That time of the month

My old roommate Gloria has a BScH in Life Science, a Masters in Pharmacy, and is doing a PhD in Pharmacoeconomics. Today she sought me out to have this conversation:

Gloria: Hey, you're supposed to get your period next week right?

Carol: Yes, but there's pink on my toilet paper today!!! WTF?!?!

Gloria: Okie, well apparently you got my period cause mine isn't here!

I'm not a doctor or anything, but I'm pretty sure that's not how it works. Still, I guess in case I'm wrong, if anyone sees my period lying around, can you please give it to Gloria? Thanks.

Solar system in the toilet

It's a very nice Sunday morning. Just now, I was disinfecting the kitchen when I heard the toilet flush, and Eric came out of the washroom.

Eric: "Hey honey, guess what? I just made poopie, and it was like a solar system! There was one large poo right in the middle, with four other poos of varying sizes surrounding it. And it was all kind of whirling around!"

Carol: "Wow! As soon as I finish cleaning this sink, I'm going to go and blog that."

Eric: "No!"

Carol: "I'm going to do it."

Eric: "Dammit!"

Stuff on W

Last night, we ate an unbalanced meal of baguette with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and I made some chicken salad wraps to bring for lunch today. Eric had gone into the kitchen to clean up the dishes, and I started flipping through the channels. I saw a movie on W that caught my eye.

My Stepson, My Lover.

It was an edge-of-your-seat thriller about a wife whose husband is too busy with work to fulfill her sexual needs, so of course she has panting, breathy, oddly silent sex with his son. Then the father finds out, and goes after the son, but since the father is puny with a thin mustache, and the son is a muscular athletic-type, the father obviously gets thrown onto some rocks and killed.

The dialogue was fantastic.

Wife: "Rick?"
Husband: "Can you explain this fax to me?? You think I don't know what you've been doing? You think you can make a fool out of me? You think I don't know where you've been? What you've been doing?! With MY SON!! MY SON!!!" (shake shake)
Wife: (cowers, whimpers)
Husband: "I'm gonna go and TAKE CARE of him. And when I get back, I'm gonna TAKE CARE of you!!"
Wife: (cowers, whimpers)

I'm not sure who's in charge of programming for the Women's Network, but I think he should probably be fired for this.

In other news, now that Laura and Linas' wedding is over and they're basking in the Costa Rican sun, we seem to have stopped working out. We were supposed to go Monday, but we ate too much cheese, and decided to go watch the hockey game instead. Then we were supposed to go yesterday, but in a dazzling display of mutual support, we talked ourselves right out of it, and spent the evening eating the aforementioned baguette and oil. And watching My Stepson, My Lover.

I'm an exotic dancing sensation

I am so hot, I can't even tell you. I went to a bachelorette party this weekend for my friend Laura who's getting married on Saturday. Her maid of honour organized this very cool exotic dance class for us to attend, followed by drinks and food (yum drinks and food), and then a night on the town.

First off, the dance studio was downtown at Spadina and Queen. If you don't know where those streets are, don't worry, neither do I. I had to drive down there on my own, because Eric had gone to the guys' party way earlier. Normally, I don't drive anywhere except to work, or to my parents' house, or to Eric's parents' house. Eric is the designated driver, because he's much much better at it, and we don't want to die. I got lost three times on the way to the dance studio, and nearly killed a a jaywalking Chinese family of five. At one point, I also drove into a large empty cardboard box in the middle of the road, and pushed it slowly in front of me for quite some time, attracting the stares of people in the immediate area who were wondering what the hell that dragging sound was. After parking (poorly) in a sketchy and very dark underground parking lot for five dollars, I dashed up Spadina, found the dance studio, and ran in as they were starting the class, panting and sweating from the incredibly strenuous two flights of stairs. Last one to arrive! Sweet!!

