Creampuff Revolution

Creampuffs at the Spa

As I fleetingly mentioned in my post about our trip to Mexico, Katr and I want to the spa on the very first day we were there.

Katr went because she LOVES the spa. She loves being exfoliated. She loves being wrapped in seaweed. She loves being rubbed for money. She doesn't care who sees what in the confines of the spa. She loves it.

I, on the other hand, don't really enjoy strangers touching me and want to throw up in my mouth a little when I think about experiencing the above-noted spa activities. I do not love the spa. But I do love Katr. And since it was her birthday and since we were in Mexico, I agreed to throw caution to the wind and join her in what the resort spa called the "Humanity Ceremony for Two".

Me and Katr at the spa, being human together. Oh, wait...yeah, this isn't us.

Here's what that means:

HUMANITY CEREMONY FOR TWO
Initiate your private ceremony with pu-erh tea for its detoxifying and calming effects and aura cleansing with sage. Next, enjoy a foot ritual with infused lavender flowers and essential oils followed by a private mud therapy bath for two where you will apply an aromatic exfoliation to each other, revitalizing the skin with cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, hazelnut, rice, sesame and bamboo. Your treatment continues with a warm bubbling and nutrient vanilla and orange bath while soothing hands massage the scalp. 

Now that your body and mind are renewed, prepare for a silk sybarite body wrap to restore energy and nurtures your skin. Conclude your Miilé spa indulge with an Excellence Massage treatment.

Basically, this was my worse nightmare. Listen - I am all about pants off at home. But not at home - PANTS ON.

USUALLY when Katr tempts me into the spa, I get a facial (pants on) or a pedicure (pants also on). But this was a full on, three hour pamper fest where, for at least part of it, my ass would be hanging out. Fortunately, we were at an all inclusive resort, so I did what any spa-phobic person would do before their spa appointment - I got a little drunk.

The spa treatment starts off with an hour long hydro-therapy circuit, which is, simply put, the shit. It was basically like a series of Last of the Mohicans-style waterfall scenes, intermixed with scenes you don't see in the film, like the "Dry Sauna of Death" scene, the "I'm rubbing handfuls of crushed ice in your private places" scene or the "Just when you think it's over, there's a drive-by massage, which you don't see coming because there's a lavender-scented towel covering your eyes" scene. Pretty intense, is what I'm saying.

After the hydro therapy circuit had really woken us up, we headed in for the main event.  I have to say that I'm sure the two spa technicians assigned to us were terrified when they saw that Godzilla and Mothra had arrived for their Humanity Ceremony, but they were very professional and lovely.

There was some delicious tea. There was the side-by-side foot ritual (the "ritual" was that they "rubbed" our "feet" with some kind of "oil".)

Then it was time for the "private mud therapy bath". This, I must admit, was the sole reason I'd agreed to do this thing - because I thought that rubbing mud all over each other in a steam room would be super hilarious and fun. 

As it turns out, it was indeed super hilarious - because the steam room was a very tight fit (even for average sized people it would have been wee) and also, the "mud therapy" was about two tablespoons of shizz per person. So basically, we squeezed into this steam closet and had enough "mud" to exfoliate one body part each. I chose my left elbow. It felt really great.

Then there was this part where you get into a jetted tub and they rub your head for like half an hour and you try to convey to the spa technician - through hand signals and constant giggling - that the intense farting sounds she's hearing are due to the tub jet friction against the bathing suit you refused to take off and not you just letting 'em rip one after an other after another.

Following the head-rub-tub was the silk wrap. This is where the shit got real. Pants were off and some kind of silk lotion was slathered on and then we were trussed up in plastic and covered with blankets and left alone on our tables with plinky plonky music playing. I expected to be panicking but instead, I fell asleep. Thank god for the 4 mimosas I'd had for breakfast.

I was awakened by my spa lady, Rosa, busting into my plastic tube and ushering me off to the shower. And then...came the massage.

