It's Hallowe'en..finally

I apologize for the lack of posts. I'm absolutely swamped at work and all hell has broken loose over the quality issue that first came to light while I was in China. It's a huge deal and I'm sick about it. It's one of those situations where there is no solution in sight so that tense, thick knot of yuck doesn't dissipate.

Olivia woke up this morning at the crack of flipping 4:00 am dawn and announced that today was Hallowe'en. She did this yesterday and Monday too, so when she put her chubby little hands on my face and got this close to me to make her announcement, she was somewhat uncertain.

(Sigh) "Yes, Liv. It's Hallowe'en today but Mummy needs to sleep for a bit longer or she'll be a wicked witch all day long."

"Mama, that's okay. Even witches get candy." Yes, I suppose they do and with that, I surrendered and got out of bed.

There is nothing like a child to help you put things into perspective.

(pictures to follow later on today)

Life is just a big baseball game. Just when you're thinking home run, the pitcher throws you a curve ball that can't be hit and you end up standing there 

Gratitude

There is nothing like international travel to make me profoundly grateful. On the one hand, I am so thankful to have a career which enables me to experience things like the Taj Majal and the Great Wall of China. On the other, I am always glad to be home and I never fail to feel fortunate to be able to queue up in the "Citizens/Resident" line in customs. Why? Well, for starters, I love our toilets.

I know how off the wall that sounds but once you have been forced to use one of the Chinese numbers, you will never again take our little slice of heaven for granted. We have seats...to sit on. We are also usually provided with at least a square of toilet paper, soap and running hot water. Unless one is a total imbecile, it is likely that she will be able to use the toilet without peeing on her pants. In China, the dominant potty is a hole in the ground. They may line it with porcelin replete with fancy foot marks to show you where to stand but there is just no getting over the feeling that you're back in university squatting behind the bushes after a night at the pub. You are not provided with toilet paper and the running water is cold. Soap? Forget about it. Oh, and there is this one special thing about traditional Chinese toilets. You cannot put any TP down them. Instead you are required to dispose of your paper in a nearby trash can. You can smell a toilet long before you locate it. I didn't snap any pictures myself but here is one that I found on the web.

My question is, what do the elderly, with their osteoporosis and their arthritic joints, do? The Chinese drink A LOT of tea.....

This trip marked my first as a blogger and thus, I was surprised to find that I was unable to view my own blog while in China. I could post to it but I was unable to see it. I did a bit of research and learned that the "Great Firewall of China" is in place. It seems as though the popularity of the blogosphere (and the unrestricted exchange of ideas) poses a unique issue for the Chinese government so they have closed off most of those channels. Apparently, you can get around this censorship with paid proxy services but it still had me shaking my head. Again, I found myself acknowledging how fortunate I am to live in a place that values freedom of speech, in spite of the current administration's efforts to erode it.

Oh, there is so much more:

• -I love the fact that we have gobs of space. Our homes and vehicles are massive by Chinese standards. Of course, so are our waistlines and rear ends so I suppose it's all relative.
• -I love that my children get thirteen years of free education. In China, there is no such thing as public school.
• -I'm grateful that I am expected to work only five days a week instead of six or six and a half.
• -I am allowed to have as many children as I like. In China, a couple that chooses to have more than one child is financially penalized through various means.

I could go on forever but I'm sure some of you are already nodding off. Let it suffice to say that I'm aware of how lucky I am to live on this side of the globe.

The Fat Lady Sang

Well, it's finally over. I just landed in Taipei and in forty minutes or so, I'll be boarding the plane back to Los Angeles.

I am always a bit sentimental on my way home and one of my friends in Hong Kong sort of summed it up. She said I have one foot in Canada and one foot in the States but my heart is in Asia. I think that is probably true and under different circumstances, I might have chosen to move to the Far East. Not now, though. Besides the effects that such a move would have on my children, I can't imagine breathing that air for the rest of my life.

For some reason, the pollution seemed to be worse or perhaps I was just more aware. I traveled all over the eastern seaboard this trip and I did not experience ONE clear day. At eight o'clock in the morning, it was still dark enough to require lights on in the hotel room. The outdoor plants had a visible layer of grime on them. Besides the burning of coal for electricity, the emergence of the middle class, with their new found affluence has led to record auto sales and staggering traffic congestion. Carbon emissions are way up and the predicted results are noticeable. It's heartbreaking, really.

On a positive note, things went well at the fair. Trade shows are just a giant pain the the arse but this one is so well organized that you can focus on a single section and get heaps accomplished with limited time.

