I have this zit

We have a wedding to go to in Ottawa this Saturday and I have this really bad zit. I am not 14 years old. I am way older than that (28) and I haven't had a bad zit for years and years. What is this??

It's in a really bad place, on the left side of my face (as in, on the same side as my personal left hand, which is opposite from the left side of my face as seen by you), about a centimetre diagonally above the corner of my mouth. It started a few days ago as a hard and painful underground bump. I poked it a bit and massaged it curiously and hoped it would go away. But over the past few days it has been surfacing and becoming red and swollen. I had Eric touch it yesterday and he exclaimed in surprise at the heat of the pink zit bump. It is still not a full-fledged zit, but more like a small pointy mountainous mosquito bite. I am afraid that by Saturday it will have matured into a mighty whitehead, and I will have to pop it. And then the skin will be broken and will not look right even with concealer and make-up, because the surface will be all scraggy. Plus I will have to keep on RE-popping it, because it will continue to refill itself with pus and blood and fluid.

It reminds me of this time I had a huge underground zit for about two months on the left side of my face near the top of my cheekbone. This is a really long story, and just thinking of it makes me so excited I get exhausted, so suffice it to say, it eventually erupted into a mighty whitehead which I popped every night for four nights. It was a veritable zit-shaped cornucopia of pus. It kept on refilling, and each subsequent night yielded greater and greater volumes of pus and blood. Finally, on the last fateful night of the life of this zit, I did the usual pop, and gobs of pus ran out, followed by rivulets of blood. I collected all this waste on a piece of tissue and clambered up onto our bed to show Eric, who reacted with dutiful horror and disgust. Then I went back to the bathroom to continue playing with the zit for awhile, mainly to continue squeezing blood out of it until I got bored. I placed a finger on either side of the still prevalent lump, and pushed inward and downward. What I'm about to tell you will sound like an exaggeration. Admittedly, I sometimes exaggerate on the blog for shock effect, but - and I can't stress this enough - this is not one of those times. This is 100% accurate with no embellishments.

Okay.

So I placed a finger on either side of the still prevalent lump and pushed inward and downward. And a large hole about the size of the tip of a medium ball-point pen opened up at the apex of the zit lump, and a semi-solid substance ERUPTED from this hole in almost the exact manner of silly string. It wasn't gooey drippy pus. It wasn't blood. It was white, and it came out in a strip, like Play-Doh squeezed out of the spaghetti maker. Recall, this zit was at the top of my left cheekbone. This column of pus shot out perpendicular to my person and then fell with the natural force of gravity down against my face. It hung down a FULL INCH. It was completely disgusting and completely beautiful. If you don't believe me, you can verify my story with Eric because, of course, the next thing I did was clamber back up onto the bed to show him. He couldn't believe his eyes. He still talks about it to this day.

After much oh-my-godding and holy-christing I wiped it off and squeezed a few more times to clear it out completely. And suddenly, the lump was entirely and utterly deflated. It lay totally flat. This underground hard lumpy tumour of a zit that had been with me for over two months was just gone. It was hands down the most incredible zit experience of my life.

I do have another hard lump in a place similar to the insane zit, and it has been there since before Dylan was born. I told Eric about it the other day and he does not believe me. But I am not lying, this lump has been in my face since before I gave birth. If you want to feel it, I will let you. I've been waiting for it to erupt the same way, but as each month passes I am disappointed. I feel that insane zit was truly a once-in-a-lifetime zit.

But this painful, hot, red bump on my face right now, I don't know what will happen with it. But I'm not happy. I think I'll go to the washroom now and play with it a bit.

Carol and Carols

I'm getting anal for Christmas. Whoa wait, let me clarify. I am not getting penetrated in the butt by an erect penis as a holiday gift (Eric: "Boo"). What I mean is that I am starting to get excitedly anxious about the holiday season, and am worried that I won't get anything done in time and will have to battle through the crush of holiday shoppers with my screaming child in order to buy thoughtful and appropriate gifts for everyone on my list. As a result, I have an Excel spreadsheet all typed out with the people for whom I must purchase gifts, and the possible gift ideas listed in the column next to their names. And I am planning on ticking those gifts off the list a few at a time over the next two weeks. I am on an uber efficient holiday shopping spree!