It's been a long time since I had a massage. Like maybe 2006. And to be honest, I was kind of expecting a plinky plonky spa massage. But no. Tiny Rosa climbed on and gave 'er. She used her forearms, her elbows and all of her weight to work out whatever the hell was going on in my shoulders and back. I have never been in so much weirdly therapeutic pain. I had no choice but to breathe through it and offer it up to Jesus. And Jesus said "Yeeeeaaaaah...I'm good, thanks. You hang on to that."

Worked over, lotioned up and exhausted, Katr and I staggered out of the treatment room to the recovery gazebo, where we drank some juice that tasted way too good to be made of actual fruit. And then, we tipped. A LOT.

Katr was very appreciative of my participation in the Humanity Ceremony for Two and as you know, I live to please her.  So you'd think I'd be off the hook for spa fun for at least a year or two.

But then again, a certain Katr got a gift certificate for this place at Solstice. And she keeps whispering things like "Steam cave!" and "Glacial waterfall!" in my ear when she thinks I'm sleeping. I think we all know where this is going. It's going to be Last of the Mohicans alllll over again.

 

Creampuffs in the Pool

Back in November, Katr and I went to an all inclusive resort in Mexico called Excellence Playa Mujeres. While we were there, we had some thoughts and took some pictures. These are those thoughts and pictures.

DUM-DUM!

I know, right?? Awesome.

The first time we went to Excellence Playa Mujeres was right on the heels of the crazy rollercoaster goat rodeo that was buying our home (literally, we got on the plane the day after the deal closed). So we spent the first few days there staring straight ahead or weeping, spending many evenings in our room instead of going out and taking only two photos the whole time we were there - one of some papayas that tasted like farts and one of a particularly nice hibiscus. 

THIS time, it was a totally different story. We were bright eyed! Bushy tailed!  Super drunk! We went to the spa (that's a whole other post)! We got in the pool even though it was freezing! We went out to dinner all the time! We talked to people! That, as it turns out, was a mistake, but otherwise it was a pretty great time. 

Cuban show. Hubba hubba.

Highlights included:

Lesbians

I always get excited when I see other lesbians at the resort. I immediately want to shout "LESBIANS!" at them while clapping my hands like a seal, but I realize that shouting "lesbians" at random lesbians in Mexico might be perceived incorrectly. So then I spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to signal to them that Katr and I are not just fat sisters who like to grab-ass in the pool. To what end? I don't know.

I honestly don't know what I hope the outcome will be when the other lesbians realize that they are not the only muffdivers in the Lazy River. As Katr pointed out when I plunked our things down very close to one of the suspected lesbians on the second day, what if they are idiots? Just because they also do not care for the dick doesn't mean that we will totally get along.

I dared to share a few twinkly glances with the butchest of the lesbians there nonetheless - although later, when I saw her engage one of the servers in a lively conversation about her favourite beer and why the resort should carry it and how disappointed she was that the resort didn't have her favourite Australian beer, I wondered if perhaps Katr wasn't correct to advise a cautious approach.

In the end, we never actually had a chat with any of the lesbians, but it did give me a frisson of excitement to see a few of my own kind on the beach in another country.

Emmanuel at the Lazy River

We staked out our favourite spot at our favourite pool pretty early every day - like REALLY early, like 6:30 or 7 a.m. - because we really like that spot and also because we really liked Emmanuel, the hardest working man at the resort. 

This was the only time I saw Emmanuel stop moving the whole time we were there. Photo by Katr.

I make a lot of jokes about being drunk in general, but the fact is that I rarely drink and when I do, it's ONE drink and it's usually about a tablespoon of Amaretto in a pint of diet gingerale. Emmanuel was not having any of this.

From the moment we sat down around 9 or 10 in the morning (you stake out your chairs, see, then go back to bed, get dressed, have breakfast and then go back to your chair and laugh at the nimrods who thought they could show up at the lazy river at 9 a.m. and just FIND SEATS HAHAHAHAAHAHAAAA you're so naive!!) Emmanuel was ON us.

Once he'd figured out our drink for the day, he would just keep bringing them - the minute your straw made that slurping sound against the ice, he was there with a fresh drink and a smile. And we DRANK THEM.

