Archive for February, 2008

Milk…it doesn’t do a body good.

I just found this article on line and had to post it here.  I’m neither “anti-milk” or “pro-homeopathic” but I really appreciated this article.  Although I occasionally drink milk from time to time (mostly whenever Ben makes french toast) I usually go months without drinking any.  I don’t particularly like the taste of milk and I’ve never understood why people think it’s so good for you.  Did you know that humans are the only mammals that continue to drink milk after they’ve been weaned?  And it’s not even human milk, it’s cow milk!  Other than taste, which I guess some obviously deranged people like, (Hi George!) what do we drink it for?  Calcium?  Take a vitamin. 

I just don’t get it.  But I could never adequately explain why I felt the push to drink milk on a consistent basis was stupid and pointless or why people have been fooled for so long into thinking it’s good for you.  I consider my occasional glasses of milk to be on the same level as my occasional glasses of Coca-cola.  Not all that good for you but sometimes, ya just gotta have some.  This article helps explain my feelings on it:

We hear it every day, drink your milk, and make sure you have two glasses per day and so on. We are not as dumb as we look, are we? Do we really believe that this stuff is good for us? Think about it, we are taking milk from another species and drinking it. What do you think it would look like if cows drank human’s milk and dogs drank raccoons’ milk or goats drank cats’ milk? I think it would look bizarre to say the least.I want to shed some light on this subject. Among children the problems that are generally associated with milk consumption are allergies, ear and tonsil infections, bedwetting, asthma, intestinal bleeding, and colic and childhood diabetes. In adults, the problems are centered more around heart disease, arthritis, allergies, sinusitis, and the more serious questions of leukemia, lymphoma and cancer.

The harmful components of cow’s milk include all the major parts of it, as well as some minor elements. Lactose is a sugar meant for babies, but it is generally harmful to adults. The proteins in cow’s milk are different from human milk proteins and cause problems of digestion, intolerance, impaired absorption of other nutrients, and autoimmune reactions. Few of the proteins meant for baby cows are found naturally in human mother’s milk, and none is found in any natural adult human food. Even the high protein content in cow’s milk creates problems. Human babies need the saturated fats and cholesterol in mother’s milk. Bovine milk fat is not appropriately composed for human babies and is only deleterious to the health of children and adults.

Many nutrition experts such as Harvard’s Dr. Walter Willett, suggest dairy products should not even be a featured on the food group pyramid at all. We hear it every day, we need to drink milk so we will have strong bones. It is true that it may be better to drink than the most consumed cola drink on the market but not by much. In the end, milk can actually start deteriorating your bones and cause the very same osteoporosis the experts were telling you for years it was going to prevent.

Dr. T. Colin Campbell, PhD, a prestigious nutritional biochemist at Cornell University, with some of his research has concluded that cow’s milk may not even do what it is supposed to do best - build strong bones, since recent studies suggest that humans may need less calcium for strong bones than was once believed. Additionally, other foods, including various vegetables and legumes, may be a better source than cow’s milk. If you think about it, adult cows do not drink milk and they have strong bones.

Doctor Campbell also found links to liver cancer in persons getting more than 10% of their daily protein from milk protein. This alone should get you to pour what you have left sitting in your refrigerator, down the sink.

Let us face it, if something has been marketed as being a good thing to the point where there is hundreds of millions in advertising dollars put into the marketing campaigns, that should tell you right there that there is something amiss. I have never seen or heard an advertisement for bean sprouts or lima beans.

I am constantly being asked what will my children drink if I do not give them milk. To this, I answer, water, not distilled or reverse osmosis water but good spring water with the minerals still intact. I will tell you that is all they require everything else is just for taste.

I have witnessed repeatedly how well children can overcome certain diagnosed “diseases” to the point of it almost being miraculous just by discontinuing drinking milk. What I am discussing here is the actual drinking of milk, eating cheese, yogurt, or ice cream occasionally does not have the same effects unless you are allergic to it.

http://www.castanet.net/edition/news-story-37556-920-.htm#37556

An offer he had to refuse

I’ve probably mentioned this before but I work in a bad neighbourhood.  We have a lot of homeless people, drug dealers, crack addicts and *ahem* ladies of the evening hanging around our office building.    I can’t tell you just how much fun it is to leave your office at 6pm and have to step over the two people crouched down and blocking the front door of your building as they shoot up.

