Goal Oriented

We've been very busy this past week round these parts.  Busy-ness which has included, but was not limited to Gracie's four month shots, swim class, moms' group, lunch with nana, coffee with friends, and my triumphant return to (substitute) teaching.  All of this activity has meant the nap schedule has gone.  Off.  The. Rails.  And I knew I would have to pay the piper eventually. And pay I have.  So, at four thirty this notmorning notnight, I vowed that we would not be messing with the tattered remains of the nap schedule for at least two days.  Our public will just have to wait to see us for awhile.  Which will of course help build our mystique.  I know Suri would approve.
So, knowing I would be under house arrest for the next couple of days, I began setting my goals for the day.  Did I mention it was four thirty?  That may explain why my goals are somewhat mismatched.  But whatever - the important thing is that I have goals, right?
Here they are, in no particular order: Have a nap, bake this chocolate zucchini cake, work up a sweat to my new Jillian Michaels DVD.  Guess which one is yet to be accomplished?  But it's only four thirty in the pm.  Coincidence?  I think not.

It's busy-ness like this that will get you into trouble . . . 

The Big One

Today is my dad's birthday.  And it's a big one.  I'm sure he'll be ecstatic that I'm mentioning not only him, but making vague reference to his age, so let me bolster his ego with this:
Last week my sister and I were getting pedicures for her birthday, and my dad stopped by to bring birthday smoothies.  After he left and we were discussing our appreciation for our dad, the esthetician said to me, "Your dad?!  I thought he was your husband!".  And that is not the first time such a mistake has been made. Yikes!

Unfortunately it doesn't look like he will be sharing his birthday with the newest grandchild to hit the block.  Sigh.   Oh well.  Happy birthday dad!
Speaking of husbands (it was two paragraphs back - try to keep up!) my real husband has been very sweet as my grouchiness clouds up our house waiting for peanut to arrive.  But there were a couple gems from a few weeks back I thought worthy of sharing.
In regards to his inability to attend our prenatal class during which we'd learn infant CPR:
"It's just two fingers, right?"
When I asked if I should contact the trainer who works on the bench if I go into labour while he's playing out of town:
"Yeah, because that would help me play real well!" 
We have since worked out a plan that satisfies all parties involved - worry not!  And know that he always says things with the intent to tease.  We're both sweating a little bit over the fact that the bébé may decide to arrive on the scene while he's out of town.  It would make a good story, and blog post I guess . . .
Shelby

Seasonal Affective Disorder

It is April 27th today, in case you lack a calendar.  Even if you are in possession of a calendar, you may still be confused because it is SNOWING here in Edmonton. Not only that, but this bébé is still very comfortable in utero.  I don't know why this surprises me, what with the snow and the due date being a week away, but it does! This waiting is killing me.  And so are the many phone calls and texts of well meaning family and friends "checking in".  The nesting has come to an abrupt halt, and yesterday I spent all morning napping and all afternoon feeling bad about napping all morning.
I know what you're going to say: "Enjoy it, soon you'll be run ragged!"
Somehow that doesn't help!  So for now, it's just me and my anxieties waiting and waiting.  Latest anxiety?  My weight gain has slowed from a steady two or three pounds a week down to one pound two weeks ago, and a pound lost last week. Also, my fundal height has stalled out at a 37 week measurement for the past three weeks.  My doctor says it's not a cause for concern, and I guess I can be glad that the baby won't be a nine pounder.  Still though, the snow, waiting, and anxiety do not a happy combination make!  I'm just going to bundle up in a blanket and watch this commercial on repeat.  And on mute.  One of my friends pointed out that while easy on the eyes, his voice is actually quite annoying.  And she's right!  Also, my mom doesn't like his hair.  Quit ruining my simple pleasures, people!   

Shelby

Spring Cleaning

Hello internet.  Jut writing to tell you that today, the sun came out, and it stayed out. All.  Day.  Long.  I can't tell you how happy that has made this achey backed, sleep deprived, whale of a woman!  I've been trying and trying to tell Jimmy that it doesn't take much, but somehow from the crouched position he assumes while putting on and taking off my socks he just can't hear me.
Since the sun made a rare appearance today, my motivation decided to respond in kind.  So I vacuumed the lawn.  That's right, vacuumed.  We had a very warmish winter (for Edmonton) which meant lots of ice, and in my condition I was forever fearful of a fall.  So I went a little crazy with the gravel, which wasn't a problem on our front walks, but it sure was on the cobble stone path out back.  Jimmy did ask how I thought we might clean it up when he came home one cold December day to see his backyard turned into a sand pit.  I told him that I would take care of it come spring.  And did I ever!