That's my flabby white elbow on the left. JEALOUS?

It is entirely Emmanuel's fault that we spent one particularly raucous afternoon in the pool, laughing hysterically and riding the pool floats like they were ponies. I remember thinking, as I flailed around in the water, nearly blacking out with mirth, that THIS is how people drown in pools shallow enough to stand up in. Oh, good times.

Katr's Birthday

It was Katr's birthday while we were there! They put up some balloons in the room and brought us a little cake. Katr...you're my favourite and I love you the most!!

Katr's birthday shrine with flowers and cheesy photo I got from the resort photographer. 

People with No Boundaries

I don't know how it happened. We met a few folks from the Trip Advisor forums that we'd haunted for months before the trip, and that was lovely. But then, we met some other people who were also nice but HAD NO BOUNDARIES. 

The second week, we somehow ended up in a marathon yap session with two couples, one from Missouri (we'll call them Bhea and Bave) and one from Manchester (Braig and Bindsey), and ended up getting roped into having dinner with them later that night. We didn't really have conversations with these people so much as we provided a face for them to look at while they talked about themselves endlessly.

Where the swingers meet, according to Antonio who works at that bar on the left.

When they did stop to ask us a question about ourselves, it was only to find a new jumping off point to talk about them. They were super friendly and occasionally funny but after a few minutes, it just really exhausting and OMG I KNOW THINGS ABOUT THESE PEOPLE I SHOULDN'T KNOW, like:

• Medical problems, mainly involving the brain


• Crazy ex-boyfriend/ ex-girlfriend/ex-wife/3-dead-husbands stories


• The feeling you get in your nuts when you swim with dolphins


• That Bhea from Missouri thinks Obama was a secret Muslim (that's where Katr lost her cool)

We also met a gal from right here in Vancouver, who we'll call Beirdre. God love her, she accosted us in the pool one day to ask about where we were getting our poolside burgers (Emmanuel kept us fed as well as liquored).

I was a little drunk and wasn't wearing my glasses, so I kept staring at her as she sort of barked questions at us and as she reached up to rub her face I realized what it was that was off about her - SHE HAD NO FINGERS. On either hand. NO FINGERS, YOU GUYS. 

This poor woman had lost her fingers - AND toes - and a lot of her hearing - after contracting a mysterious bacterial infection and going from healthy to near death in two days.

We got to hear all about it and also, all about the other people she met who had similar horrible random things happen to them while she was physical therapy learning to walk again.  

Holy fucking shit, Beirdre. 

So, to recap, here's who we met at our resort.

Social analysis

I couldn't figure out how we'd become such freak bait this time around - our previous visits to the resort have yielded some pleasant, superficial conversations with other couples who were content to exchange a few words and waves.

Katr, however, being smart like she is, had some keen theories as to why we'd attracted these folks:

1. We're two women travelling together and neither of us looks particularly gay. Girlfriends on a "girlfriends" or "sisters" trip are always looking to gab! Their men aren't around and they love "connecting" with people! 

2. We're fat and therefore must be either jolly and friendly and/or lonely, because fat people are reviled! We are non-threatening and are probably very motherly and also, they might be doing us a favour, chatting with the poor fat ladies, we probably have a lot of cats, etc.

Next time, we're going to have to either bring another couple with us for protection...or just be a lot more rude. You know, either way.

More photos

Katr has some delightful shots up on Flickr and so do I. There is one in Katr's set of me drunk in the pool but I'm not posting it here because you're too young to see that.

 

Creampuff Recap

Oh hi! I didn't see you there. Mainly because I haven't been here in a couple of months. HA ha!

I realize that while most of you are good kind people, you don't really give a shit where exactly I've been or what exactly I've been up to the last couple of months. But one of the great things about having a blog is that it operates as a handy record-keeping device for my rapidly failing memories! What follows is a brief, photo-heavy recap of what the hell has been going on.

1. My short play Anne and Diana Were TOTALLY DOING IT was published in Queering the Way: A Loud n' Queer Anthology! It's a real book - you can buy it and everything.

