For Pete's sake, update your friggen blog!
Don't you know that blog checking on the company dime is what gets me through the day?
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
killing time
This post comes to you as I am killing time waiting for the touch up pink dye to set in my streaks. My lovely fella was kind enough to don a pair of gloves (swiped from work, of course) and re-apply the magic stuff. Everyone in the know (ok, two people in the know - my hair dresser and previously hot pink streaked SIL Cammy) told me I'd have to be redoing the streaks after about two weeks. Well, it's been four. My hair defies you all. The bits of pink closer to my scalp maintained their alarming hot pinkness, but the tips gradually faded out from hot pink to orange to a soft baby pink to nearly blond. After the touch up I've still got half a bottle of the pink goop left, so I figure I'm good for two more doses and then my hair will have to be dyed back to my natural colour. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll go crazy with some other funky do. I've got years and years of not colouring my hair to make up for here!
So this week has been reading week - ostensibly a time to spend reading those textbooks and catching up on assignments and shiz. Not me. I spent the week taking an 8am-4pm five day long first aid course. Why, you ask? Don't I have first aid coming out of my wazoo? Well yes I do, as a matter of fact. This course was a prerequisite for another course I am going to be taking in March which will enable me to teach yet another course. Much of the course I just finished up with (well not yet - practical exam 7:30am on Monday) was pretty mundane and stuff I can do in my sleep, but the instructor was mega cute and did a good job of tolerating my incessent inter-agency questions (but in aquatics we do this . . . ). Many of the other folks in the class had never taken any first aid course before, so it was a really interesting range of abilities. There was only one day I wished I wasn't there, and the post written exam beers on Friday from the brew pub downstairs were dang tasty.
Today is my Dad's birthday. Once I rinse the pink dye out of my hair we're heading over to the folk's place for dinner. I made an edamame salad, which was a recipe I was trying to replicate from taste memory alone from something someone picked up at a deli and brought to a potluck one time. I also made a delish double decker carrot cake with cream cheese icing. This was Dad's reqest, and how could I possibly say no? Particularly when I'm going to be asking for his help fixing the sliding bathroom door I busted off it's runners by kicking it when I was mad the other day. Happy birthday Dad!
So this week has been reading week - ostensibly a time to spend reading those textbooks and catching up on assignments and shiz. Not me. I spent the week taking an 8am-4pm five day long first aid course. Why, you ask? Don't I have first aid coming out of my wazoo? Well yes I do, as a matter of fact. This course was a prerequisite for another course I am going to be taking in March which will enable me to teach yet another course. Much of the course I just finished up with (well not yet - practical exam 7:30am on Monday) was pretty mundane and stuff I can do in my sleep, but the instructor was mega cute and did a good job of tolerating my incessent inter-agency questions (but in aquatics we do this . . . ). Many of the other folks in the class had never taken any first aid course before, so it was a really interesting range of abilities. There was only one day I wished I wasn't there, and the post written exam beers on Friday from the brew pub downstairs were dang tasty.
Today is my Dad's birthday. Once I rinse the pink dye out of my hair we're heading over to the folk's place for dinner. I made an edamame salad, which was a recipe I was trying to replicate from taste memory alone from something someone picked up at a deli and brought to a potluck one time. I also made a delish double decker carrot cake with cream cheese icing. This was Dad's reqest, and how could I possibly say no? Particularly when I'm going to be asking for his help fixing the sliding bathroom door I busted off it's runners by kicking it when I was mad the other day. Happy birthday Dad!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
happy v-day
Veggie day, that is. Today marks for me 15 years as a vegetarian! To celebrate, I thought I'd blog my answers to two of the most common questions I get about being a vegetarian.
1. Why are you a vegetarian?
Well, to be honest the reasons have evolved over the years. Meat always grossed me out. Gristle, fat, veins, whatever, I thought it was gross. I started making the connection with the hunk of meat on my plate and the living thing it once was, and I could eat it no more. I made a new friend who was vegetarian, and I thought that was cool so I decided to do it too. At my friends Sasha and Melanie's 14th birthday party, I decided I was a vegetarian, and after a few days of mishaps with pepperoni pizza and KFC popcorn chicken, I really was. I have not intentionally eaten meat ever since.
The easiest way for me to explain why I am a vegetarian is this - I don't believe in loving one animal and eating another. I believe and animal is an animal is an animal. There are some animals which have been socially constructed as more acceptable to eat than others. It drives me bonkers when I hear omnivores saying things like, "oh I could never eat (insert cute cuddly animal of choice here), that would just be wrong!” I think if you're going to eat one, you should be open to eating them all. I also think that most meat eaters are hideously detached from what they're actually eating. Those sterile styrofoam trays of meat in the supermarket don't really leave people with the true image of what it is. I have the utmost respect for my uncle's fiancée and her kids, who eat the cattle they raise. I have absolutely no difficulty understanding what I am eating when I am looking at an eggplant or a soybean. It is what it is.
Then there are the ethical reasons - the factory farms and the conditions those animals are raised in, the amount of land it takes to grow feed for animals vs. the amount of land we could be feeding people from, the hormones those animals are given, the waste seeping into water systems surrounding big productions. Yuck.
2. I could never be a vegetarian, isn't it hard?
Umm, no. Picture the food you find the most repulsive, that you never want to eat. Do you have a hard time not eating that food? Me neither.
I'm not one of those militant vegetarians who tries to force it on everyone around me. I don't believe in pushing my beliefs on other people, and I expect to not have theirs pushed on me. Paul is an omnivore, and we live and eat together in harmony. It's not an issue unless people make it one.
So have a happy V-day. Eat your veggies!
1. Why are you a vegetarian?
Well, to be honest the reasons have evolved over the years. Meat always grossed me out. Gristle, fat, veins, whatever, I thought it was gross. I started making the connection with the hunk of meat on my plate and the living thing it once was, and I could eat it no more. I made a new friend who was vegetarian, and I thought that was cool so I decided to do it too. At my friends Sasha and Melanie's 14th birthday party, I decided I was a vegetarian, and after a few days of mishaps with pepperoni pizza and KFC popcorn chicken, I really was. I have not intentionally eaten meat ever since.
The easiest way for me to explain why I am a vegetarian is this - I don't believe in loving one animal and eating another. I believe and animal is an animal is an animal. There are some animals which have been socially constructed as more acceptable to eat than others. It drives me bonkers when I hear omnivores saying things like, "oh I could never eat (insert cute cuddly animal of choice here), that would just be wrong!” I think if you're going to eat one, you should be open to eating them all. I also think that most meat eaters are hideously detached from what they're actually eating. Those sterile styrofoam trays of meat in the supermarket don't really leave people with the true image of what it is. I have the utmost respect for my uncle's fiancée and her kids, who eat the cattle they raise. I have absolutely no difficulty understanding what I am eating when I am looking at an eggplant or a soybean. It is what it is.
Then there are the ethical reasons - the factory farms and the conditions those animals are raised in, the amount of land it takes to grow feed for animals vs. the amount of land we could be feeding people from, the hormones those animals are given, the waste seeping into water systems surrounding big productions. Yuck.
2. I could never be a vegetarian, isn't it hard?
Umm, no. Picture the food you find the most repulsive, that you never want to eat. Do you have a hard time not eating that food? Me neither.
I'm not one of those militant vegetarians who tries to force it on everyone around me. I don't believe in pushing my beliefs on other people, and I expect to not have theirs pushed on me. Paul is an omnivore, and we live and eat together in harmony. It's not an issue unless people make it one.
So have a happy V-day. Eat your veggies!
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
snippets from project poop
Finally today my mom was released from hospital. This evening found her finally on her way home, to what I'm sure are much more comfortable digs. The nursing staff will be brilliant when Pamela is at home practicing her undergrad nursing skills. They will be questionable at best when it's just Mom and Dad on their own.
During her stint in the hospital, Dad sent out daily (sometimes multiple times daily) progress reports to friends and family. Over the last 6 days or so the reports had a common theme - poop; or lack thereof. Anyone who has had surgery, or hurt themselves significantly enough to require the fun pain killers, knows what they can do to your GI tract . . .
I've pasted some of my favourite snippets from my Dad's emails. They will probably be mostly hilarious to people who know him, but the rest of you may appreciate the humour I find in having a surly old Dad stuck as the primary caregiver of my largely immobile and consipated mother, and 14 yr old incontinent dog . . .
"Heather's project for tomorrow is to have a BM, mine is to be not
there for it."
"Arrived @ 11:00 AM to find H on phone (what else is new), sitting
on bed waiting for the elusive BM. Took her for a long walk then had
to scoot (rush, hurry, run) back for the blessed event. She was not
pleased with the event; or lack there of."
"Heathers main problem at this point is her lack of having a BM.
She took 5 doses of 'Lactulose' to no effect; a hospital record I
think. An intermediate solution, that was partially successful was a
hydraulic wash out."
"I am still optimistic that Heather will be home sometime on
Tuesday. You are all welcome to phone or visit as your whims drive
you. You can bring food as well if you want (I really agonized over
including this one). Food items with lots of 'fiber' (roughage) is
probably what H needs, I will eat anything and I don't care if my kids
eat at all."
