Passion buys the farm

We had an interesting struggle the other night as we were getting into bed. In a rare display of night-time amour, Eric wanted the sex. In a yet rarer display of sexual disinterest, I wanted not the sex.

Eric: Mmm baby, you're so hot. So hot.

Carol: We're not doing it, you know.

Eric: But I love you, I want you so bad.

Carol: Get away from me, I'm going to vomit.

Eric was persistent for about 10 minutes, wanting to "hold" me. He was all the way over on my side of the bed, and I kept on squirming and slapping his hands away, complaining of headache, ticklishness, and nausea.

Eric: I want to kiss you. (kiss kiss)

Carol: I think there's a hard booger in my nose. Every time you kiss me and smush my nose in, it kind of hurts, like there's a thick crusted up hard booger in there.

Eric: ...that's not sexy.

Carol: Good, get that thing away from me.

Eric: This sucks!!

Carol: We did it yesterday. And the day before.

Eric: I WANT MORE!!!

Carol: YOUR PENIS IS POISON!!!!

Finally, Eric was convinced not to try and do me. We struck up a bargain wherein I didn't have to submit to his lovemaking at the moment, but had to promise to give it to him the following day. I agreed on the condition that I could be on bottom. Then I acquiesced to going over to his side of the bed to snuggle. Snuggle snuggle. Then I thought I smelled something.

Carol: Did you just fart?

Eric: No...do you want me to?

Carol: Why would I want you to?!

Eric: What if you fall asleep, and then I do you while you're sleeping?

Carol: Get away from me!!

Marriage is so fun. And no, I didn't end up giving it to him the next day either. Or the day after that. Maybe today...but I doubt it. I'm really tired today.

Anybody Out There got a tissue?

Earlier this week, I finished reading Anybody Out There by Marian Keyes. I love Marian Keyes, she has a fantastic writing style, and I love her awesome female characters and the gorgeous sexy men for whom they spread their well-formed legs. I was really looking forward to this new book because it was big and looked meaty and delightful.

Let me tell you, it was not delightful. I was not filled with delight by this book. I spent the entire weekend crying my goddamn eyes out. I swear to you, the first 25% of the book, you're mostly curious and confused, and then the remaining 75% of the book, you'll spend bawling so hard you can't possibly read the words on the page.

This is not to say that the book wasn't excellent, because it truly was. It just made me feel like I wanted to die.

When Eric noticed I was crying, he was quite alarmed. We were sitting on the couch in the sunny afternoon, he was playing Paper Mario, and I was reading my book. He was understandably preoccupied with his video game, so he didn't notice that I had been silently weeping for five minutes. This unfortunately meant that he jumped when I suddenly I screamed "Give me the tissue box!!!!!" Then he watched, appalled while I cried for the next two hours, mopping and licking up my tears and snot.

I had to take breaks from my book all weekend, and it took ages to finish the thing. I usually eagerly read through books very fast, but every time I picked it up, I'd be crying within a minute. It was very draining.

On Saturday morning, I had to go poo. I don't ever go poo without a book, unless it's a tragic accident wherein I think I'm going to go pee, but then I sit down and halfway through my pee, a piece of poo sticks its head out and goes "Look at me...fllllllllllorp!", and is halfway out of my butt by the time my pee is finished. And then I'm angry because I have no book. Most of the time, if this starts to happen, I frantically call out to Eric to bring me a book because some poo is sneaking out. Then he'll bring me a book and everything will be fine. But sometimes, I might be at home by myself, or Eric may be pooing in the other washroom, and then there's no one to bring me a book. I am forced to sit there reading nothing while I poo. Angrily.

So anyway, I had to poo on Saturday morning, so I took my book and went to the washroom. I sat down. I opened my book. I started pooing. I started crying. It was the first time that I've ever felt the simultaneous evacuation of tears and feces from my body at the same time. I sorrowfully felt my poo (wet and slippery, solid but with an almost oily consistency) push slowly but deliberately out of my poo-hole, as tears ran down my face, and I gulped for air between sobs. It was very odd, and felt very wrong. I now understand why bawling and defecating don't go together like ramma lamma lamma ke-dingity dingy dong. Because you're subtly distracted in an incomparable way as the air gently fills with the aroma of stool. It feels gross and ridiculous. But that's what I did on Saturday.