As a result of this, I have also moved up the annual playing of holiday music. I keep checking radio stations in the car to see if anyone is playing holiday music yet (they're not), and yesterday I searched for "Christmas" in my iTunes and created a playlist of all the songs that came out of that search and re-synched my iPod and put it back on the iPod docking station. And today, I decided it was time to start brainwashing Dylan with Christmas music. So instead of the usual mix of Disney songs and girly pop music I make him listen to, I put on the Christmas playlist and sat down with him to play with his toys.

The first song that came on was "Where are You Christmas" by Faith Hill. Slow, moving, beautiful music with cheesy stupid lyrics. I love this song! Christmas was off to a great start!

Then came another favourite, "All I Want for Christmas Is You", by Mariah Carey. I so can't get enough of this song. It makes me want to dance! So that's what I did, I picked up Dylan and we boogied all over the condo. Good times were had by all.

Then "Santa Baby" by Madonna. Hmm, I thought to myself. This song is pretty skanky. But you can't deny "Santa Baby", after all it's a classic.

Then came Britney's "Santa Can You Hear Me". I had a cringe moment; I didn't want Dylan listening to this. And then I had an introspective moment. I have never been a huge Britney fan, but I can't deny that her past music is catchy. While I have always turned my nose up at the low quality of her offerings, I am now at a point where I feel I can admit that she was culturally one of the voices of my generation. She is approximately my age, and her music managed to permeate most of the years of my youth when I felt that the world was at my feet and I would be young and awesome forever. My friend Jordan even wrote a shout-out to her in his graduating blurb of our yearbook. When I hear her warbling nasal voice, I am sent hurtling back into that bubble in my life: full of doubt and confidence, full of fear and hope. Secure and happy and clueless. And while it's true that Britney has been a complete mess for a few years, she's looking pretty hot again now, and has that "surprisingly candid" interview with MTV so...maybe she's okay again? Anyway, I decided to let go of my prejudices and to embrace this song, and so Dylan and I danced as Brit implored Santa for a man, promising that this was her only wish this year.

Then came a really stuffy operatic version of "Still Still Still" by the Cambridge Singers. Yeah, I have totally dorky music.

And then, unfortunately, Mr Garrison's voice came on the speakers:
I heard there is no Christmas in the silly Middle East
No trees, no snow, no Santa Claus, they have different religious beliefs
They believe in Muhammad, and not in our holiday
And so every December I go to the Middle East and say...

"Hey there Mr. Muslim Merry fucking Christmas
Put down that book the Koran, and hear some holiday wishes.
In case you haven't noticed it's Jesus's birthday.
So get off your heathen Muslim ass and fucking celebrate!"

Too late I remembered my extensive collection of South Park holiday songs. I snuck a glance at Dylan and he was looking at me curiously. I decided that not to react would be the best thing, so I pretended to play with a plastic giraffe. Unfortunately, by the time Mr Garrison got to this part:
"Hey there Mr. Shintoist Merry fucking Christmas
God is going to kick your ass you infidelic pagan scum"
Dylan had decided he liked the song and was bopping to the beat and waving his arms. My baby could be a racist.

Of course right after this, we got "Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo":
Mr. Hankey the Christmas Poo
Small and brown he comes from you
Sit on the toilet here he comes
Squeeze him 'tween your festive buns

A present from down below
Spreading joy with a "Howdy-Ho!"
He's seen the love inside of you
`Cause he's a piece of poo

And it didn't end there. We also sat through "Lonely Jew on Christmas", "Swiss Colony Beef Log", and "The Most Offensive Song Ever" which is about how Mary can suck all the dick she wants and still be a virgin. Luckily, Kenny sings most of the worst parts so it's mumbled. But I think Dylan could tell it was very dirty.