 They had a book launch here at Little Sister's. Thank you to our super awesome Vancouver friends who came to hear us authors read from the book and who then bought the book and then pretended it wasn't SUPER DORKY to let me autograph the book. I felt like a lesbian rock star.

Also, I got to meet Kim in real life for the first time!  I used to read her blog when she had a blog. She is delightful. It was a magical moment, caught on film. 

2. I got new glasses. See above.

3. We had my family over to eat turducken for Thanksgiving. Yes, that's right - a chicken stuffed in a duck stuffed in a turkey. Holy fuck was it ever good. Sadly, we didn't get any good photos of the unsliced turducken and once it's sliced open, it looks like an autopsy. But I DO have a cute photos of my brother Jaro and his girlfriend Trsm's dog, Jasper, hoping that a little turducken might fall his way.

As you can see, he and Emmy Lou were thick as thieves, if by "thick" you mean "avoided" and by "thieves" you mean "each other assiduously."

Jaro also brought Emmy a new toy. Thanks, Jaro. Really great.

4. I knit! Most of my knitting is SUPER SECRET HOLIDAY KNITTING but this little sweater has already been sent off to its tiny recipient, Charlotte.

5. Roadtrip! Right after Thanksgiving, Katr and I and Emmy Lou drove down to Monterey, CA, where Katr was speaking at a conference. We stopped in Portland, Grant's Pass and Fortuna on the way down and Eureka and back to Portland on the way home. I drove the whole way. With my mind. Katr did what she calls the "actual driving". I have to applaud her efforts, particularly when we visited Crater Lake, now officially the most terrifying, guard-rail free, shoulder-free, sheer-40-foot-drop-on-either-side-of-the-one-lane-road drive of my entire life.

Even though we were both sick the first part of the trip, it was still pretty fun and hilarious, mainly because of the dog.

Emmy Lou was in dog HEAVEN. Car rides! New places to crap! Back in the car! New places to crap! A lake in a crater! The mountains! The sea! The beach! The laundromat! The wharf! The lobby! Every day was a smorgasboard of doggy delight.

Crater Lake (not shown - dog)

Dog on the public beach in Monterey

Dog discovers pelicans on Fisherman's Wharft (not shown - many pelicans)

Dog peering into other people's hotel rooms at the Portola Plaza

Dog exhausted at the Vintage Plaza in Portland

6. Edmonton! After six years of sending pieces off to be performed there, I finally got to actually attend the 20th Annual Loud n' Queer Cabaret, where all of my Anne of Green Gables dreams came true!! My adorable parents came and brought their friends and it was super lovely to see some of my favourite queers in action. Sadly, there are no photos. Like Anne, you will just have to imagine it!

7. Skunk. I finally got a grainy, Lock Ness monster-style photo of the skunk from the safety of my friend Hildy's rental car one night. Look at the SIZE of that thing! It continues to terrorize the neighbourhood.

8. Anniversary! I kinda can't believe that our big gay wedding was four years ago this month. FOUR YEARS! My brother Jaro remembers it like it was yesterday...

We didn't get each other gifts this year - we opted instead to revisit our honeymoon. Stay tuned for photos of me drunk in the pool like this one:

 

 

Creampuff in the Big Apple

I was pretty thrilled last fall when my childhood friend Chezza phoned me up to tell me that her charming swain Brha had proposed! Those two are so darn cute - they met while volunteering together at the Housing Works Used Book Cafe, so you know they're awesome already. Yay love!

And then, a few months later, I was SUPER thrilled when they actually invited me to attend their nuptials July 9th in the fair burrough of Brooklyn! Yay, traveling to witness love!

Since I traveled all the way to Belfast for my friend Jech's wedding, going to NY for Chezza and Brha's wedding seemed like a breeze. Plus, I already knew where to go to the bathroom in NY and how to handle being hit on by Latin Americans.