Bet you didn't think this was going to be a poo post.

I am gross and sneaky

My boss emailed me this morning:

From: Cowan, Karl
Sent: Friday, August 11, 2006 9:14 AM
To: Chan, Carol
Subject: Default report category

Hi Carol,

It appears that you have accidentally changed the SAP Default Report Category (see attached). This has caused some programs to not work properly. Manuel will set it back to the original version.

Report Categories do not behave like other standard SAP objects. They don’t warn you that you are changing the standard. Be careful next time.

------------------------------------------

From: Chan, Carol
Sent: Friday, August 11, 2006 9:15 AM
To: Cowan, Karl
Subject: RE: Default report category

Oh my goodness. So sorry about that, it won't happen again.

Carol

------------------------------------------

From: Cowan, Karl
Sent: Friday, August 11, 2006 9:21 AM
To: Chan, Carol
Subject: RE: Default report category

No problem. It could have happened to anyone.

------------------------------------------

From: Chan, Carol
Sent: Friday, August 11, 2006 9:24 AM
To: Cowan, Karl
Subject: RE: Default report category

BUT WHY DID IT HAVE TO HAPPEN TO ME?!?!?!!!!! **sob sob sob**

------------------------------------------

I got such a big kick out of this, I copied it and showed it to Eric. Eric messaged me on MSN:


Eric says:
HAHAHA... you're cute!

Carol says:
Yeah, I liked it.

Carol says:
I peeled off a large piece of pinky toeskin yesterday, and it's like a trophy on my desk

Eric says:
GROSS!!!!

Eric says:
You did this at work?!?!?!!!!

Eric says:
You're so gross!!!!

Carol says:
No!

Carol says:
I'm so CUTE!

Carol says:
Awwww....look at me.

Carol says:
I'm so cute!

Eric says:
You were cute! Now, you are gross! SO GROSS!!

Carol says:
....so cute?

Carol says:
(Angel Face Emoticon)

Eric says:
awww! cute!

Carol says:
Yeah!!!

Carol says:
(heh heh heh)

Eric says:
sneaky! you're so sneaky!

I got such a big kick out of this, I blogged it. Bloggy bloggy.

I will end with a long overdue haiku.

Toeskin, hard and dry
Pick it, peel it, ease it off
See it on my desk

Williams Sonoma dissed me good

Eric and I popped into Williams Sonoma Yorkdale this past weekend to visit David while he was working. From my brief stint at this store last Christmas, I made a few friends who still recognize me (one of them thinks Eric is uber hot, so he likes stopping by a lot). One of them, an older Vietnamese-or-some-other-kind-of-Asian-so-I-can't-tell-what-kind-she-is-at-least-I-know-she's-not-Chinese-okay-so-sue-me woman greeted me in loud tones.

VietWoman: "Hallo! Oh!! Pregnant already!!!"

Carol: "Uhh.....nooo. Are you saying I look fat?!"

VietWoman: "Ahh...ahhhh.....ahhhhh.....No!! No...just...ahhhh.....yes."

Carol: "What?!!"

VietWoman: "Ahh.....ahhhh.....haha....ahhh, you know. Hay! Shoodint wait too long, you know!! Better for doing sooner!!"

Carol: "Are you trying to cover up for calling me fat?"

VietWoman: "Ahhh....ahhhh....haha, no!! Ahhh....."

Carol: "Okay, I better get back to shopping. I'll talk to you later."

VietWoman: "Ahhh...ahhhh.....ahhhh....."

I immediately vowed not to disclose this most embarrassing conversation to anybody ever. Five minutes later, I told everyone behind the cash counter in the store. Fifteen minutes later, I told Eric and David. That evening, I told Eric's entire family. And four days later, on this overcast Thursday morning, I am telling you. I reveal my shame. If I was any less embarrassed, I would put a jihad on that woman's family, but I'm secretly mortified. So I'm just going to eat a plate of mozza sticks and onion rings and drink the tears that fall from my face and roll off the ripples of my voluminous paunch, collecting in the watertight chalice formed by my blooming adipose tissue-filled thighs and groin area with a straw. I hope I don't accidentally end up drinking my own pee.