I will end with a haiku to Santa Claus:
Santa are you there?
Keep Dylan from Children's Aid
I'll get new music

Cheeeeeeeeeeeeese

I've been thinking: it's time I wrote a blog post about cheese that is not of the dick variety. I love cheese but not all cheese and, this is important, not all cheese in all ways.

Here for your perusal is a brief list of my cheese preferences:

1. I like Black Diamond marble cheese, but never ever Cracker Barrel. It is too creamy.
   
2. I don't like Black Diamond marble cheese if it has come to room temperature
3. I like Black Diamond mild cheddar, but never medium or old, and again never ever Cracker Barrel. Ditto goes for the temperature point above.
4. I don't like cream cheese. I will not eat it on bagels, in spreads, in cold dips, or rolled with smoked salmon.
5. I like cream cheese in hot crab/lobster dip
   
6. I like cream cheese in cheesecakes
7. I don't like Japanese cheesecakes
8. I like mozzarella on pizza, lasagna, panini, and most baked casserole dishes.
9. I do not like mozzarella cold or eaten on its own.
10. I like mozzarella cold if it is buffalo mozzarella and served in a caprese salad.
11. I no longer like cheese in my subs.
12. I don't like cheese in my salads.
13. I don't mind some cheese in my salad at St. Louis Wings.
14. I like real cheese melted on nachos.
15. I hate liquid squirtable/dippable cheese on nachos.
16. I don't like Parmesan cheese on top of pasta.
17. I like Parmesan cheese in pesto.
18. I do not like Parmesan cheese (or any other kind of cheese) in tomato sauces
    
19. I am starting to like Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, but mostly baked inconspicuously into lasagna, preferably mixed with mozzarella and breadcrumbs.
20. I don't like fettucine alfredo.
21. I have historically not liked feta, but I am starting to work on it. I like feta on some gourmet pizzas. I have also not historically liked feta in my Greek salad, but am starting to get it on the side so I can try it. I do not like spanikopita.
22. I don't like goat cheese, and don't expect I ever will. It tastes like goat.
23. I don't like swiss cheeses like Emmental or Gruyere. I also don't like Jarlsberg, though I'm not sure if that's swiss or not. It follows that I don't like cheese fondue or quiche. Both really gross me out.
24. I don't like cottage cheese.
25. I like ricotta in pasta.
    
26. I like brie and Camembert - a lot.
27. I don't like brie and Camembert from a supermarket. I call these varieties Supermarket Brie and Supermarket Camembert. My fancy soft cheeses must be unpasteurized and/or come from a fancy cheese shop, and be either from Quebec or France. It must be strong but not so strong that it is bitter. I eat these spread thinly on good french bread, like fancy butter.
28. I don't mind Supermarket Brie or Supermarket Camembert, if it is served with flavourful crackers that mask the plastic supermarket flavour. I eat these spread mediumly on said crackers.
    
29. It is likely that I also do not mind Supermarket Brie and Supermarket Camembert if it is covered with a bunch of flavourful stuff and then baked. This theory has not yet been tested.
30. I tentatively and cautiously like blue cheese. But definitely not all blue cheese. I like St Agur blue cheese, and this must be spread very lightly. I do not like the Danish Rosenborg cheese from the supermarket. I call this Stinky Supermarket Blue. I liked a blue cheese from an oyster restaurant downtown called Starfish (the restaurant, not the cheese). This leads me to believe that I may also like other varieties of blue cheese.
    
31. I love love love Morbier cheese from France. It has a thin streak of black ash across the middle. It smells like the feet of angels. It is earthy and a little nutty and I love love love it.

AND FINALLY:
As of last night, I am obsessed with Tete de Moine cheese. This is the main reason for this post. Tete de Moine cheese (or Monk's Head cheese) is made in Switzerland, and is a noble and generous gift from the cheese gods who live in their heavenly Mount Cheesympus. To serve it, you scrape at it on an angle with a tool called a "girolle", and it forms a flowery buttery bundle of delicious awesomeness. You can then gobble it up plain, or dollop some jelly into the curling folds of the luscious cone.