The naughtiest subtext during the show was boy watching. Again, I don't understand why I have never noticed before but WOW! European men dress distinctly differently than Americans. They tend to be more daring and their clothes always look tailored. One disturbing trend that I witnessed was capri pants....for men. Look, I know that they are comfortable. I've got a closet full of them and they are so convenient when one is trying to manage warmer temperatures but there is just no way to make those things masculine. In an understated, quiet, sucker punch kind of way, capri pants are flamboyant. You can put camo all over those bad boys and they're still going to look like they belong in Boy George's drawer.

On a weird note: I am some kind of freak Turkish man magnet. I'm not sure what the draw is (fat ass, perhaps) but I was approached several times and the conversation never varied much.

"Hello. Where are you from?" Usually asked while standing side by side in the booth, perusing aphrodisiacs like steak knives and vinyl flooring.

"US."

"Ah...American." Said with a knowing tone and a little nod which inexplicably made me feel like he might be friendly with some of the skeletons in my closet.

At this point, I usually smiled and tried to move away. In response, he would ask me where I was staying in Guangzhou and inquire whether I might like to meet later. I have never been to Turkey and I cannot talk intelligently about the culture. The one opinion I heard was from an old Greek roommate of mine and I would not characterize her opinion of the Turkish population as unbiased. Apparently, the whole Cypress issue is still raw. In any case, I declined the invitations because I was busy....getting massages...after work.
______________________________________________________________

I got called to board my plane before I could post so now I am in Los Angeles overnight. As we descended, you could see how the city was blanketed in ash from the fires. It's been devastating, especially for San Diego County. I spoke with one of my best friends who lives in La Mesa and she sent a few pics that I'll post over the next couple of days. I just hope that this disaster is handled better than some of the others the nation has faced over the past couple of years. In the shuttle on the way over to the hotel, we experienced a light sprinkle. I've never seen it rain BLACK before. Eerie.

Hangzhou the Beautiful

Hangzhou has been lovely but exhausting. The first day, we did not go on our marathon car ride. Instead, we checked into the Shangri-La (De da) and then met with one of our suppliers. Later on, we went for a boat ride on the famous West Lake.

The streets are immaculate and there is manicured landscaping everywhere , which is normal for Chinese cities but Hangzhou stands out as among the most impressive.

This lake sits right across from our hotel and was originally a small sea inlet. Then some emperor decided to dump a bunch of silt and presto, a lake was formed. Kazelles, one of my work friends, was concerned about getting in the boat because she doesn't swim. She had nothing to be concerned about, though. The average depth of the lake is only around five feet.

After the canoe ride, we took a cab to this great market in the heart of the city. Hangzhou is famous for its silk and its Longjing cha (Dragon Well tea) and this market is known for the quality of its handmade goods.

I managed to get tea, some unique verbena incense and this incredible handmade replica of an old Harley-Davidson motorcycle. It's wrapped and packed away but I'll snap a picture of it once I'm home. It's a nifty conversation piece.

Today was the day that we had to make the four hour trek out to the factory. I was pleasantly surprised. Yangzhou is a busy, thriving city and not at all what I expected. Our factory contacts were gracious hosts and lunch was actually quite good. No heads, feet or fins to be seen. Afterward, we quickly toured the place and drove another TWO hours to a second factory. Again, the people were great. I learned all about toothpaste production and the unexpected plus at this place was that it smelled really good.

Then, we climbed back into the car, got lost for and hour and then spent another two traveling back to the hotel. Early tomorrow morning, we are flying back to Guangzhou for the second half of the Canton Fair. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. That is, I could see a light until I spoke with the president of my company. Apparently, we've got quality issues with some of our product in California so it looks like I'm going to have to rearrange my schedule to make a pit stop in Santa Barbara on my way home.

Sometimes it feels like it never ends.

NaiNai is Chinese for Grandmother

I'm taking a break from the travelogue to update you on a piece of info that took me several days to digest.

I'm going to be a grandmother.

I reflect back to February and the difficulty that I had getting my head around the concept of turning forty. Hmmm....

GRANDMOTHER!!

Jesus. Isn't it bad enough that I now own three pairs of bifocals? What's next? Incontinence? Menopause? Cross Your Heart Industrial Strength Bras? It's like I turned forty and bought a ticket on the express train to over the fucking hill.

Did I mention that I have another daughter? And no, she is not a love child conceived with Sting in the 80's. This one is my ex-husband's daughter and although she did not spring forth from my loins, she may as well have.