SexFest 2006 (a.k.a. What We Did on Our Cruise Vacation)

Here it is, a week late. You people get really bitchy when you know we've done something new, and there's no blog post. The pressure is crippling, and I spent much of last week curled in a ball in a filthy corner of our bathroom, chewing on my knuckles. I hope you're happy.

DAY 1: I'm Going to Miami (Welcome to Miami)
This day was uneventful. A typical day of travel. Here's a breakdown, but if you start getting bored, then skip to Day 2.

You know how airports ask you to check in three hours before a flight? Our flight was at 7:00am, so we had to be at the airport at 4:00am, which made no sense since the American Airlines check-in counter didn't even open until 4:15am. Dumbasses!

We had an uneventful flight to Miami, got our luggage, got transported to the pier, got on the cruise ship, and attacked the lunch buffet like starving orphans. The gluttony had commenced.

We explored the ship. It was old. The upholstery was worn, and the vinyl was faded, and the ceilings were low. I didn't want to touch anything. So we went to our cabin and touched each other instead. Then we passed out. Whoo-hoo! So far so AWESOME!!

Dinner, Name That Tune in a piano lounge, comedian show - comedian made fun of me, ate pizza, went dancing like whores. Went back to room, more touching - like whores. Sexy sex. Sneepy sneep.

Day 2: We Are Loved By Mexicans
This was the day of our first port of call - Coco Cay. Coco Cay is a made-up name for a private island owned by Royal Caribbean. Eric and I got up super early, at around 7:00am. We showered and put on sunscreen and packed up our beach gear. We had breakfast at the buffet (SMOKED SALMON AND SAUSAGES!!), and caught the second tender out to the island.

The beach was practically empty, with five thousand empty inviting beach chairs, all lined up in neat rows on the sand. We walked along the entire beach and chose a spot to settle down for the day: somewhere in the middle with approximately 2500 chairs to our left, and 2500 chairs to our right. We lay down and basked in the gorgeous gentle morning sun for about half an hour.

Then a ruckus was heard to our right. There approached a large Mexican family, loudly Spanishing away in Spanish. They were friendly, very friendly. They sat down very very close to us, about two chairs away. What the hell?? There are 2500 chairs down that side of the beach, you couldn't move over some more?? We didn't even mind so much because they were so friendly. Maybe they liked the way our faces looked. We have nice faces, Eric especially. So we tried to go back to dozing. But then two of them lit up their cigarettes.

I'm sorry, but cigarettes are disgusting, and if you smoke, you're grossatating. If you sit next to me on a beach and smoke, I will likely pick up my things and leave. And it will be because you are grossatating.

So we picked up our things and moved about 20 chairs to the left. Now we had about 20 chairs to our right side, and the previous 2500 (now 2480) chairs on our left side. We started dozing again.

We could hear people slowly trickling onto the beach, setting up their stuff, going into the water. Normal happy beach sounds. There were still a lot of chairs empty on either side of us. We felt relaxed and happy. Suddenly, another Spanish ruckus started up behind us, and there approached yet another humongous Mexican family! Why do Mexicans travel in herds? There were 15 to 20 people in this group. And they were Spanishing away in Spanish, at about twice the volume of the previous family. And they set up camp RIGHT NEXT to us!! Literally, a greasy man chose the chair right next to Eric. There were at least 1000 chairs down that side of the beach!! They couldn't have set up a few chairs over? This group wasn't so friendly. They shouted at each other a lot, and Eric's greasy new buddy took out his sunning oil and started spreading it over his body. He looked at Eric. Then he bent over, slathering it on his legs, thrusting his ass at my husband's pretty head. Eric had only to turn his head slightly to the left, and his nose would be raping this man's greased-up butt.

I decided this was enough of the homo beach seduction. We inflated our inflatable floatey things, and got in the water.

I'm a retard in the water. I'm not a very good swimmer, and I'm one of those people who has to inch into the water a tiny bit at a time because I don't like the coldness. I hate the assholes who splash water all over you and laugh like it's funny. They need to die.

Eric: (gracefully pushes horizontally into the water. Stands up, body dripping and hair soaking. Shakes head back and forth in slow motion with eyes closed. Runs hands down body, opens eyes. Greasy Mexican has orgasm.) Hey honey, get in!