"Heather's problem with her lower tract still persists. She has taken
multiple doses of every mild to medium stimulant that exists. She has
just taken a more powerful med called 'citro-mag' with the hope it
will start her system. My dog, on the other hand, goes 3-4 times a day
inside or out - he doesn't care where.
I can't get around the idea that this room costs $200 + per day
and the only reason she's still here is because she can't ----. Just a
foolish aside; after I spilled a bit of the 'citro-mag' on my hand
when mixing it for Heather I foolishly licked it off my fingers.
Cheers for now David"
During her stint in the hospital, Dad sent out daily (sometimes multiple times daily) progress reports to friends and family. Over the last 6 days or so the reports had a common theme - poop; or lack thereof. Anyone who has had surgery, or hurt themselves significantly enough to require the fun pain killers, knows what they can do to your GI tract . . .
I've pasted some of my favourite snippets from my Dad's emails. They will probably be mostly hilarious to people who know him, but the rest of you may appreciate the humour I find in having a surly old Dad stuck as the primary caregiver of my largely immobile and consipated mother, and 14 yr old incontinent dog . . .
"Heather's project for tomorrow is to have a BM, mine is to be not
there for it."
"Arrived @ 11:00 AM to find H on phone (what else is new), sitting
on bed waiting for the elusive BM. Took her for a long walk then had
to scoot (rush, hurry, run) back for the blessed event. She was not
pleased with the event; or lack there of."
"Heathers main problem at this point is her lack of having a BM.
She took 5 doses of 'Lactulose' to no effect; a hospital record I
think. An intermediate solution, that was partially successful was a
hydraulic wash out."
"I am still optimistic that Heather will be home sometime on
Tuesday. You are all welcome to phone or visit as your whims drive
you. You can bring food as well if you want (I really agonized over
including this one). Food items with lots of 'fiber' (roughage) is
probably what H needs, I will eat anything and I don't care if my kids
eat at all."
"Heather's problem with her lower tract still persists. She has taken
multiple doses of every mild to medium stimulant that exists. She has
just taken a more powerful med called 'citro-mag' with the hope it
will start her system. My dog, on the other hand, goes 3-4 times a day
inside or out - he doesn't care where.
I can't get around the idea that this room costs $200 + per day
and the only reason she's still here is because she can't ----. Just a
foolish aside; after I spilled a bit of the 'citro-mag' on my hand
when mixing it for Heather I foolishly licked it off my fingers.
Cheers for now David"
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
happy homecoming
The spinal column has real joints (just like the knee, elbow, etc.) called facet joints. The facet joints link the vertebrae together and give them the flexibility to move against each other. The facets are the "bony knobs" that meet between each vertebra. There are two facet joints between each pair of vertebrae, one on each side. They extend and overlap each other to form a joint between the neighboring vertebra facet joint. The facet joints give the spine its flexibility.
My mom has had the bad luck of having those "bony knobs" wear down, resulting in a shift in the vertebrae causing the spinal chord to be pinched. This necessitated reconstructive surgery four years ago, and again last week, twice. They went in and ground down those bony knobs, drilled holes in the vertebrae and inserted posts running from L2 - L5. A bone graft was harvested from the pelvis, and little chips which should ultimately fuse with the spine and hold everything in place are held in with screws. Four years ago it was two vertebrae which needed fusing, but the spine degenerated further necessitating this second surgery.
Having the good fortune of living only four blocks from the hospital, I stopped by every day for a visit and to check on her progress. I watched my mom go from supine and barely conscious on day one, to WALKING laps around the ward on day three, getting all of the tubes out and enjoying much more mobility on day four, getting ready to go home on day five. Then the unpleasant news was delivered - a routine x-ray prompted a CT scan which showed that two of the screws were not in the right place. One was too close to a major blood vessel, and the other was not holding the fusion in place properly. So just as she was getting ready to go home, the tubes go back in and she's waiting for more surgery. The second surgery took place on Saturday, day six if you will, and was much less invasive than the first. Apparently the passage created for the screw was correct, but the screw did not follow the designated passage. This was corrected, the other screw pressing on the blood vessel was shortened, and she was closed up again. Up and walking the very next day, and fewer problems with nausea as a result of a change in pain meds.
Today, day nine, is the day she'll hopefully get to go home to start the two month long convalescence with no bending, twisting, or contact sports. My mom is fit and active, lean and healthy, walks, swims, goes to the gym, does all her physic exercises, and still her spine degenerated. Fingers crossed this is the last of it.
UPDATE: Not home yet . . . still in hospital awaiting elusive BM. Going on day 10 now . . .
UPDATE #2: Project poop a success. Finally coming home tonight!
Saturday, February 09, 2008
good advice
Contrary to what the comments section of my previous post may indicate, I have been getting a lot of really good feedback on the business plan. The advice coming from people who are in the know about such things is the same - keep it simple, and say what it is.
My Dad thinks I should be getting this done professionally - branding, that is. Although I'm sure I knew in the back of my mind that branding was a thing, until this week I didn't really understand what that thing entailed. Branding, I'm told, is an intensive project which will leave me with a cohesive look, word mark, colour scheme, and logo. Such a project is thought to run around $1000, which my Dad has offered to put up (with payback plan of course).
My sister has offered some sage advice about using words which for search engine optimization, and how to set up words and information on a site which will help me get indexed high up in Google.
I have had one name suggestion which I really like, and I like how it was come up with. All will be revealed at a later date if I decide to go this route.
Right now I'm trying to decide whether professional branding is the way to go, or whether I want to take this new name (which does what it says on the tin) and use the website I had used before for business cards, letterhead, and promo gizmos. I change my mind about every five seconds, so until that slows down I suppose I'll keep thinking about it.
I've got another project on the brew I'll need some feedback on too . . . stay tuned!
My Dad thinks I should be getting this done professionally - branding, that is. Although I'm sure I knew in the back of my mind that branding was a thing, until this week I didn't really understand what that thing entailed. Branding, I'm told, is an intensive project which will leave me with a cohesive look, word mark, colour scheme, and logo. Such a project is thought to run around $1000, which my Dad has offered to put up (with payback plan of course).
My sister has offered some sage advice about using words which for search engine optimization, and how to set up words and information on a site which will help me get indexed high up in Google.
I have had one name suggestion which I really like, and I like how it was come up with. All will be revealed at a later date if I decide to go this route.
Right now I'm trying to decide whether professional branding is the way to go, or whether I want to take this new name (which does what it says on the tin) and use the website I had used before for business cards, letterhead, and promo gizmos. I change my mind about every five seconds, so until that slows down I suppose I'll keep thinking about it.
I've got another project on the brew I'll need some feedback on too . . . stay tuned!
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
creative minds needed!
I have a small business on the side teaching CPR and First Aid courses. It's pretty much an under the table in cash thing at the moment, but it is growing to the point I feel I need to go legit with it soon. My primary market thus far has been CPR recertifications for nursing students, who need to do them annually. Word of mouth is a powerful thing - my business has been growing steadily, and my market is growing. Recently I've been trekking over to Commercial drive to teach CPR and resuscitation to 'Parents on the Drive', a group of self organized parents who decided they needed CPR training after witnessing one of their daughters having a seizure, thinking she was choking, and realizing none of them knew what to do. I've also been teaching Emergency First Aid courses at one of the graduate student residences on campus where they've put together an emergency response team, and want in house training.
The end of January saw me taking an AED instructor trainer course, which enables me to teach people how to teach people to use those nifty automated external defibrillator units which are popping up all over the place, as well as being able to deliver the programs myself. This is HUGE for me as a contract instructor, particularly since UBC has decided to put AED units in all of the athletic facilities, and the program will ultimately expand to the entire campus. Someone has to do all that training!
February and the beginning of March will see me jumping through hoops to be able to teach the new Occupational First Aid program that the Lifesaving Society, the organization with which I am affiliated, has finally managed to get off the ground. In my opinion, the OFA program is seriously inferior to the SFA program we've already been teaching for years, but it is the program sanctioned by WCB, and therefore the program that tons of and tons of businesses need their employees to take. Again, this is huge for me as a contract instructor and even huger for me as an individual affiliate since it means I will be able to market myself to big businesses as someone who can show up and conduct this program for their staff on site.
The batch of business cards I ordered for myself at the end of this month last year is dwindling away (interestingly, I've gone through more of my personal business cards in one year than I have my business cards at work in 5 1/2 years) and it is nearly time to reorder. Enter your creative minds . . .
My current cards read, "CPR with Katie" and have a cool heart logo (an actual human heart, not a heart shape) and details about course options and contact info on them. I guess by default my company name is this "CPR with Katie", however, with the addition of all these other courses I can contract, and the intention of going legit with the side business and starting to market myself to companies, I need a new name. I'm planning on putting together a whole promotional package . . . company letter head on which I will write letters and send them out to businesses explaining how awesome I am, and that I can come to THEM and do all of their CPR and First Aid training on site, website, new business cards (I want to keep the logo), promotional pens or some other cheesy give-away . . . the whole shebang. I want a name that encompasses everything I can do, and that sounds cool. The only thing I can think of so far is "Custom First Aid" but I don't think that's cool enough, and I think it might be taken.
