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

Happy Birthday Curry Crab with Rice

It was my Dad's birthday yesterday, and he turned 54 years old. I offered to take him out for birthday lunch, but he had joined the (until recently all-women's) yoga class at work, and was busy yogaing during lunch, so we decided to go out today instead.

Carol: Think about where you want to go for lunch today.
Dad: There is a small Chinese restaurant on Don Mills. Their curry crab is quite good. What do you think?
Carol's stomach: JESUS, NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
Carol: Sounds good! You drive.
Carol's stomach: YOU SONS OF BITCHES!!!!

Curry Crab with Rice looks a lot like a cooked crab covered in yellow vomit. It was sticky and hot and delicious. I ate so much, I think my stomach died. Not to mention, my intestines ceased to be able to handle curry about a year ago, so my bumhole will be seeing drippy fire tonight.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Random bits of general confusion

I've been assailed with complaints, and I apologize for neglecting the blog. I've been unceremoniously jerked into oceans of guilt, with the return of ThePeach. ThePeach went on blog-hiatus a fortnight ago because of a break-up with her boyfriend. They are now reunited, and she has started blogging again. I just happened to stop blogging about two weeks ago and haven't been able to think of anything good to write. But now that she's started blogging again, I'm feeling especial pressure. That, and the threatening msn messages from angry friends. Thank you, angry friends.

There's nothing happening. Well, no. There are some things happening, but nothing is particularly interesting or bloggable. But here are the random bits, pushed out due to high pressure and guilt.

The Gym Does Nothing
We've been going to the gym for three weeks, and I'm tired and I still weigh a million pounds. Okay, so three weeks isn't a very long time. And even if my weight hasn't gone down, my stomach is a little less blorpy than it used to be, and my jeans seem to be fitting oh so very slightly looser. So I suppose that's progress. I wish I had money and time off so I could get extensive lyposuction.

Battlestar Galactica Has Ruined My Life
Season 3 doesn't air until October, and I need to know what happens. The end of Season 2 was crazy messed up, and if Starbuck and Apollo don't get together soon and screw each other so hard they bruise all over, I'm going to throw myself off the condo balcony. I'm also upset that I'm not a viper pilot protecting a ragtag fleet from cylon invaders. Stupid SAP ABAP HR programming, what the hell kind of career is that?

I Broke Up With P.Willy
And I'm so over him! I still think he is awesome and a half. But the wave of obsession has been wiped out - by another wave of obsession...

I Heart Jamie Bamber and Katee Sackhoff
A.K.A. Apollo and Starbuck. Jamie Bamber has a crazy wicked body, and has a British accent in real life. Katee Sackhoff is so unbelievably cool, and Starbuck kicks everyone's ass. Unfortunately, Jamie Bamber is married with three small daughters. Equally unfortunately, Katee Sackhoff is a girl, and neither of us are lesbians. Luckily, none of this matters in my head.

Eric Turned 25
And his car insurance went down.

We Cleaned the Condo
And holy gross, we had a ton of dust! In fact, I made a great joke at my in-laws house on Easter Weekend...

MIL: Did the Easter Bunny visit you this weekend?
Me: No, but I think the Dust Bunny did!
Everyone: Mwafwafwafwafwa!!

We Got a New Mattress
The first one they sent us had a lopsided corner on the pillowtop, and we didn't like that, so Sleep Country sent us another one as a replacement. Now according to my friend Rob, I will be reincarnated as a South African child in my next life, with no mattress at all, as punishment for my materialistic pickiness and wasting a perfectly good mattress. Rob is an halfie environmentalist hippie accountant who refuses to take Tylenol when he has a headache. I don't take anything he says seriously.

We Went to The Dentist
And the hygienist told me that Eric makes a lot of saliva.

And that's about it. No real goals, no sense of purpose, just aimless existence. I will end with a dejected haiku.

Life is dull, I'm bored.
Battlestar Galactica...
Frakkers ruined my life

Happy

Spring is finally waking up, stretching and scratching her ribs and wondering what to make for breakfast. I look back on the winter that has just (mercifully) finally dragged his drunk ass off to bed, and it's hard to think of anything that sustained my emotions during that dark, bleak time (I don't like winter). After much thought, I came up with this:

A List of the Happies of My Average Winter Workday

or

The Things That Make Me Joyful Relative to My Standard State

(in Chronological Order)

7:30am - Hard to believe that there can be a highlight at this ungodly hour, but this is when I get in the car and sigh blissfully at the sound of P.Willy singing some cheesy broadway song on my cd player. I drive 5 minutes to work - that's usually one and a half renditions of AIAOY, or up to 2.3 renditions of Big Ass Rock, with some rewinding to listen to my favourite parts. I only listen to the soft slow quiet songs in the morning, because the loud fast songs are too jarring, and the truth is I'm not actually awake yet.

