Too ugly to be seen

There are a number of "firsts" you can count on when the weather gets delightful and hot in Toronto. For example, you can count on the first time you have a bbq, the first time you prance around in a bikini, the first smog advisory day of the year...and the first Crazy Asian Sun Visor spotting. You know you've seen them. They have a hinge and can be worn straight out like a "normal" visor, or flipped down to obscure the entire face. They are so unbelievably ugly. Eric and I were driving past Pacific Mall a couple weeks ago, and both spotted, at the same time, a Chinese woman wearing a full-face visor crossing the street. We both started to gag exaggeratedly, and went on a typical tirade about the ugliness of the sun visor craze. This has been on my mind for years now.

Time to bitch, yo.

What the hell is up with those crazy tinted full-face sun visors that the Chineses wear? They are hideous! Totally and completely hideous! What does this look say to you? I am a welder? Luke, I am your father? I am too ugly to be seen? I have disgraced the family honour by not getting 100% in math school/quitting piano/not becoming a doctor, and now must hide my face in shame?

No, most likely, it's: I am so obsessively terrified of getting sun on my face, that I forgo all sense of fashion and attractiveness.

Man.

I remember the first time I ever saw a Crazy Asian Sun Visor. I was going for dim sum with my Mom one day in the summer, and we were walking through the Pacific Mall parking lot to get to Market Village. Suddenly, I grabbed her arm.

Carol: Mom! OMG!! Look at that woman driving, she's wearing a black plastic face mask! She can't see!!

Mom: Wah! Kuy chee seen!! Kuy deem yeung ja cheh?!!

Carol: Aw deem gee, ah?!! Oh. Ohhhh, I think it's a visor, Mom. Wow, yeah it's just a really dark visor.

Mom: So ugly!

This was one of those summers when I worked for my dad from home, and would go out for dim sum with my Mom about 3 times a week. So we were at the Chinese malls a lot. These things had cropped up overnight, and taken the Toronto-Chinese population by storm.



Unlike most of my race, I love the sun. I love to tan, I love having a healthy sunny glow. And in my opinion, I look kind of ill when I don't have at least a little bit of a tan. I don't have the same issues as blonde-haired, blue-eyed, fair skinned beauties who burn if they so much as glance out the window at the sun. So why not enjoy the sun in moderation?

My poor mother. I suspect that she's secretly a little bit torn over this issue. She's vain (that's where I get it from), and she honestly thinks these visors are ugly as sin. But the Chinese are a practical people. Ever wonder why we would pick rice up with chopsticks and eat it that way? We don't! It's a stupid and impractical idea. We use the chopsticks to shovel the rice over the edge of the bowl, into our mouths. It works great. I know that my mother's practical side sees the benefits of these Crazy Asian Sun Visors, and if I wasn't such an adamently vocal bitch about the whole thing, she might have given in and gotten one. Ah well, too bad. No mother of mine will be seen wearing the headgear of ugly crazy.

Yay summer is here.

Bye bye car

Tomorrow, the lease is up on our little Mazda Protege5. Eric just left to take it to the dealership; they're going to clean and assess it tomorrow during the day, and then at night, we'll go back to sign some paperwork and it will be all done.

I knew all of this would be happening, but when Eric came to pick me up from work today, and I opened the passenger door to get in, it suddenly struck me - this was the last time I would be picked up from work in this car. Our dear little peppy car was going to be given back to Mazda, and sold to someone else. And I suddenly felt extremely sad. So sad that I started crying, and continued to cry all the way home.

I thought, what if our poor little car doesn't know we're giving it back? What if it just thinks it's being taken to get all cleaned up for summer? We love cleaning our car, and every time we get it back from the detailing place, it's shining proudly, "See Mommy? See Daddy? I'm like new!" And then we drive away together, a happy family.

Eric will drop it off tonight, and our car will be happily oblivious. And then tomorrow, when we return, it will wait patiently for us to finish whatever we're doing and take it home again. But instead, we'll just sign some papers, say goodbye, and get into another car, and leave it there at the big cold dealership lot! Our poor car! It won't know what happened!

Will it be sad? Will it miss us? Will it wonder what it did to make us return it?

After we got home, I sobbed for about 20 minutes while Eric handed me tissues. He suggested ways we could possibly keep the car, but none made any sense. We agreed that this was for the best. Later, then we took a big bag and went down to the parking garage to clean out our cds and maps. Rather, I started weeping once I saw the car again, and sat in the backseat crying while Eric cleaned out the cds and maps. Then we took one last little drive around the neighbourhood, and tried to explain to the car why it had to go. And I said goodbye.

