Carni-val

My sister, Kirsten is home for the Canada Day weekend. In true Canadian fashion, we typically stretch any holiday into an entire weekend. Which provides even more opportunity for merlot and merriment.

One Canada Day staple is the obligatory trip to the fair. You know, for the kids ;) Neither of us can handle much of the swirling and whirling of the carnival rides (we're saving our stomachs for tomorrow). While my son and nephew ran from ride to ride (intermmittently waiting for long periods in line ups), it gave Kiki and I time to laugh at people's choice of wardrobe (less is never more) and other carni sites to be seen (tanned ride operators with more tattoos than teeth). My sister wondered if the carnis turn up the music and ride the rides after the fair patrons leave each night. My guess is...er, no.

Because of the week-long rain and thunder/lightening fest, the fair grounds resembled a swamp. We were wearing flip flops of course. And with each step, the warmish, smellish swampiness sank further up to our ankles. It was like walking through a sewer. The fact that young teenage boys (presumably trying to impress the girls) were walking around spitting everywhere and people brought their dogs to the fair who no-doubtably pissed everywhere, so it was very much like an actual sewer.

After almost two hours in the mucky muck, our feet felt like fecal covered ice cubes.

Kiki: "Remember how we used to wear strappy sandals out to the bar, even when it was winter?"
Me: "Yeah. Remember that time my feet were so cold I took off my mittens and wore them on my feet over my strappy shoes for the walk home when we couldn't get a cab?"
Kiki: "Yeah."
Lots of laughter.

Kiki: "Remember that time we couldn't get a cab and Kate wanted to go home with that guy just so she could get a ride and avoid walking?"
Me: "Was that the night "name of guy" wanted to take her home and we tried to carry her to Subway?"
Kiki: "No, that was a different night. I'm talking about the night she tried to pee in the alley way between the two parked cars."
Me: "Oh, was that the night I took you both for a ride in the shopping cart and it tipped over on the sidewalk and you both fell out?"
Kiki: "No, that was a different night."
Me: "Oh."
Kiki: "Those were fun times."
I nod in agreement and lots of laughter.

I made her stop telling stories because I was laughing so hard I thought I was going to s*** myself (not very attractive and thanks in part to the spicey hamburger wraps we ate for supper). Fun times indeed.

Hallelujah! [It's Raining Men]

As the saying goes, when it rains it pours. This saying can be applied to many subjects including (but not limited to) construction, dating, dog food and ofcourse actual meteorological events.

After a lengthy dating drought I seem to have found myself smack dab in the middle of a romantic rain storm. And I like it.

After sucessfully being adopted by three (and a half) couples, one of them got down to business straight away - with a charming British chap that worked with her sister (I'm such a sucker for an accent). Then ofcourse my sweet coworker was on a matchmaking mission with the pilot.

Having choices are good. Needing index cards to record and track information to keep it straight, is not.

I guess we all have a burden to bare ;)

Road Trip...Thelma and Louise Style

#13. Go on out-of-town vacation. COMPLETED
#14. Buy new "little black dress" (a necessity for black tie affair at end of the month at my friend Charlene's house, which is also out of town - a way to cross two things off my list!). COMPLETED

If Thelma and Louise didn't do a harakiri off the cliff at the end of the movie, surely they would have wanted to tag along on this wild girls-only road trip [with the exception of my uncle we dropped off at the airport. Besides, he's just like one of the girls - he works in retail].

The dusty trail (literally, there was lots of road construction) took Teri, Suzie, KJ and I to the end of the Earth, er, Canada. Charlene, our hostess for this year's annual girls-get-together-weekend lives in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. Our friend, Nan was laid up with kidney stones and unable to attend.

The theme for this year's event...black and white, hence the need for a little black dress. Not that I don't own one already but the last time I took that baby around the block for a spin was on an unfortunate New Year's Eve spent at a dance featuring a Rolling Stones cover band with my [ex] boyfriend Matt and my parents when I weighed about 25 pounds more. 15 of those pounds were carried soley in my a** area. Not a memory I'd like to relive. Besides, an excuse to shop? I never met one I didn't like.

Until now. For two weeks solid I scoured the racks of the local mall. Heck I even drove to New Brunswick to find something fab. Nothing. Special. I hadn't been this desperate since my first stint at university and was jonesing for a drink of alcohol so badly I actually went door-to-door begging from my floor-mates armed with $20 Cdn. Again, not a memory to relive. I was completely overcome with panic and contemplating taking my previously enjoyed black dress to a tailor to be altered. And then, an idea. I called Charlene to see if a red and black dress would do. I had a fabulous red and black halter dress which was purchased with my next big date in mind but due to listual obligations has been sentenced to hang in my closet with only a cold plastic hanger for comfort. At first, Charlene said I would f*** up (ok, I'm paraphrasing) the color scheme of the pictures. Then, I think she felt guilty and told me it would be "ok." But there was something in her voice that told me I'd better find a black dress ASAP. Plus, I knew Teri was breaking the rules by wearing pink and black. So I didn't want to push our hostess over the edge. With only 30 minutes left of possible shopping time, I "settled" for a saucey little number from Smart Set (complete with silver set white and black pearl necklace and matching white pearl earings).