8:30ish - My co-worker Sophie comes to fetch me to make tea. She doesn't actually need the tea, but I do, because it means that we can sit in the servery for about 15 minutes waiting for the water to boil. Then she makes my tea for me, because she insists it tastes better that way. She's a good lady.

9:00ish - Depending on the day, this is around the time that my friend Jen comes online, and we discuss all things from gossip to science to poo. I really do like to talk about poo. I know as a certainty that this is a highlight of my day, because on the days that Jen doesn't show up, I am despondent and moody. Today may be one of those days and I'm not amused. Where are you, woman?

11:45 - This is the time to walk quickly walk quickly walk quickly....HAHA! Beat the rush for the microwave in the servery!!! If I arrive at noon, I have been known to have to wait in line for up to 25 minutes. I consider beating the microwave line one of the major accomplishments of the day, and I especially enjoy marching back to my room, clutching my tupperware in triumph, mocking people along the way who have unheated tupperware containers of food in their hands.

1:00ish - Time to eat my apple! Whooo apple!

3:15 - HOMETIME!! I celebrate this moment by inquiring of the man across from me in a gross and creepy voice "Guess what time it is??" I do this every day.

5:00ish - The moment that I hear Eric's key in the door, I get EXTREMELY happy. Understand though, that this moment lasts about 4 seconds. Because once he enters the condo, I'm actually annoyed that he's speaking to me and trying to kiss me with his gross public transit lips, and interrupting whatever television program I'm watching. I'm kind of a bitch when I stop to think about it.

7:00-9:00 - If there is an episode of CSI I haven't seen yet on Spike, I get really excited. If however, there is an episode that I've already seen, my life falls into listlessness. It's really a toss-up between 7:00 and 9:00.

10:00 - I love climbing into bed, the cool fresh sheets caressing my flannel-swathed overweight body, the open balcony door letting in a cool fresh breeze. I read my book for a little while.

10:30 - Snuggletime! Eric is uber cuddly!! If you think this is a euphemism for doing the sex, you're sadly wrong. If there is actually any doing of the sex, it's not a highlight, it's more of a drain on time and energy, and then the next day if we're tired, it gets blamed on the sex. We've become too practical for bedtime sex, and one of us (usually Eric) is complaining the whole time anyway, so it's like resentful sex, and who wants to have that? So we snuggle and drift off to sleep. Or as I like to call it, sneep.

10:45ish - The happy that starts the day is much the same as the happy that ends the day. As I drift off to sneep, visions of a singing P.Willy dance in my head. Naked.

I can't help myself

Not five minutes ago, I asked a friend whether I should blog about this, and he said "No, I don't think you should blog about this". But I can't help myself.

I've had gas for over 12 hours. Last night Luke and Cathy came over to watch Battlestar Galactica, and I was secretly painfully bloated and gassy. Then they left, and on the advice of another friend, I went to sit on the toilet for five minutes, to make sounds with my bum. I harmonized with much moaning and groaning. Eric ignored the whole thing.

So when I woke up this morning, I was certain the gas would be gone, but I'm blowing up like a balloon. What would give me gas for this long? I need help!

Yesterday I ate:

• 1 protein fruit smoothie
• 2/3 Isoflex chocolate marshmallow fudge protein bar
• 1 apple
• 1 1/2 pieces of stuffed pizza (pepperoni, onions, green peppers, mozzarella)
• 1 handful airpopped popcorn
• 1 After Eight mint

Finally, what should I do to get rid of the gas? It's painful and altogether really annoying. And my torso is puffed way out!

I will end with a gas-inspired haiku.

Filled, buttoxic fumes
Feel the pushing on my sides
Swelling, stretching, hiss

Deja vu and a punch in the stomach

I'm back downtown at the SAP Training Centre (I just had Manchu Wok for lunch) (and I warned anyone who would listen to stay away from Soup It Up). It wasn't so long ago that I was just here...taking the subway in the morning with pungent people and eating free food court food. Here I am again. Hence the deja vu.

There is a crucial difference this time - it's not a public class where I can meet new people who are doing similar SAP-related things. It's a private class for TDSB employees especially. This means that I'm in a room with 24 other TDSB employees, most of whom I never see except for some bi-annual meetings etc etc. It's a boisterous group of people I don't - how do I put this nicely - really like. And we have to share computers because the class size is too big. Hence the punch in the stomach.