First on the exotic dancing agenda: we got all sexy and humpy on a chair. There was a lot of hair flipping, and back arching, and bending over and feeling ourselves up...and my lack of flexibility came to chomp savagely on my ass, because it did not feel good. It looked like the Tin Man trying to fornicate a chair. I checked out everyone else, and they were all looking wicked sexy, and contorting themselves into various sexual poses. I felt like a loser, so I sucked it up and flung my body around with wild abandon, desperately hoping that I wouldn't hurt myself and have to go to the emergency room, thereby messing up the class for everyone else. I know Laura would not have been impressed if that had happened. She's already not too impressed with how I keep on saying I'm going to jump in the pool at the wedding. And she knows I can't swim.

Next, we got to practice sexy faces to go with our sexy dancing. Now I'm not going to lie to you, I've tried practising sexy faces in the mirror before. Come hither, etc etc. It don't look good. I usually look like I'm glaring angrily, or like the lights are on too bright, or like I'm trying to say "Hey, check out these multiple chins". And this time we had no mirrors! We had to pair up and make sexy faces at each other. I got Suna, a fiesty little brown sexpot with a fantastic rack who had the most awesome "Yeah you wish you could get this" look. I responded by giving her a pursed-lips-sucking-in-air "Oooooh" look, and she burst out laughing at me. I joined in the laughter, but inside I was mortified.

The instructor made the bridal party do the sexy chair humping dance for the rest of us, and so I decided to treat the bride like a stripper and stuck money in her bra.

Then we got to take turns on two stripper poles. The instructor demo-ed a few moves and then turned on the music. This was exciting, except that I was on a pole the same time as Marcy (Marci?) who is this extremely cute, extremely hot, extremely tiny blonde babe, and she could really work it. While she humped and felt up her stripper pole like a wet dream, I fell down twice and got a huge pole bruise on my right shin. I was so hot, I can't even tell you.

Later that night, we took our new skillz out to the clubz. We went to Devil's Martini, and it was filled with sketchy and sweaty older men. This was the first time I had been in a club by myself as a married woman, and I definitely think that I'm sending out some new kind of vibe. First guy who started talking to me asked me what school I went to, what I took, where I live...then asked me if I thought I would ever be in need of a chiropractor because he was thinking of opening a practice near my condo. I made the best of the situation by demanding that he give me a shoulder massage, because in my opinion, chiropractors give great shoulder massages.

Some time after that, drunk sexy-rack Suna staggered up to me.
D.S.R. Suna: "I have never kissed a girl before. So I'm going to kiss you."
Carol: "Sure, okay."
D.S.R. Suna: "No, you don't understand...I've NEVER kissed a girl before!"
Carol: "Yes, okay."

She puckered her lips and approached me in much the same way that one would approach a leper with weeping sores on his face. I puckered my lips in response, to show her I was prepared. Then she pulled back.

D.S.R. Suna: "Oh my god, I can't do this. I've NEVER kissed a girl before!"

This happened no less than five times, and I think I started to become quite offended. She finally - finally! - smushed her face up to my face, and kissed me as quickly as possible. Then she walked it off, wiping at her mouth. It was the saddest girl-on-girl kiss ever.

By the time another guy came up to talk to me (four hours later), I was exhausted and not really doing the sexy moves so good. Or at all. In any case it was 2:00am, so I struck up a conversation with him about Battlestar Galactica. Turns out he hadn't seen it. He excused himself to get a drink, saying "I'll be right back! Stay there. Stay riiiiight there." He totally didn't come back. Makes no difference to me, I'm just saying. I was so hot, I can't even tell you.

What followed after the bar closed was a cab ride with an angry cabbie, followed by a freezing cold walk across two and a half city blocks along Bloor street at 3:45am to get to where my car was parked, then a confused drive back home, where I got lost twice.

I cannot tell you how good it felt to climb into bed just as the sun was coming up, next to my gorgeous sleeping man, and cuddle up to his warm oven of a muscular dozing body, as he turned to give me sleepy kisses on my head. Being married is wonderful.

Congratulations, Laura and Linas.