Now that I had my main wardrobe staple nestled in my suitcase, it was time to do some extra hygiene prep [Note: if you're a guy and reading this you might want to just skip down to the next paragraph, especially if you wish to keep the illusion that we women are born this naturally groomed/ hydrated/ hairless]. Due to the clingy-ness of my new dress, I opted for a special anti-cellulite seaweed mud mask to touch up the back of my upper legs which by now were looking better thanks to my Monday night softball regimen. But what's a mud mask between friends? It was quite soothing, and I didn't experience any of the after-effects as detailed in fine print on the packaging (tingling and/or warming/burning sensation with some skin swelling, which should diminish after an hour).

Add in my usual ritual of plucking eyebrows (etc...ouch), soaking feet, filing and painting nails, extra-conditioning hair, shaving legs, under arms (etc...yup) and somehow I used up two hours of prep time. With only a few minutes left til embarking I tossed on my "travel outfit" - a cute pair of low rise Bluenote jeans, yellow tank top, green flip flops and my trade-mark sunglasses. With a swish of mascara (ok, ok and a smige of coral blush) we left. In the pouring rain. Rain is like the kryptonite of curly haired girls.

Sometime during the course of our adventure, we each decided to purchase a lotto ticket in each town we stopped (thus somehow increasing our chances at winning top prize). Now I don't know if you've ever been on a road trip with four women in their very (very) early 30's who've had a combined total of 7 children but the stops were...frequent. And this was beginning to add up to a fair chunk of change for the lotto corporation.

At around hour #3 I noticed the sun was out and it was getting hot (no thanks to my out-of-commission auto air conditioning). But it wasn't just the heat of the sun. It was the searing heat coming from my upper legs and/or a**. I reached my hand around to make sure my a** didn't somehow spontaneously combust. And then, I realized...it was the anti-cellulite seaweed mud mask. Crap. Maybe I didn't rinse throughly enough and now it was spreading a rash-like..well, rash all over my body? We pulled into the nearest one-horse town.

As chance would have it, the Tim's was a drive-thru only. Double crap. The only visable option was a farmer's co-op or the local run-down garage. Since we were already gambling women, I went to the garage. Suzie and KJ decided to accompany me while Teri waited in the car. There was a cute young guy sitting at the cash smacking some gum. I didn't even have to say anything, the sheer look of panic in my face gave it away. "Looking for the bathroom?" he asked. "Yes" I tried to crank up the corners of my mouth into a smile despite the mexican hot-dance going on in my jeans. "Second door on the right" he said. And I was off. The mirror in the bathroom was about 5"x7" and 6 feet off the floor so doing a 360 degree check was out. I craned my neck around to assess (no pun intended) the situation. Hmmm...I was rash free. But my skin was a tad puffy. Slightly relieved, I opened the door to find Suzie smiling which was slightly odd since she didn't even know my good news yet. "Where's KJ? I asked. "She couldn't wait, so she decided to use the ladies washroom." Say what? My eyes scanned the door I just exited, and sure enough, there in bold block letters read "MEN". Ok...so I was slightly preoccupied. And note to cute guy working the cash, it's the third door on the right.

Charlene didn't disappoint in her hostess capabilities. Everything was amazing. Her husband, Tad is a fisherman. So it's quite fitting (or kinky) that in their back yard dangling from a tree is a long rope with an orange buoy on the end. After some "refreshments" we took turns swinging on the buoy in our fancy dress for some candid photos (not quite so easy when wearing barely-there knickers). After some more "refreshments" we were put to work on a crossword puzzle. Weeks earlier Charlene had sent out questions for us to answer. Questions included...what would the others be shocked to learn about you (hmmm...) and who was your secret high school crush (I listed two, neither of which was a secret..like my grade 12 English lit teacher Mr. Wellington). Answers to these and other juicy questions formed the crossword. That's what I'm very involved in (see pic above) and yes, those are my original unaltered pair.

We topped the night off with a few more refreshments and a rowdy game of "I Never". Let's just say, apparently there's quite a host of things I could add to my list (like getting it on in the parking lot during a big time music awards show); none of these items however could pass my PG rating. That got us a bit fired up so we got in our pj's and popped in Carmen Electra's Aerobic Striptease (Hip Hop) video to burn off some calories. Charlene was amazed that I could perform the routine quite well. I don't mean to brag, but I do own the video.

All-in-all it was a super trip to Yarmouth filled with stories and laughter and a bevy of refreshments. Not to mention a bit of shopping at the local adult entertainment store Sugar and Spice. Thelma and Louise would be proud. Unlike the feminist duo, our brush with the law was short lived. On our way out of town, I was [admittedly] speeding, as in, doing 120 kmh in a 100 kmh zone. It was too late to brake by the time I spied the cruiser approching in the opposite lane. And what does Officer Handsome do? He sticks his hand out the driver side window, with a thumbs down motion [presumably telling me to slow down]. What? No speeding ticket? Right on copper. I love Yarmouth!

[Note to readers: none of the participants in this weekend were lotto winners despite our sure-fire winning method].