Tiffani became a permanent part of my world in 1995 and our journey together has not been easy. From the very beginning, I struggled to love her unconditionally, which was a concept missing from my own childhood. She was never taught boundaries and sometimes, her need for love and approval was like a sucking black hole. It seemed like she couldn't be sated. I despised that perceived weakness in her largely because it mirrored my own personality flaws. Somehow though, I managed to survive her adolescence and she endured my Martha Stewart vision of motherhood. When her father and I split, he insisted that Tiffani live with him. I didn't put up much of a fight because she was fifteen and the anti-Christ. I do regret not being more of a presence in her life because the last four years have been difficult for her but it seems that she needed the time to find her own path.

Which brings us to a month ago when I received a call from her.

"Mom, I think my thyroid medicine needs to be adjusted. I'm tired all of the time and I've gained a bunch of weight around my middle."

It didn't immediately hit me. I asked her if her hands and feet were cold or if her fingernails were breaking. She answered, "no" to the first two questions and then told me that it was strange but her fingernails were unusually long and strong these days. Well, shit.

"Tiff? Could you be pregnant?" She was less than confident in her reply and I told myself that she was just being paranoid.

A week later, I received a text from her saying that it was urgent that she speak with me. After the initial shock wore off, we tried to figure out how far along she might be. Our best estimate was 16 to 20 weeks based upon when the nausea subsided and when the last pregnancy test turned out negative. Tiffani claimed that she was feeling the baby move, which is unlikely at sixteen weeks so I told her it was probably just a little gas. She made an appointment with the doctor but would have to wait several weeks to be seen.

In the meantime, I got a look her naked belly and asked her how in the world she had not known. I asked her boyfriend, too, because he slept beside her every night and she was clearly pregnant or had a pretty serious tumor. Either way, a doctor's visit was warranted weeks ago. She said, "I was in denial." You think?!! I remember hearing the story about the girl who went to the hospital complaining of stomach pains and gave birth claiming that she did not know she was pregnant. I thought that was a bunch of horse hooey until now. Fear is a compelling agent of denial.

Last week, she experienced labour pains and ended up in the hospital where they measured her belly and did an ultrasound. It turns out that Tiffani has indeed been feeling the baby move. She's 29 weeks along.

I said, "Tiff, that baby has been kicking up a storm for at least the last ten weeks. Honey, what did you think was going on in your belly?"

"Indigestion," she replied. Yep. My eyebrows were way up there, too.

My grandson is due on Christmas Day and the truth is that I'm excited. Sure, the conditions are not ideal and this is not what I would have wanted for Tiffani but I had the choice to disapprove of a situation that cannot be changed or to embrace it and support my daughter. I opted for the latter.

Just don't call me grandma.

(Gulp)

Yet.

Beijing

I love Beijing. We landed here Saturday night and it was like coming home. I could easily live here. With the evergreens and the mountains, it reminds me of Canada. The last time I was here was in the winter and I had forgotten how the cold, sharp air can make your lungs sing. This time, Beijing is in the first stirrings of fall and it is beautiful in spite of the smog, which is worse than Los Angeles.

Before heading out to our factory, I got up early yesterday morning and took a cab out to the only Harley dealership in mainland China. I'm pleased to share that the biker spirit is alive and kicking in Asia. I had a nice chat with the general manager who took me outside and showed me his bike. He rides an '07 Electra Glide Ultra Classic. It was a gorgeous cherry red and he had added a bunch of accessories. Even though he had changed out his pipes, Beijing noise laws had prevented him from being able to put on real rumblers. I showed him pictures of my bikes and we bonded. I ended up buying a couple of shirts and a new leather jacket from them. He was kind enough to give me a discount. Bonus.



From there, we went to the factory and had a very productive meeting. Of course, we had lunch and since they know that I like spicy food, they had the restaurant make me a special fish dish. I'm not sure that I have an esophagus left. It made my eyes water and I could have lit a cigarette with my breath.


Those black things are whole peppercorns and the red bits are dried chili peppers. This, not vitamin C, is how you kill viruses.

Anyway, we're at the airport now and off to Hangzhou where I will suffer through four miserable hours driving out to a factory, where they have probably never seen a "gui lo" (Chinese slur for caucasians). I can't bear to think what lunch might be like. Shudder. I raided the cracker and cookie bin in the airport lounge just in case. Then, we will turn around and drive four hours back. I'm charging my iPod and downloading Grey's Anatomy episodes as I write this.

Hopefully, we will get back to the hotel early enough to take a walk. Hangzhou is one of my most favourite cities in China. I'll post photos so you can see why.

I Heard It Was Great....

Last night after dinner, we went back to the hotel and decided to indulge in a massage. It is one of my most favourite things about Guangzhou. For less than $20, you get about two hours of pure bliss.

It all begins with half an hour on the shoulders, back and neck. I have found that the masseuse has been trained to respond to the client's needs in regard to pressure and strength. I have never had to tell them to be more gentle or more aggressive. They just seem to know and adjust intuitively.

