Facebook IRL

The Visitors - Kairn and Sherla

 

      Before we could tell what was going on in people's lives with the click of a button, we used to do this thing called "visiting". It was weird. You went to someone's house, often unannounced, and you talked about the weather, or gossiped about your friends, or reminisced about old times. We can still do that, but it is very time consuming and gas is $1.42 a litre. So, quite frankly, why bother?

     I guess I did it for the nostalgia. Kairn texted me earlier this week to suggest a "visit" with Alison, whom she had not seen for several years. Thanks to facebook, Kairn doesn't have to see Alison; she can just "like" it when Alison updates her status or posts a funny picture of a cat. Alison, however, "commented" on Kairn's facebook that she should "stop by". Therefore, Kairn texted me to suggest a real life "visit".

I grow weary of these "quotation marks"!

     Alright, we'll do this visiting thing. I woke up early Saturday morning, eager to start the day. Then I said, "fuck that" and laid down on the kitchen floor for a nap. Around 10 a.m., I hear loud voices in my dooryard and my dog bursts out the front door all barky and growly. I didn't even know she could open the screen door. Hm. It is Kairn and her mom just checking out the chickens (my four chickens are growing so big, btw! I am very excited about fresh eggs and I love my little girls!).

Muffy in the Chicken Coop with Parm, Kiev, Tandoori and Nugget

      I dragged my ass off the kitchen floor and go out with my hair all frizzy, wearing a maxi skirt and a ratty, old sweatshirt - no bra - to greet my guests.

    I can barely form a sentence because I am so tired. But, the gist of the conversation is - Kairn will be back soon to embark on our visit. Good. I'm ready... Or, I will be.

     Took Muffy to the park because if I go visiting without her, she will probably destroy yet another pair of shoes. By the time we get back, Kairn is waiting in the driveway. I facebook Alison to let her know I am on my way and she should put the kettle on... or whatever she needs to do to have company.

     Meanwhile, Kairn and I stop for ice and booze because it is a beautiful, hot summer day and you never know when a party might break out. Actually, we are going on what is known locally as a "Horn Trip" (more quotes). A horn trip involves driving around all of the "horns" on the island where we live, usually while drinking. What the hell are horns, anyway? This was a topic of discussion for the liquor store...

     "We're going on a horn trip," Kairn declared at the checkout counter.

     "I haven't been on a horn trip in years!" says the guy ahead of us.

     "Well, technically, we aren't drinking on this horn trip," I clarify. "We are driving and THEN we are going to drink. But, how do I explain "Horns" to people on my blog? What do regular people call horns?"

     No one seemed to know. But, everyone knows now because I pointed out on the map and yelled all through the liquor store that "horns", according to a map of Prince Edward County, are more commonly referred to as "points"! We were going on a "Point Trip"!

That does not have the same ring to it. It also implies that we will be pointing to things along the way. While that may be entirely true, it sounds boring and a Horn Trip is never boring.

     The first point we headed towards was actually a Port. Northport, to be exact, where Alison lives with her cat Bethany, who was having her fifteenth birthday. There wasn't any cake :(

     On arrival, Alison offers us coffee, tea or wine (as per the rules of visiting). She was drinking wine, it was at least 11 a.m., so I had a glass of wine, too. What the hell? It's not every day that one's cat turns 15! We proceeded to discuss the usual topics - work, family, love and the good ole days. In that order. All the while, the neighbours are installing what sounds like a test area for jack hammers. Seriously, use a shovel for whatever shitty, bourgeois, dedication to suburbia you are currently erecting and let the rest of the world enjoy a quiet Saturday morning, ya freaks! Gawd, I hate people who give a shit about their landscaping!

     Speaking of neighbours, Alison used to have neighbours who were really weird. Like, right out of an episode of Jerry Springer kind of weird. The subject of this particular episode is "My boyfriend fell in love with my mother, who doesn't have any teeth". Anyway, they were evicted and left the house in a mess, complete with months of garbage bags and rotting meat from the freezer attracting rats to the basement. A nice young couple have since moved in and gutted the place. They make sauerkraut and sell it in Toronto.

     I'm not kidding you! Check out the website http://www.pyramidfarmandferments.com.

     Alison says the sauerkraut is quite good and I didn't know she was ever really into sauerkraut. She was into having the best parties at her house on Glenora Road! We got out the photo albums at this point in our visit so we could re-live the good times we had. Gawd, I was good looking 20 years ago! What happened? We were all little hawties in our acid-washed jeans and high-waisted shorts. Kairns hair was down below her ass and curly, curly, curly. Alison used to shave the sides of her head and spike up her naturally blond hair. She wore a pink, satin dress to prom. There were pics of Christine before she developed the biggest set of knockers this side of the Bay of Quinte. Sheri was wearing an itty, bitty bikini at Edgewater Park, which is where Alison and Kairn jumped on two people inside a small tent and destroyed an inflatable Slush Puppy. All the guys were skinny, pimple-faced teenagers, too. Sooooo long ago. We had so much fun, but now we have reached our quota of fun, I guess.

