Creampuff Revolution

Creampuff is Too Old To Be Here

I have always felt like a bit of a late bloomer in certain areas. Not in the boob areas, but more in the "youth experiences" areas that movies and tv tell us we should be experiencing. I was 26 the first (and only) time I ever got drunk enough to barf. I didn't go to a real indoor rock concert until I was 27.  And while I've been a fan of many things - books, movies, bands, performers - I was never a screaming, crying fan, trying to get up to the front of the stage to see my idols up close. I never waited at the stage door to get anyone's autograph. I never swiped an ABBA turd.

While I do identify as a huge nerd, I am also very shy and don't wear my fanatical heart on my sleeve very often. In fact, I think I can count my legitimate fan grrrl experiences on one hand:

1. The time I got Simon Callow to autograph his book Love is Where It Falls (and subsequently hated the book SO HARD but can't get rid of it, because Simon Callow signed it).

2. The time I got Sarah Waters to autograph her book Fingersmith.

3. The time we went to the first night midnight screening of the third Lord of the Rings movie (that one's on Katr).

4. The time we lined up with hundreds of kids outside the Van Dusen Gardens to get the last Harry Potter novel and I accidently took this photo of this random man, which is really hilarious to only me.

 
5. The time I met Meg Tilly at Northern Voice.

All this to say that it's been awhile - but I'm going to have to start counting my fan grrrl forays on TWO hands after this week and I am FAR too old to be this excited.

I got a copy of Cassandra Clare's YA fantasy novel The Clockwork Angel for Christmas a couple of years ago and found myself oddly, crazily twitterpated. It's the first book in a trilogy - the second book, The Clockwork Prince, came out last year and the third and final book, The Clockwork Princess came out out...TODAY. And you guys...I LINED UP to get it.

 

(Thanks to Katr for finding this photographic evidence of me in the line on Twitter. HAHAHA)

But that is not all - NO NO. I not only lined up to get the book, but I also lined up to get a wristband because next Tuesday night, Cassandra Clare is coming to Vancouver and because I have a wristband, she will SIGN MY BOOK ZOMG.

While I knew I was nerding out to get this book, I didn't initially plan to go to Chapters Metrotown super early to line up. There were 400 wristbands available, after all, plus:

"It's at 9:oo a.m.," I said to Katr. "Won't most kids be in school? Surely no one will be there."

"Uh...it's spring break," said Katr - quite gently, which was kind.

"Oh," I said, fear blooming like narcissus in the pit of my stomach. "I...oh."

Still, I planned to play it pretty cool and leave around 8 a.m. for the 9 a.m. opening. Then, at 7:15 a.m., while I was eating my breakfast, I saw on the Twitters that a line had already formed starting at 7 a.m. NERDS! I left at once, my breakfast unfinished. Katr wished me godspeed as I hurtled fatly out the door.

Sidenote: I hate the Metrotown Mall. Right after we moved here, Katr and I took a trip to Metrotown to buy some things for our apartment. We parked underground, did our shopping, came back down to the parking garage and then couldn't find our car. For HOURS. We were pretty sure the car hadn't been stolen - we quite literally could not locate where it had been parked in the first place.

As it turns out, this was largely on Metrotown, because there are two separate parking garages that do not connect with each other and one has a "yellow" section and one has a "gold" section. Do you know what colour "gold" paint looks like? FUCKING YELLOW, METROTOWN, YOU UNIMAGINATIVE FUCKS. We swore never to return.

But for The Clockwork Princess, I made an exception.

I got to the mall about 7:55 a.m. and was only 70 people from the front. SCORE!

I expected a long, boring wait in line fondling my iPhone and fielding questions like "Is one of these girls your daughter?" but the great thing about lining up for a book and a wristband is that everyone else in line is super into these books as well and there is SO. MUCH. TO. DISCUSS.

The Chapters was fully prepared for this fan onslaught - once the doors opened, we moved through the buying/squeeing process very efficiently and in no time at all, we were gathered just past the cash register to have our photos taken...with the book.

I don't know why I love this trilogy in particular so much but I DO, I DO love it. Maybe it's because it's set in Victorian times and I like things that are Victorian. I am seriously like a 13 year old with these books. I'm actually rereading the first two this week so I can really savour the last one - Cassandra Clare assumes that all of her readers are crazy fans and she doesn't waste time with expository nonsense in her books - everything picks up right where it left off and if you don't remember who the Magister is or what the deal was with Tessa's brother, too bad for you, idiot.