Before

After

This project also involved the cleaning out of the sunroom and required three different vacuums, not to mention the prettiest outfit you've ever seen on a woman who was vacuuming the lawn.  The first vacuum was the central vac snaked out the back door from its plug in situated in the kitchen.  This model was used to clean the tile in the sunroom.

Hooded zip up: Jimmy's closet  Tank top: Gap Maternity
Leggings and Boots: The trash bin behind What Not to Wear's Studio

The second model was the Bissel upright to suck up all the grit on the durable astro turf like substance both inside and outside the sunroom.

And while I did try to get the Bissell to do the job on the paving stones and grass surrounding said paving stones, it wasn't up to the job.  So, the shop vac was summoned from its throne atop my all season tires in the garage.  I think you'll agree that the grass looks much happier after a good vacuuming.

After. Again.

I believe that completion of this particular chore means that I am exempt from washing the windows this year.  Not that I ever washed them before.
Shelby

Moobs

Title translation: mom boobs.  I'm about to alienate my male readership, meaning my page views can be expected to drop from 16 down to 14, but it's a risk I have to take. And so down the slippery slope of "Too Much Information" (or TMI for you tech savvy people out there) blogging I slink.
I don't know a single woman who likes bra shopping under the best of circumstances.  Any men who are still reading are probably scratching their heads saying, "Really, Shelby?  I thought it was swim suit shopping that was the most detested by the fairer sex!"  While I applaud you men for your sensitive and empathetic observation, you are wrong.  While swim suit shopping is not fun, you can give up and resolve yourself to wearing a festively printed muumuu whilst lounging in the sand and sun.

The muumuu, aka The Problem Solver.

A bra however, cannot be avoided or substituted for.  When the last one you managed to purchase is being held together with safety pins, it is time subject yourself to the brightly lit, too small, too warm fitting room at an establishment where the staff are either too perky or too sullen.  Despite their variations in mood, all employees will have a tape measure around their necks, with which they are waiting to assault you.  Aside from all of this, the male readers are still wondering, "How can it be that bad?"  Unfortunately, men, we women cannot just pick up a 3 pack of Jockeys or Hanes in medium and know that they will fit.  Based on the store, the brand, or the style, not to mention fluctuations in weight you can never count on being the same size.  
All of this is totally separate from the horror of shopping for a bra while pregnant. But even that wasn't as bad as what I experienced yesterday.  You moms out there may have guessed that yesterday I had the distinct pleasure of shopping for a nursing bra.
Can I just say that if the fabric wasn't such a utilitarian beige, nursing bras would be almost dominatrix like, what with their strange clasps and oddly placed cut outs.  As the fabric is so steadfastly practical and bland however, there can be no mistaking that these are undergarments with one purpose, and one purpose only.  Visions of those stainless steel farm apparatus used in the cow shed come to mind.  Not only are these garments decidedly un-pretty, they are also really expensive.  And when it comes to size, you are forced to rely on the staff and their dastardly measuring tapes to help you make an educated guess, because while no one will mistake the nursing bra for an item found in the dressing room at an establishment called Show Girls or the like, the body parts they house would look right at home in that same dressing room, or so I'm told.
I survived the experience yesterday, just barely.  After leaving the fitting room strewn with crumpled beige rejects from end to end, I emerged, triumphant and out of breath, ONE tolerable option clutched in my sweaty palms.  
Thanks to my sister for her help in making this traumatic experience bearable. Ladies, if this will be your first time buying one of these horrific contraptions my advice to you is do not do it alone!!  You need a sponsor who will encourage you to take it one bra at a time.  Otherwise the burden may just become too difficult to bear.
Yours in melodrama,
Shelby

You're it!

In search of inspiration, I was fervently procrastinating researching new material online.  There has been a chain letter/tag type thing floating around some of my regular blog haunts lately.  I hadn't been tagged, but was thinking about stealing the idea anyway and just pretending I'd been tagged, but then Paige over at There's More Where That Came From brusquely declared her post as an open invitation rather than tagging people specifically.  I took that as my personal invitation.  So here goes:
The rules:
1. The first rule is to post these rules.

2. Post a photo of yourself and 11 things about you/your life .

3. Answer the questions set for you in the original post.

4. Create 11 new questions and tag people to answer them.

5. Go to their blog/twitter and tell them that you've tagged them.

Matching hair!  Kind of . . . 