Next, comes the foot massage. For at least an hour, your feet and lower legs are bathed, oiled and massaged. I cannot adequately describe how good this is. Most of the time, we will get the pedicure guy to come in. It's not the type of pedicure that we are used to in North America. Nope. This guy arrives with a straight razor, a pumice stone and a stool. He trims your toenails and shaves off any rough areas on the bottom of your feet. There are no ragged edges and I am always in awe of how good my feet look after he is finished.

Finally, during the last half an hour, you are treated to a hot neck roll and a full arm and leg massage. I usually put my iPod on and relax through out the process. Last night, after the neck and back massage, I put the tunes on and fell asleep. I woke up thirsty, feeling like a rag doll and with feet that looked fantastic. I asked if pedicure man had been in and was told that I slept through the whole thing.

Wow. That's some kind of jet lag.

Jet Lag in Guangzhou

My sweet son, Dylan, called me today. I'm sure he didn't give it another thought since it was 3pm his time but my cell rang at four this morning jolting me out of a REALLY good dream. It's been a strange deal so far because I'm sleeping like I used to in university...you know, BC...before children.

My kids both think that it is absolutely astounding that it can be Friday for me and Thursday for them. They liken it to some sort of sci-fi time traveler thing and thus, every conversation opens with the same dialogue:

"Hi Mama. What day is it over there?"

Before taking this trip, I went to Sam's and invested in some new luggage. I am extremely hard on my suitcases and I usually have to replace them once a year so when I saw "10 year guarantee" written all over the packaging, I chose Ricardo of Beverly Hills instead of Samsonite. The stuff didn't even make it one leg of the trip. The handle on the large suitcase is defective so that if I want to stow it, I have to unzip the case, reach in and feel around for the magic nodule. I press this and the handle goes down. Then to get it back up, I must unzip again, reach further down and depress yet another enchanted button. Let me tell you how much fun this was today as I hauled my luggage around an impossibly crowded train station. Besides the fact that my feminine protection leapt out of the bag every time I had to make an adjustment, the embarrassment factor was topped only by my panties who apparently wanted in on the action and made an appearance or two, as well.

We made it into Guangzhou around ten in the morning. After checking into the hotel, we grabbed a quick bite and then spent the next six hours at the fair going from booth to booth. It was a productive day and we'll be back at it again tomorrow morning before flying out to Beijing in the afternoon.

We're just now headed out to my favourite Chinese seafood restaurant where I will chow on lobster and politely try to avoid the sea cucumber. I can't wait to crawl into bed tonight.

Hong Kong, I Love You

Well, I arrived into Hong Kong without issue. The best part of the trip occurred after getting off of the plane. My luggage was the first to pop out onto the carousel, which had me looking around for Alan Funt and his Candid Camera. Then, there were no lines in customs and I got through in about five minutes. To top everything off, my limo driver was waiting for me in arrivals.

Bottom line: I was in bed at my hotel within an hour of landing, which is impossible.

At 2:30 pm, a real, live person called me to wake me up. "Goddess, it's time to open your eyes." Well, he may not have said that exactly but you get the point. After a shower, I went across the street to our Asian office. The good news is that my friend, TC, had to go to a corporate dinner which meant I was free until the evening. So, I went shopping.

The first stop was the Harley-Davidson boutique in Tsim Tsa Tsui. It was the size of a postage stamp and just as overpriced as the stuff is at home. Of course, I had to buy some shirts because they have Hong Kong embroidered on them. Hopefully, the Beijing store will be better.The mall is located beside the Ocean Centre and it is massive. Everybody had some retail space in there. Jimmy Choo, Versace, Valentino, Jill Stuart and a fabulous Donna Karan couture shop were represented. For a mere $3800 US, I could have been the proud owner of a DK cashmere mumu. I passed on the tent but my Visa took a beating anyway.

I walked back to my hotel and stopped for dinner at a placed called Sticky Fingers. The name is wretched but they have great curry and since I knew that the next several days would be exclusively Chinese fare, I was thrilled to have my face burned off by some of the best Indian food outside of Jaipur. While I was dining, a man at the bar sent me a drink, which was unexpected but I was enjoying the solo, iPod mood and besides, I had to leave to meet TC. Must be the damn pheremones, again.

If today is any indication of how this trip is going to go, I'm feeling pretty fortunate. Tomorrow we're off to Guangzhou and the Canton Fair which is like the NYC subway during rush hour. After a few days, I fully expect to be muttering to myself like Rainman.

Good Morning, Taipei!

Well, this is a first.