     Two hours later, we were back on the road on our way to Green Point. Kairn was going to let the dog out: Molly was good. She peed. She pooped. She sniffed. We were back on Highway 49 heading to the Loyalist Parkway and Lake on the Mountain with a stop at MacFarland Park to see the house Sheri just bought. It was big. And blue. Nice.

     On Bongard's Crossroad, we had wood-fired pizzas and cider cocktails at The County Cider Company (http://www.countycider.com). Kairn doesn't like cider, so I drank her cocktail. We did get to visit briefly with Tanya, who I hadn't seen for years. She had the most amazing body back in high school. I can't decide if I was more jealous or attracted. Either way, she has aged well. I also saw former co-workers and my friend's oldest son, whose first day on the job was Saturday! Exciting! The sun was hot, the cider was cold and the pizza was yummy.

     Next stop was home to pick up Muffy before heading to Long Point for a visit with Dannle! Dannle is staying at a cottage on Half Moon Bay that is just beautiful and I am definitely jealous. She showed us pictures from the night before. Her boyfriend was celebrating his 39th birthday, face down in a cake shaped like a vagina. It was very anatomically correct for something made out of fondant. Although, the clitoris was unusually large in my opinion. Anyway, not something you see everyday... a cake made to look like lady parts.

     We convinced Muffy to take her first official swim in South Bay. Dannle pushed her gently into the water and then Kairn pulled her into the deeper water where she dog paddled her little heart out. I was very proud. It was a good day. I am happy to stick to facebook for most of my news, but you can't beat face time for the best experiences.

Wedding Crashers Rule #84: Whatever it takes to get in, get in.

It's quarter to two on Saturday morning. I haven't been up this late in years! It's been a crazy night. Like... surreal.

One of the door prizes at
the 25th Sophiasburgh Central School reunion.
???

My friend, Kairn, suggested we go out this weekend for drinks and "shaloming". That's kind of an inside joke. We like to make up dances when we go out. Dances that are not sexy and could, in fact, be likened to something like The Carleton (from Fresh Prince of Bel Air) Anyway, the last time we were out we came up with shaloming, based on an autocorrected text... it's a long story and you had to be there.

Later in the week, my sister from another mister messages me to say she will be in town from the Ottawa area for a twenty fifth elementary school reunion.

Exqueeze me? Baking Powder? I've never heard of an elementary school reunion before.

It makes sense, though, having come from a small town. We all formed very close relationships with the kids we attended school from kindergarten to grade eight. We wet our pants together in the school yard. We knew who was the pukey kid. We knew which girl got her period for the first time at recess. We knew the kid who got sent to the principal's office for saying "boner" in Mrs. Haight's class. It stands to reason that Sophiasburgh Central School, who's graduating class was probably less than twenty kids, have stayed close.

Regardless, I didn't go to Sophiasburgh. My sister's husband did. That was my only excuse for attending and I was determined to drag Kairn along with me. We are The Reunion Crashers.

It was potluck - I made chocolate and peanut butter bars; Kairn made lemon squares. I didn't think we would know anyone there, but we actually went to high school with almost everyone. I got to see an old friend with whom I spent most of my senior year at Prince Edward Collegiate playing euchre. His wife also went to high school with us, but I didn't remember her. A lovely girl and I hope we get the chance to see each other at the 25th high school reunion. Ten minutes after we arrived at the reunion, "Joanna" convinced me we should do a shot of something.

"They don't have any tequila," she said apologetically. She was disappointed that they didn't have white wine or coolers either. I wondered what she could possibly have in mind for shots. Clearly, there would not be any "Sex on the Beach" or "Polar Bears" at the Demorestville Hall. "We will have to do shots of vodka," she declared.

Exsqueeze me? Baking Powder? I've never heard of doing straight vodka shots. Actually, that's a lie. I was a bartender at a Russian wedding about two years ago where they requested vodka to be put in the freezer for shots. I thought they were fucking cuckoo at the time.

But, what the hell? It's a lovely June evening in the middle of nowhere with about 15 people I never spoke to in high school. A shot of vodka should get this party started. It was surprisingly smooth and I think I may have found my new beverage of choice. My cheeks instantly went a shade of pink you might see on a package of Katy Perry perfume.