I sampled this cheese at the Gourmet Wine and Cheese Show last night. It was the night reserved for insider people; it turns out one of my Mommy Friends has mad hook-ups and got us all in for free. Together, we experienced this cheese and it changed my life forever. I can't wait to get out to a fancy cheese shop, because I am SO going to get me some Monk Heady goodness! If you come over to visit over the holidays, I will share it with you.Haiku Finale:
Mother cow and sheep
Creamy cheese flows forth from teat
Not literally

Motherhood is neat

I've been trying to train Dylan to sleep good. I put him down in his crib while he's still awake, and I tuck him in, make sure he's warm, make sure he's not too warm, make sure there are no plastic bags in the immediate vicinity, and then I walk away. If I've timed it just right, he will quietly put himself to sleep and nap for 1-2 hours. If I've mistimed it a little, and he still has some energy, he'll lie in bed and talk to himself for a few minutes, then put himself to sleep. If he's been a little overexcited, he'll yell and bitch for about 20 seconds while I put him down, and then realize he's tired and figure "Meh, it's not worth the hassle of throwing a tantrum", and put himself to sleep shortly after. But if I've done something really unfortunate, like go out to the mall and force him to stay awake and stimulated for way longer than I should have, he will NOT go to sleep. Not for anything, not for anyone. And he will just continue to get more and more tired, and he will be miserable, and I will be miserable, and by the time Eric gets home, we're both pissed and miserable, and then he has to deal with TWO bitchy treats. Haha.

To avoid this, I have resorted to getting Dylan to sleep using any means necessary. I don't mean that I drug his blueberries, but I will take him into our bedroom and snuggle, massage, and sing him to sleep in our bed. And I will hold him and nap with him in order to keep him asleep. It's usually pretty uncomfortable, but it's also extremely priceless and wonderful. I love snuggling my little baby and hearing his little baby breaths and being able to kiss him as much as I want while he's unconscious. Yes, I'm a sappy sappy mommy.

As he got a little bigger, he started to roll onto his side to sleep, especially when he was overexhausted. When he's in bed with us, he almost always rolls toward one of us, and reaches out with his little hands to hold onto us while he sleeps. It's really freaking adorable.

A couple weeks ago, this last scenario took place. He was overtired and very unhappy. He wanted to sleep, but he didn't want to sleep. So I brought him into bed with me, and snuggled and shushed him, and eventually he rolled towards me, reaching out with his chubby little paws to hold onto my hair and my face. We fell awesomely asleep like that and napped for about a half an hour.

I was awoken by a strange prodding sensation...in my nose. It took me a couple seconds to realize what was happening, but yes I woke up to Dylan gently picking my nose with his fingers. I'm excited to tell this story at his wedding, too. I need to start keeping a list.

Cuban Gaycation

At the end of October, Eric and I went to Cuba for our gay friends' wedding. Wikkid trip. We were a group of about 17 people, and here's the best part: we left Dylan at home with my parents. The uninterrupted sleep! The alcohol at all hours!! The sheer bliss!!!

For serious though, we missed him like like crazy mofos.

But this trip was amazing. One of he gays is still complaining that the weather wasn't consistently hot as hell enough but as far as I'm concerned, it was a fantastic trip.

Here are two short highlights:

You Don't Want Carol as Your Officiant
Gay David is my oldest friend in the entire world (with the exception of my imaginary friend Ah Cho who, at the age of five, could drive a car and take me to the supermarket). When he asked me to officiate this ceremony, I was honoured and delighted to accept. I spent hours creating a short but sweet personal ceremony that spoke to the love between my oldest friend and the love of his life, and also to the close friendships between those of us who had made the journey to witness this beautiful union. I cried while writing it, I cried while rehearsing it, and I cried while previewing it to David for approval. Then I screwed it up.

Here's what I SHOULD have said:
"Neil, I've known David since we were six years old. And I have never seen him as happy as he is when he's with you."

Here's what I ACTUALLY said:
"Neil, I've known David since we were six years old. And I have never semen as happy as he is when he's with you."

I rock. It's even on video, because of course Eric filmed the whole thing.