The other night Ben and Cassie picked me up from work.  I sat down in the front seat, buckled up and said:

Me:  Hi honey.

Ben:  Hello.

Me:  How was your day?

Ben:  Pretty good, and yours?

Me:  Good thanks.

Ben:  I just got propositioned.

Me:  Wha?

Ben:  A young lady just propositioned me in the parking lot.

Me:  giggles madly

Ben:  I think it might have been my fault though.

Me:  Really?

Ben:  Yup.  I stopped at the stop sign and looked down the street, there was a woman standing on the corner and I made eye contact with her.  Then I crossed the street and pulled into the parking lot.

Me:  Baby, making eye contact was your first mistake.

Ben:  Then I told Cassie we were waiting for the girl (when talking to the dogs, Ben refers to me as “the girl”.  I don’t really know why.) and I think she read my lips.  The next thing I know she’s crossed the parking lot and opened the passenger door.

Me:  She opened the door?!?

Ben:  Yup. 

Me:  What happened then.

Ben:  I looked at her and she said:

Lady of the evening:  Hi sweetheart, are you waiting for me?

Ben:  Um, no… I’m sorry I’m not.

Lady of the Evening:  Okay, have a good night.

Ben:  Uh, you too.

Me:  laughs hysterically

Ben:  Then she just walked away.

Me:  Cassie, is this really what happened?

Cassie:  *fart*

Ben:  Cassie!  Bad dog!

Me:  Roll down the window, for the love of all that is holy and pure!  Roll down the damn windows!

Ben:  Yikes, that was a bad one.

Me: What did the dog do when she opened the door?

Ben:  Nothing really.  She was staring at your building door waiting for you to come out and when the woman opened the door she just peered at her, saw it wasn’t you and continued her front door vigilance.

Me:  Was she cute?

Ben:  Uh?  I guess.

Me:  I can’t wait to blog about this.

Ben:  I know.

American Idol Top 12 Girls

So here I sit on the couch watching American Idol and happily plugged in to the world wide web.  Damn I love our laptop.  I really do.  I don’t take nearly enough advantage of the ability to sit my ass on the couch and surf the web.  Seriously.

Can I just share how much of a girl crush I have on Amanda Overmyer (aka the rocker nurse)?  She won my heart completely when, at the very first interview, before she even sang for the judges she shrugged her shoulders and said very plainly “It’ll be good if I make it but it’s all good if I don’t.  I’ve got a pretty good job now.”  How cool is that?  She’s happy if she makes it but perfectly content to enjoy her current job.  That doesn’t happen very often on American Idol. 

She just seriously seems like the kind of girl I would like to hang out with.  We would go for coffee and secretly mock the skinny, blonde girls who wear their designer clothes and carry their designer tiny dogs and only order specialty coffee (the fact that I only order specialty coffee myself would not be mentioned).  She’d compliment my shoes and I’d ask for make up tips and we’d be bestest friends forever.

Because of my complete and utter girl crush it pains me to no end to admit that I hated her performance tonight.  I hated everything about it.  The song, the scatting (which I normally like), the hair (DEAR GOD THE HAIR!), the outfit… EVERYTHING.

I wasn’t super familiar with the song but that wasn’t why I didn’t like it.  My major problem was that I could barely understand a word she sang.  Was she mumbling?  Was that the way it was supposed to sound?  Also - why did they do that to her hair?  WHY?  Listening to her sing that song was like listening to Paula try to do her judging duties when she’s filled to the brim with alcohol and vicodin.  (And is it just me or is Paula even more incoherent in the last two days than she normally is?)

Fortunately for Amanda, I may have hated the performance, but her comment at the end about how the worse part for her was when they forced her to dance after she made the Top 24 and now they keep showing it over and over just strengthened my girl crush.  Cause girlfriend, I totally get that.  Stand in front of 33 million people and three judges (one useless, one drunk/stoned, and one just good old fashioned mean) and be judged for your singing?  No problem.  Dance for the camera?  No thank you sir.