I'm blogging from Taipei. I signed into my Blogger account like normal but the trouble is, all of the titles and instructions are written in Chinese. I have no idea how to switch them out so bear with me. We might have some strange things going on here today.

The flight was uneventful and for the first time ever, I slept for five hours straight without the benefit of a pharmaceutical. It was an easy 14.5 hours. Of course, it makes me wonder if the smoking thing had anything to do with me not being able to sleep on a plane. I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm just grateful for the shut eye.

The iPhone is damn near useless internationally. The phone portion works just fine but the WiFi/data part is making me crazy.

Just got called to board for Hong Kong. I'll have to finish this later.

Now Where Did I Put My Valium...

I woke up this morning with the familiar anxiety that I experience every single time I have to fly overseas. You would think that after years of travel, I would have this mastered but I don't. Instead, on the day that I am to take off, I find myself running the most ridiculous errands.

• GO TO SAM'S CLUB AND BUY NEW LUGGAGE. Look, I know that I would have been better served doing this yesterday but I had my final appointment with Dr. Sexy Metro Boy (sigh). Following that, I had the lousy idea of registering my new car and the two motorcycles since all of my temporary plates would expire before I got home. That process took me a mere three hours to complete and my left eyelid is still twitching from the experience.
• GO TO BANK AND TAKE OUT EMERGENCY FUNDS FOR NANNY. I don't know why I do this because invariably, the money is spent on pizza or fast food and it makes me a little crazy. I have encouraged trips to the grocery store but apparently, organic is spelled C-h-e-f- B-o-y-a-r-d-e-e.
• CALL AT&T AND HAVE INTERNATIONAL PLAN ADDED TO IPHONE. I have read different things on the net about how lame the international plan is but I have yet to experience the oxymoron that is AT&T's customer service. Is it any wonder I have procrastinated? Stay tuned.
• GO TO OFFICE. GET FILES. PRINT BOARDING PASS. TRY TO BE INVISIBLE. As usual, I have forgotten files in my office that I absolutely need on this trip. I would be better served tattooing "kick me" on my forehead and then parking myself behind a mule.
• BUY GIFTS FOR MY FRIENDS IN HONG KONG. This causes me more stress than just about anything. These people live in one of the best shopping meccas on the planet so finding something unique that suits their personalities is always a challenge. When you combine this with the fact that most American consumer products are made in, well... ASIA.... you see my difficulty.

So, I'm stressed out. Whatever. I understand that this is completely self-induced and could have been avoided if I had been more organized. Blah, blah, blah. Late this afternoon, whether I am prepared or not, I'll be driving like a maniac in an effort not to miss my plane to Los Angeles. While you are sleeping tonight, I'll be flying over the Pacific trying to control the urge to smother the guy next to me who invariably, will be snoring louder than a freight train. Ambien, anyone?

The Orient Express

Next week, I fly to China and for nearly two weeks, I'll be shuffling around from one hotel to another. Don't get me wrong. I am not complaining. It's just that I've been to Asia fifteen times in the last four years and there are only so many culinary challenges that I can accept and still smile about it.

Shark Fin Soup? The broth is savoury and delicious but the fin (yes, the actual fin) is like trying to swallow overcooked Ramen noodles with a thick coating of tapioca. The fin doesn't slide effortlessly down the throat. You can swallow, repeatedly, with water, with beer, with anything wet and you will still feel a strand spanning the distance from your mouth to your belly. It's very expensive and considered a delicacy so every factory owner who is trying to impress will order buckets of the stuff. My eyes water and my stomach involuntarily heaves at the sight of it.

Snake? Ooooh, sign me up! In spite of the fact that it's believed to be a male aphrodisiac (what isn't?) and guaranteed to enhanced male virility, I figured it couldn't do any harm. Throw it in a stew or make a soup and presto! Viagra on a spoon. Tastes like chicken (what doesn't?).

Suckling Pig with Crispy Skin? There is something disconcerting about having your food stare back at you while you are eating your meal. Over the years, I've asked that heads and tails be removed from my food because I'm a Westerner, damn it! I don't want to be reminded that until recently, Wilbur and Charlotte were alive and frolicking in the barn.

(photo courtesy of Philadelphia City paper- www.citypaper.net)

The final one is Sea Cucumber. Like all of the others, this was once served to me in a gelatinous brown sauce. I was told that it was yet another aphrodisiac. Is it any wonder there are over a billion Chinese on the planet? With all of these seducing agents, how does any work gets done in the Orient?

Anyway, this dish was presented to me and I was encouraged to sample. It's distinctly phallic in appearance, tasteless and has a texture that makes you gag the second it comes in contact with your tongue. Yes, I know that I am leaving myself wide open for comment, but you have to experience this stuff for yourself. There is just no other way to describe it. Look:



See, I don't make this crap up.