Carol: (standing knee deep in water, cellulite thighs pressed together, arms tight at sides, very tense) DON'T RUSH ME!

Eric: Okay okay, take your time, I'm not rushing you.

I take baby steps out to Eric until I'm up to my waist in water. This is usually where I need to brace myself and dunk down to my shoulders really fast.

Carol: I'm going to get the rest of me wet now.

Eric: Okay.

Time passes. I look up at the sky, try to gauge the (non existent) wind. I look back at the chairs to make sure our bag is still there. I glare at the loud Mexicans. I check to make sure my boobs are covered.

Eric: Honey? Are you going to get in the water?

Carol: (very tense) DON'T RUSH ME!!

Eric: Okay! Okay, I'm not rushing you.

Time passes. I start making casual conversation with him, what does he think we'll have for lunch, isn't the weather nice.

Eric: (looks at Carol)

Carol: (very tense) DON'T RUSH ME!

Eric: We got in the water TWENTY MINUTES AGO.

Carol: Fine!! (frantic dunk)

Eric: (full of pity) Oh sweetie. You're one of those kids who doesn't know how to have fun in the water.

At lunch, the cruise ship brought food onto the island and did a huge BBQ with burgers, hot dogs, chicken, and RIBS! I'm a whore for ribs. If you're skinny enough that your ribs stick out, I will gnaw on your torso. As Eric took a little bit of everything, I cut the bullshit and loaded up a plate with ribs about half a foot high. I gobbled it down, spraying rib juice everywhere. Then we got back in the water and proceeded to obtain extreme sunburns.

We left the island at around 4:00pm, and went to our cabin for showers, after which we proceeded to have sunburnt masochistic sex. Lying on your back, being bitten and pounded into low-threadcount sheets while you have a sunburn all over your back is extremely painful. But now I think I like the feel of my skin on fire. Sexy.

Dinner, show, Caribbean midnight buffet, stupid dancing. You know what song pisses me off? DJ Casper's Cha-Cha Slide. That song with the recording of a man calling out dance moves. It's horrible. And it gets stuck in your head! As soon as that song started playing, I got very cranky, starting swearing, and we had to leave. I might have been tired.

Back to the cabin, more masochistic sexy sex. Then sneepy sneep. It had been an excellent day.

Day 3: Happy 'Versary!
The entire trip had been building up to this most momentous day, the anniversary of the day we exchanged vows and bound ourselves to each other forever. As it turns out, this day was very uneventful. It was pretty anticlimatic. It rained when we got to Nassau. However, there were two Tortuga Rum Cake factories on this island, and they give out free samples. Eric was determined to get a free sample of rum cake. So we went for a walk in the rain, splashing through puddles, wandering the streets of Nassau in search of the free cake samples. We found it, tucked up a sketchy alley. They gave us each one-inch cubes of rum cake. We ate them. Then we went back to the ship.

There was no point going to the beach this day, because it was all rainy and gross. Plus, we definitely didn't need any more sun. We played games, read books, bonked each other like whores, took naps. We played 70's disco Name That Tune, which sucked ass. Why not 90's Name That Tune?? Age discrimination. Eric and I were terrible, we wrote "Boogie Nights" for every song we didn't recognize. Which was 17 out of 20. Then we did 80's Line Dancing. I think they just made up some lame dance moves and called it 80's Line Dancing. It was fun, but the moves made no sense and didn't fit in with the music at all. All except the last one "Thriller" by Michael Jackson: Scare, Scare, Double Scare! Scare, Scare, Double Scare!

The waiters came to our table that night to sing "Happy 'Versary to you". Then we watched a show, packed our suitcase, watched people sing karaoke, stood on the top deck and gazed romantically at the stars, ate some pizza, danced at the club till we couldn't stand anymore, and then stumbled back to our room.

The pressure was on...it was the anniversary night, there had to be sexy sex! But I was exhausted. I'm not going to lie to you, it was a very huge effort, and I almost fell asleep twice. But we didn't die, yay sweet dry exhausted sunburnt masochistic 'versary sex! I no longer have any vaginal lining.

Day 4: Back to the Shire
Day o' travel. The most exciting part of this whole day: Eric and I went to a restaurant when we got home and ordered a Peking Duck. It was glorious.