For those of you TDSB employees who read my blog, these comments do not apply to you. If you read my blog, then I like you very much. Smiley face for you... :)

No sleep for the wicked

Guess what time I finally got to sleep last night? 4:00am! It's a perversion of all that is good and pure.

After posting that palpably bitter blog entry last night, something unexpected and delightful happened. I made poo. I had already made an excellent poo earlier that day while I was at work. I had attributed the work-poo to the orange I consumed the night before while Luke and Cathy were over watching Battlestar Galactica. The poo was firm, plentiful, and pleasing. But hark, the twitching sphincter sings! So I grabbed a book (Watermelon by Marian Keyes), and made yet another firm, plentiful, and pleasing poo. That must have been one hell of an orange.

My book was really good. And seeing as I was wide awake, I sat down on the couch and read for a little while. I ended up reading the whole book. I was so not tired! By the time Claire had ended up with the right guy and was proceeding to live happily ever after, I was realizing that it was 3:45am. This was an ugly moment. I still wasn't tired, but I knew I needed to wake up in about 3 hours, and that the least I could do was try to get some rest.

I turned out the lights, climbed into bed. Still wide awake. Couldn't sleep.

Eric was asleep...but The Boss was awake, if you get my meaning. So I got The Boss to make Eric wake up and do the sex with me. It was rather excellent. The Boss outdid himself this time. The result being that I passed out completely afterwards and got in a 3 hour nap before having to get up and go to work.

Eric, on the other hand was wide awake and couldn't get back to sleep until 6:30am...and then the alarm went off half an hour later. I do feel bad for him. We both woke up groggy and upset and despairing and walking into things. He seems to be in quite a good mood though, and I'm too tired to be really bitchy about much of anything. So this was possibly a good thing. Though I doubt it.

I will end with a sleepy poo haiku. A haipoo, if you will.

Sweet slumber denied
Restless wand'ring - who's that there?
Welcome poo, my friend.

Miles to go

It's 11:30pm, and I can't sleep. I feel helpless and frustrated and like all of tomorrow will be ruined. Time was when 11:30pm was laughably early, and the party wasn't due to begin for at least another hour.

Okay, I exaggerate, I was never that cool.

But I got into bed TWO HOURS ago, and I am still awake. Awake and bitter.

I don't deserve this. I had determined today at work that I would go to the gym, no excuses. I was pumped, I felt fat, I needed to DO something about it! I got home, changed into soft formless comfy clothes, and waited for Eric. I read my book. Slowly, my energy faded. I became over-content on the couch. I didn't really want to get up to go anywhere, especially not the gym.

Eric got home at around 5:00pm, saw that I was content with my book on the couch and wisely left me alone. He made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and we ate our snacks together. Then I snuggled into his arms on the couch and drifted off to sleep.

I woke up a half hour later with a mild headache and a definite grumpy feeling not to go to the gym, and I said so. Eric agreed lovingly, and suggested we go for a nice walk instead. Seeing as he had agreed so lovingly, and I had already reneged on my plans, I also agreed lovingly, and went to change my clothes. I put on my bra, zipped up my jeans, and went to brush my hair while I decided what top to wear.

I looked in the mirror. This was my undoing. My torso looked like a plastic bag full of water with a goldfish in it, except there was no goldfish. I moved experimentally, and just like the bag of water, there was a slight delay, and then disturbed jiggling. It was so so depressing.

So long tormented story short, I quickly made up my mind to go to the gym, and even had a disgusting orange protein shake. I worked out quickly and efficiently, and actually did a good job killing my triceps. Then I picked up an aerobics class schedule and decided to go completely OCD crazy about going to the gym, and committing to developing one of those adrenaline addictions I'd heard about, where you keep going to the gym to get that rush. Or is it endorphins? I don't know, it's 11:30pm and all I know is that I was completely ripped off of a perfectly planned and well-deserved good night's sleep.

I want to eat a steak.

Sick beyond reckoning

I had a shower last night around 10:00pm, during the Amazing Race. I shampooed, I conditioned, I face-washed, I bodywashed, scrubby scrubby scrubby. I even ran the razor down my my legs and underarm stubble. I was fresh as a daisy, shiny and new, like a virgin with a waxed yoohoo.

I sat on the couch, wearing my white comfy bathrobe, with my hair wrapped up in a white comfy bathtowel. Hubby went to have a shower also.

When he returned, we sat on the couch together and watched the Amazing Race, both of us fresh as daisies, shiny and new, like virgins.

Then something seized my attention. "What's that smell?!" I wondered.

