Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Rejecting the Null Hypothesis

One of the IT guys at work dropped by my office today, leaned in the doorway, flashed a conspirational grin, and was all like, "So I hear you like bacon."

And, uh... that was pretty much it. I was like, "Ummm, yep. Sure do." Then we chatted about the weather a bit. After he left I got to thinking, is that seriously the kind of thing that passes for gossip around here? I mean, I've heard some lame rumours about myself in my time, but this one takes lameness gold. Plus it's completely true. No rumour worth its salt is actually true. Who doesn't like bacon?

It's an unbelievably straight-laced crowd I work with. Guess that explains why Casual Hump Day never really took off the way I had expected. I haven't had so much as a Casual Ass Pinch, and I've been around for a lot of Wednesdays. (Of course, the H0 isn't quite as tidy, and mostly involves my being left out of loads of steamy gossip and covert cavorting, but that's clearly 99.9% unpossible so I'm going to go ahead and - very scientifically - ignore the idea altogether.)

You know, I don't watch a lot of TV, but I'm aware that there are all sorts of desperate housewives, oversexed-neurotic housewives, lonely-anxious-dissatisfied housewives, drug-dealing frappe-drinking housewives - any number of variations out there on the dysfunctional housewife theme. I was actually beginning to feel a little dysfunctional myself, for not having some charming batch of neuroses to call my own. At first I thought, what the hell is wrong with all these housewives? Stop the drama, ladies, you're giving the rest of us a complex! But now I'm wondering how much I'm actually going to enjoy living the alternative: apron-wearing, bacon-eating housewife? Working part-time, frequently-on-a-diet housewife? Two words for you: Bo-ring. They don't make sitcoms out of that, my friends.

So is this what life is really going to be like? Is this what I signed up for? Forty years of Casual Hump Day meaning nothing more than "wearing jeans on Wednesdays"? Hey, maybe if I'm lucky, next week someone will accuse me of liking something I don't like, or only marginally like, like - I don't know - salad. Maybe I can work up a good rage over salad and really get the ol' rumour mill turning:

"You... you silly goose! I never liked salad, and I never will! Salad is for hamsters and anorexics, and I am neither of those things! Now, let's talk about something billable!"

That's me, always making the most of what I've got to work with. Drama on a budget. I wonder if it's up CBC's alley...

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Health Spending

You may have already noticed by now, but I just love formulating pseudoscientific explanations for things. It's actually one of the biggest perks of my current occupation - proving once again massage benefits aren't the only reason I go to work.

Though I have always felt that old 'sex versus chocolate' question was a moot point - how about massage versus ice cream? Oooh, I get tingles of terror just thinking about being made to choose! But before I get too frightened, I simply remind myself there is a Dairy Queen situated directly adjacent to my massage therapist's office, and my world is righted.

Why, it was just yesterday when I last lay on a massage table, being pummelled into a blissfully gelatinous state while visions of dilly bars danced in my head. When my time was up, I forked over my (fully refundable!) eighty bucks and oozed straight over to DQ. My loonies were practically in the register when I recalled a conversation I'd had with DH earlier in the week - and found I suddenly couldn't stomach the thought of eating all those creamy little calories.

I know, terrible, right? Ice cream is like, my favourite food group. What could he have said to upset me so? Well, let me tell you: the bastard told me I was immense. Immense! What kind of horrible dumbass tells his delicate flower of a wife that she is immense? I didn't know whether to burst into tears or punch him in the face.

And it's a good thing the indecision slowed me down, because what he actually said was 'a mess'.

Which was true - I was cooking several messy things at once and was thoroughly spattered with flour, whipping cream and pasta sauce. But it got me thinking - well, a couple of things, really. First of all, that it's a good thing I always wear an apron, and secondly, that if you had a really quality comeback, you wouldn't have to resort to assaulting people every time they called you immense.

I put on my best thinking panties, and the results from my quest are in. Minions, I present for your consideration: three previously untapped, solidly pseudo-scientific explanations for the next time anyone suggests you might be anything less than perfectly willowy.

"It's a superior mirage, dumbass - there's a really strong inversion layer today."
"You dumbass, haven't you ever heard of thermal expansion due to global warming?"
"I'm in my perigee phase. Dumbass."

Enjoy. I'm heading out for a dipped cone.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Take It or Leave It

Munchkins bundled up and playing outside - check. Apron on - check. Now, what the heck should I make for supper tonight? Salmon patties? Barf. Tacos? Shit, no lettuce. Soup? Too much chopping. Hmm. I'll bet checking out Facebook for a while would help. Hello, glass of wine, shall we update our status?


"Mom, we're freezing. Can we come in now?"

"Absolutely! Hey, get your damn snowy boots off the floor."

"Sorry! What's for supper?"

"Oooh, it's the house special tonight, kids! Bowl of Raisin Bran! Suuuuper exciting! "

"Moooommm, that's all you made? We were playing outside for, like, an hour."

"Actually, it was an hour and a half. But for your ungrateful little palate I've also created the delectable side dishes of Kick in the Ass and Go to Your Room. Would you care to partake, Your Highness?"

Grumble, grumble. "No."

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Thanks, Mom, I love Raisin Bran!"

"That's the spirit, dear. If you eat all your supper you can have a bowl of Mini Wheats for dessert."

Now, back to kicking some Wordscraper ass...