So, next week I'll head over again. In the course of twelve days, I will meet with about eleven factories. Delicacies and aphrodisiacs will abound. I'll smile politely while nibbling on minced pig's ears and pray that I survive the latest gastronomical assault.

Go Ahead and Call Me A Dinosaur

Online dating has its perks but something is missing. Perhaps it is that intangible, breathless rush that happens when you find yourself physically attracted to the stranger across the room. Maybe it's the natural, easy flirtation that occurs when two people meet by chance. I don't know. It just feels like there is a forced quality to e-dating.

The first date is always the most anxiety-filled. You have already corresponded through email and since profiles are standard procedure, you probably have a pretty solid feel for who the person is (insert maniacal laugh here). Yeah. Sure. The written word lacks the unscripted responses that tend to reveal the essence of somebody's character.

Mother issues? Well, you won't see those in any profile but when a man tells you that his mother was the only one who could iron his shirts correctly, you might want to check the trunk of his car for blood stains.

Then, there is the guy who thinks that the dating sites are really just legal fronts for prostitution operations. This is the man who tries to ply you with alcohol and causes you to feel apprehensive leaving any beverage unattended for fear that he'll slip you a little something. He makes a show of spending gobs of money on dinner and he tells the server, up front, that he is a big tipper. At the end of the evening, he expects the horizontal boogie because in his mind, spending $300 on dinner constitutes an implied agreement. This dude is always a bit shocked when he crashes and burns and as he peels out of the parking lot in his Corvette/Mustang/Lotus/Porsche, you just know that he's saying, "She must be a dyke." Whatever helps you sleep at night, freak.

I found that the pictures that are posted never really capture the person. In fact, I have been surprised once or twice. There is this popular romantic notion that physical attraction should take a back seat to cerebral connection but this is neither realistic nor particularly honest. I understand that positive emotional and intellectual stimulation can intensify physical feelings but no matter how much someone's brain might appeal to me, I need him to register on the shag radar.

Like everything else, dating has evolved with increased technology but I still think that there will be those of us who prefer to meet and fall in love the old fashioned way.

The Perfect Weekend

Now I don't want you to fall off of your seats or anything but the one thing I did not do this weekend was partake of too much moonshine. How mature of me, right?

We had our annual bike rally here this weekend and it was my first time attending. It was absolutely amazing. Streets were closed down to any traffic except bikes and all day long, they paraded up and down the main thoroughfare. Spectators lined the route and every pub was hopping with live music and cheap draught. There were loads of vendors set up under tents and they sold everything from leathers to helmets.

I learned that the passenger on a bike is referred to as "the bitch". You can understand that I had all sorts of issues with the moniker. For instance, it is degrading and oink-like-a-pig chauvinistic. I have no doubt that some sweaty, stinky, jerk with bad teeth, a Buddha belly and stained yellow fingers coined the term. But the t-shirts discussing it had me laughing out loud. My favourites:

"If you can read this, the bitch fell off." This is so bad on so many levels but for some reason, I found it hysterical.

"This bitch is nobody's bitch."

And then there was this little gem:

"This bitch don't ride bitch."

Well alright, then.

Up to this point, my only exposure to motorcycle fashion had been our local Harley shop. Once we got down to the rally, I got a crash course in biker chic.

Fashion statements were plentiful. I have never been a fan of men in sleeveless clothing.....until now. There is something deeply sexy about well-muscled shoulders that have been accentuated with a bit of artwork. Throw in a do-rag, a single hoop earring, a non fussy pair of jeans, riding boots, facial hair and a smidgen of attitude and OH. MY. GOD!

I saw many women in very small tank tops with spaghetti straps and no bra. This only works on girls who either have no boobs or fake ones. For the rest of us, it can go from bad to outright indecent. There was one lady (term loosely used) who had elected to accentuate the downward situation by affixing blinking lights to the only place where lights could possibly be attached. It's a shame that the only thing they lit up was her BELLYBUTTON.

I bought my first pair of leather chaps. I couldn't see myself in the fringe kind but I did splurge for some nifty braid work. I was not able to find a leather jacket that spoke to me so I'll probably end up back at the Harley shop getting spanked with a $500 number. Ah well...

On Sunday, we went out for a long, long ride. It was my maiden voyage on roads with real cars and real trucks! I was terrified. At the stop sign exiting my neighbourhood, I was forced to wait for a break in traffic and my heart was thrashing around inside of my chest like a meth addict in withdrawal. The ride turned out to be fantastic. The leaves are starting to turn and periodically, the wind blew them over the road. Fall has its own special scent and on a bike, everything is magnified. I couldn't get enough.