And that was our anniversary cruise vacation.

Oh Gloria II

In a few hours, we're leaving for a BAHAMAS CRUISE to celebrate our first wedding anniversary!

My old roommate Gloria very sweetly called about 10 minutes ago.

Gloria: "Hi! I just wanted to give you two a call and say happy first anniversary even though I know it's not your anniversary yet! And I hope you have a GREAT trip!"

Carol: "Oh, that's so sweet! Thank you so much, you sweetie!"

Gloria: "No problem!"

(general inquiries regarding one anothers health and goings-on, mostly boring)

Gloria: "By the way, I wanted to tell you. I've lost the ability to give good blow jobs."

Carol: "Oh?"

Gloria: "Yeah! It's been like a year and a half, and I'm totally out of practice! I've had Camping Chris over to scratch an itch more than once in the past little while, and I'm literally no good at it!"

Carol: "That's really unfortunate. If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure I'm no good at it anymore, but that's mainly because I've become lazy."

Gloria: "No, like this is really bad. I mean I'm so bad, I just suck at it!"

Carol: "You...uh. You just suck at it? Heh heh heh...heh."

Gloria: "Oh. Dammit, you're going to blog about this, aren't you?"

How great is she?

So yeah, in other news, it's our one year wedding anniversary this Sunday, and we're going to be in the Bahamas getting tanned! Whoo-hoo!

I looked it up, and the traditional first wedding anniversary gift is Paper. So I got Eric a paperback novel to read on the plane, and a stupidly overpriced board game. Turns out Eric also looked it up, and he got me a board game too! How cute are we?!

You guys should come over and play.

Memories of a faithful lover

Eric has been on a huge anti-deepfry kick for the past couple weeks. He read an article in the Globe and Mail about this experiment with these mice, and trans fats, and stomach fat or something, and now he's a spiritual warrior in the battle against deepfried foods.

I don't think I can describe to you my love of deepfry. If my arm could regenerate, I would batter, deepfry, and eat it. I love deepfry so much, I should have married it instead of Eric.

I remember the day I got my first deepfryer. I was unpacking in September of 2002 in the Kingston apartment I shared with Gloria, when she pulled up in her green Volvo for the first time that year. She had all her moving-in stuff with her, and one of the first things she brought in was a present for me - a deepfryer!!

It was extremely old, and the basket had no handle. I think someone found it in a garbage can and asked her parents if they thought anyone could use it. Gloria said I could use it. She was correct.

I went right out and bought potatoes, mozza sticks, and a bucket of oil. I spent a night deepfrying said potatoes and mozza sticks. Eric, Gloria and I devoured their crispy hot goodness. The next day, everyone was in class, and I was home for some reason. I walked into my kitchen holding my stomach, bloated and gassy from the previous night's deepfried indulgence. I looked in my freezer and noticed some frozen Chinese green onion pancakes. Hmm. Frozen Chinese green onion pancakes are usually panfried in oil...so why not try to deepfry them in oil?

So I fired up the deepfryer with the oil from the previous night and deepfried a frozen Chinese green onion pancake. I cut it into wedges. It smelled delicious. I sat down and started eating.

My deepfried Chinese green onion pancake tasted like mozza sticks.

But I ate it anyway. Then I deepfried another one.

On what I consider to be an unrelated note, I gained 15 pounds that year.

We now have a little "professional" deepfryer for the home. It's made by Waring Pro, and it's wonderful. We've added onion rings, zucchini sticks, battered shrimp, breaded mushrooms, and breaded eggplant to the list of Things We Deepfry. Each experiment has been a raging success, and the joy that comes from these foods is unparalleled!

And now, Eric has banned the use of this most beloved appliance until further notice.

Deepfry I love you, and we will be together again some day. Eric can't keep us apart forever.

On what I consider to be yet another unrelated note, my recent weight-gain of 25 pounds is slowly coming off, it seems. I wish I had my lover deepfry to console me in this difficult time.

I have a rash

On my tummy. It's just to the left (my left) of my bellybutton, and it itches like a motherfrakker. It's red and bumps out slightly. I think it's getting worse. It is freaking me out.