Please help me come up with a name! If I select the name you come up with, I'll send you a whole package of all the promotional shiz I put together, and a chocolate vagina. What's better than a chocolate vagina?
The end of January saw me taking an AED instructor trainer course, which enables me to teach people how to teach people to use those nifty automated external defibrillator units which are popping up all over the place, as well as being able to deliver the programs myself. This is HUGE for me as a contract instructor, particularly since UBC has decided to put AED units in all of the athletic facilities, and the program will ultimately expand to the entire campus. Someone has to do all that training!
February and the beginning of March will see me jumping through hoops to be able to teach the new Occupational First Aid program that the Lifesaving Society, the organization with which I am affiliated, has finally managed to get off the ground. In my opinion, the OFA program is seriously inferior to the SFA program we've already been teaching for years, but it is the program sanctioned by WCB, and therefore the program that tons of and tons of businesses need their employees to take. Again, this is huge for me as a contract instructor and even huger for me as an individual affiliate since it means I will be able to market myself to big businesses as someone who can show up and conduct this program for their staff on site.
The batch of business cards I ordered for myself at the end of this month last year is dwindling away (interestingly, I've gone through more of my personal business cards in one year than I have my business cards at work in 5 1/2 years) and it is nearly time to reorder. Enter your creative minds . . .
My current cards read, "CPR with Katie" and have a cool heart logo (an actual human heart, not a heart shape) and details about course options and contact info on them. I guess by default my company name is this "CPR with Katie", however, with the addition of all these other courses I can contract, and the intention of going legit with the side business and starting to market myself to companies, I need a new name. I'm planning on putting together a whole promotional package . . . company letter head on which I will write letters and send them out to businesses explaining how awesome I am, and that I can come to THEM and do all of their CPR and First Aid training on site, website, new business cards (I want to keep the logo), promotional pens or some other cheesy give-away . . . the whole shebang. I want a name that encompasses everything I can do, and that sounds cool. The only thing I can think of so far is "Custom First Aid" but I don't think that's cool enough, and I think it might be taken.
Please help me come up with a name! If I select the name you come up with, I'll send you a whole package of all the promotional shiz I put together, and a chocolate vagina. What's better than a chocolate vagina?
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
lecture hall rage
Picture this; a lecture hall with 260 students. About 1/3 of the people there actually interested in learning, the other 2/3 there only to yap with their friends. I fall in the minority category, wanting to learn, desperately trying to concentrate on the lecture and hear what the prof is saying. People all around me yap yap yapping.
Yesterday, I got to class early, staked out a good spot close to the front, but not so close that I had to crane my neck to see the PowerPoint presentation. People around me are generally good, but then two yappers show up - a boy and a girl. About 5 min into the lecture I turn around and politely ask them to stop talking, and indicate I am having difficulty hearing the lecture. They say sure, and then just keep on talking. The talk the entire freaking lecture, in spite of me asking them several times to stop. At the end of the lecture as we're all packing up our stuff, I have words with them. The exchange goes like this:
Me: Your talking is not quiet. It's very distracting and makes it difficult to hear the lecture.
Sassy little bitch: Awesome!
Me: Maybe for you, but I'm trying to hear the prof.
SLB: I'm sure you could find somewhere else to sit.
Me: I'm sure you could find somewhere else to have your conversation. This is a classroom.
I could not believe this chick had the audacity to suggest that if I didn't like her talking I should move! I'm always so filled with rage by the end of this class, I almost feel like there is no point even going. This is what I'm paying for? Sitting in a lecture hall listening to 18yr olds who are experiencing freedom and adult responsibility for the first time? I may not make it through this semester!
Yesterday, I got to class early, staked out a good spot close to the front, but not so close that I had to crane my neck to see the PowerPoint presentation. People around me are generally good, but then two yappers show up - a boy and a girl. About 5 min into the lecture I turn around and politely ask them to stop talking, and indicate I am having difficulty hearing the lecture. They say sure, and then just keep on talking. The talk the entire freaking lecture, in spite of me asking them several times to stop. At the end of the lecture as we're all packing up our stuff, I have words with them. The exchange goes like this:
Me: Your talking is not quiet. It's very distracting and makes it difficult to hear the lecture.
Sassy little bitch: Awesome!
Me: Maybe for you, but I'm trying to hear the prof.
SLB: I'm sure you could find somewhere else to sit.
Me: I'm sure you could find somewhere else to have your conversation. This is a classroom.
I could not believe this chick had the audacity to suggest that if I didn't like her talking I should move! I'm always so filled with rage by the end of this class, I almost feel like there is no point even going. This is what I'm paying for? Sitting in a lecture hall listening to 18yr olds who are experiencing freedom and adult responsibility for the first time? I may not make it through this semester!
Friday, January 18, 2008
here it is
Some of you know, some of you don't know, so here it is: I flunked my chemistry course last semester. I'm still in the process of fighting red tape to be allowed to actually see my final exam with my own eyes, but if I flunked it, I flunked it, and that's that. I found out about said flunkage by way of receiving an email from the university letting me know I'd been de-registered from all other chem courses. Nice.
I've gone through a wide range of emotions about this over the last month, and at the end of it all, after some serious soul searching, this is what I have come up with . . .
1) My inherent academic laziness is not going to cut it with these science classes
and
2) Working full time while trying to go to school is insane.
So will the insanity stop? Well, not just yet. But it's getting in check. Finally seeing what basically everyone around me was seeing threw me into a state of total panic. I need to stop working full time soon, how can I make that happen? Will I be able to afford to pay for school? Will I need to get a student loan? Will I need to sell my car? How soon?
I went and saw the advisor for my department who gave me bad news, good news, and some insight. The bad news - UBC is renovating the chem labs this summer, so there will be no summer classes offered in chemistry (at least the ones I need to take). The good news - because of this they're giving flunkers like me special permission to take chem courses at the colleges this summer. The insight - I need to find balance. This, after I put my head down in my hands and moaned about how I was going to need to quit my job to make this happen, and just after I finally got 12 credits of free tuition per year negotiated into my benefits package. Oh cruel, cruel world.
I looked into things a little more and discovered that not only are there going to be no chem classes offered at UBC this summer, the biology lab course I was counting on taking over the summer isn't going to be offered either. So even if I kill myself taking chem all summer long, my standing will still be held back. It would seem that it makes the most sense to not take summer classes this year, to get to enjoy a summer for a change, and to work full time (or close to full time) for one more year. This way I can take it easy and recharge over the summer months, with the option of perhaps taking some fluffy GPA boosting courses I don't really need, and then in September tackle that chem course again having learned my lesson about the type of studying I need to be doing, and without the threat of having to chair a bargaining committee smack in the middle of the exam period. This also means I will be able to take advantage of more of those free tuition credits which just got negotiated into my benefits package, and I'll be working until the car is paid off. Yes, I'll be adding another year onto this journey, but it's not like I'm on the fast track program as it is. Having made this decision to not push through the summer feels like a million pounds have been lifted off of me.
I've also had some boundary setting conversations at work, like how I can't continue to work insane amounts of overtime the first week of every semester, which always results in falling behind in school. And how I can't participate in negative bitch sessions in the office, rather, having constructive problem solving conversations.
I'm hoping this will be a morale boosting semester for me, both at school and at work. I'm taking two biology courses this semester, which are much more suited to my learning style, and I find them actually interesting. I took a biology class at Langara that didn't transfer properly to UBC, so much of the content I've already learned, which makes things a little easier for me. Plus in one of my classes, which is taught by a wiry little lady with white spiky hair which in the first two weeks of the semester has been dyed lavender and then bright turquoise in the front, we have to read one of three books with ecology themes and answer questions about them on the final. One of the book options was the Omnivore's Dilemma, which I asked for and got for Christmas. I'm stoked about reading this book! Also she's given us the option of doing a written project for 15% of our mark, which reduces the midterm value by 5% and the final value by 10%. Sign me up!
I've gone through a wide range of emotions about this over the last month, and at the end of it all, after some serious soul searching, this is what I have come up with . . .
1) My inherent academic laziness is not going to cut it with these science classes
and
2) Working full time while trying to go to school is insane.
So will the insanity stop? Well, not just yet. But it's getting in check. Finally seeing what basically everyone around me was seeing threw me into a state of total panic. I need to stop working full time soon, how can I make that happen? Will I be able to afford to pay for school? Will I need to get a student loan? Will I need to sell my car? How soon?
I went and saw the advisor for my department who gave me bad news, good news, and some insight. The bad news - UBC is renovating the chem labs this summer, so there will be no summer classes offered in chemistry (at least the ones I need to take). The good news - because of this they're giving flunkers like me special permission to take chem courses at the colleges this summer. The insight - I need to find balance. This, after I put my head down in my hands and moaned about how I was going to need to quit my job to make this happen, and just after I finally got 12 credits of free tuition per year negotiated into my benefits package. Oh cruel, cruel world.
