Enjoy!

Sabba, fabulous roommate of the year, had recently been training for a show. A show, as in eat a lot of protein shakes, go to the gym twice a day and oil up your muscles. For reals. After about 4 weeks of this silly behavior, the smells of my peanut butter cookies finally brought her back to earth.  And the past few days have been full of celebration, tonight's being goat cheese rolled in herbs. It reminded me of Paris, sigh. 

And so here is a picture of Bunny and I, walking in the gardens of Versailles. Who, incidentally, does not eat goat cheese. Enjoy! 

P.S. I think I often sign off with 'Enjoy' after serving tables in restaurants for 2 years. Can't help it. 

The Difference Between Having a Fat Bum and Being a Fat Bum

One of the great things about living in the GTA ( Greater Toronto Area ) is the cultural diversity. Having grown up in Small Town, Northern Alberta, the only other ethnicities I ever really saw was the single black family in town and the really nice Chinese family that have ( I stand corrected, 'had' ) a monopoly on the Sawridge Plaza food courts. 

Now, I am usually the only white person wherever I go. It is very cool to be able to put a name and face to countries that I would have otherwise just referred to as 'somewhere in Euro-Asia'. These wonderful, multilingual, international friends of mine bring with them the traditions of their country, of which I am so grateful. For instance, the $3 eyebrow thread of the Indian people. And the $2 falafel of the Middle East. I love them all!

Today as I was walking to my bus stop, a gentleman, in all seriousness, asked me to explain to him what a 'fat bum' means. He had to be at least 35, and was wearing a business suit, and just wanted some help because his English wasn't very good. I couldn't stop laughing, I kept looking for cameras to zoom in on my reaction or something. I then had to explain the difference between ' You are a fat bum ' and ' You have a fat bum '. And I also defined the word 'bump' for him, and to not confuse it with 'bum'. Apparently some juvenile delinquents had yelled this at him earlier, and he was unfamiliar with the slang. After he finally ended the conversation, I looked like a complete idiot on the bus ride home trying to quell my laughter. 

Now, I'm home, and I can fully let my laughter out and share it with you!

This is such a funny comic, based on a real group of guys living in Toronto. They're always featuring local haunts, and it is updated every Thursday. So after reading Betina's TTT, check out butternutsquash.net for a good laugh and a subtle dose of Canadiana. This is one of my faves!

Dreams

I've been dreaming more often lately. Or at least, I have been remembering my dreams more often than I usually do. Here's a taste of my subconscious from the past week. 

- One of the girls from school, I can't remember who, ate the rest of my peanut butter. My organic, delicious, chunky peanut butter that I had forgotten about and discovered in the back of the cupboard just a few days earlier. I gave random girls at class the stink-eye the next day for their dream crime. Just kidding.

- After studying occlusion and crossbites all week, and how oral habits such as tongue thrusting can affect them, I dream about my teeth being horribly misaligned and wake up convincing myself that I can't be a dental hygienist with bad teeth. Because sometimes if I'm nervous, I chew on my tongue. I know it's weird and gross, and I'm trying to stop so that it won't affect my bite. 

- I dreamt that I was an RA at Augustana, and my partner RA was Rudi. It was a crappy dream, because it made me think about ex-boy for the first time in a long time. And cafeteria food. 

- These dreams are usually set to a steady beat of a female voice saying " X-ray " over and over. And over. 

I like it better when I don't remember my dreams. It really weirds me out how what happens to you in real life can squeeze in there. I much prefer a peaceful, undisturbed and dreamless sleep. 

Home Alone

This week has been oh so quiet. Sabba was gone on a business trip for a whole week, and Emilia is always gone anyways, so I was home alone for the whole week. I mean, of course I went to class and saw my friends at school, but my evening hours were spent with the man who takes up most of my time - Dexter. Me and Dexter always do cool things together. Like x-rays and scaling. I've scaled Dexter's posteriors and anteriors more times than I care to think about. He is a very lucky man. My favorite part to scale is Dexter's quad 2 Buccal. I could scale that quad in my sleep, baby. He sits with me on the bus, and doesn't mind all the radiation I expose him to. You're a good man, Dexter. 

So on Friday, when I was doing my hair to go out with the girls, I was a little disappointed when Kristin and Sara called to bail. I was really looking forward to getting some time away from Dexter. ( Sometimes he gets on my nerves ). And then boy called. 

* Aside. This is not the same boy as previously blogged. 

Now, I kid you not, but it was only the day before that I spoke to boy about how I don't think it's a good idea for us to do something this weekend, how I do not want a boyfriend, how I don't want to lead him on, so on and so forth. And then he calls me the next day as though he woke up with his memory erased. "Hey, what are you doing tonight?".  Well, it turns out that ignoring uncomfortable conversations with someone is a pretty successful technique to get them to go out with you again. Cause I did. But it was only a movie. And I just did my hair. And I was dying to talk to/see someone outside of school. 

And now, Sabba is back home, thank goodness. She usually stops me from doing stupid things like that. I made her a yummy welcome back dinner of George Chicken, brown rice with tomatoes, and leftover vegetable drawer salad. And homemade strawberry shortcake, of which we ate plenty. With Sabba home, this week should (hopefully) be more successful in thwarting off boys of little interest. 

Back to Reality

Just got back from P's wedding. It was so much fun, and I'll admit I got a little teary-eyed watching Patience and Dan being all googly with each other. For the entire Payne clan to get together, it takes a lot of work, especially now with all the kiddies in the picture, so when it does happen, it is monumental. And so much fun.

Although it may have appeared that this wedding was the main event of the weekend, I am here to correct you. The real reason Patience and Dan got married was so that I could meet the much talked about boy. Margie and Eve definitely had their own agenda for me and this boy, and I was but a puppet with my strings being pulled. Not that I minded. Except when boy made me late for the reception. Payne's are NOT late! It was very hard for me to concentrate on looking beautiful while my eye was twitching and my blood was boiling with the anxiety of being late for family pictures. Worse than me, I can only imagine Papa Payne's eyes bulging out of their sockets at the thought of me being late because I am alone with boy in car. It ended up being totally fine, as it always does, and I suppose it was a good exercise in trying to keep my cool. 

And now, after a fabulous weekend of being whisked away to wedding parties and playing with the kiddies, I have to come back to my reality of sitting on the bus and going to school with no boys to speak of. Sigh. 

Another complaint about the weather...

Well, not just the weather, but more that I have to trek through the wet tundra of the greater Toronto area to get to school. And the fact that the City of Mississauga recently cut it's budget, and decided that clearing sidewalks is not a priority. So, when there is a snowstorm, like there was this morning, I really have no choice but to walk on the road. Hopping through the 2 feet of snow on the sidewalk was simply not an option for me. I suppose every choice has a consequence, and today, that consequence for me was that this ate me for breakfast:

Also, on the bus this morning, a very pregnant woman with long nails was picking her nose very slowly and deliberately. She would then proceed to wipe her boogies on the kleenex in her other hand. Could you please do these sorts of things in private, and not on public transit? Thanks. I'd appreciate it.