Recent Occurances and Thoughts

• Today, Office-Lottery-Pool-Winner Brent brought in Tim Hortons donuts for all, begotten with his god-forsaken winnings. That diabolical bastard, first he wins my money, then he feeds me fat. I was compelled to eat a chocolate covered donut and two Timbits. Damn you, Brent.
• I overheard Steve the Caretaker talking about continuing the Office Lottery Pool for as long as people want to put in money. I have been stealthily avoiding Steve the Caretaker ever since. Luckily, he has been distracted because workmen are installing new windows on one side of the building. Not my side. The building smells like caulking and glue, and I think it's killing me.
  
• We had dinner with our wedding photographer Janet Trost last night. She is awesome! She has a pilot for a boyfriend, and he's going to take us for a flight over Niagara Falls! I was nervous about dying, but she assured me that if the plane goes down, that just means it was my time.
• I'm scared of my herb garden. While I'm excited that it's growing, it creeps me out that I go to work in the morning, and there are two or three small sprouts in a pot, and then I come home, and there are over ten large sprouts in the same pot. The fact that they've been growing and moving while I was gone is scary and gives me goosebumps.
• I rock so hard at Dr. Mario, way more than Eric.
• My old roommate Gloria hung out with us all weekend, and it was awesome, because I really love to make fun of her for the guys she's dated because they're so stupid. She once dated this guy named Ryan, and she liked him because he was going to be a doctor (her father is a doctor, it's a daddy-issue thing). He had a good body, but a sinfully ugly face, and his lips were fat and pushed out so he looked like a duck. He also turned out to be a very quick shooter and a horrifying cheating asshole, so I like to call him "duckface", because it sounds like the more offensive rhyming word that begins with "F", except I won't get in trouble for swearing, and it illustrates how he looks like a duck with his lips. Aren't I clever?
• My husby is sexy and does not look like a duck.
• I have an appointment tomorrow to style and highlight my seriously long hobo hair. I've decidedly to keep it seriously long in the hobo tradition, and try to get some cool cut which will make it move on its own, like Pocahontas' hair in the Disney movie, but with blond highlights. Then I plan to start painting with the colours of the wind.
• I bought these new bras at a La Vie en Rose outlet when I went shopping with Eric's prom date Cathy over Victoria Day weekend. They were having a two-for-one event, and I found these awesome gel-bras that fit great. Made my breasts look supported and plump, but not over-the-top (nearly impossible anyway, with my lack of breast fat - honestly, why do I need so much fat in my thighs? Prioritize, for god's sake! My boobs are starving!!). This was my first time buying gel bras, and since wearing them, I have discovered that plastic gel sacs pressed against my breasts all day makes them sweaty. As previously discussed, the first thing I do when I get in the house is take off all my clothes. Last week, Eric copped a feel and then giggled and said "Your boobies are sweaty!" There was no sex for a week after that.

And finally,

• Eric made the grievous mistake of not including my two gym tank tops in his laundry schedule in a week where my uterine lining discharges from my body. This was discovered as we were preparing for a trip to the gym, and resulted in a sparky exchange, wherein it was decreed that he is now responsible for hunting down and purchasing a copy of The Brady Bunch Movie on DVD for me by tomorrow evening.
  

Freak

You think you know Eric, that he's a nice, kind, polite, doting husband. You're not wrong. You think that he isn't disturbing or crazy. You're really wrong.

I thought I had a good handle on Eric's weirdness, because I credit myself for bringing it out in him. He was kind of uptight and serious before, but I could see a glimmer of inner-silliness. I watered it and coaxed it out, and Eric is now a fun silly monkey. Silly monkey! Monkey monkey monkey!!

But a month ago, he freaked me right the hell out. It has taken me this long to be able to talk about it.

On May 2, 2006, he got home at around 6:15pm, and I was taking a nap in the guest bed. He took off his work clothes, and came to wake me up. We chatted a bit, nothing was out of the ordinary. He went to have a quick shower, because his skin was gross and clammy from riding the subway.

He came out of the shower a changed man.