Despite what I felt was a, for lack of a better phrase, piss poor performance by my girlfriend, I’m not too concerned about her being kicked out tomorrow night.  Her past performances have all been strong, she has a good sense of humour and attitude about the whole thing and she’s been just different enough to stand out.  I am, however, concerned about my other girl crush, the plus size model Joanne Borgella (seriously, can that girl’s skin be any more glowy?).  She hasn’t received a lot of air time, she was really nervous tonight and it showed.  I know she can pull it together but I think she’s at serious risk tomorrow night.

 *edited to add - Paula just said one of the contestants was wearing a “dope outfit”.  Dope outfit.   Sigh.

Help me decide

The hair:

The question:

Do I cut it to about shoulder length or do I just leave it and let it keep growing.  I honestly can’t decide.  Help me out blog readers, leave me a commment - do I cut the hair or not?

New breed of rat discovered

Amazingly, scientists have discovered a new breed of rat right here in Canada.

Domestic rats have long been known as excellent pets because of their gentle dispositions, sweet natures, friendly attitudes and their unwillingness to display acts of aggression on their human companions.

However, after extensive research and study (and great personal risk), scientists have discovered a new breed of rats that they have dubbed “rattus vampirus”.

This cousin of the gentle domesticated pet rat is similar in size and appearance to the domesticated rat and in most cases spend their entire lives mimicking the behaviour of the beloved pet rat.  Unfortunately, certain studies have proven that this new breed of rats has, without provocation, displayed terrifying acts of mutilation on their unsuspecting owners.

Scientists have released a photo of a rattus vampirus attacking it’s owner.  As you can see, the rat immediately goes for the most vulnerable area on it’s human - the jugular.  Note the terrified gaze of it’s helpless victim as the rat gnaws mercilessly.

*Note - no ratties or humans were hurt in the taking of this picture.  Although the human was struck with a severe case of the giggles because the rat was tickling her.

** Also “rattus vampirus”?  Totally made up.  Domestic rats are cute and cuddly and rarely go for the jugular.  (they prefer to take their owners down by repeatedly chomping on bare toes)

Further proof that I’m a jerk

Me:  I’m thinking of changing the spelling of my name.

Ben:  Oh really?

Me:  Yup.  I think I’ll spell it Kelley from now on.

Ben:  What about with an I on the end?

Me:  Ugh.  No, I hate that.

Ben:  You could try it with an “IE” at the end.

Me:  Blah.  Even worse!

Ben:  Well, the thing is - I don’t really like the “ey” spelling.

Me:  Oh baby.  What, in our 8 year history together, makes you think that I would care if you like how I spell my name?

 Ben:  Huh.  I’m not sure what I was thinking.  That was a little crazy of me wasn’t it?

Me:  Not just crazy baby - crazy like a rat in a tin shit house crazy. 

Ben:  Fair enough.

I don’t do mornings (also - Terror Level: Pink)

On Friday mornings at 7 Ben plays hockey with other teachers and student alumni.  Having only one vehicle means that I dread Friday mornings because I have to get up extra early and I’ll let you in on a little secret internets, I?  Am not a morning person.  

Friday morning hockey = cranky ass Kelly. 

Ben, who incidentally knew I wasn’t a morning person before he married me, learned very quickly the rules of the morning according to Kelly.  In fact, it took only about a week of marriage before he had the routine down to a science.   Yup, we were one of those crazy couples who didn’t live together before they got married.  In fact, I achieved a great deal of amusement from comments people made when they discovered we weren’t living together before we got married.

“But, but Kelly?  How will you know if you can live with him for the rest of your life if you don’t do a test run first?”

Oh I dunno, I’m just gonna have a little faith in my own ability to decide if this is a person I can live with or not without actually, you know…living with him first.

“Kelly, statistics show that couples who don’t live together before they get married have a higher rate of divorce.”

Really?  Because I read the EXACT OPPOSITE.  Also, the only way Ben is getting out of this marriage is in a coffin because I said “til death do us part” dammit and I meant it.

But back to the business of mornings… Ben, being a rather smart fellow, learned very quickly the do’s and don’t’s of morning life with Kelly.