I really only had one day for New York frolic and, since I was staying near Times Square and the weather was glorious, I decided to spend the morning as a loser tourist on a double decker bus tour:

and the afternoon feeling SUPER COOL because my friend Cano lives in NY and he knows where there are restaurants that do not have "Times Square" as part of their name. We went to Westville Chelsea for lunch and I had a Cobb salad that changed my life. Seriously...and there's no innuendo-free way to say this...I didn't want to stop putting it in my mouth. Thanks, Cam.

My beloved Katr had a prior engagement and couldn't make it to NY to repeat our butter filled tasting menu adventure, so I was dateless for the wedding itself. But, ever the gracious hostess, Chezza unwittingly provided me with my "plus one" for her nuptials in the handy "out of town visitor welcome kit" that was waiting for me at my hotel.

In the kit was this:

 

What do you do when there's a mini knit-your-own-ninja in your welcome kit? Well...you knit him.

And then, you take him on a double decker bus tour with an hilarious guide named Marian: 

 

And then you take him to the wedding as your date.

In between the ceremony and the reception, the bride and groom treated guests to a double decker bus tour of Brooklyn, complete with water and delicious popcorn! And, of course, the ninja.

The reception space was fantastic - lots of space to mill around and visit and a beautiful view of the river. And, of course, there was that ninja.

The wedding was really lovely - everyone was so happy to be there and to celebrate the newlyweds. It was great to drink mojitos and catch up with high school friends and other folks I haven't seen since we were all stressed out twenty-somethings in university. Plus, cake!

Congratulations, Chezza and Brha!! It's always pretty sweet when you see a couple surrounded by love. You are wonderful, warm, generous people and Ninja and I were honoured to have been included on your big day.

Over the course of my many bus tours and the wedding, I took several photos of architectural details and wedding fun and ninja interruptions and they are all here in this handy slideshow. Enjoy...IF YOU DARE. Thanks to Katr for giving me the purple camera that made it all possible!!

Creampuffs Move In

We’re in!

Sweet Lavendar Lord, I hate moving.

The purging, the packing, the actual moving, the unpacking…basically, they all involve the four things I hate the most:

THINKING

PLANNING

BENDING

DOING

In an effort to help you all out with your upcoming moves – whatever those moves may be - here are my keen tips:

Con your friends into taking your crap delightful goods. After we went through our things and did a big book and DVD and laptop bag purge, we invited people over to help themselves to free books and laptop bags! While the turn-out was small, the impact was large and we managed to pass many many handsome laptop bags and stimulating books on to good homes. To those of you who came – thank you!! To those of you who couldn’t make it – you can now buy our remaining stuff at your local Value Village. Because when you have a lot of stuff to donate and only want to make one stop, you gotta go to the double V.

Get a meat puppet.  I don’t know what she promised him, but Katr got her brother Drtr to come help us pack, move and unpack. He came for six days. From Buffalo. And he was like a golden golden god. We seriously could not have done it without him.

My brother-in-law Drtr is a special kind of person. My brother Jaro and I have a great relationship – I love him like a brother – but if I asked him to come stay with us for six days and help us move, he would tell me to shove it up my ass until I could taste it.

Make sure you have enough boxes. If you run out of boxes, you will have to pack in things that are not boxes. Such as garbage bags or pillow cases. Or your own pockets.

Hire movers. Just…do it. Once your friends hurt their backs helping to move your shit, you will NEVER HEAR THE END OF IT.

Don’t hire our movers if you value your TV. Our movers put up with a lot and they did an awesome job, except for the part where we wanted them to pack our TV in its original box and they maintained that it would be fine if they just wrapped it up real good in a blanket and so we let them and you know what? Yeah, IT WAS NOT FINE.

Label your boxes. Our boxes were all totally labelled – from the previous move in 2006. And did we pack the same items back into those boxes this time? No. That’s how my brother-in-law found the riding crop. In the box marked “Children’s fiction”. In turn, the box marked “Bedroom closet” was full of cutlery. Kinky.

Move to a neighbourhood where Swiss Chalet delivers. Some of you made fun of me when I said that one of the most awesome things about this move was that we were finally within Swiss Chalet’s delivery zone. And to you I say: Suck it!! Nothing tastes quite so good after moving than that dirty dirty bird.