Things you never knew you wanted to know:

1. Aside from being a card carrying school teacher (I seriously have a card that says I can be a teacher FOR LIFE.  Aren't I lucky?), I am also a yoga teacher.

2. I required my students to adjust their desks so that they were at right angles with the floor tiles several times a day.  When they failed to meet 90 degrees exactly, I would then re-adjust their desks for them.

3. Likewise, when teaching yoga, I would really prefer that all mats be aligned at 90 degrees exactly.  I haven't yet worked up the nerve to have my yoga students adjust their mats, however. 

4. I do not like most cooked vegetables.

5. I make a meal plan a month in advance.

6. I also do not like my food to touch.

7. Seven is my lucky number.

8. And so I got married on 07/07/07.

9. I have two middle names, the second more awful than the first.

10. My two bad middle names are still not as bad as my poor uncle's.  His middle name is Moise (pronounced Mo-ease. It's French).

11. I should start making dinner, but I just ate two cookie dough brownies and now have zero interest in eating a well balanced meal.

Paige's Questions:

1. If you liked dogs, could I sell you a slightly-used Boxer?  If I liked dogs, you could, but I don't, so you can't.

2. Favorite color? Granny Smith apple green.

3. I recently had the plumbing replaced in my kitchen, would that be something you'd consider paying for?  Again, if I liked plumbing, you could, but I don't, so you can't.

4. You can only meet one celebrity, who is it?  Ellen Degeneres. 

5. Do you stop watching TV if you lose the remote?  That depends what is on at the moment.

6. Second-favorite blog after mine?  Camp Patton.

7. Hobby?  Does eating count?  Maybe cooking sounds better, and it can still include eating.

8. If you had to pick someone to compliment today, would I be your first choice? Sure.  Love your glasses!

9. Last time you talked to a carnie or rode a Ferris wheel?  Not since junior high. Man, I've got to get out more often.

10. How's the weather?  Kind of grey and dreary.

11. How likely are you to click on the music video below? Cause you should. It's really weird.  I tried, Paige.  It did not work!!

And my own questions:

1. What is your middle name?

2. Do you know a funny joke?

3. The best thing that happened to you in the last week?

4. Favourite flavour of ice cream?

5. Last movie you saw?

6. Best vacation spot you've been to?

7. What is a favourite Christmas gift you were given as a child?

8. Are you a side, back, or stomach sleeper?

9. Have you ever quit something?  What was it?

10. How did you celebrate St. Patrick's day?

11. Ever broken a bone?  How'd you do it?


Like Paige, I'm not going to tag anyone - most bloggers I read have done this already.  If you want to give it a stab, let me know.  I'd love to read your answers.  If you're not a blogger, you could answer my clever questions in the comments section below.
Hasta,
Shelby

Sicko

Ugh . . . My aforementioned lack of motivation and energy has been compounded with a cold.  I have been rendered utterly useless.  I planned to start writing this post an hour ago, but needed those precious 60 minutes to recuperate after making the bed and emptying the dishwasher.  Lucky for you I have regained enough energy to write a post for you about . . . nothing much.
But fear not!  I have plans for another photo shoot with my mom tomorrow.  I also had a stroke of genius this morning.  It came to me right after I had crawled out of bed to make my husband his breakfast smoothie, but before I had packed his lunch and then crawled right back in to bed.  In fact, it came at the precise moment my husband appeared in the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed for a day inspiring the minds of tomorrow.
I realized my husband was looking pretty dapper.  This, in and of itself, is nothing new. Though it was a realization made easier because I myself looked the opposite of dapper with my nose rubbed raw by countless tissues and my belly hanging out the bottom of my too-small pajama top, but the fact remains that he looked good and does most mornings.  And so I think I'm going to have to do a feature on Jimmy's fashion.  I haven't actually broached the subject with him, but if he gives me any static, I'll just remind him that it's what the people want.
I should say though, that I don't believe it's that hard to dress well as a man.  Work wardrobe: nice dress shirt, nice dress pants, maybe the occasional sweater or cardigan, perhaps even a sweater vest, or even easier, a suit, and you're done. Casual wardrobe: nice jeans, a nice shirt, a nice jacket, and voila.  Don't get me wrong, some men have issues with fit - they seem horrified that their clothing might actually skim or touch their bodies - and there are many who still think pleated khakis are a safe bet, not to mention the whole colour blind gene that tends to be doled out along with the y chromosome that can cause problems.  All in all though, I would still argue that it's much simpler to put together a great wardrobe as a man than as a woman.  
And now that I've totally talked men's fashion down, I hope you can maintain your excitement for my new feature focused on just that topic.
Anyway the couch is calling, so I'd better get going.  Before I do, I know you've probably been feeling bad for Jimmy and the forced famine he's been enduring what with the lack of meat and potatoes around here lately.  Worry not!  I remedied that situation last night with this recipe from Smitten Kitchen.