I don't get skin irritation too much. Sometimes when I wear cheap jewelry made out of base metals or something like that, I might get an itchy small rash on my neck where the chain was. But it goes away after about a day, and isn't very big.

Does anybody know what this could be? Does anybody else have an inexplicable rash on their body?

I'm going to the doctor's after work today. I hope I don't have herpes.

(For those of you who have commented on how you miss the accompanying pictures on my blog, I want you to know that I googled "rash", and found a lot of disgusting images that you don't want to see. Have you ever seen pictures of a smallpox rash? NASTY. I am also not planning on posting a picture of my rash. Hopefully, the next post will lend itself better to accompanying pictures. I apologize for the inconvenience.)

Oh Gloria

My old roommate Gloria has an unfortunate habit of messing up her sayings and making them turn out wrong. I enjoy them so much, I need to share them with the blogsphere.

People sometimes add the word "ass" to the end of an adjective to give it extra oomph.
Examples: Big-ass rock, Dumb-ass boyfriend, Stupid-ass father.

Two days ago, Gloria called me up to have the following conversation:

Gloria: "Why are there no good guys out there? I haven't had sex in AGES!"

Carol: "There are, you just need to stop being so impossibly picky. You're so impossibly picky 99% of the time, that you never get any sex. And then that 1% of the time occurs when you get so desperate that you'll have sex with a hobo. Then you accidentally fall in love with the hobo and become scarred for life. Then you become impossibly picky again."

Gloria: "It's not fair!! Why can't I just have some sex? I JUST WANT SOME REGULAR, NORMAL-ASS SEX!!"

Carol: "You...you want some ass-sex?"

Eric: (eavesdropping) "Oh my god."

I am so happy that Gloria is hanging out with us again.

What I Did On The Weekend

O Canada.

I love Canada Day long weekend. It's so festive and exciting. Last year, we didn't celebrate Canada Day so much as we celebrated Luke and Cathy's Canada Day Wedding, and then woke up the next morning to move into our new condo, hungover like shit. Because shit can get really hungover...like over the toilet bowl, hanging from your butthole...or something.

So this year we were determined to make up for lost time - by taking a five day weekend!!

THURSDAY NIGHT
We left Toronto at 6:30pm, and started driving to Kingston. An hour earlier, I had scored sleeping arrangements at a friend's house...I should probably call her TheHippie here, because ThePeach's blog calls her that, and ThePeach seems to have a thing for anonymity. Because she is a movie star assassin. From Africa. Though...does this ruin anything if I say I'm driving to Kingston? Whatever, this is my blog, and I say screw you anonymity! SCREW YOU!!

So we drove into Kingston, and went directly to Greco's, the tastiest place on Earth. Greco's is our FAVOURITE restaurant. Did you see the bold capital letters? We LURVE Greco's. We lurve Greco's so much, that a week after we got engaged, we drove to Kingston to tell the people at Greco's we had gotten engaged. We lurve them so much, we should have married them instead of each other.

We had planned to pop in for a quick dinner, because it was about 9:00pm by the time all the kissy kissy hellos were finished, and we were sitting down. And we had to meet up with TheHippie. Well, one thing led to another, and we ended up doing the full-blown Greco's experience, complete with extensive overeating and the drinking of a beautiful bottle of Cormon's Pinot Grigio. The owner sat down and had a drink with us. Our waiter sat down and had a drink with us. I ate till I was sick. I stumbled out of there with a great buzz and a stomach distended out to the harbour. I was sexy.

We met up with TheHippie and ThePeach at TheSketchySketchyBarNamedAfterATropicalBird. Having drinks and chatting with ThePeach and TheHippie is FUN TIMES! They have exciting and hilarious stories which are so very entertaining when acted out. Not to mention, ThePeach's metro doctor boyfriend FauxHawk got to meet my metro programmer husband Eric, and I swear they were flirting a bit. FauxHawk might have turned Eric on to expensive shaving accoutrements. I'm not sure how I feel about this.

In any case, we left TheSketchySketchyBarNamedAfterATropicalBird way later than planned, and went back to TheHippie's place for slumber. ZzzzZzzzzZzzzz.

Sex: Negative.