What's hilarious, though, is that while I LOVE the Infernal Devices series (those are the Clockwork ones), I've read Clare's first series, The Mortal Instruments (movie coming out this August!) and, even though it's set in the same Shadowhunter world, with some of the same characters, I thought The Mortal Instruments were no screaming Jesus. And I read them while blissfully happy and drunk in Mexico and still gave them only 3 stars, so that's saying something. I'm just passing this on, in case my nerdaciousness is contagious and you're thinking of checking these out. You're welcome.

 Stay tuned for next week, when I return to Metrotown for...THE SIGNING. 

Creampuff's Personal "127 Hours"

It was a blustery Saturday morning. I had gotten Katr her coffee, the dog had been walked and I was just doing a little clean up in the kitchen before starting an omelette. A week of being too lazy to take out the garbage had taken its toll on "kitchen freshness" - so I decided to be industrious and take the bag out before starting to make breakfast.

I boodled out to the garbage enclosure. The first bin was full, so I had to step inside to deposit the bag. A gust of wind blew up and the door shut behind me.

Locking me in.

And there I was. Trapped in the roofless garbage area. In the rain.

Ballsack.

I rattled the door. One time, in our old apartment, I got locked out and I just sort of leaned on the door and the shitty doorjam splintered and I got back in. This technique did not work on the sturdy garbage area latch.

I wracked my brain. Hadn't this same thing happened to our neighbour Syvo not long after we moved into this place? Yes! What did she do? She had her phone! So she called me and I let her out!

I didn't have my phone.

Katr was home and knew that I'd gone out to the garbage area. But she also knows that I'm chatty as fuck and will often wile away half an hour talking to various neighbours, rubbing their dogs and hearing about their old people health problems. I knew she'd come look for me...eventually. But until then...huh.

You'd think after three years, I'd be more careful about getting locked into the garbage area. But the thing is that we usually keep a padlock on the latch, which, when opened to admit access to the garbage area, prevents the latch from closing all the way.

I'd taken the padlock off earlier in the week, when the weather was below freezing and the lock became very difficult to open. Maybe getting trapped in the garbage area was some kind of karmic payback for having a lock on that latch to begin with.

The padlock on the garbage area makes me feel like a bourgeois asshole. Like I'm saying to the people who want to go through our garbage "Our caviar garbage is too fancy for you, riff raff."

But the reality is that the people who go through our garbage are the reason we had to put the padlock on, because they would go in there and rip through the garbage bags and leave all the garbage strewn around, so that at 6:30 a.m. on rainy Monday morning, I would have to pick all of our fucking garbage up and put it in the bins AGAIN before dragging the bins into the alley. Not cool.

Also, we were pretty sure that drunk people were fucking in there on weekends. Which is surprising, because it's not super sexy in there. I would know. Being trapped and all.

The walls of the enclosure are too high to see over, so I started jumping up periodically to see if anyone was around. Our neighbour isn't a high action place but there's usually SOMEONE wandering around, walking their dog, smoking or having a shouty cell phone conversation with their ex. I tore a flap of cardboard off a box and started waving it around over the door, just in case someone in the apartment building opposite saw and came to investigate. I alternated waving and jumping. Nada.

About fifteen minutes in - just as I was thinking about adding a screaming sound to my jumping and waving efforts - my other neighbours Jaco and Kich emerged from their back door on the second floor - which looks directly into the garbage area. I have never been so happy to see them - and was also filled with gratitude that we have the kind of nice, friendly neighbours who will let you out of the garbage area instead of asshole neighbours who would ignore you for weird, vindictive reasons. They laughingly sprung me from the garbage enclosure.

Giddy with freedom, I boodled back to the loving arms of Katr, all the while imagining how Danny Boyle would film my story. It would probably be pretty artsy.

The padlock is back on the latch...but there is also a new addition, thanks to handy upstairs neighbour Je(I don't know his last name). After hearing about my fifteen minutes of incarceration, he called to tell me that he's rigged the latch with a wire that's attached to a nail on the inside of the enclosure, so that if anyone gets trapped in there again, they can let themselves out. He didn't call it an "idiot string" - but I do. 

And I am very thankful it's there.

Creampuff Realizes It's 2013

Happy New Year! Since the world didn't end, I guess it's back to the blogging. I hope you all had lovely holidays, filled with family, friends, food and Furtles! 

