I spent 15 hours in total at this convention this weekend, internet.
Shit got a little weird.
Theoretically, the booths were divided into sections for beauty, food, shopping, business, and travel, with two stages for fashion shows and informative talks and stripping firemen. Our booth, however, was in travel and there were ladies directly across from us selling candles, so I don’t know what that was about.
We formed an informal alliance with the candle ladies, the guys from the local radio station, and the caesar salad kit people, all of whom gave us free swag. Somehow I ended up with like 8 toothbrushes, because the teeth whitening people were super aggressive.
I ended up amusing myself by thinking up better slogans for some of the vendors there.
The storage unit guy:
“Do You Have a Lot of Things? We Can Help With That!”
The tarot card reader:
“I Saw What You Did There, and I See What You Will Do There, Also”
The designer denim shop:
“Apple Bottom Jeans”
“Not THAT Kind”
The gourmet nut shop:
“We Know Nuts”
….it was a long weekend, you guys.
I had the weirdest day, internet.
I woke up early to take advantage of being in a hotel smack dab in the middle of the Byward Market. God, it’s awesome here. I cannot stress that enough.
I got a croissant and some delicious fresh grapes and strawberries for breakfast.
Yet I digress.
The convention was big and scary and awesome and sensory-overloading. I wandered around before anyone got there and was pretty overwhelmed.
And that’s before this:
And this happened.
To describe it simply, the Women’s Convention was a lot of vendors and independent consultants and beauty people and tarot card readers and vibrator sellers and firemen and fashion models squished into one room with a bunch of eager consumers.
It was very exciting for about five hours.
Eight hours was a little long, although it gave me ample time to sample all of the creative food options (twice).
But my awesome manager K secretly ordered me poutine at dinner, so all is well and good. Fabulous, even, considering I’m full of potatoes, gravy, and beer.
Tata for now.
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Ah Canada. I love you so.
If you missed it yesterday, I’m in Canada visiting my grandparents. I was in Canada earlier this summer and was inspired to write such classic posts as My Grandmother is a Pirate and The True Story of When I was a Hot Box Doll.
God, it’s just so weird here. I love it.
To clarify, I’m right across the border from Buffalo. This is a picture I took from the restaurant where I had lunch. It’s the skyline of Buffalo.
(I should also point out that the restaurant is a classic Canadian grill style restaurant called the Palmwood and advertising Mexican beer. Oh Canada.)
It’s Friday the 13th here (and probably where you are), and my grandfather casually mentioned that we may see hordes of motorcyclists on their Friday the 13th pilgrimage to Port Dover, which is apparently a great Canadian tradition.
It was whatever.
Things started to pick up, however, when Mamma Mia and Gran and I took the grand dogs on a walk to town and saw this.
Sensing a hilarious image based blog in the making I – okay, fine.
We were walking back and my Mum and my Gran were having a hilariously in-depth discussion of the various front lawn statuary we saw as we past by and I was cheerfully obvious of a blog opportunity until I saw THIS GUY about a block away from Gran’s house:
That’s when I realized:
CANADIANS LOVE FRONT LAWN DECORATION.
This magnificence is right next door to my grandparent’s house. I’ve titled it Bird Paradise.
Now, I don’t know if it’s because of where I am in Canada, or because of whatnot and this-and-that, but I should note that all of these pictures were taken within a one-block radius. This was without trying that this happened.
And my grandparents apparently aren’t immune, either.
Hey internet. I’m writing this one from the road, so apologies in advanve for the spelling mistakes I’m sure I’m about to make.
Mi madre and I are headed to Canada to visit mes grandparents. We’re going to a cooking school of some sort in the illustrious and beautimous wine country of Niagara. Because yes, internet, there is more to do in Niagara than watch gallons of water fall majestically over some rocks.
Also Gran said something about going to see an Elvis tritube show at the Fallsview Casino in Niagra Falls or something and I don’t know whether or not that’s happening but god I hope so.
Anyways, it’s the dark of night and we’re driving in a vaguely northernly direction through New York in the middle of farm country, and needless to say, it’s not particularly inspiring as far as writing material goes.
Doop de doo.
I really need to publish this before I cross the border, and I still technically haven’t written about anything.
Lots of construction happening on this highway. That’s cool, I guess.
Earlier the sky was doing this:
So. That’s a thing.
Yeahhhh I’m just gonna call it a day.
I had my first pleasant interaction with a Jehovah’s Witness the other day at the Visitor’s Centre.
Now, I know that most people’s first reaction to a missionary looks something that the following scene from Airplane:
But hark ye well to my tale, internet, because this is the story of The Vacationing Jehovah’s Witnesses.
And let it be a message to you all.
I work at the local visitor’s centre in Location Where I Live, State. Essentially, my job entails answering visitor’s questions about the area, things to do, cuisine, nearby counties, booking hotel rooms, events, and the like. We have a lovely selection of brochures to peruse.
