The three little bears, while we were still little.

Notice a) my haircut – the exact one that my mother has always worn, b) my stylin’ shoulder pads, c) SMB’s (centre) face full of chocolate, no doubt due to his inability to hold a fork properly, d) the number of uneaten slices of cake occupying the table space around Cyborg (the two finished plates in front of me are obviously a poorly disguised attempt on the part of Cyborg to appear as though he hasn’t eaten anything yet… but you see he’s even eyeing the chocolate on the birthday boy’s face), e) we weren’t wealthy enough to enjoy three chairs so we shared two, and f) if I had the same hair today I would look exactly as I do in this picture – minus the puffy shoulders, for now…

Any other observations?

Classy, I know.

So I just couldn’t help but reprint this short article by Matt Kieltyka at 24 Hours, which ran today on page 3 – which is pretty much the front page, since there’s only one column of text on the actual front page, and the second is just celebrity gossip.  

See how eventful Vancouver is?  With the US presidential inauguration just days away, the ongoing turmoil in the Middle East far from over, the Olympic village controversy… clearly the following story is the most important.  Leave it to the definitive news authority that is 24 Hours to print this.  

Brace yourself for some high quality journalism.

Wedgy foils plan [Note: I always thought it was spelled "wedgie" - anyone with me?!]: A suspected auto thief is behind bars after his attempted escape from police was foiled by a Coquitlam resident Thursday night.  RCMP were watching a stolen Jeep when they saw a prolific offender get in and speed off.  Police popped the Jeep’s tires but that didn’t stop the suspect.  He ran to a nearby house and begged the homeowner for a ride.  Instead of lending a hand, the resident noticed police cruisers approaching and gave the suspect a “wedgy” until the officers arrived.

I appreciate being able to say that I “read the news” without having to think.

Now, if only I were so clever and bold as to give a wanted criminal a wedgie… someone give the guy a Bravery Award!

Not that this is a bad thing, because I’d bet a good sum of money that Mama Bear is the cutest one around.

But I’m certainly far from ready to face the inevitable truth.

I recently “succumbed” (as my nearest and dearest have called it) to the call of the Blackberry – not because I really wanted it, but because it was the fanciest deal I could swindle from Rogers after my beloved, trusted Nokia (the one with the flashing lights on the side) called it quits.  I was long past my three-year contract commitment, but I couldn’t bear to be hooked to Rogers, for whom I have never publicly withheld my extreme distaste, for another three years.  Especially with the upcoming changes in the telecom industry, which promise increased competition – I know!  Who’d've thunk it!  

But alas, instead of waiting to have my heart broken by what could only have resulted in the same oligopoly, I caved.

I tend to be late to such things.  Facebook?  September 2008.  Years late.  So you can imagine my resistance to the Blackberry’s complicated functions.  

I couldn’t change my ring tone for days.  (I can now proudly say that I’ve set it to the Entertainer… you know, the one that the ice cream truck plays when it circles the park, lurking, waiting for small children to covet its goodies.  I’ve even set the volume to “escalating” so it sounds like it is approaching!  Sure brings me back.)  And what’s the difference between the envelope and the envelope with the globe and the phone with the envelope?  Why isn’t my wifi working?  What’s a “battery pull”?  

And why is the start up guide so incredibly useless?!

And then I realized… I’ve become my Mama Bear.

The same Mama Bear who recently sat down at a foreign computer whose Internet Explorer home page was not automatically set to her email account.  So she had absolutely no idea how to access the page.  And when we asked her how she had been checking her email all these years, she simply replied, “How should I know?  It just appeared!”

(Note: I’ve been using my Macbook Pro for just over a year now, and I have honestly forgotten how to work a PC.  Not that I’m a snob in any way – just out of practice, which is why it was so hard for me to help Mama Bear figure out how to fix her frozen computer.)

The same Mama Bear for whom I recently set up a Gmail account so that she can chat with our faraway SMB.  (Sure, he’s a nanotech engineer, but he can’t work a damn phone card.)  The challenge is, beyond logging in (which seems self-explanatory but apparently isn’t, especially if you hit CAPS LOCK by accident!), the actual chat set up with the desired fellow Gmailer.  I thought I was explaining the obvious when I said that she had to click on SMB’s name on the chat box on the left hand side of the inbox so that she could begin chatting.

And she followed the instructions, leaned her face towards the screen, and said, “Hello?  [SMB]?”

Innocent mistake.  Humorous, yes, but I can hardly judge.  I couldn’t figure out how to fit all my fingers on the itsy-bitsy Blackberry keyboard… until I was so gently told that I was to employ my dear thumbs.  Which, despite their small size, still seem to be lacking the grace needed to navigate the letters accurately.

And I have to remind myself constantly, It’s a Blackberry, not a phone.  (Seems to be frowned upon to mix this up.)  

So I’ll save you the trouble, wave my own finger at myself, and in my firmest tone of voice, tell myself to “get with the program!”

So apparently not that much changes in two and a half days.

With TDH away on assignment, mountains of work rivalling the ones in his driveway, and several of my friends still “snowed in”, I was more than happy to remain in my pjs since dinner on Monday evening.