We got a little more snow than usual this year and got to witness the hilarity of Vancouver drivers trying to maneuvre their ultimate driving machines through the drive-thru at the Tim Hortons. Sadly, we also had to go out driving in the snow to deliver our Presents of Peace to the family we sponsored through the YWCA. We were like two fat lady Santas, getting lost in blizzard-bound Coquitlam with Rudolf the Red Nosed Shar Pei in the back seat keeping us warm with her emissions. But, just like Santa, the gifts were delivered and then we had cookies! Generosity and white-knuckle driving was a great way to kick off the holidays.

Nobody here owns a shovel.

While I'm super bitter that the holidays have now ended, there is one thing that removes the sting: it's resolution time, guys!! Wooo! I LOVE making resolutions when the year is new and minty fresh. I realize that resolution-making has kind of fallen out of vogue among the hip and logical and to them I say YOU'RE DEAD INSIDE. It's a new YEAR!!!!!! Resolve, you cynical fuckos!

Emmy is very stern about resolution-making.

As is my wont, I've been reviewing last year's resolutions to see how I made out.

1. Bi-weekly Yoga. YES. With the exception of our Hawaii trip and also, this holiday, bi-weekly yoga has continued Chez Creampuff. IN FACT, for about half the year, I actually did yoga 5 - 6 times a week. This was because our teacher Jane made me start doing this move that made me want to barf every time and I had to start working on it outside of class. Well-played, Jane.

2. Sugar cleanse. SORT OF. One weekend this fall, Katr and I started a two-day cleanse where all we would eat were fruits and vegetables. The cleanse lasted about 8 hours. Then we had a fight and ordered from Pizza Hut.

3. Become a yoga douchebag who doesn't eat sugar. I was just kidding about this last year, but this year I am GOING FOR IT.

4. Pick something and fucking work on it. SORT OF. I fully picked something. But then I failed to work on it.

5. Weekly blogging. Well, this year was better than last year!! So...shut up. 

This year:

1. 5X Yoga. This does not mean that I'm going to do a full on yoga practice five times a week. I'M NOT AN ANIMAL. But I will get the mat out at least five times a week in hopes that by practising more often, my cries of "Ugh! Ballsack!" during our yoga lessons will diminish. I think Jane would like it if I quit screaming "Ballsack" during her class.

2. More thoughtful notes. Lately, when I've been thinking of someone fondly, or I've had a dream in which we go snorkeling together in Dubai, I've been sending a note to that person to let them know I've been thinking of them. It's nice and I'd like to do it more consistently. People should know when you're thinking of them fondly. But not fondle-ingly. That you should keep to yourself, unless you're married before the Lord.

3. Get up without making a noise. My mom was telling me the other day about how HER friend was telling her that they should practice getting out of chairs gracefully, because you can really tell how old someone is by how they struggle to get out of a chair. When I get out of a chair, I usually grunt "Awww fuckballs".

My mother is very lithe and fit, so getting out of a chair or off the couch isn't really a problem for her. You know who else this isn't a problem for? Jean Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise. That cat gets out of his captain's chair with great spirit and alacrity EVERY TIME. I would like to be more like Jean Luc Picard. Star Trek TNG is on Netflix now and we're halfway through Season 2.

4. Drink more tea. One of my solstice gifts this year was an amazing box of delicious herbal teas from the new big deal in teas, David's Tea (most boring name ever but the tea...so good). I have a bodum and I am ready to steep ALL YEAR. Today we tried Green & Fruity (very fruity) and Jessie's Tea (hints of coconut and lavender - I didn't mind it but Katr says NO).

5. Weekly blogging. I swear, this will be the year! Weekly blogging, not just blogging when my friend Jeba sends me an accusatory note via Facebook. Honestly, I know you guys don't give a wet shit if I blog more often, but since I'm too lazy to keep a diary, having an up to date blog is the only way I can keep track of the things I am mad about.

That's all I have so far...but the year is young! Are you resolutioning this year? Or do you think resolutions are for the weak?

 

 

Creampuff Is One of Them

"Oh shit," I thought to myself, as I stood in the kitchen in my yoga pants, unironically blending a green smoothie with kale I picked up at the Main and Terminal Farmer's Market from our Community Supported Agriculture shares, which were grown in the parking lot next to Rogers Arena. "It's happened. I've become a Vancouver douchebag."

I think you all saw it coming before I did. First, there was the gluten-free situation. Then, we became urban gardeners. Last year, we started doing the yoga. But I didn't really feel that I'd succumbed completely to VD until last week, when:

a) I made that smoothie; and

b) I ran errands in public wearing yoga capri pants even though I didn't have my dog with me and actual yoga was not imminent.