We are thrilled to be in our new place – especially now that the hot water is working (more on that later). I wasn’t sad to leave our old place, but I was sad to leave the unlimited dumpster and recycling access our former building provided. Tomorrow morning I have to get up at the crack of dawn’s ass to shake the raccoons off our teeny garbage bin and drag it into the alley for the garbage truck. I look forward to hearing all of your residential neighbourhood garbage minimizing tips!! Seriously…the bin is so tiny and those Swiss Chalet containers take up a lot of space.

The Ballad of McLean Drive

Hey hey!

Around the time of my last blog post, two things happened:

a) We felt so burnt out after the Olympics that we booked an epic two-week vacation to Mexico for the end of March; and

b) We got a call from our lovely mortgage broker, Chle. He told us that the mortgage rules were changing in April, making it a lot more difficult for small business owners like our fine selves to qualify for a mortgage. So, you know…if we wanted to buy a place, we’d better get the fuck on it! Wooo!

We’d been planning to glance around for a place starting after we got back from Mexico in April but that wasn’t going to cut it. And we can move pretty fast for creampuffs, when the motivation is sufficient. If you know what I mean.

So we hopped on the internet immediately and began searching through real estate porn like there was no tomorrow. We also engaged the realtor all our friends were using – the best realtor in all of Vancouver – because we wanted to be cool like them. We’ll call her “MJ” – because that is her name.

After many long nights of surfing real estate pron, our eyes were glazed over and our right hands hurt a lot. But we had a few places we liked and MJ found some more, then pulled together a crazy marathon house tour extravaganza and we found the place of our dreams and got into a bidding war and won it! By offering to close in two weeks, right before we were leaving for Mexico, we won! The place was ours, pending financing!! Pop the champagne and take off your pants! Woooo!

We didn’t think the financing part of the deal would be a problem. Sure, it would need to happen crazy quickly, but we had been pre-approved for a mortgage back in January, and we had a good 10% to put down. What could go wrong?

I am not going to bore you with the details of the ensuing clusterfuck, but if I were making an album of songs about our purchasing process, the titles would go something like this:

The Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation Ripped My Heart Out, Sat on It and Cut One

We Will Never Own This or Any Other Home

Fuck This Shit, Let’s Move Back to Toronto Where At Least They Have Garbage Chutes

Drive-by Inspection

Genworth Mortgage Insurance, Can I Have Your Babies?

The “B” in “Form B” Stands for “Because You Can’t Have a Form B If There’s No Strata Council Yet, Dipshits”

It’s 9 PM on a Friday – Do You Know Where the Guy from ScotiaBank Is?

REJECTED (power ballad)

Far From Over (cover of original Frank Stallone song)

Our Car is Now an Asset, not a Debt (Math is Hard for the Bank)

Conflict of Interest

In My Legal Opinion, Your Developer is Screwing You Out of $30,000

I’m Calling My Dad

Caulk This

My Parents Launch Such a Crazy Plan to Ensure that We Don’t Lose our Deposit That Universe Finally Stops Fucking With Us

Cautiously Optimistic but Still Covering Our Privates in Case We Get Kicked in the Nuts One More Time Before We Sign This Thing

The Fridge Has an Ice-Maker!

What’s hilarious is that I WANTED to blog about this whole thing from start to finish, but I DIDN’T WANT TO JINX IT.

But hey – thanks to the heroic efforts of our real estate dynamic duo, MJ and Chle, it all worked out! We have a new place to call our own! Our office won’t be in the dining room anymore! It’s so awesome!

And then we still went to Mexico because we’d already paid for the trip. HA ha!

We move in less than two weeks and elves don’t seem to be packing. But in the meantime, here are some photos of the new place looking all pristine, before we move in and lower the tone.

Living room with classy staging furniture. We wanted to buy those green chairs
but they were $400 each. Not even with a handjob, Joe.

 
Dining room with classy staging furniture and large freaky fake plant on kitchen island.