Next thing I know,they bring out an arm wrestling bench. Because no 25th elementary school reunion is complete without an arm wrestling match and shots of Smirnoff. Kairn wanted to take me on. I told her she did not want a piece of this. I was going to beat her down the way I beat her down in a dance off competition with Just Dance for Wii. I may not be able to shake my Bootylicious enough for Beyonce's Crazy in Love, but I OWN Tina Turner's Proud Mary. Big wheels keep on turning! PROUD Mary keep on burnin'! Rollin' (Rollin') Rollin' (Rollin') Rollin' on a river!

Kairn beating me

She slammed my wrist down in less than ten seconds. The second round, I'm pretty sure she let me win so I wouldn't pout and go home.
We didn't want to arm wrestle though. We wanted to "Shalom". So, we left Demorestville around 11 p.m. to see what was happening at the famous Hayloft.

I may have mentioned the Hayloft in previous blogs... I don't know. I would be surprised if I did, because I am AT LEAST ten years too old to be going to such a place. It is an old barn in the southwest end of the County about 15 minutes from civilization. There is always a cover charge and it is almost always packed with locals and campers from Sandbanks Provincial Park. In this instance, it was packed with kids whose diapers I may or may not have changed about 20 years ago.

Not to be deterred by the painfully obvious generation gap, we sat in the mow and watched the young people have fun. Then, Fatman Scoop came on: "You got a  hundred dollar bill, put ya hands up/ You got a fifty dollar bill, put ya hands up!" These kids were ten when that song came out! I needed to show them how to get down with the Fatman! Nay! It was my civic duty, as a quadregenarian to break it down for these fellas. 

I sucked in my belly for all I was worth and made my way to the dance floor with my hands in the air. I was shakin' my ass (Can I get a woot woot!) and raising the roof, settin' the place on fire! Those young folks didn't know what hit them. Actually, I'm pretty sure they were wondering what in the actual fuck granny was doing bent over on the dance floor and should they call an ambulance before it was too late. 

All I could think about was how short some of the shorts were! Those Daisy Dukes are cut so high you can see their little bottoms hanging out! And, one girl was wearing a shirt cut so low the only thing covered was her nipples and no way she was wearing a bra. I contemplated giving her a motor boat. I haven't seen that much glorious pendulum swinging since the Dykes on Bikes march at Pride Parade in 2011!

The young men, on the other hand, are either too hipster or too Deliverance. Too many geeky, black-framed glasses and too many bushy beards for my taste. Give me a middle-aged, clean-shaven guy in running shoes with white hair at his temples and his white t-shirt tucked into his boot-cut jeans any day.

On that note, The Outhere Brothers "Don't Stop (Wiggle Wiggle)" from 1995 started playing. I loved that song when I was 22. "Put yo ass on my face" and all that. Great song! But, I was uncomfortable thinking about those young people dancing to that song. They were so... young. So, impressionable and vulnerable. Just babies, really. I felt like grabbing extra beach towels from the back of my car and covering them all up and sending them home to their mothers. 

Then, Karen said, "All I can smell is bug spray." Which brought me back to earth and I told her it was time for us to go home. I had enough of feeling old and I was ready for bed. Yet, here I am at quarter after 3 on a Saturday morning, thinking about taking another shot of vodka.

Hm. (Another inside joke)

Getting Dirty in Rural Ontario

If someone ever suggests that you should sign up for a 6km obstacle course... through the mud, just say YES.

And I can say that, one day later, in spite of the fact that I am sitting here in so much pain that I cannot move.

I didn't listen to my husband and I ended up with this knee damage

Mud Hero costs about $60 to enter and there are events in major cities everywhere. We (Rod and I) signed up for the Ottawa event at Commando Paintball. We were hoping to go with a group of County people, but in the end it was just the two of us... and Muffy the dog.

Stayed over night at Rideau River Provincial Park about 4 km north of Kemptville, ON. Nice little park, with canoes to rent and plenty of play areas for kids. Only one walking trail along the river, though, which practically runs through other people's campsites and is not good for taking a dog who likes to be off-leash. The showers, thankfully, were really hot and powerful. After you've spent the day getting dusty and muddy, they were the perfect remedy.

Friday night, dinner at Gabriel's Pizza in Kemptville. Everything has to be takeout now that we have a dog. Lots of cheese, good price, good flavour for the sauce - Gabe's was a good choice.

So, we head out Saturday morning for the hour-long drive to the event east of Ottawa. Looking for a Tim Horton's, the mecca of rural Ontario, and there isn't one to be found along Snake Island Road. We eventually found one on Bank Street. Rodney kept asking them for porridge. They couldn't figure out he wanted oatmeal. Seriously, I understand oatmeal is a TYPE of porridge, but oatmeal is the only porridge available at Tim Horton's. Gah.