I HAVE NOW BECOME EVERYTHING THAT I HATE.

 

Creampuff "Promises Something for Everyone"

I was born in the 1970s. Now you know.

There was a wealth of interesting TV on at that time, but because my parents were insistent on early bedtimes, my late '70s/early '80s non-cartoon-based TV memories are confined to the following: Three's Company, Little House on the Prairie (until my mom caught us watching the one where Nellie locks Mary in the ice house and decided that it was "too scary" and then we weren't allowed to watch it anymore) and The Love Boat.

The Love Boat was on after school sometimes and I could not get enough. I loved the boat. I loved the clover-shaped pool. I loved the glamorous ladies and the suave gentlemen (but mainly the ladies). I loved the crew - especially Cruise Director Julie McCoy, although I was disappointed by her boyish haircut. GIRLS should have LONG hair.

It's been a loooong time since I've seen The Love Boat - though I could still sing the theme song. So when Katr bought the first two seasons of The Love Boat on DVD, I was pretty excited to rewatch this character-forming television program to see what kernels of wisdom I'd internalized as a child.

Thank fuck there were not too many! HA ha!

After making it all the way through Season One, I feel that The Love Boat teaches the following lessons:

1. Camel toe is de rigueur. Ditto, moose knuckles.


2. Falling in love and deciding to get married on a three day cruise is completely normal.


3. Relentlessly hitting on female passengers is part of Dr. Bricker's job.


4. Women "fall in love" more easily once you get them drunk and wear them down over several hours.


5. The best way to kiss someone is to mash your lips up against their lips and then kind of grind your face real hard into their face but NEVER DEAR GOD NEVER OPEN YOUR MOUTH.


6. Captain Meryl Stubing has daddy issues and class issues. When the two collide - COMEDY GOLD!


7. Being unfaithful to your wife suddenly makes you waaaay more attractive to her.


8. There is no racial tension on The Love Boat BUT black people may only hit on other black people.


9. Leslie Nielson is a real downer on The Love Boat.


10. Ditto Annette Funicello.


11. "Gopher" is not Gopher's real name. His real name is "Burl". Either way, he's never getting laid.


12. "I came on board to find my birth mother. Then I met a nice young man who was travelling with his mother. We totally had the sex and then I find out that his mother is actually my birth mother! Blaaaaaaaaaarg sexwithmybrother blaaaaaaaaaaaaarg! But wait! The nice young man is my birth mother's stepson, so we're not actually related! And when we get married after knowing each other for three days, you'll be my mother AND my mother-in-law! Problems = SOLVED."


13. Isaac knows that it's not a "three piece suit" unless all three pieces are either denim or leather.

We're just starting Season Two, so I can only imagine what further gems await Katr and I on the lido deck! Maybe we'll see you there, in your sheer bathing suit and lady turban! Isaac! Tequila sunrise!

Creampuff *Might* Have An "In" with the Union

I was walking the dog in the sunshine yesterday and a fellow stopped me on the sidewalk to let me know that I look very similar to Jean Van Vliet, the President of the Canadian Auto Workers Local 3000. "Not a bad person to look like!" he exclaimed as he walked away. End of encounter.

This was delightful for a number of reasons.

1. What?

2. "Jean Van Vliet" sounds very similar to George Costanza's fake boss/alter ego "Art Vandelay".

3. I usually get told I look like Toni Collette in Muriel's Wedding or my uncle Ian. So Jean is new. Here is a photo of Jean (she is on the right, in the plaid).

Here is a photo of me, for comparison:

Haha! Oh, a REAL photo. Okay, here's one. I am also on the right.

It's like me and Jean are the same person! In the sense that we're both fat, white and bespectacled. But sometimes, that's all it takes to create a doppelganger.

I'm not sure what to do with this information. Should I let Jean know that we look alike and that I'm available to take her place at union events? 

ETA: My friend and future Minister of Information Doai has created a new campaign photo for when I next run for office (at CAW or BEYOND)! I hope this shot doesn't make it look like I'm on the take.

Creampuff and the Mystery of the Travelling Pants

As some of you may recall, I started reading a lot of fundamentalist Christian blogs last year and here's the thing - I AM STILL READING THEM. 

I've definitely cut down a little on my fundie reading and now only REALLY enjoy the ones that are basically about:

• Farming for Jesus


• Homeschooling their one million tiny children


• Pretending to be Laura Ingalls Wilder (i.e. romanticizing homesteading, wearing period costume and waiting for a husband).

