becoming a big fan of pants with huge elastic waists. So comfy!

We had the 20-week ultrasound, conveniently scheduled for 19 weeks, 5 days (thanks, midwives), so the ultrasound tech wouldn’t tell us the sex of the baby. This thanks to the hordes of assholes who are apparently out there waiting for any excuse to destroy a fetus who isn’t their preferred gender. Because at 20 weeks, on the nose, they’ll change their mind? Or something? Who knows.

The tech did show us the money shot, without comment, and after some contemplation, discussion, and furious hunting on google images at home we’ve decided it looks like it’s probably a boy. I’m guessing (hoping) the midwives have the info in our file at their office and will confirm at our next appointment.

If not, I’ll probably insist we go fork out for one of those creepy 3D ultrasounds at a private clinic.

Have I mentioned that the amount of patience I posses seems to be inversely proportionate to the size of my waistline?

Either way, the ultrasound was neat, and introduced the phase at which Neil starts to compare me to a goat. Apparently human ultrasounds are just like goat ultrasounds, where you position the wand certain ways to view different layers of anatomy and can check size measurements, organ structure, etc. Except of course for goats, twins are a lot more common. Oh. AND IT’S A BARNYARD ANIMAL.

Though I suppose I could forgive him for wanting to make the comparison – I’m practically furry with the fine layer of hair I’ve grown pretty much all over my body. But still. I don’t bleat (so far).

The other most obvious bit of unpleasantness is my back constantly going out. Thanks to the changes in hormones so my pelvis can widen my back is entirely unstable and I seem to injure my SI joint every other week. I can’t walk up stairs. I can’t lift anything over about 15lbs. I can’t walk for more than an hour. Otherwise I’m a cripple for about 3 days.

I have also become quite insistent with the “nesting,” nagging about getting around to the long-overdue cleaning out of closets and moving of furniture so we have room for this extra person and his (her?) paraphernalia before he (she?) arrives. Except, of course, thanks to the back thing I can’t actually DO any of the cleaning and moving. I can just do the nagging and directing.

And yet, Neil still brings me flowers. Have I mentioned he’s up for sainthood?

On another tiny, positive note, I do have a small bump and so far no sign of stretch marks. My mom didn’t get them, even with twins, so I’ve got genetics on my side for that one.

I can also still roll over in bed without assistance, and now that my uterus has moved up and off my bladder, and the wee babe isn’t yet big enough to noticeably stomp on it, I can sleep through the night a lot of the time without getting up to pee. Small victories.

Considering this is supposed to be the “honeymoon phase” of the pregnancy (and I will admit it’s nice to be rid of the nausea), I am expecting it to get worse again, and biding my time for the next 19 weeks, 5 days.

And anyone who dares suggest I’ll be even a minute overdue is going to get a face-full of angry pregnant woman ready to destroy them.

Goodbye Cable, Hello OTA+Netflix

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I have some news. This may surprise you. Are you sitting down? I hope you are – or were, since the title kinda gives it away.

We canceled cable.

Which means we also got rid of the TiVos.

And what prompted this? We got a new TV.

Stay with me here – it eventually makes sense.

Our previous TV was old. A 100lb Tube monstrosity kinda old. It worked with the TiVo, but the TiVo didn’t work with digital cable. We were being harassed weekly by the cable company to get a digital box before the conversion to all-digital cable happened, but I was not about to embark on even more channels without a PVR, and with a perfectly good TiVo, I was DEFINITELY not going to pay $700 for the cable company’s sub-standard PVR.

And then the cable company’s internet service really started sucking.

And then Neil got a bonus from work.

And lo, the wheels of change were set in motion.

We bought a fancy new TV. We canceled the TiVo subscriptions. We canceled our cable+internet from the cable company, and went with a new internet provider. We bought a cheap HD Antenna and signed up for Netflix.

We are happy!

We followed the advice in this great HD OTA intro and tutorial for Vancouverites from John Bollwitt. We happen to have a balcony with direct line-of-sight to Mt. Seymour, the site of most of the local digital broadcast towers, and we’ve consistently gotten five channels in perfect, crystal-clear HD (CBC, CTV, CityTV, Global and Omni) with a sometimey 6th (KVOS). This should only improve as more networks make the switch to HD. And just those five channels listed cover 85% of the content we used to watch.

I also signed up for Netflix as soon as it came to Canada. It’s important to note that I am apparently an anomaly in TV and Movie-land. I watch fewer than 10 movies a year (that includes both theater visits and rentals). I can only really manage to follow 3 or 4 TV shows at once. And especially these days, a LOT of stuff is just plain on past my bedtime. This makes the content on Netflix PERFECT for me. There are tons of movies I’ve never seen. There are dozens of TV shows I haven’t yet watched (I’m currently starting Season 2 of MadMen. In network-land it just wrapped up season 4).

Currently available in the US, but not yet in Canada, one can even stream Netflix directly from the particular model of TV I have. I’ve got my fingers crossed that functionality will make it across the border soon. In the meantime, I just hook my laptop up to the TV and watch that way. It’s been great. We’ve also been contemplating acquiring a PS3, since it can play Blu-Ray discs and stream Netflix, though neither of us are much for its core purpose: video games.

It’s been four months since we cut cable, and so far I don’t miss it. I do miss having a PVR, but considering we watch so much less TV now overall, it feels much less of a hassle to wait for a commercial break to pee, or sit through commercials at all on the things we do watch live.

I NEVER thought I’d willingly live without cable, but with so many more options, it’s another bill I’m pretty happy to have kissed goodbye.