Eric dropped me back off at the condo, and I handed over my car key. He's gone to the dealership by himself - I would have cried all the way there, and likely also once we got there, and that would have been embarrassing. He's sad too, I can tell. He probably doesn't think the car has feelings, but he's really going to miss the sport shift and the moonroof.

It's a sad day.

It's probably not a good idea for us to get a doggy or a kitty.

I will end with a send-off haiku.

We will miss you, car
May your road be filled with joy
Farewell...zoom zoom zoom

We almost died

Yesterday as we were leaving the gym, we stopped at a red light, waiting to make a left turn.

Eric: (fumbles with cell phone) My mom called while I was doing my abs.

Stoplight: RED

Carol: ...okay.

Stoplight: RED

Eric: (on phone) Hi Mum! Yeah, just calling you back...

Stoplight: RED

Carol: Doo doo doo...

Stoplight: RED

Eric: (still on cell phone, takes foot off brake, drives into intersection with zero provocation)

Stoplight: RED

Carol: (screaming like a woman deranged) THE LIGHT IS RED!!!! THE LIGHT IS RED!!!!!!! YOU FUCKING IDIOT, THE LIGHT IS RED!!!!!!

Eric hung up on his mother, and stopped in the middle of the intersection. Four seconds later, the light turned green. He completed his turn. I don't know how we're both still alive, and he also managed to scare the living shit out of his mother for about 30 seconds before I called her back.

This is why you don't use a cell phone while driving. Like my mom, I get mean when I'm worried or scared, so I told Eric that one day, he's going to die while driving and talking on a cell phone, and that when he does I will put on his epitaph "He deserved it".

And I will.

We don't know how to pack

When we went on our honeymoon last summer in France and Spain, we brought over 80kg of luggage with us. It was a sweaty, painful process as we made our way to five or six different cities, luggage in tow. We swore we would never pack heavy again. We lied, to ourselves and to each other.

This past weekend, we spent two nights chez Chalet Myles. Chalet Myles is a modern little ski chalet belonging to the parents of Luke Livingston Sidney Myles, of "Luke and Cathy" fame. The chalet has a fully equipped kitchen, three bedrooms and a futon, two washrooms, two showers, a gas fireplace, a hot tub, a washer and dryer, and loads of towels and sheets and pillows and blankets. We certainly weren't going to be roughing it, and it wasn't our first time going. We were told to bring whatever food we wanted to eat on Friday after we arrived (at approximately 10:30pm), and any particular food we wanted to eat for breakfast the next day. Plus booze. We were to depart Sunday afternoon.

This is what we brought with us:

• 6 pairs of underwear each
• 6 pairs of socks each
• bathing suits
• sweaters
• 5 t-shirts each
• shampoo, conditioner, bodywash, face wash
• other assorted toiletries (ie: Eric's shaving stuff, Carol's moisturizer and make-up)
• hairdryer
• jeans and jackets
• shoes and sandals
• warm pyjamas
• cool pyjamas

• 4 towels
• 2 pillows and two pillow cases (just in case)
• 2 sleeping bags (just in case)
• 1 queen size inflatable air mattress with electric pump (just in case)

• half a dozen red delicious apples
• half a dozen magical oranges
• 6 assorted protein bars
• 4 containers pre-measured protein shakes
• sunflower seeds, pine nuts, peanuts, raisins
• 1 jug of Tropicana orange juice
• 1 big bottle of Coke Zero
• I bottle of multivitamins

• 18 beers
• 16 coolers
• 3 bottles of wine
• 1 bottle of rum
• 1 bottle of vodka
• 1 bottle of amaretto
• 6 strawberry-vanilla shots (looked cool)
• 2 small bottles of Limoncello
• 1 bottle of Malibu

• XBox and four controllers
• Nintendo GameCube and four controllers, plus 4 games
• Splitter/switcher attachment for easy flipping between the two

Our hatchback trunk was packed full, and half of the backseat as well.

And after all that, I forgot my birth control pills.

Gym Night

We just got back from the gym. Here's something about me - when I enter the condo, the first thing I do is take off my shoes...not a big deal, but the second thing I do is take off all my clothes. I can't get out of them fast enough. Sometimes I re-dress with cleaner, softer clothes, but more often than not, if it's not chilly and there's no one but Eric around, I'll just enjoy being naked in my home.