It became crystal clear just how deprived Jimmy has been when he wolfed down seven drumsticks.  Definitely a crowd pleaser.  Try it on your own fam, why don't you?
Shelby

Wanted

Seeking a replacement for my motivation which has suddenly gone missing.  Said motivation has been replaced with an approximately 17 pound muffin top, shortness of breath when walking distances of more than a foot and sleepless nights punctuated with the most bizarr-o dreams outside of Tim Burton's REM cycle. Limited budget prevents an actual paid transaction for any motivation you may be selling, but a trade is possible.  Upon receipt of your gently used motivation, I will bake you a batch of the most delicious chocolate chip cookies you have ever eaten. It will not be a full batch, as I will have undoubtedly eaten several dozen, but still.
Interested parties may contact me by phone or email, which I will have my husband respond to. 


Ugh!  Seriously - I have no energy for anything.  I know everyone says this, but I can't imagine the steep decline that is yet to come over the next seven weeks. Neither can Jimmy.  My digestion is also lacking motivation, and so I am rarely hungry at dinner time.  It would take way too much energy to prepare a meal that I have no interest in eating, so it's been toast, fruit and yogurt at the timely hour of eight o'clock 'round these parts, poor guy.  He's really missing his meat and potatoes.
Never mind the decline in motivation and productivity, my supportive spouse and I are having a hard time imagining what my mega sized muffin top will look like in seven weeks.  In my opinion, James could have kept his horror to himself, but he never does.  Last night, wide eyed in amazement he declared, "I think you're going to be as big as a house by the end of this!"  He later amended this statement of love and support by adding, "It's just that you're still small everywhere else!  It's going to have to go somewhere!"  Indeed.  
If only I had this kind of airbrushing available to me at all times, because one of these things is not like the other.  Really - click these links, it's worth the energy needed to tap the mouse.  I wouldn't lie about what is or is not worthwhile energy expenditure in my current state.
Rest assured that I will work up enough energy to ask Jimmy to turn on the TV so that I might turn my eyes toward the screen to take in The Bachelor finale.  I can't wait!
Shelby

Toilet Talk

Have you seen this new contraption in public bathrooms near you?  

I'm seeing them more and more.  I made comment to a some friends about these things, and they either hadn't noticed them, or assumed they were hand sanitizer. Thankfully, no one had used them for sanitizing their mitts, as that is NOT their intended purpose.  So what is it, you ask?  Toilet seat cleaner, conveniently provided just for you to swipe the seat before you sit.

I'm all for cleanliness and am something of a germophobe, but really?  I'm sorry, cleaning a public toilet is almost more horrifying than having to use one at all.  I'll just hover, thank you!  It's interesting that here in Canada public bathrooms have never been big on supplying the disposable toilet seat cover, unlike our American friends down south. But somehow we've arrived at a place where we are providing Toilet Duck and a brush upon entrance into the stall?  I find this too weird.  Maybe if they also provided rubber gloves it would be more palatable?  No, forget it - I would need a full latex suit.  I don't even like cleaning my own toilet for Pete's sake!
Always happy to provide meaningful food for thought!
Shelby

Book Club

Are any of you blog readers out there part of a book club?  As you might have guessed, I am a card carrying book club member, and it was my turn to host this past Wednesday.  For your viewing pleasure, here is a picture of the spread I prepared.