I just don't think that life gets any better than what I experienced this weekend. Since today is Thanksgiving in Canada, it is no surprise that I woke up this morning counting my blessings.

The Downside of Friday Night

To continue with the horror that was Friday night, we will pick up the story with the arrival of my sober friend.

I distinctly remember hearing my name called and for a brief moment, I thought it was the voice of God. It doesn't seem to matter how much alcohol is consumed because for me, there is always that itsy bitsy corner of the brain which behaves like Ms. Nickelainen, my second grade teacher. She was tall with sharp, pointy features, streaked black hair and halitosis that would strip paint from the walls. Severe in her clothing choice and her mannerisms, she tsk tsked like a hen with Turrettes. I hated her. Strangely, it is her reproachful, nasal voice that barks at me from the cobwebbed crannies of my conscience when I knowingly step outside the boundaries of common sense. By the time my friend got there, she was positively hissing her disapproval.

So I was awestruck, perhaps a little frightened and probably in need of an antipsychotic when I heard an impossibly deep voice call my name. I immediately looked skyward, anticipating an angel or at the very least, a trumpet.

Nothing.

I glanced around, somewhat expecting the fake twin ficus trees at the entrance to burst into flame and then I saw him. My friend was standing over by the bar, with a less than amused expression on his face. Shit. It was as bad as I thought. Ashley wasn't helping things. He was on the dance floor but he still somehow managed to look like he was on a motorcycle equipped with ape hanger handle bars. His arms were raised and as he shuffled to the music, he picked imaginary apples from imaginary trees.

I remember watching my parents dance when I was younger and feeling sorry for them because their moves clearly dated back to a different era. Then, the quiet realization hit me. Even though the roof, the roof, the roof WASN'T on fire, Ash and I were still dancing like it was. Oh dear God. Phones were now equipped with cameras. We needed to be going. Soon.

My friend gave us each a cup of water but it really was too little, too late. And having the attention span of two gnats, we promptly forgot our condition, bummed a cigarette (what was I thinking?!!)and stood there like two idiots. Of course, everything was hysterically funny. Then, we were told that it was time to go.

The ride home was punctuated with several stops. I will not elaborate except to say that I proved the veracity of Newton's Law of Motion. If one takes the action of consuming vast and varied quantities of intoxicants, one can expect the body to respond with an equal and opposite action.

Ashley was asleep in the back and his come to Jesus moment didn't happen until early afternoon on Saturday when his flight was touching down in Buffalo. As the plane was landing, Ashley stood up to make his way to the bathroom. The flight attendants freaked and once they understood the urgency of his situation, they threw napkins and air sick bags in his general direction and told him to buckle in. He was THAT person. You know the one. He was the guy that gets onto a sold out flight with his pores weeping noxious fumes from the night before. He was clammy, fitful and it is very likely that he snored. Loudly. With his mouth wide open. Yes,THAT guy. I am convinced that if he could have held his head up at the baggage claim, he would have seen naked disgust in the eyes of the other passengers. As it was, his father (who picked him up)had to give him several moments of silence. I think that might be South African code for yak.

In any case, Ashley and I talked Saturday afternoon. We were remorseful and subdued. We made a solemn pact that our night on the town would forever be referred to as that-which-must-never-be-spoken-about-again.

Amen.

The Upside of Friday Night

I was going to tell you about Ashley's visit and purposely gloss over Friday night but after hearing the events of that evening repeated to me over and over again, I felt that I had to share. To do otherwise would save me from certain embarrassment but it wouldn't be terribly authentic. So here it goes and while you read, please remember that up until three months ago, the most exciting time I had on a Friday evening was cleaning my toilets.

After a couple of positive business meetings, Ash and I decided to have dinner in the "city" on the main drag. We were celebrating. Since the college is nearby, every shop is either a pub, microbrewery, boutique restaurant or used bookstore. Using the principles of "The Secret", we nabbed a great parking spot behind the most popular row of bars and smugly congratulated each other on our mutual enlightenment. Oh yeah, we were golden. Unfortunately, neither of us thought to look back at the car because if we had, we would have seen maturity, sobriety, dignity and common sense waving good bye.

We started with a bottle of Pinot Grigio (of course), mussels and some fried clams. The conversation was intense because Ash and I just do not know how to have a light discussion with each other. We eased into a second bottle of wine for the main course and by the time that we were finished with dinner, we were toasty.