FRIDAY
We woke up early, around 8:00am. Sick, I know. TheHippie had to drive to her cottage, so we were booting it out of there so as not to be overly inconvenient...I was rather hungover from the moderate drinking the night before, and I just wanted to hang out somewhere and relax. Eric the Sadist Husband, on the other hand, wanted to hike it up and down Princess Street four times! I was too tired and confused to put up a fight until we had walked up and down that street so much my legs were starting to shake. We went to an open air market, bought some jams and honeys, went to another fav restaurant (Stooley's), and ate club sandwiches and onions rings and awesome awesome fries. I went poo in the Indigo bookstore along Princess, because I REALLY had to go. There is a gross story associated with going poo at Indigo. I won't go into detail here, but it involves not enough water in the bowl, and a medium-large pile of Greco's Stuffed Trout poo that sat on the dry part and was difficult to flush down, even after eight flushes. But I won't go into detail.

We left Kingston at around 1:00pm and headed towards Ottawa. Whoohoo Ottawa!! We got lost a couple times. Eric missed the exit. And it had nothing to do with my directions.

After meeting up with Rob the Halfie Environmentalist Accountant at his house, he took us to a BBQ at his parents place. Does this sound weird to you? Because it was kind of random. We were going to be staying with Rob for most of the weekend though, and we figured if he had family commitments, we don't mind tagging along. And hello, BBQ at a halfie house. Fun times! Rob neglected to mention that there would be a HUGE group of family there, complete with halfie babies running around everywhere. We met a lot of Rob's extended family. They're really funny and blunt and have funky attitudes. It was really quite fun, and really quite adorable. And really quite extra random.

On a somewhat related note, I have a new girlcrush: Rob's sister Kyla is awesome!! She's gorgeous and confident and incredibly nice. I really want her to think I'm cool. I hope she doesn't read this.

After the Halfie House Hijinx, we went back to Rob's house with Kyla and her man-friend. We watched Monty Python Holy Grail until most people were asleep. Then we retired to our rooms for slumber. ZzzzzZzzzzZzzzz.

Sex: Negative.

SATURDAY
This day was long, somewhat random, and almost neverending. I woke up and found Rob in the basement watching boring boring sports. I sat and pretended to watch it to be polite. I don't know why I bothered, I think I was groggy from having just woken up. My efforts paid off though, because after that, he made us breakfast. That man makes some wicked overeasy eggs with bacon. He should teach seminars!

What followed was a random stream of events involving food and alcohol. For example, Kyla came over, we made a lasagna, we made slushie girlie drinks with rum, Rob made way too many BBQ burgers, people came over, we had to learn their names, we ate burgers, we drank slushie drinks, we ate lasagna, we watched boring boring soccer, we ate sausages.

Then we went downtown! Fireworks were awesome. Thumbs up to the horny horny teenagers making out like animals in front of us. Thumbs down to the old assholes who thought it was cool to smoke stinky stinky cigars in a crowd.

Then it started raining...just a bit. We walked an annoying distance and found a decent bar. Drinky drinky zucchini sticksy. Rob ate sketchy nachos that would come back to hurt him later.

Then our cheerleader friends Shawna and Helen decided they wanted to go dance like whores. I also decided it would be fun to dance like whores. So we went outside to find a whore-dancing bar. It had started raining...a lot. We walked into a sketchy bar with whore-dancing. Dancing like whores ensued. It was one of those horrifyingly gross places where sweat condenses on the pipes above and drips back down all over your whore body as you whore-dance.

The truth was, as far as whore-dancing goes, this wasn't so whoreish. It was more just fun. I just really felt like using the word whore repeatedly. Whore.

By the time the whore-dancing was done, it was late and pouring rain outside. Let me emphasize - POURING RAIN. And NO CABS. Long story short, we stood outside for about an hour trying to get a cab, and then deciding to walk to City Hall instead, where Rob's brother picked us up, and we soaked up his car, and I almost peed myself from holding it in.

Back at Rob's, we made him make us hot dogs. Then those nachos acted up, and he had to go to bed, writhing in pain. After a quick clean of the kitchen, we also went to bed for slumber. ZzzzzZzzzzZzzzz

Sex: Negative.

SUNDAY
I was looking forward to this day ALL WEEKEND. It was RIB SMOKING DAY!! Rob and I had planned to try smoking ribs on his BBQ. I had found some apple wood chips, and had watched many episodes on FoodTV on how to smoke ribs.