I'm feeling pretty good, because from the front and the side, I can see my body slowly changing shape back to its cuter, smaller formation. I can't see my back so well, but I don't think it's doing as well as the front and sides. In particular, my buttocks and my hips. I just caught Eric checking out my rear:

Carol: Don't look at my ass, it's the worst part.
Eric: I love your ass! It's my favourite part about you!
Carol: (shocked) What? My ASS is your favourite part? Oh god, that's sad...
Eric: (quickly) Well okay no, your FACE is my favourite part about you. But your ass is a close second, if not equal to your face.
Carol: WHAAAT?!!! Did you just say my ASS is equal to my FACE?!! Do you mean my FACE LOOKS LIKE MY ASS?!!!
Eric: (panicked) What?? NO!!!!
Carol: I'm going to blog about this RIGHT NOW.

Metropolitan Heterosexual

If Eric didn't regularly do the sex with me (a girl), I might think he was gay. I don't mind or anything, I'm just saying. I think he has come to embrace his metrosexuality, and it has become a source of pride. In the first months of dating, he admitted to me shamefacedly that when he was in high school there was a rumour going around that he was gay, this despite the fact that he was the ultimate kissing slut. Now when he brings it up he says it proudly, like a kid pointing out his spelling bee trophy. And now, a list.

Why My Man is Gay-Minus-Bumjamming:

• He is obsessed with designer hairstyling products. Not just the gel you can get at Shopper's, no he has to go to Trade Secrets or another special hair products store and buy the flexible hair wax mousse gel with polymers for $50/tub.
• He goes to a stylist and a colourist instead of a barber.
• He went to Sephora and bought a bottle of man face lotion, which he carefully, lovingly, sparingly applies every night.
• He shaves more than just his face.
• He tweezes more than just his nosehair.
• He owns three expensive watches (that's two more than I own).
• He talks about getting a man purse so that his wallet, keys, and cell phone don't ruin the drape of his pants.
• He obsesses about his bodyfat, and makes comments about other people's bodyfat.
• He can't pass a Mexx store without going in and possibly buying something.
• He wants all his clothes to be fitted very close to his body.
• He avoids white carbs and loves ordering salad for a meal.
• He wants manicures and facials.
• He uses a bodypuff and moisturizing bodywash.
• He wears tighty whitey meshy underwear so that his tight pants and jeans look smoother, and so his buttskin can still breathe.

In other news, I started putting my Queen's photos into albums, and there are many pictures of me with my tongue down other girls' throats, sometimes scantily clad. I don't know what that makes me, but my kids are going to think that Mommy was a lesbian slut in university.

My future car smells like old man

We heart our Mazda Protege5. It's midnight blue, and is a peppy little car, eager to squeeze into tight places. It has a moonroof, and four-wheel disc-brakes. We took over the lease of it a year and a half ago, and we knew our time with it would be short. Little did we realize how much we would come to love our little protege. I mean, Protege5.

The lease is up for the car at the end of the month, and we had been debating whether to buy it out. Then my dad announced that he wanted to buy himself a new car, a RAV4. And he offered to give us his current car, a black 1998 Nissan Altima. Free car!!! FREE CAR!!!

Yessssssssss.

We accepted. No more car payments! I was stoked. That's almost an extra $400 a month!

Eric has the Mazda today, so he can leave work faster. I had nothing for lunch and needed to run out and buy a sandwich. Since my dad and I work in the same office, I went through his jacket pockets and took his car keys and went out to the parking lot. I opened the door to the car and got in. And oh god, this car was stinky! It smelled like old chinese man!!

There were crumpled up kleenex all over the place. There was a piece of bread sitting on the floor. Some loud mandarin woman was singing in the cd player. And the whole car had a chinese medicinal sweaty quality about it.

It's okay, after I got back, I told everybody at the office that my dad's car is stinky, and that his steering wheel is sticky. Now they think he's some kind of car pervert. Which he might be.

Bad Habits

I maintain that I was an exceedingly good kid when I was young. I practiced my piano, did my math problems, and never loitered at the mall or movie theatre after school. I didn't drink or smoke or do drugs. I don't know why my parents sent me to Army Cadets when I was 14. They said I was undisciplined. I felt they were unfairly overcritical.

I've felt this way about my parents' opinions for most of my life. I've tearfully screamed that they were overprotective and oppressive. I've threatened to call child services when I got my ass whipped with chopsticks for being insolent. I've accused them of trying to make me into something I'm not. And just like that scene in The Joy Luck Club, I've shouted that I'm not their slave and that this isn't China.