I looked into things a little more and discovered that not only are there going to be no chem classes offered at UBC this summer, the biology lab course I was counting on taking over the summer isn't going to be offered either. So even if I kill myself taking chem all summer long, my standing will still be held back. It would seem that it makes the most sense to not take summer classes this year, to get to enjoy a summer for a change, and to work full time (or close to full time) for one more year. This way I can take it easy and recharge over the summer months, with the option of perhaps taking some fluffy GPA boosting courses I don't really need, and then in September tackle that chem course again having learned my lesson about the type of studying I need to be doing, and without the threat of having to chair a bargaining committee smack in the middle of the exam period. This also means I will be able to take advantage of more of those free tuition credits which just got negotiated into my benefits package, and I'll be working until the car is paid off. Yes, I'll be adding another year onto this journey, but it's not like I'm on the fast track program as it is. Having made this decision to not push through the summer feels like a million pounds have been lifted off of me.
I've also had some boundary setting conversations at work, like how I can't continue to work insane amounts of overtime the first week of every semester, which always results in falling behind in school. And how I can't participate in negative bitch sessions in the office, rather, having constructive problem solving conversations.
I'm hoping this will be a morale boosting semester for me, both at school and at work. I'm taking two biology courses this semester, which are much more suited to my learning style, and I find them actually interesting. I took a biology class at Langara that didn't transfer properly to UBC, so much of the content I've already learned, which makes things a little easier for me. Plus in one of my classes, which is taught by a wiry little lady with white spiky hair which in the first two weeks of the semester has been dyed lavender and then bright turquoise in the front, we have to read one of three books with ecology themes and answer questions about them on the final. One of the book options was the Omnivore's Dilemma, which I asked for and got for Christmas. I'm stoked about reading this book! Also she's given us the option of doing a written project for 15% of our mark, which reduces the midterm value by 5% and the final value by 10%. Sign me up!
Monday, January 07, 2008
the updated muffin recipe
This is the fat free low sugar bran muffin recipe I developed and made famous during my Weight Watchers days. I've been continually tweaking it over the years, and I think it's absolutely perfect right now. I make a batch about once a week and throw them in the freezer. Paul and I each eat one every day. They are just about the most branny muffins you'll ever find, so if your system isn't used to a lot of fibre, you'll need to work up to eating one every day.
Katie's Bran Muffins
1 cup apple sauce, pumpkin puree, or grated zucchini
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup molasses
2 eggs
2 cups skim milk (I use 2 cups water and 2 Tbsp skim milk powder)
3 cups wheat bran
2 cups whole wheat flour
1 Tbsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup raisins or chopped dates (dates make the most moist muffin)
Take the raisins or chopped dates and put them in a small bowl. Pour hot water over them, and let them sit for a few min while you are mixing the rest of the stuff up. This will add mega moisture to the muffins.
Preheat your oven to 400. Mix the wet stuff, add the dry stuff, then drain the water out of the dates or raisins, and add them in too. Take your non-stick muffin cups and give them a teeny little spray of canola out of your enviro friendly refillable kitchen pumper spraying thingy. Spoon mix evenly into 12 muffin cups. Bake for 20 min. Enjoy!
I'm no longer sure of the points value of one of these suckers, and I no longer have the tools to find out. Maybe one of you in the know can figure it out for me.
Katie's Bran Muffins
1 cup apple sauce, pumpkin puree, or grated zucchini
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup molasses
2 eggs
2 cups skim milk (I use 2 cups water and 2 Tbsp skim milk powder)
3 cups wheat bran
2 cups whole wheat flour
1 Tbsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup raisins or chopped dates (dates make the most moist muffin)
Take the raisins or chopped dates and put them in a small bowl. Pour hot water over them, and let them sit for a few min while you are mixing the rest of the stuff up. This will add mega moisture to the muffins.
Preheat your oven to 400. Mix the wet stuff, add the dry stuff, then drain the water out of the dates or raisins, and add them in too. Take your non-stick muffin cups and give them a teeny little spray of canola out of your enviro friendly refillable kitchen pumper spraying thingy. Spoon mix evenly into 12 muffin cups. Bake for 20 min. Enjoy!
I'm no longer sure of the points value of one of these suckers, and I no longer have the tools to find out. Maybe one of you in the know can figure it out for me.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
don't try this at home
Phase one December madness (bargaining, exams, teaching) is over. Phase two December madness (holiday parties, shopping, baking, crafting, family time) is upon us.
Saturday night saw us heading down to Paul's running club's annual holiday dinner, which this year was held at the Rowing Club near Stanley Park. Paul's parents live about a 5 min stroll away, so we figured we'd stop in there for a drink on the way to dinner. We took the bus town town and figured if we went up for one quick drink we'd arrive at our function fashionably about half an hour late.
The out-law's live on the 17th floor of a high rise building, so in to the elevator and up we go. A little more than half way up, Paul, who recently watched the movie Elf on tv, turns to me and says, "hey, you know what we should do?" and jumps.
The elevator stops.
And stays stopped.
We look at each other for a few moments, try pressing a few buttons, and then realize this is really happening. There is an emergency phone at the bottom of the elevator which connects us to an operator who tells us she will page an elevator technician to come and get us out, but in the meantime just relax, but if it starts getting stuffy or we start getting panicky, call back and they'll send the fire department to get us out right away. We hang up, sit there for about five seconds, and then Paul calls them back and requests the fire department. The poor guy doesn't do well in confined situations like small airplanes and elevators at the best of times, and this definitely wasn't the best of times.
After a few minutes went by we had Paul's parents and the building concierge trying to be helpful in the hallway, telling us to try to pry the door open, etc. Nothing worked. The fire department showed up after we'd been in there for about 30 min and they were able to get the exterior doors open and again suggested we try to pry open the interior door, but we couldn't do it. They were able to pry both doors open on the other elevator, but ours was stuck between floors so a safety mechanism was in place which only the elevator tech could release. I guess they probably don't want people prying doors open and accidentally falling out or something. I couldn't believe the bucket heads couldn't even get us out. So, we sit on the floor and wait. The fire men and Paul's dad were having a good laugh in the hallways, and telling us jokes through the door. I was finding the situation totally hilarious, and was trying my best not to laugh since I knew Paul wasn't finding things funny at all. Rather, he was lying on the floor with his eyes closed concentrating on deep breathing. His face was red and flushed, and his hands were cold and sweaty. Poor guy! After we'd been stuck in there nearly an hour, the elevator guy finally arrived. At first we heard a lot of banging and prying on the door, but nothing happened. Eventually he headed up a floor and was able to get to us from above, working his magic and releasing the inside doors. We were told to stay at the back, pass our stuff out to the fire men, who then quickly lifted us out. They told us that sometimes the elevators drop, so they've got to get people out as quickly as possible.
So, after being trapped in there for an hour, we were out safely, and rather than heading up to the folks place for a drink, we were on our way back down and racing towards our dinner. We arrived fashionably late, just as dinner was being served.
Saturday night saw us heading down to Paul's running club's annual holiday dinner, which this year was held at the Rowing Club near Stanley Park. Paul's parents live about a 5 min stroll away, so we figured we'd stop in there for a drink on the way to dinner. We took the bus town town and figured if we went up for one quick drink we'd arrive at our function fashionably about half an hour late.
The out-law's live on the 17th floor of a high rise building, so in to the elevator and up we go. A little more than half way up, Paul, who recently watched the movie Elf on tv, turns to me and says, "hey, you know what we should do?" and jumps.
The elevator stops.
And stays stopped.
We look at each other for a few moments, try pressing a few buttons, and then realize this is really happening. There is an emergency phone at the bottom of the elevator which connects us to an operator who tells us she will page an elevator technician to come and get us out, but in the meantime just relax, but if it starts getting stuffy or we start getting panicky, call back and they'll send the fire department to get us out right away. We hang up, sit there for about five seconds, and then Paul calls them back and requests the fire department. The poor guy doesn't do well in confined situations like small airplanes and elevators at the best of times, and this definitely wasn't the best of times.
After a few minutes went by we had Paul's parents and the building concierge trying to be helpful in the hallway, telling us to try to pry the door open, etc. Nothing worked. The fire department showed up after we'd been in there for about 30 min and they were able to get the exterior doors open and again suggested we try to pry open the interior door, but we couldn't do it. They were able to pry both doors open on the other elevator, but ours was stuck between floors so a safety mechanism was in place which only the elevator tech could release. I guess they probably don't want people prying doors open and accidentally falling out or something. I couldn't believe the bucket heads couldn't even get us out. So, we sit on the floor and wait. The fire men and Paul's dad were having a good laugh in the hallways, and telling us jokes through the door. I was finding the situation totally hilarious, and was trying my best not to laugh since I knew Paul wasn't finding things funny at all. Rather, he was lying on the floor with his eyes closed concentrating on deep breathing. His face was red and flushed, and his hands were cold and sweaty. Poor guy! After we'd been stuck in there nearly an hour, the elevator guy finally arrived. At first we heard a lot of banging and prying on the door, but nothing happened. Eventually he headed up a floor and was able to get to us from above, working his magic and releasing the inside doors. We were told to stay at the back, pass our stuff out to the fire men, who then quickly lifted us out. They told us that sometimes the elevators drop, so they've got to get people out as quickly as possible.