The building is a three unit strata. We’re on the ground floor,
hiding behind the cedars. Because our pants are off.

Out the french doors to our little yard and patio.
Or, as Emmy refers to it, “the shitter". Stay classy, dog.

The kitchen, ladies and gentlemen. The kitchen.

Guest bathroom with beribboned toilet, folded towel in
questionable taste and comically large sink. Jealous??

There are two bedrooms and a teeny den as well, but all my photos of them sucked and they didn’t have any photos I could steal off the listing. But what happens in the bedrooms is private anyway, YOU PERVS.

My gay brother-in-law is coming to help us move – it’s gonna be like a musical over here! Stay tuned for further moving shenanigans!

p.s. Mexico was very nice. I didn’t take any good photos and the papayas tasted farty, but we enjoyed ourselves nonetheless.

Creampuff Neglect

We were filming a scene last night where a couple of babes get it on and I was reminded again of why I started writing in the first place: so that I could get my hot friends to make out with each other onstage or, now, on camera!

I'm living the dream, people! Unfortunately, I wasn't allowed to take candid photos of any wardrobe malfunctions that occurred. Actors! So touchy about their "boobs" showing up on the "internet"...

I'm afraid my poor blog has been as neglected as my lovely Toronto friends on this trip. I'm SO sorry - I love you all and I'm sad I'm missing out on seeing most of you this time around. If you're not:

• letting me film at your house
• taking on a small but pivotal role out of the blue at the last minute
• holding a boom mike
• being photographed without your consent on Church street after dark
• free to be an extra for a few hours at Fire on the East Side this Saturday

I'll have to catch you next time!

In the meantime - there's some hot girl-on-girl action to look forward to, so there's that. When?? Don't worry. I'll keep you posted, pervs.

Creampuff Lowering the Tone

The hotel I'm at right now has a personal oxygen canister in the minibar. Yeah, that's right - in case I need to suck more wind. The only thing stopping me from stealing the personal oxygen canister and wandering around Toronto taking hits off it is the $56.95 charge I will incur by removing it from my room. FOILED!

More later. Swiss Chalet is here, delivering my Festive Special. It's the most wonderful time of the year!

Notes from Creampuff's Office Safari

The rumours are true. I recently spent nine days in Toronto, commuting to Mississauga and working IN AN ACTUAL OFFICE. Jealous? You should be. It was fucking AWESOME, or, if you will,"f 'awesome".

I made some notes about the experience, which I plan to include in my ongoing anthropological study of office life vs. my actual life. I find it helpful to compare and contrast the activities I participated in at the office with my usual work from home routine.

Lest you fear to join me on this journey into oft-charted waters, let me assure you of this: I wore pants the whole time.

 