Anyhow, a couple came in a few days ago looking for things to do within the next few days. The forecast said rain, so they were interested in, y’know, not being outside. Perhaps a nice historical landmark or a house tour or a museum. Something of that nature.
We got to chitchatting, as you do, and it came to light that they were volunteers.
“Volunteers?” says I, “do tell!”
“Jehovah’s Witnesses”, the lady admits, reluctantly, and then she waits.
Now I admit, I am not a Jehovah’s Witness. I have no idea what they stand for. I don’t really understand anything about them.
This is what I know about Jehovah’s Witnesses:
They go around and knock on people’s doors. And people find that really annoying.
Okay, I looked it up. Jehovah’s Witnesses go around and tell people that the world is going to end soon and that they should maybe prepare for that. Which, quite honestly, knowing that they believe that the world’s time is running out, is from their point of view a really nice thing to do. If I knew the world was ending next week, the last thing I’d want to do is go around and have people slam their doors in my face.
Anyways, I may not know much about missionaries, but I do know the face of someone who expects to be made fun of when I see it, and this poor woman was expecting to get harassed.
So I said, “Oh, that’s nice. I find volunteer work to be pretty rewarding.”
And the relief on that couple’s face was heartbreaking.
We chatted for a few more minutes.
They did not tell me that the world was ending.
I did not say anything derogatory about their beliefs.
They went on their merry way.
Now, I don’t know anything about these people and what they say to the homeowners who answer them, but I can tell when someone is used to being put down about their beliefs.
That’s called bullying, folks. This ain’t the playground.
I guess the moral of the story is that we should be a little nicer to Jehovah’s Witnesses, because when they aren’t dressed up and knocking on doors, they’re regular people who go on vacation and enjoy eating Mexican food and like history museums and have a deep conviction that God’s gonna take over the world.
I’m super not into this today, internet. I’m tired after a long, wonderful day. I went on a splendid hike with Barney Stinson through the local nature preserve and we probably did about 5 miles of up and down and around. So I’m going to bed.
But first – one last vacation related post, and then I’ll shut up about it.
How I felt going to Puerto Rico:
The first day on the beach:
After getting inside and realizing I was sunburnt:
But then we went to a bar and it was okay:
Driving around Vieques and seeing wild horses everywhere:
Snorkeling and trying not to think about sharks when inside I was like:
Everyday at the pool like:
And then sleeping in the next morning like:
Unfortunately, I had to come home:
And now I just wanna go back like:
Madre and I took an amazing little journey to Vieques today, which is this tiny little island off the coast of Puerto Rico. It was, in a word, surreal.
We got there by flying in this teechy little plane that I got to ride shotgun in – I took some amazing aerials that are interspersed all over this blog.
It was one of the craziest experiences I’ve ever had. Let me preface by saying that I’ve always sort of had this desire in the back of my head to learn how to fly a plane. I don’t quite know how I picture this happening. I guess if I was in the right place at the right time with enough money kind of thing, you know? Like learning to scuda dive or drive a motorcycle or operate heavy machinery or make a souffle. One of those things.
Let me tell you right now that that desire has been throughly renewed. Refreshened. Fuelled. Whatever the word.
I got into this tiny plane next to this guy who drove a plane like he was watching T.V. and eating at the same time. Have you ever watched someone who really knows what they are doing on makeup? It’s like there are all these different brushes and pads and cremes and colors and consistencies flying around and the girl looks like she could do it with her eyes closed riding a motorcycle and still look good. It was like that. The dude taxied out with his arm half out the window like a truck driver and then starting flicking this and turning that and pushing the other thing, and then Whiz Bang Pop we were driving down the runway and the ground just sort of fell away.
And yeah, I know everyone who has ever been in a plane has watched the ground kind of disappear, but this was a different thing entirely, watching it from right in front of you and all you see is sky and the nose of the plane swaying all over the place. Have you ever driven a car through a bad wind and you can feel the air pushing against you and you have to steer into it? Like that, but from every direction.
Oh, and speaking of steering, this little eight seater had a GPS in it that i could almost swear is the same one I have in my car, but instead of the car it’s a cutesy little airplane, and instead of freaking out about going over water, it’s nonchalant.
Honestly (predictably) landing was the worst part. Taking off was like whoosh yey!! Coming down was like NO. NO NO NO. NOT LIKE THIS.
In sum, probably everyone I know should now do everything in their power to prevent me from ever being in a situation where I could conceivably learn to fly a plane, because I already drive a car and that’s dangerous enough for everyone else involved.
P.S. – This has nothing to do with anything, but happy birthday to the most perfect man alive aka David Tennant aka Ten aka Casanova aka probably not my future husband but everyone needs dreams.