This day consisted of rib preparation, lunch at a wood-burning oven pizza place (oh oh oh so good), rollerblading along the canal to the Parliament Buildings, and almost running over pedestrians. Eric alarmed everyone on the street with his loud and squeaky brakes. Ironically, he was the one least likely to run over people. I - of the flailing arms - and Rob - of the no brakes at all - were much more dangerous.

After the rollerblading adventure, we went back to the house to commence the smoking of the pork ribs. They were delicious, and I now consider myself to be a genius. A genius, I tell you. We wrapped up the night with a visit to Lindsay Hardy's place, which was every bit as cute as you could imagine Lindsay Hardy's place would be. Then back to Rob's place for slumber. ZzzzzZzzzzZzzzz.

Sex: Negative.

MONDAY
There are few people who love food as much as we do, with the same one-minded concentrated intensity. Lindsay Hardy is one of those people. We love eating food with Lindsay. We met up with her for lunch at Dunn's. This blog posting is getting quite long, or I would spend two paragraphs describing the hot fatty orgasmic sensation of the meat sandwiches we ordered. Meat sandwiches. I'm salivating in my cheeks just thinking about it. Meat sandwiches.

I'm a meat sandwich whore.

Oh god. That didn't sound right at all.

I don't even care. I'M A MEAT SANDWICH WHORE!!

We followed up the meat sandwich fest with beavertails and gelato. Oh god, I was so full.

Then Monday Part Two started, as we packed up all our gitch and went up to Rob's cottage for the night. A few of his other friends came too...guy friends. It was Sausagefest Plus Carol. Does this sound random to you? It kind of was. I drank more beer than normal, and I think the exposure to too much testosterone made me stupid.

In any case, when we got to the cottage, it was thunderstorming. We all ran inside the cottage, and Rob decided to go for a swim, and take out some boat motor while he was at it. We watched him go out in the gusting storm and get in the lake. He very impressively removed some boat motor and also brought in a canoe. Then, instead of going for a swim in the storm, he came back in looking scared but stupidly happy.

Rob: "Uhh...I think I got shocked by lightning while I was in the water!"

Then the guys all went swimming, and came back scratching.

Rob: "Oh, by the way. You can get an itch from this lake - I think it's the duck poo."

The guys made steak which Rob marinated with dirty hands, burned a loaf of garlic bread most of the way to charcoal, ate it anyway, then played videogames and drank beer. I kicked some ass in Dr. Mario, then passed out on the couch from too much beer and testosterone-induced stupidity. Then I retired to the bedroom for slumber. ZzzzZzzzzZzzzz.

Sex: Negative.

TUESDAY
Woke up, went to a pancake maple syrup place. Delicious pancakes. Eric ate about twice as much as everyone else without missing a beat. Rob managed to drop a cup full of coffee in such a way that it exploded all over the table. Went outside, looked for sheep. Guys went on a (children's) zipline. One skinned his knee rather badly, and Rob decided to hang upside down while going down the zipline, SLAMMED into the (not so) padded building at the end, and dropped to the ground like a sack of groaning potatoes.

Returned to cottage, guys went swimming again in the duck poo lake. Ate watermelon. Packed up. Rob found a litre of milk in the fridge and decided to drink it.

We left Rob's cottage in the mid-afternoon, and drove into Kingston. We had his friend Jay with us...he was moving in with his girlfriend that weekend in Toronto, and was really quite nervous about it. We stopped into Kingston, and went to Greco's for take-out, and to Bubba's for gross gross deep-fry. We got fries with gravy, onion rings, and a slice of sketchy sketchy pizza. We ate it in the car, and I bloated like a blimp. It was delicious. I was sexy.

We got home, and I complained about deepfry tummyache and being tired while wonderful Eric unpacked and took care of me. I showered, watched tv, and chatted with Gloria on the phone. I got into my awesome awesome Sealy Posturepedic pillowtop bed for slumber. ZzzzzzZZzzzzzZZzzzz.

Sex: You betcha!! As soon as we got home!!

I will end with a haiku.

What a long blog post
Five days means a lot to write
Working sucks duck poo

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.