Activity	Working from Home	Working at the Office
Getting to work	Get up at 6:00 a.m. Make coffee Start working	Get up at 6:00 a.m. Groom Put on the pants Go down to lobby for hotel breakfast Take 20 minute walk to Union Stn Buy GO ticket Get on 7:55 a.m. train 30 minute ride to Clarkson Stn Knit Get picked up by lovely, accommodating co-worker Go to Tim Horton's Get into it with douchebag who tries to cut us in the line Get to the window and find that the lady in front of us in line has bought our coffee Feel warm glow Consider paying it forward, then realize that would mean we'd be paying for the douchebag's coffee DENIED Arrive at office at 9:00 a.m. Start working
Meetings	Take place in office (i.e. our dining room) Include whole team (me and Katr) Often feature hand puppets Possible snacks (fruit, carrots, fuzzy peaches candy, black licorice cigars)	Take place in boardroom with projector Include whole team (~10 people) Often feature slides, charts, spreadsheets Ice cream cake is served
Bathroom breaks	Frequent and lengthy, due to variety of enticing reading material	Rare and harried, due to there being one single seater for 60 women
Lunch	Good days: Leftovers, salad, sandwich, Daily Show Bad days: Chips	Good days: Delicious meal at nice restaurant Bad days: Harvey's (still pretty good)
Work	Far less slackery than you might expect	Oh, hell yes
Distractions	Hilarious co-worker Cute dog Being felt up Facebook	Hilarious co-workers Ice cream cake Inflatable driving range in the parking lot Being told by tech support that Facebook is not allowed at office, even though it is a valid social media tool, but WHATEVER, this shit would never fly at MY office
Getting home from work	Look around Note that I am at home Continue working	Get ride to train stn from lovely co-worker Get on 5:38 p.m. train Get close-talked to by stale-breathed, spitting, deaf, irate GO train aficionado Try not to gag Feel gum getting stale Remember what happened last time I spit my gum out at the GO Stn Swallow gum Get to Union at 6:10 p.m. Take 20 minute walk back to hotel, constantly tugging at the back of my shirt, which my laptop backpack is causing to ride endlessly up over my ass
Nickname assigned by boss	Redacted	"Poopsie"
Less than stellar moments	Injuring my shoulder while punching the air and chair-dancing to Eye of the Tiger	Using my own blog as an example in my Windows Live Writer presentation. The client informs me that "Rock Out With Your Cock Out" is not a category they use on their corporate blog.
Triumphs	Getting key tactical information without any Bothans dying Not having chips for lunch Getting the dog to sit in the park	Not getting any significant food stains on my office clothes Not referring to the bathroom as "the ladies shitter" Being there the week they had ice cream cake

Please note that this is only the first draft of my report. I hope to produce the definitive work on the subject. Stay tuned for my next anthropological study entitled: Pants. Why?

Creampuff Has a Breakthrough

I don't usually come out to the person driving the cab. It's not anyone's business...there are personal safety issues...But every once in awhile, I slip up and say something about "my wife". Or, if the cab driver is hitting on me, I might take a break from pretending to have a husband and just tell the fellow I like puss. Inevitably, an admission of lesbianism in a taxi cab leads to the following exchange:

Cab driver: Have you ever been with a man?

Me: No. (this is a lie, but a word to the wise - admitting you've been with a man means that you've just never found the right man, except that you HAVE found the right man and he just happens to be driving this cab)

Cab driver: How do you know you don't want to be with a man if you never tried it?

This question has always pissed me off. How do I know? I know the same way I know that crabs are unpleasant (but carbs are delicious). I know the same way I know that the sun rises in the East and sets in the West. I know the same way I know that Madonna should put on some fucking pants already. I KNOW.

It just so happens that I was being hit on in a cab by the driver recently. It was a short ride and I didn't have the energy to make up some story about my burly husband Chet, who runs a rugged logging camp by day but lets me hold him while he weeps at night because I'm the first person who ever taught him how to love.

Cab driver: You are very beautiful. Very pretty.

Me: Thanks.

Cab driver: You ... have a boyfriend?

Me: I'm a lesbian.

Cab driver: A lesbian! Ho ho! So, have you ever been with a man?

Me: No.

Cab driver: How do you know you don't want to be with a man if you never tried it?

Me, having a sudden, incredibly brilliant brainwave: Well ... how do you know YOU don't want to be with a man if YOU'VE never tried it?

Cab driver: Unnnnnnnnnnnngh!!! Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!! That would be awful, I wouldn't like it at all!

Me: I KNOW! Me neither!

There was a stunned silence. I could tell that I had just BLOWN THIS MAN'S MIND.

A few minutes later:

Cab driver: Okay. I see what you are saying.

We continued toward my destination, having a perfectly civil conversation. I was elated. Why had I not thought of this before?  I was ready to classify this incident a success in lesbian/cab driver relations until the last moments of the ride, when this happened.

Cab driver: So you are married?

Me: Yes.

Cab driver: To another lady, right?

Me: Yes.

Cab driver:  So, how often do lesbians have sex?

Me: What?

Cab driver: Like, how many times per week?

Me:  WHAT?

Cab driver: Two times? Three times?

Me (mysteriously, while exiting the cab): As often as we want, my friend. As often as we want.

Sigh. So close!

And now over to you, my friends. What do you say?