Carol is a Bad Wife
Eric had a great time on this trip. He drank many cervesas and partied with Grant's friend "Ron" every day. On our second night, most of us went to the discoteca for some dancing good times. Eric tore up the dancefloor! I think that since having a son, he has felt the pressure to be a good example, and one of the things he wants for Dylan is to be an outgoing fun-loving guy. As a result, he is putting in a lot of effort to let loose and be an outgoing fun-loving guy himself. So he bounced and bopped on that dancefloor like it was going out of style. And he had a revelation: Eric LOVES to dance in a discoteca. He couldn't remember the last time he had so much fun! And he couldn't wait to go back.

Two nights later, people were discussing what to do in the evening.

Eric: "LET'S GO TO THE DISCOTECA!!"

So we agreed, it would be a discoteca night. But as is typical of my friends, lameness and tiredness set in early that day, and by the time it was one hour till the discoteca opened more than half the group were in their rooms. And the people who were left were fading fast. Well, Eric and I were anyway. But Eric had a plan! He disappeared for about 20 minutes and came back with a Red Bull and three enormous shots of vodka. After downing two of the shots and most of the can of Red Bull, he was READY TO GO!! He was jittery and bouncing up and down in the seat next to me. I did not have the energy for this.

Carol: "Hey Eric?"

Eric: "DISCOTECA!!!"

Carol: "Hey babe? Eric?"

Eric: "DISCOTECA!!!"

Carol: "You know, if we go back to the room, there's a discoteca in my pants...you can, you know. Dance in there."

Eric: "Ooooh!!!"

Everyone else: "Don't do it Eric."

Carol: *nudge nudge*

Eric: "Yeah, okay!!! DISCOTECA IN THE PANTS!!!"

So we left. You can probably imagine what happened next. We were walking back to the room.

Eric: "YEAH!! DISCOTECA IN YOUR PANTS!!!"

Carol: "Yeah, no. The discoteca's closed. We're going to sleep."

Eric: "...Dammit."

The best part is that the exact same thing happened the following night. This time I let him believe the discoteca in my pants was open all the way until we got into bed. He reached over and sexily started to hug and kiss me.

Eric: "Mmmm, yeah it's time for discoteca..."

Carol: "Hmm. No, there's no discoteca tonight. I'm really tired, we're going to sleep."

Eric: "DAMMIT!! You promised me!! YOU PROMISED ME DISCOTECA!!!!"

Carol: "Shhhshhhshhh...get the light."

Hahahahahaaahahahahahaaaa...yeah, I'm awesome. And Eric is still bitter.

So many potential posts, so little motivation - UNTIL NOW! / Penile Adhesiony Goodness

I haven't blogged in ages. I'm fairly certain that no one is even checking this anymore and if they do check it, it's only to link to ThePeach's blog. I know this because my friends say the following:

"Are you ever going to update your blog again or should I just delete my shortcut to your blog and link directly to ThePeach? It seems a waste of a mouseclick to have to go to yours first."

In a jealous fit of resentfulness, I went over to ThePeach's blog this evening while eating a panzerotto. I almost choked on a sausage, her blog is SO FUNNY! God, it's so damn good. It made me think of all the times funny things happened to me (not nearly as funny as hers, don't get your hopes up), and I thought wistfully to myself "That would make a great blog post" and then proceeded to do nothing about it.

I could make smug excuses and say that with a nearly-9-month-old baby, one has no time to blog. But the truth is that I passed World of Goo on the Wii in 3 days AND went back and redid some of the levels to get "OCD" status, all while Dylan napped. (Actually, once I played World of Goo while he stood at the couch next to me and tried to fit a tv remote in his mouth and as a side victory managed to get the back panel off and the batteries out before I noticed).

So here I am. I am determined to start blogging again. I am unsure as to how I ought to proceed. Should I make one enormous attempt at a monster update? Or should I start blogging smaller stories a little every day? We shall see.

Tonight I will blog one very important story. It is the heartwarming story of the little penis that could, and one day I hope that someone will read this at my son's wedding. I am confident that someone will be me.


