Carnival Corn Dog

How to eat a Corn Dog

How to eat a Corn Dog

This summer was fun. Jack and I were on a break which was horrible, but if you like rollercoaster rides, it could be defined as “fun”. Unlike most people who break up, Jack and I still hung out as friends, and rustled up a few more stories than we would have if we were “together”. At one point we were telling complete strangers we were cousins. They believed us until we had a few too many beverages and started hugging a lot.

You should know by now that we are good friends with my brother and his lady friend. Normally, we go over to their mansion, sip on classy cocktails, and watch 3-D movies, but one lovely day this summer we decided to venture out to the City Fair (carnival, festival). We didn’t go for the rides, the food, drinks, or exhibition; we went for the people watching. And they did not disappoint.

After zigging and zagging through the herd (herd? Read this.) for far too long, we grabbed a cola and a seat beside the sling shot ride. To make the carnival experience more bearable, my brother brought along a couple of vodka minis. We sat and enjoyed the ride. So now that I’ve set the stage for a pre-teen play date, stay with me.

We played a few games, Jack won me a giraffe (paid $10 for it), and we worked up a healthy appetite for disgusting carnival food. Of course Jack ordered the gigantic corn dog before thinking of the repercussions.

The 5 Steps of Man-cisions

1) I’m hungry.

2) I love corn dogs.

3) Bigger is better (More is better too).

4) Did you just tell me not to do it?

5) I’m doing it.

Enter the one foot long corn dog with dripping mustard. The problem was one that man has been facing for decades; an issue that comes up when contemplating the consumption of bananas, popsicles, and any other meat on a stick.

“How am I going to eat this?”

“Good question. I can have the first bite if it makes you feel better.”

Here’s a grown man frozen in fear, being careful not to look anyone in the eye for too long while coming up with a plan to attack his dinner.

Solution: Lean forward (to ensure mustard lands on ground), turn corn dog horizontally, and eat like corn on the cob.

Meanwhile, a desperate grandmother rushed her young granddaughter, obviously freshly introduced to potty-training, to the shelter of the hotdog stand. My eyes widened and Jack turned around just in time to hear the toddler toot and pull up her knickers. With grass and trees only 5 feet away, I both wonder and worry what it will be like to have a child that has to go right here right NOW. I would like to think I would be proactive in the matter, but I guess when you gotta go, you gotta go.

I was laughing so hard I dropped my sweatshirt in Jack’s pool of mustard. Corn dogs are no longer my forte.

Supermarket Sweet

Jute shopping bag with groceries II

Check out “the fabulous spread of healthy items in my basket.”

The other night after Zumba (yes, I’m still a desperate housewife), I paid a visit to the local grocery store for a few essentials. This young chap and I were following each other from produce section, to meat section, to dairy, and bread. This type of behaviour annoys me. I don’t understand why people can’t disobey the norm and go the opposite direction in the grocery store. Sometimes I do that, and you would not believe the number of people flashing me their grit teeth grin with accompanying glare.

I probably don’t need to get into the “people are like cattle” simile that Jack and I often discuss, but fact is, people mindlessly follow the herd and if they see a hole somewhere (ANYWHERE), they will run for it. It might not surprise you that Jack and I do not “do” crowds or traffic for this very reason.

I was nearing the end of my Supermarket Sweep, when I spotted something at the end of the aisle that I greatly needed. Another aside here: aisle end displays that claim to be *SALES* are made for people like me. Just as Jack falls for radio ads, I am the target audience of every single aisle end display.

(As an aside to my aside, Jack got his truck, our mortgage, home inspection AND my engagement ring from vendors advertising over the radio. To a compulsive researcher (me), this makes no sense. To Jack, time is money).

“Toothpaste, at that price? I’ll take 10!”

“OH, I really need sunscreen, Advil, AND crackers!” Fill the cart up with that shit.

This time, the aisle end was heavily populated with change rolls. I just so happen to be saving up for our amazing honeymoon, one bucket of change at a time. (So far, we can afford one night accommodation at the three-star all-inclusive resort of our choice). I stocked up on $1 rolls and hit the tills. The young gent from earlier was in the line beside me, and I noticed him noticing me. I’m happily engaged to a handsome lad and I definitely was not noticing some dude at the grocery store, but I’m not dumb. He was checking out the fabulous spread of healthy items in my basket. Here I am in line at the grocery store around 8:30PM, in my bright pink Zumba class outfit, with a huge package of $1 coin rolls that I intend on purchasing. . . And it hit me.

I laughed. Because now I’m wondering if this guy thinks I’m a lady that frequents clubs of the naked variety. And if so, does he think I’m the star of the show?

I lifted my shoulders, plastered a sly grin on my face, and strutted out the door, across the parking lot, and into my boyfriend’s truck. If you’re going to be a fake stripper, be a good one.

Organic Produce is Killing Me


As far as I know organic produce doesn’t kill, but you clicked on the link so do me a favour and hear me out.

A few weeks ago, I added another excuse to my long list of why I’d rather not go grocery shopping. If you’re a stay-at-home wife or Mom (or just an unemployed train wreck like me), you have noticed the day crowd frequenting these places is nearing “special” status. If you haven’t noticed this, there are two popular sayings you should keep in mind: “You smelt it, you dealt it” and “There is one in every family (the f@ck up) and if you don’t know who it is, it’s you.” In my case, I know it’s me. It’s totally me. The f@ck up occasionally catches on that they are the f@ck up. They hardly ever let on that they know, however. They could start f@cking shit up in their sleep without blinking an eye.