So, after being trapped in there for an hour, we were out safely, and rather than heading up to the folks place for a drink, we were on our way back down and racing towards our dinner. We arrived fashionably late, just as dinner was being served.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Waz going on?
In brief . . .
My arm is on the mend - thanks for asking. It's still pretty painful now and then, but I'm back at work, and doing practically everything except for lifting some heavy things. I have minions for that.
Classes are done, exams are looming. The big scary Chem final is exactly one week away. I have a lot of studying to cram into the next six days.
Our collective agreement at work expires Dec 31st. We had planned on starting bargaining in early January, but just last week we were informed by the employer that there is a PSEC mandate for us to finish bargaining before the current CE expires. Not only that, but the parties must reach an agreement by Dec 10th, and then ratify prior to Dec 31st. I'm the chair of the bargaining committee, so this means that over the next six days, four will be spent at the table, and we may go around the clock for the last two.
Did I mention I need to study?
Also there is my regular job, and the end of semester/beginning of semester shiz that goes on. Busy times.
Plus, because I'm completely insane, I agreed to teach a Lifesaving Instructor crash course which starts two days after my finals are done. This means I will also have to recertify my IT status prior to then.
So December 18th I'll be ready to start my holiday baking, crafting, and shopping. If my head hasn't imploded by then.
My arm is on the mend - thanks for asking. It's still pretty painful now and then, but I'm back at work, and doing practically everything except for lifting some heavy things. I have minions for that.
Classes are done, exams are looming. The big scary Chem final is exactly one week away. I have a lot of studying to cram into the next six days.
Our collective agreement at work expires Dec 31st. We had planned on starting bargaining in early January, but just last week we were informed by the employer that there is a PSEC mandate for us to finish bargaining before the current CE expires. Not only that, but the parties must reach an agreement by Dec 10th, and then ratify prior to Dec 31st. I'm the chair of the bargaining committee, so this means that over the next six days, four will be spent at the table, and we may go around the clock for the last two.
Did I mention I need to study?
Also there is my regular job, and the end of semester/beginning of semester shiz that goes on. Busy times.
Plus, because I'm completely insane, I agreed to teach a Lifesaving Instructor crash course which starts two days after my finals are done. This means I will also have to recertify my IT status prior to then.
So December 18th I'll be ready to start my holiday baking, crafting, and shopping. If my head hasn't imploded by then.
Monday, November 12, 2007
ouch!
Apologies for the lack of posts lately, and the lack of posts to continue for a little while.
I fell down the stairs at work during a power outage - I was running down them to get to the filter room and isolate the system, and I hit a patch of shampoo or soap or something that someone had spilled, and went flying. I landed right arm out, and have mangled the tendons in my hand and arm, jarred my shoulder and neck, and bruised my ribs. It hurts.
So no repetitive motion, including typing (I'm using one hand here . . . slow progress), no lifting, no fun. I'll be back posting like crazy as soon as I can. Maybe in the meantime I'll post pictures - I seem to be able to drive the mouse with relative ease.
I fell down the stairs at work during a power outage - I was running down them to get to the filter room and isolate the system, and I hit a patch of shampoo or soap or something that someone had spilled, and went flying. I landed right arm out, and have mangled the tendons in my hand and arm, jarred my shoulder and neck, and bruised my ribs. It hurts.
So no repetitive motion, including typing (I'm using one hand here . . . slow progress), no lifting, no fun. I'll be back posting like crazy as soon as I can. Maybe in the meantime I'll post pictures - I seem to be able to drive the mouse with relative ease.
Friday, October 19, 2007
the pumpkins
Over the summer when I actually had time for such things, I read the 100 Mile Diet by Alisa Smith and James MacKinnon. For those of you who haven't read it yet, do. It's a lovely read, beautiful writing, and it's not at all preachy, rather, it presents as an experiment, and the inspirational and at times heartbreaking or hilarious results. The 100 Mile Diet isn't for me - I'm not willing to give up my vegetarian ways, and until rogue farmers in the lower mainland start growing soy or garbanzo beans, I'll have to out-source my protein. While the strict 100 mile radius isn't for me, the concept is: eat locally grown and produced food to reduce carbon emissions, boost local economy, save farmland from development, and ensure the family farms aren't taken over by big evil factory farms. Food starts to loose nutrients as soon as it is harvested, so a tomato you buy from a farmers market which was picked that very morning at optimum ripeness is not only going to taste infinitely better than a tomato which sat on a refrigerator truck all the way from California, but it's better for you too.
I was lucky enough to read the book while I was on my summer holidays, where we grow quite a lot of food on our property. All I had to do most days was trundle down the terraced garden and poke around to see if I could find any potatoes in the potato patch, if any of the yellow zucchini was big enough for picking, if any beets were crowning through the soil announcing their readiness for harvest. I could pick peppery arugula, lettuce, and nasturtium blossoms for a salad. Beans, peas, plums, apples, and blackberries also grow on the property. Many things we didn't grow ourselves could be found from the little (9 acre) organic farm a short trek into town, where the stunning produce (I've been banned from further discussion on the adorableness of his eggplants) is simply bunched and priced and laid out in a roadside booth with a drop box for cash or cheques. Organic free range eggs could be found in a variety of driveways where families simply have chickens hanging out in their back yards and sell whatever they don't consume themselves. While I'm not much of an egg person normally, I ate these eggs nearly every day (the local protein source) and they tasted like no egg I've ever had out of a supermarket box. I was on the five mile diet(give or take), and loving every moment of it.
Coming back to the city was depressing, but I've tried my best to keep up with the local food. One rainy weekend Paul and I headed back to Gibsons for some R&R, and much to my delight I discovered we still had zucchini and beans growing. I harvested everything, knowing that whatever I left behind would soon succumb to autumns soggy rot, and processed most of the zucchini to be frozen and later used in baking. While Paul was out for his Sunday long-run, I headed into town to see if my favourite organic farmer had any produce out. He did! Mostly peppers, but the variety! Green bell peppers, jalapeno, red hot cherry bomb, and something they had thought was going to be an Italian pickling pepper but ended up being bright multicoloured streaked peppers, some mild, some hot. I grabbed a bag of green peppers and a bag of the jalapenos, and then started heading back. It was then that I noticed another little farm on the side of the road with a hand painted sign advertising u-pick pumpkins. I pulled into their driveway and saw the pumpkin patch on my right, and a little covered stand with a drop box and a sign that said, "all pumpkins $5" on my left. I looked into my wallet and realized I only had a $20 bill, or a cheque. After a moment of contemplating how they might feel about me leaving a cheque for a couple of pumpkins, I just up and decided I'd get four. So I slogged into the soggy pumpkin patch, and spent about five minutes wandering around in the rain trying to decide on the four most perfect pumpkins, and then called my mom and told her not to buy any canned pumpkin for the Thanksgiving pies.
Two of the pumpkins have been chunked up, peeled, steamed, pureed, strained, and turned into pies. The other two are waiting to be processed - they will be roasted and then the flesh scraped out of the skins and pureed - I realized after the fact that this would be much less time consuming - and the pumpkin puree will be portioned and added to the collection of grated zucchini, roasted, skinned, and seeded jalapeno puree, and blackberries we've got in our freezer.
I love knowing exactly where my food came from. Remembering the rainy day I picked the pumpkins, chatting with the farmer who grew the adorable baby eggplants (I'll post pictures, you'll see) and the awesome jalapenos. I know I could have spent $20 on canned pumpkin from the supermarket and it would probably have been more pumpkin and definitely less work, but I supported a local family farm, I got to see and choose my pumpkins, I know how nutrient rich they are, and I reduced carbon emissions and packaging while I was at it.
Last week I volunteered at the UBC farm helping out with the fall harvest. We harvested over 500lbs of butternut squash (some had been harvested the day before, so their crop must have been over 1000lbs) and then scrubbed them clean and dunked them in a 10% bleach solution to eliminate any fungus or mold spores so they could be stored in the greenhouse and wouldn't contaminate any other produce. It was a sunny day October day and I got to hang out in the fields and then by the farm hut and chat with an agroecology student who actually lives on the farm, and a hkin student who wandered around in bare feet and wore a straw hat with flowers stuck in it. It was an awesome day, and I left with hands raw from the bleach, a sore back from lugging crates of produce around, and a backpack full of butternut squash which had been gnawed on by rodents so was unsaleable at market, but still perfectly fine for eating. It made awesome soup. I think I'll definitely go back and volunteer some more at the farm - it's such an oasis, I didn't even feel like I was in the city, and I think it will fulfill that getting my hands dirty and being connected with food part of me that has been missing in the city.
Eat local!