We circumcized Dylan's penis. Turns out circumcision is a really controversial topic in the world of babies, second perhaps only to vaccination (which I'm not going to touch with a ten-foot pole in this blog - it could literally start a jihad).

The decision to snip or not to snip was left entirely to the boy's father. I have no penis of my own, and while I certainly have an opinion as to what I personally like to see in a man's pants, this would never (ever) be an applicable scenario in the case of my son. Eric decided we should snip. The reason was simple: Eric is snipped, and he wanted his son and him to have matching dongs. I can understand this reasoning, as my mother used to buy her and me matching pyjamas. And so we snipped Dylan's wee foreskin off when he was two days old. It was simply the most traumatizing thing in the entire world - for me. Dylan apparently slept through the entire thing and peed all over the pediatrician. I didn't even watch it, I just sat in my hospital room and imagined it happening and it was enough to have me in tears. I should probably also add that I was a post-partum emotional mess, which may have been a contributing factor.

Anyway, the following week I refused to change any diapers until the thing was healed. It broke my heart to see the tiny little dressing on the tiny little penis I had worked so hard to make. In no time at all, it healed and there before us was the cutest little tiny mushroom-headed penis in the whole wide world. Everyone was happy.

But then a couple months ago, Eric and I started noticing that the mushroom head was no longer so mushroomy...it was more...like a torpedo. Greatly alarmed, we made our pediatrician check it out at his next appointment. After a quick inspection, she confirmed our worst fears: Dylan had penile adhesions.

PENILE ADHESIONS.

Seriously, people. Do you remember who ELSE had penile adhesions?! Yes, this guy. The letters "OMFG" do not even begin to describe my horror. The doctor expressed regret that this had come to pass, and told us to wait until Dylan's first birthday; if it hadn't cleared itself up by then, we would have to go see a pediatric urologist who would probably have to CUT IT OPEN again.

I was so sad for my little monkey. We had screwed up his penis. When I got home, I consulted the most reliable source of information available to me - the internet. The internet told me that when this happens, there is usually nothing you can do. And it told me what I SHOULD HAVE DONE in the first place to prevent it from happening. Eff you, internet!! You suck!!!!

Unwilling to sit around until February and do nothing, I started to tug at his reattached foreskin at every diaper change. Dylan did not like this. Sometimes he reached down with his little hand and cupped his genitals protectively against my prying fingers. But he's just a baby, I easily swiped his hand away and kept on prodding. We also pulled on it in the bath, with the theory that the warm water would soften the adhesions. And then! Last week, after a particularly long soak in the tub, we bundled him up in his hooded towel and put him in his crib to be dressed. I pulled at the skin a little and slowly, reluctantly, the skin started to peel back.

Dylan: "AUGH! What are you doing?!!"

I pulled, and the skin kept coming away. I called out excitedly to Eric, and showed him.

Dylan: "GET AWAY FROM ME!! OH MY GOD!!"

Eric: "Maybe you should stop now."

But as with large pus-filled zits and big crusty scabs, I couldn't stop. I kept on peeling, all the way around his little torpedo until *boing*, his mushroom head popped back out!! It was red and raw and looked really really painful.

Dylan: "AHHH MAHHHH GAAAAAD!!! AHHHHHHHHH!!!! FAAAAAAAAAAACKK!!! FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!"

Carol: "YES!!! YESSSS!!!!!"

And I did a dance of joy that looked a lot like a chicken having a seizure. Then I left the room while Eric dealt with the horrible-looking baby penis.

I'm so happy!! Things aren't great right now. Dylan whimpers and panics at every diaper change, because I always pull the skin back to keep it from sticking. This exposes his raw penis wound to the open air and he totally hates it. Poor thing is also teething again, so he's got unbearable pain in his mouth as well as in his peepee (there's a gay joke in there somewhere). But I don't care about his pain, because this means no pediatric urologist, and no second penis-chopping procedure!

I will end with a spontaneous haiku:

Your penis is good
Mommy kept on touching it
Oh yeah. That sounds wrong.