We left the restaurant and ambled over to one of the pubs where the bikers like to hang out. We walked up to the bar and made the first in a series of poor decisions. Ashley ordered both of us a shot of Jagermiester, or as I fondly call it: poison from Lucifer's bowels. I had heard horror stories about Jager and its equally deadly, hot cinnamon cousin, Goldschlager, but I had never partaken.

Now, I know why.

Under normal circumstances, I probably wouldn't have had more than one shot but there was this girl standing up at the bar and we started chatting. She announced that it was her 24th birthday and she was a bit freaked out because she was closing in on 25. I remember shaking my head, laughing and telling her to wait until her fortieth. "It's a doozy." I said. She took a step back, all Moon Zappa gag-me-with-a-spoon valleygirl and said, "Like, oh my God. You so do not look forty. You look, like, thirty two at the most."

And with that statement, more shots were ordered and consumed.

It was awful. At some point, Ashley stopped making sense and the world took on this unpleasant blur around the edges. Apparently, I was still in possession of a few brain cells, though, because I called my special friend to come and get us.

It became abundantly clear that Newton's Law of Motion was spot on. To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

Gastro Hell

Last week was terrible. It all began the Saturday before when I woke up and thought that my ill state was a direct result of Friday's activities. I was parched, shaky and sporting a bruise

on my chest

in the shape of a toilet seat.

Uh, yup. That's me. Just a shining example of class.

Anyway, knowing how a day like this might run (no pun intended), I was kicking myself because I had committed to go to the local college football game. This was such a big deal because I happen to live in a town where the population is positively feverish for their team. On game day, the whole area is swallowed up in a sea of car flags, t-shirts, hats and whoopie cushions, all of which bear the team logo. Tickets are hard to come by and they are expensive. I was fortunate enough to be invited to the game by a friend. Trouble was... I felt like roadkill.

Since I had always been taught that a wee bit of the hair of the dog might help out in this type of situation, I promptly had a beer. I couldn't bear the thought of wine so my Shiner Bock was going to have to substitute. It didn't help so I had another. Still no improvement. My stomach was on fire. It gurgled and churned, causing me to break out in a sweat one minute and chills the next. I figured that like most everything else in middle age, hang overs were also personified.

Sunday morning, I woke up to more of the same. It dawned on me that I might have come in contact with some sort of nasty bacteria. I went for a great motorcycle ride with some friends and we had brunch. It ended up being my last meal until Wednesday night.

Monday, I tried to go to work but I was miserable and left around 9:00 am. I went to the doctor and had blood drawn. Tuesday, I lay in my bed nibbling on saltines and making irrational covenants with God: "I promise that if you let me make it through the next hour without going to the bathroom, I will never, ever drop the "f" bomb again."

Well, that didn't fucking work.

It finally occurred to me that things were not as violent when there was nothing in my stomach so I stopped eating altogether.

Wednesday morning my belly was calm and although shaky and light headed, I felt pretty well . I showered and dressed like a normal person. Feeling brave, I had a cup of coffee. Yes, I know. That was just all kinds of stupid. I tried to go to the office again but ended up turning around midway, praying that I made it home in time.

That night, my South African cousin flew into town and all hell broke loose.

Girls Night Out

A week ago Friday night, I went out with the girls and drank entirely too much wine. We all did. When you get a group of women together, mix in liberal amounts of alcohol and remove the testosterone element (men), you create the perfect atmosphere for seriously wicked conversation. I would be forever shunned from the Sisterhood if I revealed too much of that evening but here are a few of the tame tidbits:

"My husband is eye candy."
This is from a woman who has been married for eleven years. She gushed like a newlywed. I was in awe and I badly wanted into her medicine cabinet.

"You must commit to being functional in your relationship. Understand that happiness is a choice. So is compromise."
This came from a woman in her late fifties who has been married forever. She enjoys a romantic, healthy marriage with her husband. I thought about her statement for days.

"I would love to quit my job and stay at home. I think I might want to have another baby."
This one was uttered by a thirty eight year old woman who deals with insurance issues, patients and bureaucracy all day. It's no wonder she feels this way but I just couldn't relate. For a fleeting second, I let myself contemplate the idea of pregnancy and the domestic hell that is stay at home motherhood. Those women are saints. They should be anointed with expensive oils and fed grapes by well-muscled pool boys. I would need a keg of purple Koolaid or a black American Express card to make this work for me.

"Men think that they are the only ones with a sex drive. Would they find it threatening or distasteful to know that we think about it constantly, too?"
Ummm, (cough, cough), I have no comment.

This is just a tiny peek into the conversation that took place that night but the best thing to come of it was that we decided to make it a monthly event. I had almost forgotten how great it was to spend a few hours with smart, articulate women. Next time, though, I think I'll be more careful with the vino. I need for my sensor switch to be working.