I was lucky enough to read the book while I was on my summer holidays, where we grow quite a lot of food on our property. All I had to do most days was trundle down the terraced garden and poke around to see if I could find any potatoes in the potato patch, if any of the yellow zucchini was big enough for picking, if any beets were crowning through the soil announcing their readiness for harvest. I could pick peppery arugula, lettuce, and nasturtium blossoms for a salad. Beans, peas, plums, apples, and blackberries also grow on the property. Many things we didn't grow ourselves could be found from the little (9 acre) organic farm a short trek into town, where the stunning produce (I've been banned from further discussion on the adorableness of his eggplants) is simply bunched and priced and laid out in a roadside booth with a drop box for cash or cheques. Organic free range eggs could be found in a variety of driveways where families simply have chickens hanging out in their back yards and sell whatever they don't consume themselves. While I'm not much of an egg person normally, I ate these eggs nearly every day (the local protein source) and they tasted like no egg I've ever had out of a supermarket box. I was on the five mile diet(give or take), and loving every moment of it.
Coming back to the city was depressing, but I've tried my best to keep up with the local food. One rainy weekend Paul and I headed back to Gibsons for some R&R, and much to my delight I discovered we still had zucchini and beans growing. I harvested everything, knowing that whatever I left behind would soon succumb to autumns soggy rot, and processed most of the zucchini to be frozen and later used in baking. While Paul was out for his Sunday long-run, I headed into town to see if my favourite organic farmer had any produce out. He did! Mostly peppers, but the variety! Green bell peppers, jalapeno, red hot cherry bomb, and something they had thought was going to be an Italian pickling pepper but ended up being bright multicoloured streaked peppers, some mild, some hot. I grabbed a bag of green peppers and a bag of the jalapenos, and then started heading back. It was then that I noticed another little farm on the side of the road with a hand painted sign advertising u-pick pumpkins. I pulled into their driveway and saw the pumpkin patch on my right, and a little covered stand with a drop box and a sign that said, "all pumpkins $5" on my left. I looked into my wallet and realized I only had a $20 bill, or a cheque. After a moment of contemplating how they might feel about me leaving a cheque for a couple of pumpkins, I just up and decided I'd get four. So I slogged into the soggy pumpkin patch, and spent about five minutes wandering around in the rain trying to decide on the four most perfect pumpkins, and then called my mom and told her not to buy any canned pumpkin for the Thanksgiving pies.
Two of the pumpkins have been chunked up, peeled, steamed, pureed, strained, and turned into pies. The other two are waiting to be processed - they will be roasted and then the flesh scraped out of the skins and pureed - I realized after the fact that this would be much less time consuming - and the pumpkin puree will be portioned and added to the collection of grated zucchini, roasted, skinned, and seeded jalapeno puree, and blackberries we've got in our freezer.
I love knowing exactly where my food came from. Remembering the rainy day I picked the pumpkins, chatting with the farmer who grew the adorable baby eggplants (I'll post pictures, you'll see) and the awesome jalapenos. I know I could have spent $20 on canned pumpkin from the supermarket and it would probably have been more pumpkin and definitely less work, but I supported a local family farm, I got to see and choose my pumpkins, I know how nutrient rich they are, and I reduced carbon emissions and packaging while I was at it.
Last week I volunteered at the UBC farm helping out with the fall harvest. We harvested over 500lbs of butternut squash (some had been harvested the day before, so their crop must have been over 1000lbs) and then scrubbed them clean and dunked them in a 10% bleach solution to eliminate any fungus or mold spores so they could be stored in the greenhouse and wouldn't contaminate any other produce. It was a sunny day October day and I got to hang out in the fields and then by the farm hut and chat with an agroecology student who actually lives on the farm, and a hkin student who wandered around in bare feet and wore a straw hat with flowers stuck in it. It was an awesome day, and I left with hands raw from the bleach, a sore back from lugging crates of produce around, and a backpack full of butternut squash which had been gnawed on by rodents so was unsaleable at market, but still perfectly fine for eating. It made awesome soup. I think I'll definitely go back and volunteer some more at the farm - it's such an oasis, I didn't even feel like I was in the city, and I think it will fulfill that getting my hands dirty and being connected with food part of me that has been missing in the city.
Eat local!
Thursday, October 04, 2007
staying out of the red
September has come and gone faster than I ever thought possible. And that 'summer' we supposedly had? Feels like a million miles away.
I was worried about September and the financial burden I knew it would be, but I'm happy to report that I managed to get through and pay my rent, car payment, car insurance, tuition, textbooks, misc bills, and actually live a little all without going into the red. This is thanks mostly to the awesome under the table business I've got going on the side, and the rate at which it continues to grow while seeing a steady stream of return business. With out the biz I wouldn't be able to afford any of the little extras. Huge props go to my littlest sis (who is considerably taller than me), Pamela, who helped get it all started and is my biggest source of free advertising.
So to celebrate making it through the month, and also cause I've got a few peeps who need a visit, I've been on the lookout for cheap flights to Calgary. I was checking flights every day for a couple of weeks, watching the price go up and down and up and down and up and down and down and down and OMFG I'VE NEVER SEEN PRICES THIS LOW!!! BOOK!! BOOK!! BOOK!! And since I booked I've been watching the prices every day go up and stay up, and am satisfied that the deal I got is the best deal of all time. Good things come to those who wait.
Now I have to go deal with my pumpkins . . .
I was worried about September and the financial burden I knew it would be, but I'm happy to report that I managed to get through and pay my rent, car payment, car insurance, tuition, textbooks, misc bills, and actually live a little all without going into the red. This is thanks mostly to the awesome under the table business I've got going on the side, and the rate at which it continues to grow while seeing a steady stream of return business. With out the biz I wouldn't be able to afford any of the little extras. Huge props go to my littlest sis (who is considerably taller than me), Pamela, who helped get it all started and is my biggest source of free advertising.
So to celebrate making it through the month, and also cause I've got a few peeps who need a visit, I've been on the lookout for cheap flights to Calgary. I was checking flights every day for a couple of weeks, watching the price go up and down and up and down and up and down and down and down and OMFG I'VE NEVER SEEN PRICES THIS LOW!!! BOOK!! BOOK!! BOOK!! And since I booked I've been watching the prices every day go up and stay up, and am satisfied that the deal I got is the best deal of all time. Good things come to those who wait.
Now I have to go deal with my pumpkins . . .
Saturday, September 29, 2007
love, life, and the institute of marriage
I spoke last night with an old friend, whose phone calls I have, unfortunately, been terrible at returning. Finally connecting, he told me, among other things, he is splitting with his wife. This means the first three friends of mine to marry are now also the first three friends of mine to divorce. This is an unsettling trend.
Paul and I have been together over four years now, and while we have no plans to marry, neither do we have plans to not be together forever. We know several couples who have been together for a shorter (sometimes significantly) period of time than we, who are married - are those relationships more valid than ours? It depends on who you ask. I've certainly felt the 'unmarried shun' from some people, like the invitations addressed to 'Paul and Guest' (what, you think he's going to bring someone other than his common-law partner?), or the uncle of mine who didn't bother to include a picture of Paul on the family tree wall at a family reunion (not that Paul minded - I quite frankly would have liked to escape the wall myself).
Then there was my mother, who, when we made a comment about how the uber catholic grandparents would have been happy only if we had slept in seperate tents while camping, said, "even now that you're married?", and when I reminded her that we weren't, said, "oh yeah. I just feel like you are.".
I know being married is no more a guarantee of longevity in a relationship than not being married isn't, my first three friends to wed a perfect example. I know I don't need other people to validate the bond between Paul and I, and I know a piece of jewellery or a certificate isn't going to increase the strength of that bond. We don't need to stand in front of a crowd of people and profess our love in order for it to be real, but incase our lack of matrimonial status is confusing for any of you, here it is, pure and simple; I love Paul. And Billywilly. And the Bogowogo Man.
Paul and I have been together over four years now, and while we have no plans to marry, neither do we have plans to not be together forever. We know several couples who have been together for a shorter (sometimes significantly) period of time than we, who are married - are those relationships more valid than ours? It depends on who you ask. I've certainly felt the 'unmarried shun' from some people, like the invitations addressed to 'Paul and Guest' (what, you think he's going to bring someone other than his common-law partner?), or the uncle of mine who didn't bother to include a picture of Paul on the family tree wall at a family reunion (not that Paul minded - I quite frankly would have liked to escape the wall myself).
Then there was my mother, who, when we made a comment about how the uber catholic grandparents would have been happy only if we had slept in seperate tents while camping, said, "even now that you're married?", and when I reminded her that we weren't, said, "oh yeah. I just feel like you are.".
I know being married is no more a guarantee of longevity in a relationship than not being married isn't, my first three friends to wed a perfect example. I know I don't need other people to validate the bond between Paul and I, and I know a piece of jewellery or a certificate isn't going to increase the strength of that bond. We don't need to stand in front of a crowd of people and profess our love in order for it to be real, but incase our lack of matrimonial status is confusing for any of you, here it is, pure and simple; I love Paul. And Billywilly. And the Bogowogo Man.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
you'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best . . .