What I’m trying to say is you’re an honorary member of the special day crowd. You farted and it was so pungent you blamed it on your pet, even though that’s not a pet, but a stuffed deer head. And you’re the one the rest of your jerk family members shake their head at while giving you crooked smiles and useful, logical advice you completely disregard. Hey, it’s OK to be all this. It makes you interesting, complex, and funny. To me.

My new excuse began with me chilling in the produce section of the grocery store. I couldn’t help but overhear a topic a not so worldly couple was loudly discussing.

I started listening when the wife worriedly exclaimed, “Do you remember on the news they were talking about those organic vegetables in Ontario?!”

It is usual for me to become paranoid and worried from the tone of strangers voices.

Matching his wife’s urgency, the husband replied with, “Yeah, I think I remember that!”

“It is here now.”

Now I’m wondering what is here now? I haven’t been watching the news; maybe there is an outbreak of E. coli O:157 due in part to organic spinach. Oh no, I have spinach in my cart. GREAT, I’m going to get E. coli and die. You’re KILLING ME (softly), lady. Finish your conversation so I can stop squeezing these melons and get on with my day.

“Oh, we have organic vegetables here?! How do we know that THIS bag of potatoes and any and all bags of potatoes aren’t organic?”

“I think they have to say organic on the bag.”

Shut up. Not only was that anti-climactic, but now I have to rant in my head for the next 5 minutes about how anti-climactic it really was. And you made me almost crap my pants and apparently I don’t even have E. coli.

“Look lady, I understand this food thing and what we should or should not be putting in our bodies can be a little confusing at times. You obviously just woke up from the 90’s because this “new” organic food concept is present on almost every shelf of the supermarket and has become increasingly popular since you fell asleep. Organic produce is more expensive than the other varieties because they have to follow stricter guidelines to eliminate certain chemicals. I know you’re curious so buy an organic apple and one that is not and perform your own market research. If you need a lesson on reading the food labels on the frozen convenience items crowding your cart, feel free to ask because I know you’re just dying to share the professional knowledge you heard on the news. On another subject: hold on to that husband of yours; he’s just as oblivious as you. And get your kid a tissue.”

I didn’t outright say any of this because I am a kind and normal citizen of society.

We’re in a daze because of the sugar, aspartame, salt, MSG, and just plain shit we’re devouring. You are going to get different advice on fad diets and foods you need to or should never eat from all kinds of a–holes. The only advice you’ll get from this a–hole is there is no secret food potion. That’s the secret. THINK and eat a variety of foods that give you lasting energy and happiness. Eat organic or don’t. Wash your produce before consuming. On second thought, don’t. Do what you want; Survival of the Fittest.

Crazy Garden Lady

I can’t believe this is happening to me.

As a background, I grew up on a farm and all I knew was homegrown vegetables and my mom’s various gardens and flower beds which, over the years grew in size and quantity. Even now when their kids are grown up, you can venture out to the farm on any given summer day and you will find my mom tending to her vast garden. She still plants the same amount as when all of us were living there. Often I hear her say she could “feed an army” with all that she grows. In fact, she could and even after giving away the goods from half her garden, she still has two deep freezes, two fridges, a water well and a cold room full of vegetables! I have made a silent vow to never follow in her footsteps because I remember being worked to the bone; planting, picking, tailing, cutting, stringing beans, shelling peas, hilling potatoes, cross pollinating tomatoes; and the list goes on.

It’s a regular occurrence for me to call or text my lovely sister to ask advice. The other day, I called her at work because I was in Walmart and wanted to know where I could find “those little round dirt things you plant seeds in.” She knew exactly what I was talking about because we are sisters and all the misunderstandings when we were young have turned us into perfectly in sync, mind reading adults.

Obviously I am an amateur to the outside world because the Customer Service Rep looked at me blankly and then said,“Oh, you mean peat pallets? They are just over here.”

(Yes, peat pallets! Love those things!)

“I’m sorry, we must be out.”

“OUT?” (Instant hulk-like, little kid temper tantrum rage).

I grabbed my composure and moved on to another store. Luckily, they had the round dirt things and not just ordinary ones. The round things were surrounded by a glorious mini greenhouse! Genius; who comes up with these things?! I promptly bought the greenhouse along with seeds for two types of tomatoes and a variety of petunias.

I tackled the job of sowing my seeds yesterday. I had 24 round dirt things which seemed like not enough. I got my phone out to ask for more advice.

“How many tomato plants do you usually plant?”

“Four, and one cherry tomato. I get quite a few tomatoes off them.”

“Oh. I was thinking more like 12”.

“That would be a lot. You would be like Mom then.”

Noooo! I don’t want to be Crazy Garden Lady! It’s better than cats but all the neighbor kids will still point and laugh. This brings me back to my original point: I can’t believe this is happening to me. I thought about it for a moment and decided being Crazy Garden Lady might be the end of the world and 12 tomato plants was way too much. . . 

I have started 12 tomato plants. Like mother, like daughter.