See that cake proudly standing at center stage?  I found the recipe on Pinterest and was drawn in by the name.  A chai spiced cake with honey ginger frosting?  Sounds like the perfect spice cake, and it was good.  Jimmy pointed out that it could have been more moist.  Isn't it weird when people use "moist" to describe cake?  It's just an odd word.  But he was right.  It was near inedible the second day.  If you're a master baker and can tweak this recipe to bring the moisture back, I'd love to hear your thoughts, because the level of spice was just right.  I didn't take a close up of the cake because it was the worst icing job ever known to man.  As my sister-in-law said "You could've definitely used a crumb coat."  But the copious amount of crumbs came from my inept cake-removal-from-pan procedure.  Did you know you shouldn't let a cake cool completely in its pan before trying to remove it?  All the experts on Google say ten minutes maximum cooling time should be given before removing your creation to a wire rack to cool completely.  So, I threw the pan back in the oven for a few minutes to try and help loosen the thing, and it worked like a charm!  But the crumby damage was already done.
I digress.  Back to the topic of this post: book club.  I was a part of one book club before this one, having joined my current book club after a break from all the clubbing.  It's the same old story.  I got busy and wasn't finishing the books, then felt guilty attending book club when I knew not how the book ended.  Everyone tried to discuss in vague terms so I could finish the book, ending unspoiled.  I also missed picking my own books, because all I had time to read were book club choices.  
When my sister-in-law and her friend started up a new book club, I decided to try again.  We would be meeting every six weeks so there would be more time to finish the selections, there was a good mix of members, and each month had a fun theme.  For example at Christmas everyone brought a children's book for Santa's Anonymous, and before our summer hiatus we exchanged good (read: trashy) summer reads to be returned in the fall.  But after two years, our book club is losing members, and I am losing steam again.  I've not been finishing books, and even though I've always loved reading and read a lot, I'm finding it's becoming a chore again.  It seems like a long time since I've read something I've been totally absorbed in.  There were The Hunger Games books last spring and summer (just like Grace), and Jaycee Dugard's book this fall, but I just haven't been able to get into anything else lately.  Next up on our reading list is Cutting for Stone. If you've read it, leave me your comments so I can get pumped up for it.  It's around 800 pages, but I've got till the end of April, so hopes are running high.  Although by that point in my pregnancy, holding a book upright to read it might seem like a lot of work.  
Obviously the book club's fate is at a cross roads.  We'll see what happens after the summer break.  Any tips on keeping the choices and meetings lively or finding new members to fill our ranks would be appreciated, because I do love book club.  And cake.  And wine.  And in the fall I'll be able to book club and booze again, and I'll probably really, really need it.  In case you missed it, there have been no less than seven requests for your comments this post, a new Chez Quinlan record.  So please do!!
Shelby

Shame

You guys, I have a confession to make.  This isn't something I'm proud of, but I was once an employee of McDonald's.  Not only was I an employee, I was an employee who worked only two weeks before being fired. 
It was the summer after grade 10, and I had decided that I needed to get a part time job.  I'm not sure why I chose McDonald's as my first place of employ, as I don't like their food, nor their starched-within-an-inch-of-their-life uniforms, not to mention the smell of the establishment itself, but I didn't apply anywhere else that summer.  I know not why I didn't look for a place that aligned with my interests a bit more, somewhere like the bookstore or the tea café I later worked at, but maybe I thought I had to start small and work my way up.  Little did I know I wouldn't be able to list McDonald's on my resumé after the disaster that ensued.  
It was my second week of work, and while I had grown fond of pouring free coffee refills for the seniors who arrived between six and eight am, I could not feel the same way about my visor and pleated pants.  Other than that small fashion faux pas, I thought things were going well.  Until that is, the dawn of my 16th birthday when things went terribly awry.
I was scheduled to start at six am to work the breakfast shift and dutifully arose to join the workforce as a responsible and contributing citizen, birthday or no birthday. Things were going alright, until about nine am when the morning rush arrived.  I had a long line at my till, and assuming that serving the customers always takes precedence, I stayed at my till taking orders until the line had gone down. Suddenly, I heard a shrill scream originating from deep in the freezer room.  I walked at a quick pace in my sensible black shoes (safety first!) to find my manager clutching a bag of hash browns, red in the face.  
You see, while I thought I was doing the right thing in serving the customers first, I had actually committed a cardinal sin.  I had not put any hash browns in the deep fryer.  Without hot hash browns, how were we to serve all of the customers I had just rung through?  
I see the error of my ways now, but at the time, all I could do was nod and blink really quickly to avoid crying in front of my middle aged manager.  The tears did flow as soon as my dad arrived in front of me, having stopped by for a coffee to wish me well on my birthday.  
Shortly after this disastrous day I had to call in sick, and when I came in for my next shift, I was called in to the manager's office and given the heart breaking news that I just wasn't McDonald's material.  They never gave me a specific reason, and weren't required to because I was still under probation, but I knew it was the hash brown incident without a doubt.  I spent the rest of the summer sulking, wondering how I would ever find a place in the working world if I couldn't cut it at McDonald's, the same place that had given Jay Leno and Star Jones their start.
I did get over it eventually and rejoin the working force, and was never fired from a job again.  But that greasy little skeleton in my closet haunts me still.  What I wish most is that I had photographic proof of my former employ, but for some reason my mom wasn't jumping for the camera to do a McDonald's uniform fashion shoot. Odd, I know.
Wishing you a wonderful Saturday,
Shelby

When I am Queen . . .