I had moved from the guest room and was sitting on our marital bed, stalling on going to the gym as usual. I sprawled my jigglified body out on the king-sized goodness, and prepared for a sweet satisfying stretch. I was just breathing in and letting my muscles extend when out of my peripheral vision, I saw my husband, eyes wide open with a gaping vacant smile, arms and hands held out like a retarded dinosaur, lunging towards me with a eerily small and high pitched "raaaaaaaarr!!". My partially stretched body seized up with shock and panic and I screamed. I scrambled backward on the bed, as he pounced up like a cat and looked at me, same vacant smile, same wild eyes.

Carol: Get away from me, you freak!!
Freak: Why?
Carol: I'm stretching and you're FREAKING ME OUT!!
Freak: I'll stretch too!

Freak then proceeded to stretch, all the while holding my gaze, same vacant smile, same wild eyes. He twisted and and flexed, rolling his head to keep his eyes trained on my eyes. I watched him in horror and fascination. He looked at me. I looked at him. He looked at me. I suddenly shrieked from bunched up nerves and frustration in not being able to complete my stretch. I demanded that he leave the room so I could stretch. Freak moved off the bed, his eyes never leaving me. He glided backward towards the door and stood just outside, watching. Waiting. Same vacant smile, same wild eyes.

Carol: Get the fuck out of here!!! You're FREAKING ME OUT!!! Go into the other washroom and close the door!!!

Freak thought he would be smart. He went to the other washroom, out of my view, and closed the door. But I could tell he wasn't inside, he had simply closed the door from the outside. Sure enough, he moved slowly across my line of vision into the kitchen, very obviously not locked in the washroom. Watching me. I screamed at him, incoherent sounds. I was panicked and nervous, and I didn't know what he was doing. I could hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. What was he getting? A knife?! About 15 seconds later, he reappeared in my line of vision. Same vacant smile, same wild eyes. He looked at me. And in his hand, was a wooden spoon. He just STOOD THERE STARING AT ME, HOLDING UP A WOODEN SPOON!!!

Carol: What the hell is wrong with you?!! What are you doing?? STOP IT, YOU ARE FREAKING ME OUT!!!!!!!

He backed up slowly until he was out of my line of sight again. I was so creeped out. It was all so eerie and weird!! None of it made sense!! It was like worms growing out of a piece of metal and not being able to escape. I ran out of the bedroom, into the living room. I went to the balcony and opened the screen door, maybe so that I could jump off the balcony? I don't know what I was doing, I was very panicked.

At that moment, Freak appeared again. In his hands this time was a set of metal tongs. He looked at me. I looked at him. He looked at me. And snapped the tongs twice with a gleam in his eye. SNAP SNAP!! I screamed like an incensed Amazonian retard and hurled myself at him, trying to grab his balls. I thought desperately that if I could succeed in getting my claws on his balls, he would himself freak out and snap out of his apparent bout of creepy insanity. As I lunged for his sac full of testes, he started snapping the tongs at me, and the net result was that he caught one of my hands, and I got a small cut on my middle finger.

At this point, the vacant smile and vacant eyes disappeared, and Eric quickly put away the tongs. He came back to apologize, all traces of Freak gone. I was still looking at him warily. I let him hug me and soothe me, and I willed myself to stop thinking about his terrifying rampage.

We went to the gym afterwards, and all was well.

I just wish that I would stop getting the nightmares.

I never win stuff

About a month ago at work, Steve the Caretaker came by and hustled everyone into giving him ten dollars for a lottery pool. You had to pick six numbers and then they would check the 649 numbers, and the first person to have all six of their numbers chosen would win the pot. Well, not the whole pot, Steve the Caretaker was going to take some of the money and buy some picnic tables for outside.

I told Steve the Caretaker I didn't want in, because I never win stuff. He pressured and cajoled me, and I told him to tempt me not. Then he went around to everyone else in my room, and got money and numbers from all of them. Then he came back to me and made me feel small and miserly and selfish for not particpating. Then he made me pick six numbers and took ten dollars. Steve the Caretaker is a bastard.

I just totally lost. I wasn't even close to winning - I had 3 of my six numbers, while tons of other people were just waiting for their final number. I never win stuff! This guy in my room named Brent won.

Damn you, Brent. And damn you, Steve the Caretaker.

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... :)