I keep thinking about doing a blog update, but couldn't seem to find the time, until now. I'm recovering from my first cold in over a year which has really flattened me more than I thought it would. The last two nights I went to bed at 7:30 and 9pm respectively, and I think one more night of solid sleep may get me back on my feet.
So, what's been going on? Well . . .
I've started classes at UBC. It's such a different experience than the last three years I've been taking classes at Langara. I feel generally much more relaxed. It's very serene to finish work and then leisurely stroll to classes in buildings I can literally see from work - much different than the mad dash across town, eating while driving, parking then running to class and maybe getting there on time. I don't think I realized how hard that was on me until I stopped doing it. I have, however, developed a bad habit of just working right up until 5 min before my class starts, which means I'm putting in close to an hour of overtime each day. I need to stop doing that. I also need to stop walking back to my office after class, where I inevitably get stopped and asked questions and end up working for another 1/2 hour or so.
The department I'm in is small, only about 1,200 including undergrad and graduate students. It is close knit, and a lot of work is put in to fostering a sense of community - weekly dinners where you hang out with fellow students and professors being just one example. I feel awesome about being in this department, it feels like the right fit, like coming home.
Sitting in lecture halls with 200 - 350 other students, rather than in small classrooms with 40 students max still feels bizarre to me. And I'm paying twice as much for this? Mmmmkay.
So what else?
I got a haircut which I hate. I think there were two problems; my hairdresser and I had our wires crossed when we were discussing the cut, and she was in a rush to get out of there. I was her last appointment of the day, and the person who went before me changed her mind about what she wanted half way through her cut, meaning I was sitting with dripping wet hair waiting for my turn for nearly an hour. Also meaning that my hairdresser, who just returned from mat leave, ended up working much later than she was supposed to and wanted to get the hell out of there and get home to her baby. Anyways, the result is hideous to me. A week has gone by and I still hate it. To me it looks like I had short hair which grew out badly. Anyways, it'll grow and I'll get over it. Pictures will NOT be posted.
And also?
Paul and I celebrated our fourth anniversary together! We did it up proper and went out for a fancy dinner, which thanks to a generous gift certificate from my old calculus tutor, Muna, didn't really break the bank at all. Afterwards we went out dancing and had an awesome time. Good times had by all.
That's pretty much it. Back to studying I go. Chemistry.
So, what's been going on? Well . . .
I've started classes at UBC. It's such a different experience than the last three years I've been taking classes at Langara. I feel generally much more relaxed. It's very serene to finish work and then leisurely stroll to classes in buildings I can literally see from work - much different than the mad dash across town, eating while driving, parking then running to class and maybe getting there on time. I don't think I realized how hard that was on me until I stopped doing it. I have, however, developed a bad habit of just working right up until 5 min before my class starts, which means I'm putting in close to an hour of overtime each day. I need to stop doing that. I also need to stop walking back to my office after class, where I inevitably get stopped and asked questions and end up working for another 1/2 hour or so.
The department I'm in is small, only about 1,200 including undergrad and graduate students. It is close knit, and a lot of work is put in to fostering a sense of community - weekly dinners where you hang out with fellow students and professors being just one example. I feel awesome about being in this department, it feels like the right fit, like coming home.
Sitting in lecture halls with 200 - 350 other students, rather than in small classrooms with 40 students max still feels bizarre to me. And I'm paying twice as much for this? Mmmmkay.
So what else?
I got a haircut which I hate. I think there were two problems; my hairdresser and I had our wires crossed when we were discussing the cut, and she was in a rush to get out of there. I was her last appointment of the day, and the person who went before me changed her mind about what she wanted half way through her cut, meaning I was sitting with dripping wet hair waiting for my turn for nearly an hour. Also meaning that my hairdresser, who just returned from mat leave, ended up working much later than she was supposed to and wanted to get the hell out of there and get home to her baby. Anyways, the result is hideous to me. A week has gone by and I still hate it. To me it looks like I had short hair which grew out badly. Anyways, it'll grow and I'll get over it. Pictures will NOT be posted.
And also?
Paul and I celebrated our fourth anniversary together! We did it up proper and went out for a fancy dinner, which thanks to a generous gift certificate from my old calculus tutor, Muna, didn't really break the bank at all. Afterwards we went out dancing and had an awesome time. Good times had by all.
That's pretty much it. Back to studying I go. Chemistry.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
glorious summer holidays
Aaaaaahhhh, the long awaited blog update . . .
The calculus exam over, Playland conquered, and rest and relaxation on the menu, we packed up and headed to the blissfully tranquil Sunshine Coast. The majority of our time was spent chilling at our property on Soames Point, just a few km away from Gibsons, BC. My family has an acre of waterfront property (which my Grandfather had the foresight to buy a long, long time ago, athough he did not, unfortunately, buy the property next door due to it's hefty pricetag of $500.00) which has awesome views of the mountains, harbour seals slapping away out front, easy beach access, good training grounds for Paul, great vegetable gardens, fruit trees, blackberries . . . needless to say, I wish I was still there. I didn't accomplish much, other than reading three books; the final installment of the Harry Potter series, the 100 Mile Diet (which should be required reading for every human being), and Charlotte's Web. We also picked more blackberries than will fit in our freezer (most are still in the deepfreeze at the cabin), drank copious amounts of beer, and ate more doughnuts than I'd care to admit. I woke up every morning and made a cup of tea, then wandered down the terraced garden to check on which vegetables had ripened overnight; peas, beans, beets, zucchini, a variety of lettuces, potatoes, lots of fresh herbs. What didn't come from the garden came from a neighbour's garden, or from the organic farm just past town.
We took a two day respite from the cabin to travel further up the coast than we'd been before. We headed off to Earl's Cove (I drove, and Paul rode his bike the 84km of non-stop hills) where we hopped on another ferry and glided into some really unspoiled paradise. After just less than an hour on the ferry we arrived in Saltery Bay, where we camped for two nights. It was so fantastically awesome, so relaxing, so beautiful, I felt overwhelmed with joy on a number of occassions. We pimped up our camping gear with a new delux queen-sized air mattress, so the sleeps were perhaps more comfy than in our bed at home.
This vacation, along with some choice reading material, has really made me desperately want to live somewhere I can grow things. Paul and I had some pretty serious talks about the possibility of living on the coast in the future, and either making work happen from there or commuting to town. We can figure out the logistics later.
Some pictures of the glorious holiday:
The view from the house.
On the ferry to Saltery Bay.
A feat of extreme engineering - our campsite.
Some wine and cheese on the water at Saltery Bay.
Soooo gorgeous!
Blackberries!
Pie!
And the cutest dog in the entire universe.
The calculus exam over, Playland conquered, and rest and relaxation on the menu, we packed up and headed to the blissfully tranquil Sunshine Coast. The majority of our time was spent chilling at our property on Soames Point, just a few km away from Gibsons, BC. My family has an acre of waterfront property (which my Grandfather had the foresight to buy a long, long time ago, athough he did not, unfortunately, buy the property next door due to it's hefty pricetag of $500.00) which has awesome views of the mountains, harbour seals slapping away out front, easy beach access, good training grounds for Paul, great vegetable gardens, fruit trees, blackberries . . . needless to say, I wish I was still there. I didn't accomplish much, other than reading three books; the final installment of the Harry Potter series, the 100 Mile Diet (which should be required reading for every human being), and Charlotte's Web. We also picked more blackberries than will fit in our freezer (most are still in the deepfreeze at the cabin), drank copious amounts of beer, and ate more doughnuts than I'd care to admit. I woke up every morning and made a cup of tea, then wandered down the terraced garden to check on which vegetables had ripened overnight; peas, beans, beets, zucchini, a variety of lettuces, potatoes, lots of fresh herbs. What didn't come from the garden came from a neighbour's garden, or from the organic farm just past town.
We took a two day respite from the cabin to travel further up the coast than we'd been before. We headed off to Earl's Cove (I drove, and Paul rode his bike the 84km of non-stop hills) where we hopped on another ferry and glided into some really unspoiled paradise. After just less than an hour on the ferry we arrived in Saltery Bay, where we camped for two nights. It was so fantastically awesome, so relaxing, so beautiful, I felt overwhelmed with joy on a number of occassions. We pimped up our camping gear with a new delux queen-sized air mattress, so the sleeps were perhaps more comfy than in our bed at home.
This vacation, along with some choice reading material, has really made me desperately want to live somewhere I can grow things. Paul and I had some pretty serious talks about the possibility of living on the coast in the future, and either making work happen from there or commuting to town. We can figure out the logistics later.
Some pictures of the glorious holiday:
The view from the house.
On the ferry to Saltery Bay.
A feat of extreme engineering - our campsite.
Some wine and cheese on the water at Saltery Bay.
Soooo gorgeous!
Blackberries!
Pie!
And the cutest dog in the entire universe.