We get to the event and there are hundreds of people, soon-to-be-thousands of people. There is loud music, all-terrain vehicles, crowds, dust and other dogs on leashes under the hot sun. Muffy was a basket case. Surprisingly well-organized for such an event. Parking went off without a hitch, no significant lineups at registration. We were waiting at the starting line before we found out there were no dogs allowed on the course.

In my defense - the only rules about dogs on the website were that they had to be on leashes at all times. In their defense - who in the hell would want to take their dog through this muddy obstacle course? Hindsight was 20/20.

We thought about leaving her with some unknown spectators. We thought about saying "fuck it" and going home for some beer. In the end, Rod dropped the leash and took off for the 10 a.m. heat. I walked around for an hour, trying to discourage my dog from eating small children and tearing the fingers off of innocent bystanders. Just kidding; She did try to lick all of the little kids, but people seem to think the worst of her. It's because she's black, isn't it? One lady had the nerve to shake her finger at my dog when she was barking at a little, white mop/dog. She needn't have worried about Muffy, because if I had someone to hold the leash, I would have taken the old bitch down with my own teeth! That gets on my nerves - people can't mind their own business. My motto is, "You do you and I'll do me, and if we choose to disagree, go fuck yourself."

Finally found my husband after an hour and he was covered in mud. In his ears, in his nose, and his white t-shirt was black! He was giving me the low down on the course, including pointers like, "Tie your laces, REALLY tight" and "Keep the soles of your shoes clean" and "Stay to the outside". He was feeling good, full of endorphins, so I told him I lost the keys to the truck. Instant rage! Hahaha! I was just kidding, though. We got to the truck and he changed into some dry things. Then, I really did lose the keys to the truck. I had thrown them into my purse without thinking.

Back at the starting line, I give a good high-five to the MC and promptly got caught in the gridlock of 300 people waiting to wade through the first muddy creek.What should have been a two foot-deep, pool turned out to be waist-deep with a very soggy bottom. It was good to get muddy straight away. If nothing else, at least I got dirty.

Next up was the Hero Walls - basically, four and five foot wooden walls to climb over. I did fine until the walls were angled towards me and I was going to turn around and give up, but the lady behind me was not having it. "Do you want me to push you?" she asked. I decided I'd give it my best shot, so I hauled myself up with a strange woman's hands firmly on my ass. In my effort to get over the top, I felt a little bit of the excess mud from the creek push out of my vag. Great. This nice lady offers to help me over the first hurdle and I'm going to piss mud on her head. I didn't bother to look back when I got over the wall. I just kept going.

Men going over hurdles just lift one leg up and hop over the top. Women, however, will straddle the wall before they gently drop down the other side. I can guarantee there were alot of women with sore crotch bones on Sunday. Rodney can attest to this. He heard one of them exclaim as he raced by, "Jesus Christ, my crotch hurts!"

I managed to pass quite a few people in the obstacles. I'm not much of a runner, but I kept pace with the crowds. I pulled myself up Hamburger Hill, fell on my wrist after the frog spa, enjoyed the cool breeze through the deep woods, then got my foot caught in the Spidey Web obstacle and did another face plant.

It wasn't until I got to Crawdaddy Creek that I lost momentum along with my shoes. The mud was so thick and deep, I had to dig my first shoe out from a foot of slick muck. The effort caused me to push my other shoe even deeper and, in the end, I decided to proceed in my socks. At one point, I was just standing up and falling on my ass repeatedly. Crawdaddy Creek sucks. I spent the next fifteen minutes and half kilometer scraping excess muck out of my shoes. When I managed to get them back on, it felt like they were two sizes too small.

At one kilometer left, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, literally. I had to pull myself up through a culvert using only my boobs and a muddy rope. My technique is what I call "The Inch Worm", in which I grab the culvert with my boobs (don't laugh, this can be done) then I pull my bum up with my abs and move my boobs up a little more - just like an inchworm. My abs are killing me, but I made it to the other side.

The Kong - one of the last obstacles to congquer

I start thinking about that kid from the movie Meatballs - Rudy, the unpopular kid who wins the 4-mile race against the rich kids at Camp Mohawk. That was my favourite movie in 1979. And, it inspired me to continue to run even though my knee was bloody, my crotch was sore, I lost my bib and I was the only competitor without a team. When I got to the finish line, my husband and my dog were there to congratulate me.

We had burgers and roasted potatoes at The Branch in Kemptville. Such a good choice. I can't walk today, but I can't wait to beat my time of one hour and 21 minutes next year!