The problem is, the honeymoon had to end.  And so I was forced out into the bitter cold, all by my lonesome, to fend for myself against Mother Nature’s worst – to visit my physiotherapist.  (Speaking of which, I wouldn’t be surprised if business is exceptionally good right now; I can’t even count how many times I’ve ever-so-gracefully wiped out in plain sight of witnesses!)

Foolishly, I assumed that the monsoon angrily pounding our kitchen skylight would have washed away all remnants of the recent snowstorm that tore Vancouver apart.  But my naivete went unrewarded, as I found myself clenching muscles I didn’t even know I had in an attempt to avoid slipping on the ice – oh, it’s still there! – and falling flat on my face.

I could easily have waited at the bus stop and avoided such ordeals altogether, but I simply found myself too lazy to just stand there when I had two perfectly good legs as transportation.

Long story short (sort of), I made it there and back safely on foot (uphill both ways in three feet of snow, and barefoot at that), with only a few embarrassing slips on heavily-trafficked major streets.  But the best part of my trip (har har!) was the frighteningly ingenious move made by a darling, little old lady in a fuzzy lavender beret and bright red coat.

Confronted by gale force winds, which had me literally retrace my steps on several occasions and which I was certain wouldn’t let up before I found my way home, I lowered my head (am I not more aerodynamic that way?!) and pressed on.  But the little old lady couldn’t be bothered to contort herself in such an undignified manner.

Instead, she decided to draft.

Note: I have no idea if I’m using this term correctly.  I merely knew that something of the nature existed in the sport of cycling and thus decided to look it up… which was no picnic, since the fundamental idea behind search engines is knowing the term you’re looking for information about.  Nonetheless, for those of you who aren’t familiar with the term, shame on you!  Er, I mean, USA Cycling defines it as “Riding closely behind another rider, which creates a slipstream, or air pocket.”

By drafting, little red riding…coat was allowing me to expend 30% more energy than she would.  Must’ve got the memo that I needed to work off the entire batch of cookies I baked and then proceeded to eat.  Smart though; if I had thought of it first – and wasn’t concerned about any social repercussions – I would have done it too.

So why don’t people want to get old?  Personally, I can’t wait to get all wrinkly and clever!

His excuse is that he’s away for school most of the time, apparently in a place where there is no place to have one’s hair cut…  And when he’s here, he just can’t be bothered.  It’s been four months since the last torturous session, and it will be eight months till he’s back in town again.  One year of hair growth at his rate… and it will likely be longer than mine!

Reading a Future Shop flyer over breakfast…

Roshenahuang: Did… you… hear… that they have a MULLET KIT for Rock Band?!  How awesome is that?!

SMB:  (nonchalantly) Yes, actually, I saw that. 

Roshenahuang: Well… why didn’t you buy it?!

SMB: Because I’m growing my own.

Duh…

In his defense, I must admit that I have likely engaged in the same activity, though perhaps not to the same outcome – although, as you’ll soon learn, perhaps a different incident of mine was worse.  (At least I was 12 years old.)

But first, the story of Derrick Rose: the rookie Chicago Bull (that’s basketball, people – but you knew that because of Jordan) required 10 stitches to his left arm after he accidentally slice himself in addition to the apple he was attempting to eat… in bed.

I eat in bed.  And I often eat apples.  Which I like to slice first… and top with cinnamon.  So I have probably done this.

Maybe professional sports teams should begin putting additional clauses in contracts.  Not only should riding a motorcycle or jumping out of a plane be banned, but also shooting oneself with a gun, ironing one’s shirt while it is still on one’s chest, and slicing apples in bed.

But I could only point and laugh for so long, though, since I have an embarrassingly similar story.  Except that I was 12 years old.  And it hasn’t affected my professional career.

WARNING: The following is not for the faint of heart.  Reader discretion is advised.

It was a crisp October day, and the Grade 7 students at my elementary school were carving pumpkins with their Grade 2 buddies.  It’s always fun until someone gets hurt… Leave it to me to ruin the party!

Fed up with the dinky orange plastic carving “knife” – turns out I’ve always been impatient! – I kindly asked my teacher for a better knife.  So she gave me the steak knife she uses for lunch.

Neither of us thought twice about the apparent dangers.

You know when you’re carving pumpkins, and your hands are full of pumpkin slime – you probably shouldn’t use a real knife.  But still, I clutched the large knife in my fist, and when I attempted to slice the pumpkin…

… my hand moved down.  The knife didn’t. 

The result: a bloody hand.  You could see the pink flesh hanging out.  I cried, the other kids cried – and then the school officials let me bleed while they called my mother to pick me up.  They were happy to let her attend to my critical issue as she saw fit.

How in the world did they get away with not calling the ambulance immediately to transport me to the hospital?!  Could they not see the flesh hanging out??  The hand does not normally look like this!!

Luckily for me – seriously – my Mom just so happened to have the day off, so she could come immediately.  Usually she works a good hour away from the school… that would have been a problem, don’t you think?  But the teachers didn’t think, apparently.  