Do wake Kelly up with only a gentle kiss and a quiet “Time to get up honey”.  - Check

Don’t speak to or look directly at Kelly before she has had a shower. - Check

Don’t bother Kelly with inane comments and questions such as, “I love you dear.” or “How did you sleep?” - Check

Do make compliments about her hair, clothing choice, etc. only if you absolutely mean it because, although not a morning person, her wits are still as keen as a mama tiger protecting her cubs, and if she even doubts for a moment that you are being completely sincere she will do her best to make you sob like a little girl. - Check

Do put the dogs away in their room before she exits the bedroom, remembering her terrible wrath the one time you forgot and Cuda had the nerve to lick her hand in greeting as she was walking by him. - Check

Do respond with gentle good humour and even temperedness when she’s stalking about the house ranting about her lost shoe. - Check

Don’t believe her when, in the car on the way to work she a) swears she doesn’t like you today or b) threatens divorce multiple times or c)  promises she would kick your ass if she wasn’t so tired. -  Check

Do graciously accept her sincere apology that evening on the way home for her unladylike behaviour and bad manners earlier in the morning. - Check

Do pretend to believe her when she promises to be nicer the next morning. - Check

My entire life I’ve been this way.  I think it stems from having bad insomnia through most of my childhood and teen years.  Falling asleep between 3 and 4 and having to get up at 7 for school was not particularly pleasant.  Luckily, as I’ve gotten older the insomnia has improved but I apparently never lost the grumpy morning behaviour.

And the thing is, for the people who don’t know me well, it’s a complete shock for them to see me in the morning.  I’m naturally what you would call a happy, bubbly, doesn’t shut up for one freaking minute person and it can be a bit of a shock when confronted with a silent, sullen version of Kelly.

When I was around 17, two of my mum’s sisters came to visit us from Ontario.  We were living in Alberta at the time and they spent about a week with us.  I gave up my bedroom to my Aunt Irene and slept on a bed in the basement.   My mum, having, at that point, roughly 10 years of experience with grumpy morning Kelly urged my two aunts to avoid talking to me and to give me some space when I was getting ready for school.  Ignoring this rather sage advice, every morning when I emerged from the bowels of the basement they proceeded to lovingly talk (i.e. taunt) to me and make a rather annoying effort to get me to acknowledge their presence.  Finally, one morning they decided to be cheeky and not speak to me until I spoke to them. 

I didn’t even notice. 

Friday mornings, being forced to awake at 6 rather than 7 only heightens my already supremely bad attitude.  Ben, bless his little heart, always feels guilty and if he thinks that I haven’t slept well or am not feeling well will often volunteer to forego his morning hockey game so that I can sleep later.  Although I am a bitch, I am not an entirely unfeeling bitch and recognizing just how much he loves to play hockey on Friday mornings, I will, to my credit, always refuse this offer.  Because deep down in my cold, black heart, I love him dearly even in the morning.  And seriously, he’s about the only one I do still love on those dark and wretched mornings.

This morning at 6:30 as I was fumbling around the kitchen bleary eyed and thinking dark thoughts about stupid hockey, the door bell rang.  Ben and Cassie answered the door to find yet another police officer standing at our door step.   The combination of my early morning stupor and the reassuring sight of Ben standing in my presence meant my heart only dropped to my stomach and not my ankles.

Police officer:  Good morning sir, we had a call that someone was bothering you.

Me thinking to myself:  Geez, I know I’m a bitch in the mornings but I can’t believe Ben called the cops on me.

Ben:  Um no?

Officer:  Oh really?  We had a call that someone was running around outside bothering you.

Ben:  at this address?

Police officer:  Yes sir, #2, 610

Ben:  Hmm, wasn’t us who called.

Police officer:  Okay, well I saw your car running and thought maybe it had something to do with that.

Ben:  No, I just ran out and started the car now and didn’t see anyone outside.

Police officer:  Okay then, thank you sir, sorry to have bothered you.

What the hell?  I swear, if we have any more police officers showing up on our doorstep, the neighbours are going to think we’re running a crack house.  I’m actually starting to keep my bra on in the evenings for fear that we’ll have officers showing up at any moment.  Because sure, we live in a trailer, but I don’t need to perpetuate the myth of poor white trash by answering the door braless.  Do you see how I contribute to this fine society?  I wear a bra when the police officers come knocking on my trailer door.

Rejection 101

Nearly six months ago to the day I submitted a short story to a well known publishing company (and nope I’m not saying what the short story was about or who the publishing company is so don’t bother asking) in the hope of becoming a published author.  I’ve always enjoyed writing and finally got up the nerve to write an actual story, one that I was proud enough of to send it to the very people who might possibly pay me for said story.