My first horrified and doubting thought was "...is that my yoohoo?" But this smelled NOTHING like ANYBODY'S yoohoo might be expected to smell. Plus, I just don't have issues like that with my yoohoo. It was like moldy cheese that had been consumed along with feces, and then vomitted back up where some FRESH moldy cheese had been added in, and left to waft in the wind.

I was tired. I thought that maybe I was imagining it. Those antibiotics were probably just screwing with my senses. But that smell, that disgusting wet putrid smell, kept on gently ebbing and flowing back and forth in front of my nostrils. I shifted my weight, and moved around my robe, to see if a stronger waft would come out at me, indicating that there was something terribly wrong with my body. No such indication.

I finally glanced over at Eric during a commercial break, nervous that he had smelled it too, and thought it was my yoohoo. What did I see??

HE HAD HIS FINGERS BURIED IN HIS TOES, DIGGING OUT TOE-PASTE!

I gaped at him in horror. "Is that smell coming from you?!!!" I shrieked.

His jaw dropped, he gaped back in horror. "You can smell it?!!?!!" he gasped.

He jumped to his (clearly rotting) feet and ran away. I sat immobilized on the couch, wanting to die. He started babbling... "Oh my god, I'm sorry. It smells SO BAD!! I peeled off my toenail and I held it up to my nose - like this! And it was SO DISGUSTING! But I didn't think you would be able to smell it!!"

I screamed back about how I could totally smell it for the past 15 minutes. And he went on to reiterate how he had been basking in the raunchyness, secure in the delusion that I couldn't smell what he was smelling. I screamed back that I had been sitting two feet away from him. And he demonstrated several times by holding the offending estranged toenail up to his nose "I sniffed it - like this! And it was SO GROSS!" And I screamed back at him to STOP DOING THAT.

He then sat down in the hallway in his underwear with a pair of clippers and a paper towel, and he removed several small piles of black toe-paste from under his toenails. Then he clipped his nails extremely short, and got back in the shower - under protest - to wash his feet again.

This confirms all theories - boys are disgusting, they have germs, and they smell.

I will end with a despairing haiku.

I was fresh and clean
Then his foot stench raped my soul
Why me? Why me? Why?

I am Carol Chan

I haven't changed my name yet. I had totally planned on taking Eric's name after we got married, because Carol Chan is very very common. Have you ever Googled Carol Chan? None of these people are me. Neither are these.

My Chinese name is also very common - Wei-Yee. Again, none of these people are me. And since "Chan" is the Chinese equivalent of "Jones" in terms of common-ness, my name is basically the Chinese version of Jane Jones, only I don't look anything like Angelina Jolie.

But somehow, I'm now in no rush to change my name.

Carol Johnston sounds pretty good to me. My issue is whether to let go of "Chan" completely. Because my middle name will still be "Wei-Yee". So I'll be "Carol Wei-Yee Johnston". Which isn't bad...just a little unexpected.

Maybe I'll incorporate "Chan" into my middle name. Like:
First name: Carol
Middle name: Wei-Yee Chan
Surname: Johnston

Or, because in Chinese the surname comes first...

First name: Carol
Middle name: Chan Wei-Yee
Surname: Johnston

Carol Wei-Yee Chan Johnston
Carol Chan Wei-Yee Johnston

Princess Consuela Bananahammock.

Hahaha! Oh, Phoebe.

Then there's always the idea of changing BOTH our names to a hybrid name - Chanston. But I'm not that progressive, and I don't even like the way it sounds. So nix that.

And just today, I got an idea that I can change my name to Johnston completely, and then get the Chinese character for Chan tattooed somewhere on my body. Eric loves tattoos, so he loves that idea. I'm a little worried that like the other Chans in my family, the tattoo will stretch out with age and develop a double chin.

What should I do??

I will end with a pensive haiku.

What's in a surname?
Desperately, I cling to mine
Am I a Bad Wife?

LOTR makes me covetous

Last night we watched Lord of the Rings - Return of the King the extended edition on dvd.

I wish I had:

• Anduril, forged from the shards of Elendil's sword, Narsil
• An Army of the Dead
• A prophecy fortelling that I will be killed by no man
• A choice between the immortality of the elves and the mortality of men
• A Mithril shirt
• A Phial of Galadriel, containing the light of Earendil, so that I can strike fear into the hearts of the Enemy's servants
• An all-seeing Eye
• Legolas sex-slaves
• Aragorn sex-slaves
• Eomer sex-slaves
• Faramir sex-slaves
• ....Eowyn sex-slaves

I wonder if:

• Aragorn and Arwen ever had a big fight after they got married, and whether she threw in his face the fact that she had given up the Immortality of the Elves for him
• The men ever actually did sexual things to each other - they really act gay
• Frodo lived in seething shame for the rest of his life because he couldn't actually throw the ring into the fire
• Frodo ever got an infection from where Gollum bit his finger. I got an infection on my finger, I think he would have too - Gollum was way dirtier than my cleaver was.