Since then I have learned a saying in which I wholeheartedly believe: There's no such thing as bad kids, only bad parents. This made my rebuttals much easier.

Mom: You're so difficult, why are you such a little jerk?!
Carol: Whatever Mom, you raised me. You must have screwed up somewhere. You can probably just blame yourself!

Okay, I boast and I lie. I would never say anything like that to my mom, I'm too scared (okay, maybe once I said something like that to her during a big fight, and it didn't go well at all...sorry, I digress). But I do like to blame things on her a lot, just to get a reaction. Like this winter when I was sick a lot...my mom likes to get angry with me when I get sick or injured. She berates me for being stupid enough to get sick/injured. Then she becomes offended, because it's a personal insult to her. The logic behind this is that SHE gave me my body, SHE gave me life, SHE made my body with her own body, therefore, my body IS her body. So if I cut open my finger, I'm ACTUALLY cutting open HER finger, and what the hell kind of daughter cuts open her own mother's finger?? So I was really sick this winter...

Mom: You stupid girl. Why are you so stupid? Your body is wimpy and weak!
Carol: I don't know, Mom. It must be because you didn't let me suck on your boobies when I was a baby, and so I didn't get all the proper vitamins and antibodies the other babies got. You were selfish with your boobymilk. Derek and I are going to die.
Mom: Oh, isn't that nice?! Blame everything on your mother!! You ungrateful daughter!!!

I laughed my ass off.

Anyway, the point is that my parents and I never really saw eye-to-eye about my faults. But I have since learned that they were 100% correct about a particular recurring battle-topic. They used to go on and on and on about how I was like a sponge with new friends. They said that every time I made a new friend and hung around with them, I would inevitably start to imitate the things they did. Not all the things they did, no, only the BAD things they did. Usually bad attitudes and potty mouths. I drove them up the wall. I loved making new friends, so I was always coming home with new bad habits. I thought they were being stupid and crazy, and overcritical as usual. But it turns out, they were right.

I noticed this a few years ago...now understand, I met some of the most AMAZING people at university, people I worship and adore and admire and love with all my heart. That's not to say that they don't have certain habits. I first noticed my sponge-like quality when Peggy graduated and we stopped seeing each other all the time. Peggy is just finishing up medical school and is one of the most caring, loving, giving, beautiful people I have ever had the honour to know. She was my best friend, and my maid of honour at my wedding. I love Peggy all the way to death. And Peggy has a big potty mouth.

You don't even really notice it that much, because she's so sweet when dropping f-bombs. But they're all over the place. She does it in front of her family too, so there's really no censorship. She also uses extremely explicit phrases, all with a gorgeous smile, and all said in the most casual and breezy fashion. When she swears, you don't think it's rude.

Carol: I can't believe how that Russian guy treated you, that's ridiculous.
Peggy: I know! But it's okay, I'll be seeing him next week, and I have a great tan. I'm going to look fucking gorgeous, and he's going to cream his fucking pants!
Carol: Wow....

The following week, I'm on the phone with my brother.

Derek: ...and I watched that movie with Rachel McAdams.
Carol: Oh yeah? Isn't she so fucking hot? Did you cream your fucking pants?!
Derek: .........

Sometimes it's not even bad habits. It's just habits that are totally uncool on me. Like when we visit Lindsay Hardy. She's one cool cat, and she speaks all cool with her cool lingo. After we visited Lindsay...

Eric: Do you want to stop and get Wendy's for dinner?
Carol: (all cool) ...Whatev.
Eric: I'm going to stop you right there. You can't pull that off.
Carol: (not cool) ...WHAT...EV!!!!

And recently, I discovered that I don't even need to be hanging around with my friends to pick up habits. I can just read bad language and pick it up. Iain Gomme pointed me towards www.tuckermax.com, and this guy is potty-mouth-and-a-half. I'm so addicted to his crazy stories, he's hilarious. Yesterday I was walking around, behaving like an ass, and dropping f-bombs all over the place.

Me: (on the toilet) I'm going to have a shower, get me my fucking towel?
Eric: ...okay.
Me: (on the toilet) Am I swearing a lot?
Eric: Yes.
Me: (on the toilet) I think it's that website I'm reading.
Eric: Yes.
Me: (on the toilet) You don't swear?
Eric: Try not to.
Me (on the toilet) Even if other people swear?
Eric: No.
Me: (on the toilet) My parents were right. Fuck fuck fuck.

I will end with a slightly disturbing haiku.

You're your parents' flesh
With their bodies they made yours
They can smell your soul