While I still read these blogs with fascination and horror, I did notice that the sheer industry of these bloggers was starting to rub off on me.

Sure, I wholeheartedly disagree with their politics and lifestyle choices but they also made me want to bake more and maybe do some canning. Maybe it's the survivalist edge to a lot of these blogs that's really attractive - I am a sucker for WTSHTF (When The Shit Hits The Fan) planning.

With my diligent stay-at-home-daughter fundie bloggers in mind, I decided that this year, I too would be a little more diligent with my around the house duties. So as one of my unwritten New Year's Resolutions, I decided that I would step it up a little on my own homestead. Just a little - I still needed lots of time to watch Dexter (just started Season 5!), knit, play Kingdom Rush on my iPad and take my dog on meandering walks.

I decided that:

• I would never go to bed without cleaning the kitchen


• I would do the laundry once a week and fold it the SAME DAY instead of willy nilly doing laundry and then having the unfolded clean laundry pile higher and higher to the point where it toppled over whenever Katr went in there to find socks


• I would empty the dishwasher promptly in the morning (preferably while Katr's coffee was percolating, so that I could feel the thrill of "multi-tasking")


• I would make sure to always add Emmy Lou's "Healthy Mouth" liquid whenever I filled up her water, even though it is kind of a hassle. I reminded myself that adding Healthy Mouth was less of a hassle than paying $2000 for dental surgery, which we did a year and a half ago.


• I would finish any chores (tidying, meal prep, folding etc.) before I got to do any fun things

None of these are in any way earth-shattering, but for a procrastinator like me, "getting things done" instead of "waiting until I was annoyed by things" was a total delight and after nearly three months of this behaviour, I was quite proud of myself and also, if I'm honest, was feeling a little smug about my housekeeping abilities. Until this morning, when I lost a pair of Katr's pants.

I went do a load of jeans this morning (Friday is "Extra Jeans Washing" day, where every two weeks I WASH THE JEANS - I hope you're writing this down) and I couldn't find one pair of Katr's jeans. A statewide FBI manhunt ensued, where I tore the bedroom, laundry area, occasional laundry-drying area and my own brain apart trying to figure out how I'd misplaced a pair of pants in our (in my mind) perfectly kept home.

Clearly, despite all of my extremely superior housekeeping skills, I had FAILED. I was crushed. How did this happen?? Where could they BE?? And why was this happened when I was BEING SO DILIGENT??

I gave up the search because I had to get to work. And so the location of the pants remains a mystery. And guys - I'm trying to just let go and let God on this one. Because I know that's what my fundies would do. Because that's all they ever fucking talk about.

Creampuffs at the TED

When Katr first started attending the TED conference, no one I knew had heard about it. It was held in Monterey, CA and I would get to go with her every year and catch glimpses of celebrities like Forest Whitaker and take terrible videos of seals and write deep thoughts at my favourite Monterey cafe Plumes.

Now, eight years later, TED is ubiquitous - I can't go on Facebook without seeing friends posting and reposting thousands of cool TED talks - and instead of going down to Long Beach, where it is now held, Katr is a TED Associate and we livestream the conference here right to our house. TECHNOLOGY!

Photo: James Duncan Davidson

This livestreaming approach has distinct advantages:

a) It is cheaper.

b) I don't have to worry about letting one rip just as Cameron Diaz gets on the elevator at the Portola Plaza hotel. Not that that happened. Twice. Or anything.

c) I get to actually *see* the TED talks instead of just *hearing* about them from Katr and then *thinking* about watching them online but never getting around to it.

Something that always kind of put me off TED was the collective orgasm a lot of folks seems to have over TED (including the organizers). But I have to say, there are some pretty awesome and amazing things going on that were very cool to hear about. 

There were a lot of interesting talks at TED this year but probably my favourites were:

Billy Collins, former Poet Laureate of the US, whose wry wit and action poems just killed me. His poem "The Country" was hilarious and a little awe-inspiring.

Bryan Stephenson, lawyer and founder of the Equal Justice Initiative, who gave such a moving and motivating talk about racism in the justice system that he managed to raise 1.2 million dollars towards his latest campaign (to keep kids from being sentenced to adult jail) in less than a day at TED. Because the people at TED are super super rich.

Book designer Chip Kidd, who designed iconic book jackets like the one for Jurassic Park. He was gay, bitchy, hilarious and really got me thinking about "what does a story look like"? Also, he made me slightly ashamed of my new Kobo.