I left the hospital later that day with several blue stitches, as well as consolation from the doctor that I was about a whole millimetre away from cutting my tendon and being unable to do much at all with my right thumb.  

So count your blessings – opposable thumbs are useful.  And think twice before cutting pumpkins with a steak knife, particularly in the presence of children.  

And maybe slice apples at the counter before crawling into bed…?  Or at least come up with a better story.

Like you were stabbed at Applebee’s.

Plaxico Burress, Joe Sakic, burned-chest-guy – at least I’m in good company.

Many of you already know about the time I marched frustratedly with my beloved, elderly cellular phone to the local Rogers store because it wasn’t charging.  I’d have it plugged into the charger all day, all night, with the  same charger that sits on my nightstand and that I had always used – and still no improvements to the battery.  Funny though, after dropping my phone off at the store to charge using their charger – and being obligated to kill time by wandering the mall – my phone was revived!  

So the salesman tried to sell me a new charger.  Which would make sense, but in my stubborn cheapness, I decided that I just might get a new phone entirely.  At the time, renewing my contract didn’t seem like a big price to pay for a shiny new gadget, with a fresh, functioning charger; I was pretty much stuck with Rogers for life anyway (I’m glad the industry has since changed… somewhat).  

I went home, excited to explore my new upgrade options, when I decided to try charging it just one more time.  But this time, I would charge it in the office while I searched different phones and reviews on my computer.  And when I bent over to remove the charger from the outlet…

I realized that it wasn’t even plugged in.

And now, for my more recent bout of stupidity:

I should have known, given my history with charging electronics and such, but of course I didn’t think twice when my digital camera apparently wasn’t charging.  ”Change battery pack”?  No *$%^ing way!  I just bought this phone last year!

Unfortunately, no matter how long I left the camera plugged into my computer, it just wouldn’t charge.  So I kindly asked Mama Bear to take it with her the next time she went to the store to see what the Manager had to say about his defective product.  She caught him just as he was finishing his shift, so he only had a minute to charge the battery before instructing her to return the next day.

I couldn’t believe it was actually working after just one minute of charging!  I had been charging it for days on end!

And then I realized that, unlike an iPod, the digital camera’s battery doesn’t charge just by plugging it into the computer – you actually have to physically remove the battery from the camera and deposit it into the actual charger and proceed to plug the charger into the outlet.  So I tried this, and it worked, of course.  And when Mama Bear asked for the camera the next day, I simply said I would try to charge it again.  For a few days, she would continue to ask, prompted by the curious store manager who was eager to solve the problem.

And then Mama Bear forgot.  Problem solved.

Did I mention I have a university degree?!

(And that I can absolutely butcher what could have been a hilarious story?!)

You see, “Burnaby Joe” Sakic, Captain of the NHL’s Colorado Avalanche, was already sidelined for six weeks due to a herniated disk when his injured status took a turn for the worst. On Tuesday, Sakic broke three fingers and severely damaged a tendon.  If you aren’t already familiar with this story, I’d bet you wouldn’t be able to guess exactly how this came about.

Apparently, during a routine clearing of the white stuff off his property, Sakic’s snow blower became jammed; so, naturally, he stuck his hand into the apparatus – while it was still running.

Can’t Sakic afford to pay someone to do this – especially when he has a back injury that is keeping him from doing this job?  It’s hard to know how to react to such a situation, except with sympathy and a blog.

Even the team’s Senior VP of Communications and Business Operations had little to add to the situation, instead opting to state the obvious: “He put his hand where he shouldn’t have.”  Duh…

Luckily, immediate surgery was able to repair the damage to his hand.  Unfortunately, it may take more than three months to repair the damage to his reputation – as an intellectually competent human being. 

I hope it’s not too soon to make light of this situation.  Let me say that I am honestly glad he is expected to make a full recovery.  No one should have to suffer from a freak accident like this.  We all make mistakes.  (Stay posted for Part III featuring my own stupidity.)

Plus, TDH and I have tickets to two of the Canucks games vs. the Avs towards the end of the season – shortly after Sakic is expected to return!

After a three-year process, an external organization – of esteemed Chartered Accountants, no less – has finally found TDH to have achieved Competency.

Months of nervous waiting, sleepless nights, butterfly-filled stomachs and that which exits it… culminated in a 7 am release of the final verdict, which luckily for me was not a label of incompetence (I won’t get started on my issues with this).  And so, the last few days have been spent in anticipation and then celebration, with lineups and drinks and midnight breakfasts (at Denny’s, of course) and morning breakfasts and holiday dinners and cut ties (literally, not figuratively), employer-sponsored gambling, long cab rides (with the requisite cab music) around the city…

And now I’ve got (what I’ve diagnosed to be) a nasty flu virus – and sexy sick voice – to show for it.

But it was all worth it, just to see the relief on TDH’s face when he was informed of his hard-earned competence.  (If it’s online, it’s official, right?!)  No more Friday night deadlines, no more full-time studying to accompany more-than-full-time working (for now), just serenity until the next busy season rolls along.

Oh wait, it already started.  Damn those market conditions!

And the countdown begins…