Today I received my very first rejection email.  Part of me is bummed (and I mean seriously bummed) about it being rejected but there’s also a tiny part of me that’s just thrilled to have gotten a response, albeit not the response I was hoping for, from an actual publishing company.

**Dear Kelly K,

Thank you for your manuscript, we appreciate you sending it to us.  It sucks and isn’t good enough for us, but thank you for taking the time to send it.

We’re sorry to disappoint you but as you can imagine, the sheer volume of submissions we receive means we must be very selective.”

My very first rejection letter means I’m officially an author right?  A rejected author but still… an author nonetheless.  Yay me!! 

Hell, I might get really crazy and half check off #7  - become a published author on my “things to do before you die” list.

Also, I’m totally framing that rejection email when I eventually do become a published author.

 ** That may not have been the actual words of the email but rather my interpretation of them. 

Odds and Ends

The last two days have kicked my ass.  Work has been incredibly busy and work at home is piling up at an alarming rate.  Last night I crawled into bed at 8:30 with a book and stayed there, despite the mess of dishes in the sink, the horrifying amount of dog hair on the carpet and the thick layer of dust on just about every surface in my home.  I couldn’t bring myself to do anything about it.

This morning the financial statements were hitting my desk fast and furious and more than once I contemplated what exactly it would look like if I started throwing sharp objects at each accountant that walked through my door.  You know it’s time for a break when accountant carnage starts to look appealing.

Luckily that break is fast approaching.  I’ve got a clean desk, a half full Starbucks coffee sitting by my keyboard, and best of all - a sushi date with the lovely Cate at 5pm this evening. 

Life?  She is good.

Terror Level: Red

So last night around 9 I was watching the end of American Idol, doing a little miniature knitting and idly wondering when Ben was going to get home from taking year book photos when the doorbell rang.  I opened the door, expecting to see Ben with his hands full and instead saw three police officers standing on my doorstep. 

And just like that there was ice water in my veins. 

I’m not sure I can even explain how it felt to be expecting your husband to walk through the door but see three members of the RCMP, hats in hand, instead.  In the 5 seconds between opening the door and having the senior officer speak, I tell you people that I didn’t just see Ben’s funeral in my head, I fucking attended it. 

I found myself in the grip of such monumental terror that I couldn’t speak.  I stared dumbly at the officers as the one asked if Cassie was friendly before giving her a pat.  I nodded mutely as the other two took turns petting her (As a completely unrelated side note, it’s funny how often Cassie has that affect on people.  Rarely can we take her anywhere without people stopping to touch her or ask us about her.   I assume it’s because bulldogs are so rare around here.).

I wasn’t even aware that I was holding my breath until the officer looked at his clipboard, mumbled something about looking for Dustin and then asked me if I was Carolyn.  I took in a loud whooping gasp of air and shook my head weakly.  Only then did my heart decide to crawl back to my chest from it’s current position somewhere between my knees and my ankles.

Apparently there was a mix up in the addresses, I’m still really not entirely sure what it was.  All I know is that when he asked me to confirm my address, I was still so terrified/weak with relief, that I stared at him blankly for about 30 seconds before I could even remember what the hell my address was. 

Once it was confirmed, they thanked me for my time, gave one last final pat to Cassie (who thankfully, did not do her usual trick of attempting to sexually harrass out houseguests!  How on earth would I have explained to Ben that Cassie was in the drunk tank for dry humping that nice officer’s leg?) and left.  I closed the door, took a deep shaky breath and immediately picked up the phone to call Ben.  Unfortunately my hands were shaking so badly from the rush of terror-induced adrenalin that I had to wait to dial the phone.  And it still took a good ten minutes for the shaking to stop, even after I had verified, via cell phone, that Ben was perfectly fine and on his way home.

I tried explaining to him later that night, the mind-numbing horror and dread that had instantly come over me the moment I saw the officers but despite his best effort, I don’t think he really understood.  I’ve decided it’s a girl thing because every single female I told the story to at the office this morning all confessed they would have had the similar reaction whereas the few males I shared the story with all made comments such as, “Wow, you must have assumed they were there about your illegal drug use right?” and “You tried to move provinces and change your name but they finally caught up to you huh Kelly?”

And thus concludes the story on how to give a fat girl a heart attack.

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