Journalist and writer Jon Ronson, whose latest book is about psychopaths and who shared a few of his stories from his research, with some added audio-visual aid from Evan Grant and Julian Treasure. I'm dying to read his book now, if only to make sure that I don't have too many checks on the Psychopath Checklist.

Ainissa Ramirez, Associate Professor of Mechanical Engineering & Materials Science, who gave a talk about changing the way we educate and inspire kids. My favourite quote was "Scientists fail all the time; we just brand it differently. We call it ‘data.’”

Ainissa Ramirez. Photo: James Duncan Davidson

And Brene Brown, a Houston psychologist, whose talk about shame brought the house down.

I'm sure all of these talks will be online seconds after I write this (so far there are only four posted on the TED 2012 Playlist but I'm sure there are many more to come). In the meantime, you can check out the TED blog for other highlights from this year's conference.

As I mentioned on Facebook, inspired by the brilliant minds we've been hearing from at the TED conference this week, I've decided to take a risk and implement a new pilot project I like to call "No Bridge Mix Left Behind". So far, project is exceeding expectations! I look forward to my invitation to speak at TEDxConfectionary. Anytime, guys. Annnnytime.

 

While the Cat's Away, The Creampuff Is Too Scared to Watch 'Dexter'

It's been a long time since I was REALLY interested in a TV show and wanted to watch multiple episodes at once.

Battlestar Galactica, maybe?

LOST?

 We loved Downton Abbey, but could only do one episode at a time because shit gets real on that show and you need to process. We're waiting for Season 2 to come out on DVD so we can just buy it and savour it and weep on our own time.

Anyway, I noticed that Dexter was newly available on Netflix, I thought "Ein. Well...what the hell?"

And then I COULDN'T STOP WATCHING IT.

Dexter is one of the many shows I know that a lot of my friends watch - but as it turns out, a lot of my friends REALLY love shows that I seriously do not care for. 

I couldn't handle The Sopranos (too much violence).  I tried True Blood, but couldn't really get into it. I WANTED SO BAD to like Mad Men, but I just wanted to punch everyone on it (even Christina Hendricks, whom I've loved since Firefly). I tried The Wire, but even though there was that one lesbian cop, I felt it suffered from TMP (too much penis), causing me to NGAF (not give a fuck).

With all of the shows above, devotees kept saying things like "You need to give it a couple of episodes" or "It gets really good in the second season!". And hey - I get it! I say the same things about shows I like, like Buffy or Parks and Rec! But sometimes you just know that you're not going to give a shit about any of these characters no matter how long you watch the show.

With Dexter, I was hooked immediately - like, 10 minutes in, I was done for. What was it? Michael C. Hall's slight gay vibe left over from Six Feet Under? The fact that there was swearing? Twitchy Jennifer Carpenter's hooker ensemble? No idea.

I plowed through the first season of Dexter pretty quickly and was ecstatic to learn that Katr was going away on a business trip for two nights this week, leaving me time to WATCH DEXTER LIKE IT'S MY JOB get lots of work done. But what I forgot is that I can't watch crime shows when I'm alone at night. Because I am a pussy who is easily freaked out.

Katr left Monday and I was alone with the TV and my thoughts. My thoughts were mainly "If I watch Dexter while Katr is away, I won't be able to sleep. Or if I do sleep, I will dream only of being murdered during a home invasion. But I want to watch Dexter SO BAD!!"

I need to point out here that I also just finished Parable of the Sower, so I'm already on the edge of putting barbed wire up around the house.

I love having the house to myself. LOVE IT. I like eating stupid things and staying up late and leaving pizza boxes strewn about like drunks in the movies. In fact, this week was the very first time I'd been in this house by myself overnight. It should have been a magical, magical time for me to reconnect with my inner filthy loser. 

But because of stupid Dexter, I couldn't wait for it to be over so that I could watch more damn Dexter. I literally counted down the hours until Wednesday, when Katr would be returning. And then on Wednesday,  I...watched a lot of Dexter. So...much...Dexter. And then Katr came home and I slept like a fat rock.

I have only seen to the end of Season 2, so NO SPOILERS. Although I already know that something bad happens to Julie Benz at some point, because like all Buffy nerds, I keep up with what former Buffy actors are up to. But that's ALL I KNOW, so don't tell me anything else!! Okay, thank you.

Oh, also, Netflix only has up to Season 3, so get ready for me to come begging to those of you who might have it on DVD.

 

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.