Friday, August 17, 2007
girl vs math - it's a draw
I remember practicing my multiplication tables with my dad when I was little. He made up flash cards with problems on each side, we'd sit in the living room and practice them each night. Before too long, I realized that the answers were written on the opposite side of the card; printed oh so faintly in pencil, there they were. Once I figured the system out, it was easy enough to convince him I knew what I was doing, so I didn't have to practice so much any more. I somehow fumbled through most of highschool math without ever really getting a firm grasp on the basics. I flunked math 12 in glorious style, really failing it good and solid - none of this 49% bullshit. It didn't matter anyways, I was going into fine arts, I didn't need math, so I systematically dismantled my calculator outside on the field behind the school at the end of grade 12, never looking back.
Not, that is, until over a decade later when I made the foolish decision to go back to school and pursue a science degree. A science degree? What the heck was I thinking? Face to face with my old nemesis, I had two choices: write a math proficiency test and get placed somewhere in the math program, or start at the beginning. I chose the latter. Starting at the beginning meant I had the opportunity to relearn the basics, and I do mean basics. My first classes were about adding and subtracting and multiplication and long division. No calculators allowed. I took a total of seven math courses spanning from roughly grade four all the way to calc II. I remember a point near the beginning where I was thinking to myself what complicated math I was up to, and my tutor asked if she could buy my textbook when the course was done. She thought it had good exercises she'd like to use for her grade 9 students. Grade 9. There were several points where we learned something so bizarre I thought surely this wasn't in the highschool curriculum when I went through it, but I was informed otherwise by people in the know. Apparently I have some serious mental blocks when it comes to highschool.
The last 12 months I ventured further into math than ever before. Past all the upgrading, past highschool, for the first time with a firm grasp on the basics I faced the dreaded calculus. Calculus to me is like puzzles - sudoku that mean people make you do. I actually quite enjoyed differential calculus, having a fantastic teacher who actually cared about her students and spent time practicing and when she looked out into the class and saw puzzled faces stopped what she was doing and went over it time and time again until people got it. Who got upset when her students didn't do well on tests and quizzes, and asked questions like, 'Is it me? How can I help you do well on this?' and had this fantastically dry eastern-European sense of humour and made each and every class a pleasure to attend. That is high praise for a math teacher coming from a math-hater like me. I enjoyed each and every class. Integral calculus was a whole nother can of worms. Couple the much more difficult and fast paced nature of integral calculus with a young arrogant instructor and chuck that mix into a class that goes all the summer long. Not enjoyable at all. I'm not going to dwell on this jackass or all of the ridiculous things he would say and do, or how he whipped through the material so fast he actually stopped teaching (if you can call what he was doing that at all) three weeks before classes ended, ceremoniously smashed all of the chalk in the room and considered his job done. No, I'm not going to dwell on it, but rest assured the head of the math department will be getting some constructive feedback from me pretty soon.
What I will say is that I made it. I look back on all this math like I had a starring role in some sort of epic war movie. I fought a lot of battles, and sure, I got my ass kicked along the way. I'm coming out of it with broken bones, tired spirit, and bruises-a-many, but I made it. I would like to thank three individuals without whom I surely would have perished:
First off, my mom, who when she saw me struggling and my stress level elevating, offered to pay for a tutor. I never would have been able to pay for a tutor myself, and I wouldn't have made it without the tutor. My mother is a giving and generous soul, and I thank her from the bottom of my heart.
Secondly, Muna, my tutor. Muna first came into my life when I was in grade 9 and she was a student teacher in our math class. We (not me specifically) were so mean to her, she finished her education program but decided not to become a teacher. She told me the experience was so horrible that had her visa allowed it, she would have dropped out of the program. She has three engineering degrees and an education degree, and tutors people in all levels of highschool and university math, chemistry, and physics. She is not only brilliant at those three things, but has a gift for figuring out sources of confusion and teaching the truly confused. She is a wonderful teacher in a one-on-one setting. Muna told me last year she planned on working only until the end of this school year, and then packing up and moving to Nelson with her husband, seeking cleaner air and tranquility. I had this one last calculus class to get through, and she said she brought me this far, she didn't feel right about leaving me with just one class to go, so she stayed in the city a couple of months later than she had originally intended just for me. She is truly one of the most wonderful people I have ever had the privilege of getting to know - I would have wanted to spend an hour and a half with her each week math or no math. I won't miss the math, but I will miss Muna.
Last, but certainly not least, comes Paul. This sweet man of mine is a math genius, and without him at home, my frustration level would have been exponentially higher. He was endlessly patient with me, checking my work, pointing out problems, explaining the laws of ln for the gazillionth time. He put up with multiple math-related temper tantrums, tears, throwing of textbooks and other irrational behaviour. He took the pencil out of my hand and replaced it with glass of wine when he knew I'd had enough, and he stayed out of my way when he knew that was best. In the last weeks he did all of the cooking and cleaning, and didn't take it personally when I was spazzing out. And he stayed true to himself, harassing me and playing practical jokes intermittently at inappropriate times. I truly couldn't have done it without him.
Not, that is, until over a decade later when I made the foolish decision to go back to school and pursue a science degree. A science degree? What the heck was I thinking? Face to face with my old nemesis, I had two choices: write a math proficiency test and get placed somewhere in the math program, or start at the beginning. I chose the latter. Starting at the beginning meant I had the opportunity to relearn the basics, and I do mean basics. My first classes were about adding and subtracting and multiplication and long division. No calculators allowed. I took a total of seven math courses spanning from roughly grade four all the way to calc II. I remember a point near the beginning where I was thinking to myself what complicated math I was up to, and my tutor asked if she could buy my textbook when the course was done. She thought it had good exercises she'd like to use for her grade 9 students. Grade 9. There were several points where we learned something so bizarre I thought surely this wasn't in the highschool curriculum when I went through it, but I was informed otherwise by people in the know. Apparently I have some serious mental blocks when it comes to highschool.
The last 12 months I ventured further into math than ever before. Past all the upgrading, past highschool, for the first time with a firm grasp on the basics I faced the dreaded calculus. Calculus to me is like puzzles - sudoku that mean people make you do. I actually quite enjoyed differential calculus, having a fantastic teacher who actually cared about her students and spent time practicing and when she looked out into the class and saw puzzled faces stopped what she was doing and went over it time and time again until people got it. Who got upset when her students didn't do well on tests and quizzes, and asked questions like, 'Is it me? How can I help you do well on this?' and had this fantastically dry eastern-European sense of humour and made each and every class a pleasure to attend. That is high praise for a math teacher coming from a math-hater like me. I enjoyed each and every class. Integral calculus was a whole nother can of worms. Couple the much more difficult and fast paced nature of integral calculus with a young arrogant instructor and chuck that mix into a class that goes all the summer long. Not enjoyable at all. I'm not going to dwell on this jackass or all of the ridiculous things he would say and do, or how he whipped through the material so fast he actually stopped teaching (if you can call what he was doing that at all) three weeks before classes ended, ceremoniously smashed all of the chalk in the room and considered his job done. No, I'm not going to dwell on it, but rest assured the head of the math department will be getting some constructive feedback from me pretty soon.
What I will say is that I made it. I look back on all this math like I had a starring role in some sort of epic war movie. I fought a lot of battles, and sure, I got my ass kicked along the way. I'm coming out of it with broken bones, tired spirit, and bruises-a-many, but I made it. I would like to thank three individuals without whom I surely would have perished:
First off, my mom, who when she saw me struggling and my stress level elevating, offered to pay for a tutor. I never would have been able to pay for a tutor myself, and I wouldn't have made it without the tutor. My mother is a giving and generous soul, and I thank her from the bottom of my heart.
Secondly, Muna, my tutor. Muna first came into my life when I was in grade 9 and she was a student teacher in our math class. We (not me specifically) were so mean to her, she finished her education program but decided not to become a teacher. She told me the experience was so horrible that had her visa allowed it, she would have dropped out of the program. She has three engineering degrees and an education degree, and tutors people in all levels of highschool and university math, chemistry, and physics. She is not only brilliant at those three things, but has a gift for figuring out sources of confusion and teaching the truly confused. She is a wonderful teacher in a one-on-one setting. Muna told me last year she planned on working only until the end of this school year, and then packing up and moving to Nelson with her husband, seeking cleaner air and tranquility. I had this one last calculus class to get through, and she said she brought me this far, she didn't feel right about leaving me with just one class to go, so she stayed in the city a couple of months later than she had originally intended just for me. She is truly one of the most wonderful people I have ever had the privilege of getting to know - I would have wanted to spend an hour and a half with her each week math or no math. I won't miss the math, but I will miss Muna.
Last, but certainly not least, comes Paul. This sweet man of mine is a math genius, and without him at home, my frustration level would have been exponentially higher. He was endlessly patient with me, checking my work, pointing out problems, explaining the laws of ln for the gazillionth time. He put up with multiple math-related temper tantrums, tears, throwing of textbooks and other irrational behaviour. He took the pencil out of my hand and replaced it with glass of wine when he knew I'd had enough, and he stayed out of my way when he knew that was best. In the last weeks he did all of the cooking and cleaning, and didn't take it personally when I was spazzing out. And he stayed true to himself, harassing me and playing practical jokes intermittently at inappropriate times. I truly couldn't have done it without him.
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