We have gained 55 pounds since the wedding

I'm totally not kidding. This is 10lbs additional weight each since November. It's so sad, I can't even describe it. We bought a scale not long ago, and were horrified at the results. Practically nothing I own fits me properly anymore, it all rides up because my bodyfat is pulsing and undulating and pushing the material where it ought not to go. I've been joking around about my weight gain, but the truth is that I've basked in a fair amount of denial. This scale has thrown reality right up my ass, and it hurts.

Eric is also very sad. He begged me not to post this news on the blog, but I feel it would be dishonest not to. Lying by ommision. His favourite Mexx pants don't button up anymore, and he has taken to hiking his shirt up over his "belly" and pushing his abdomen out. Then he walks around the condo stroking the mound he has created. The sick thing with Eric is that he actually gains weight quite gracefully, and he carries it well, and still looks sexy. I look like a little Chinese girl gone horribly wrong. In any case, a sense of guilt and regret hangs in the air as we eat biscuits and play videogames.

When I saw my mother two days ago, she pat my tummy and told me I'm a bad and naughty girl for getting fat. She's trying to shame me into losing weight. Then she said that after I get well from my sinus infection, I have to commit to a program and lose weight, and implied that if I don't, she won't love me anymore.

In an aggressive move yesterday, I did a pilates video for my abs. I'm getting the hell rid of this fat! Booyah!!

In other news, I made chocolate-buttercream-filled vanilla cupcakes last night.

I can't taste anything

Being sick isn't cool, and I'm not SUPER sick or anything. Just sick enough to prevent me from doing anything fun for fear of making it worse. My fever has finally subsided, and I finally got some antibiotics, but my plugged sinuses still haven't opened up. As a result, I can't really smell anything, I can't really hear anything, and I can't really taste anything. I'm basically relying on sight and touch alone.

The best way to describe my sense of taste at the moment is that while I can't taste the food, I can feel the taste of the food. So for example, right now I'm eating an orange and I'm feeling the juicyness, and I can feel my mouth reacting to the tangyness by salivating out of my cheeks, and plus I can actually taste a hint of orange. So it's like a muted taste experience.

This altered sensory state makes me nervous, because of Eric and food. When I was growing up, my mother loved to throw things out of the fridge. It was one of her favourite hobbies. We would have leftovers that were two days old, and she would gleefully toss them. I'm sure I never came within 10 feet of spoiled food even once while I was living under my mother's roof. One time I bought a small jar of mayonnaise and used it once, like just a little bit off the top. The following week my mother took it out and said (in Chinese) "Can I throw this out yet? I think it's gone bad." The woman is crazy.

In contrast, Eric once bought a giant package of ground beef from Costco. He put it in his refrigerator, and then the next day, the refrigerator broke. Their landlord didn't get it fixed for like a week. Eric desperately divided the giant package of rotting meat anyway, and put it in the freezer. Then about 5 months later, he brought the frozen rancid meat over to my house and asked me to make spaghetti and meatsauce with it. I defrosted it, and it totally stank, and felt really slimy. I told Eric we couldn't use it, it was horribly bad, and he insisted that we try, and that maybe the sauce and spices would cover it up. I enlisted my housemate Gloria's help, and we ganged up on him and threw it away. Then he got upset that it had gone to waste. The man is also crazy.

I'm kind of afraid that he will feed me something rotten, and I won't notice because I can't really taste anything. He bought some sandwich meat early last week, and we still have it. He says it's still good, but sandwich meat totally sketches me out. I think that you need to use it well within a week, otherwise you'll get a tummyache. He has also kind of touched it all over and taken it out of the deli packaging and put it in a Ziploc bag. I don't know why. But yesterday, when I realized we didn't have leftovers for lunch today, he suggested that we have sandwiches with the sandwich meat. I gently refused, and so today I have turkey kielbassa sausage slices and crackers. He also packed me some cheese, but I totally can't taste the cheese. I can sense the saltiness of the kielbassa in my mouth though, which is cool.

Yesterday, we got new groceries, and I cleaned out the fridge semi-Mom-style. So I should be okay. But if I get food poisoning, you'll know why.

I will end with a haiku.

Senses on their backs
Clumsy, fumbling with my tongue
That sounded like porn