With William away for six weeks, Catherine is keeping busy with charity events and looking fabulous.  Just yesterday she was out working with children on their art projects in this lovely number:

With her husband away, I'm sure the Duchess also has some time to think about what things will be like when she is Queen.  I can imagine her being a thoughtful and judicious ruler.  Not so when I become Queen of Alberta.  My subjects will need boundaries, and I am only too happy to provide them.  My first decree will deal with the kitchen.  Specifically, the sink.  The stopper must be properly placed to catch the little bits of food from your dinner.  Those who insist on placing the stopper in the sink upside down will be deported to Saskatchewan.

Correct placement.  Food caught and cradled to be safely
transported to the garbage.

Incorrect placement.  Food bits caught, for the time being,
 only to be flung everywhere when stopper is removed.

When I am Queen, Alberta will become a province where form and function reign supreme.  This will of course mean that my husband will be packing his bags, but I am willing to make that sacrifice for my people.  That is all.

Actually, one more thing.  I'm not Queen yet, but in my quest to climb the social ladder I have become a contributor for Urban Infant Magazine's new website!  You can read my bio here.  I'll let you know when my first article is posted.  If you have any ideas on what I could write about, I'd love to hear it.  See, I too can be thoughtful and judicious.
Shelby

Allergies

I don't know how I turned out to be the paragon of healthy eating that I am today with parents like mine.  You heard just yesterday about my mom's m&m lunch menu.  Well, today my dad ate a whole jar of pineapple salsa with chips by himself.  He complained the rest of the day about how sick he felt, but still managed to eat two pieces of chocolate cake for dessert.  After his gastrointestinal overindulgence, he was walking strangely.  When my mom asked what was wrong, he said "I don't know, my body hurts.  Ever since I ate all that salsa.  I think I'm allergic to something."
We could not stop laughing!  What the what?  How does a man with no known food allergies suddenly develop a limp?  After the snickers subsided, my mom offered the same piece of advice my dad ALWAYS gives whenever anyone complains of any kind of stomach upset: "Maybe you just need to poop!" Cue the chorus of chortles.
Keep it regular,
Shelby

Chick Flick

This weekend I saw The Vow with my friend Heather.  We have a standing agreement to see a chick flick together every few months to spare the men in our lives the trouble.  As far as chick flicks go, The Vow wasn't bad.  Not as predictable as the preview makes it look, however I had a hard time believing in Channing Tatum as the mod-hipster type he was cast as.  The soldier he played in Dear John?  Totally believable.  He's just too square jawed, burly and all American looking to be running an independent music label, if you know what I mean.  
But what a name!  It sounds almost too good to be true, but Wikipedia cites the moniker as being on his birth certificate, and I always believe Wikipedia.  Too bad Channing Quinlan is a bit of a mouthful.  Back to Nameberry I trot.
Movie star names aside, I was trying to remember the last sappy movie I convinced Jimmy to see with me, and let me tell you, it's been a long while.  The last one we saw at the theatre that I can remember was The Holiday.  And you know what?  He actually liked it!  Maybe it was having Jack Black in the mix that appealed to him, but I can't be sure.  This has inspired me to research romantic comedies that guys actually like and see if I can find a common thread.  I can see this turning into a thesis topic.  Hollywood big wigs may pay big for such valuable knowledge, and I'm positive they don't have marketing and research departments dedicated to this topic already.  
Anyway, I've got to get going.  I've got a big night ahead.  Just a date with a little someone named Ben Flajnik and his six remaining bachelorettes in exotic Belize. While Ben and the ladies frolic on the beach I'm going to continue work on my scarf.  I found a tutorial online, and the nice woman on Youtube assured me that to tie in another ball of yarn, that's literally all I have to do: Tie on another ball and trim the ends of the knot. Seems too easy.  What would Martha say?  But tutorial lady says the know will be hidden in the end.  Skeptic that I am doubts it, but I'm going to try, and you know I'll fill you in on the riveting results.
Ciao,
Shelby