Deep Fried Sunday

You're reading it right; there's no typo there. I don't mean the delicious deep fried scoops of ice cream smothered in corn flakes and chocolate and caramel sauces with various toppings such as crushed pecans and wildly coloured sprinkles (although that would more than make my day complete).








Like seriously, U.S. of A., what is UP?











Equally horrific, I mean this past Sunday, pretty much all I ate was deep fried foods, and now it's Wednesday and I still can't feel my heart pump properly.

Boyfriend and I woke up early as per usual, and decided to get our chores out of the way immediately and head out for brunch afterwards. I hate the breakfast part of brunch. Who wants eggs when you can have a burger? Not me! What is this, salad on my plate?? Fries, my good man, I said FRIIIIIIES!!! (I hope you imagine me roaring this when I write it like that, because that's how I felt.) And the burgers at Brad's (the brunch place. For any Torontonians reading, look no further than 325 Roncesvalles.) are not just any burgers.

They come topped with charred eggplant, avocado, bacon and cheese. Okay. They don't just come like that, Inspector Gadget. You have to ask the server for it. *Guilty silence*



So that brings us to about 11:30 AM. Well, as it was a stunning day out on Sunday, practically the first nice weekend day of the year, we opt to go patio hunting, nice and early so we can get a spot. After shopping around in Kensington Market, we find ourselves a nice little place called Waterfalls, an indian tapas restaurant with a patio perfect for people watching.

A couple of friends show up and before you know it, it's eatin' time again!

POW! Onion bhaji'ed!

BAM! Chicken tikka!

CRUNCH! Caesar salad with tandoori chicken!! (Not so bad, just wanted to post so you can see I am capable of making one healthy decision).


Late afternoon rolls around and friends are not ready to pack it in. It is just beautiful out. Well, why not hit up The Foggy Dew on King St.? No reason, as far as I can see! We make our way over there and secure another great spot on a large patio. Boyfriend is hungry again. He did not partake in our extensive "snacking" at Waterfalls.

He goes back and forth for a little while and then decides on "Chicken Fried Chicken Sliders". I can't even find a good enough picture. They sort of look like this:



Except they don't come with vegetables, there are THREE of them, they come on biscuits instead of buns, and a side of chicken gravy for dipping. Boyfriend immediately tosses the biscuit off of one, puts the fried chicken on another piece of chicken, and makes himself a double decker chicken fried chicken slider. Dipped in chicken gravy.

Side note, Boyfriend has stomach of a 6-year-old girl. So after a couple of bites of his Frankenburger, he invites the rest of us to help ourselves. I politely decline. These are the same people that have seen me demolish the above. But then one of them agrees and takes a bite and starts gushing about how delicious it is!! I can't let this go on. I can't. Must..have..taste.. Must..eat... GAHHHHH!!!! (*eats all the rest of burger. dipped in chicken gravy*).

Mmmmmm... I'm hungry.

Train of Thoughts

People always think I'm either really crazy or really mad about something. Whether alone or not, I am constantly laughing to myself over some hilarious past happening, imagining some alternative reality where life is a musical, or a combination of the two.

If I'm not thinking about these things, then I have a Normal Face, much like yours, Reader. Because my general state-of-face looks like I'm about to barf laughter all over you, when I do have Normal Face, nearly every person I know asks me what's wrong.

How can I answer them? Nothing's wrong, this is just my face!

The worst is when people I don't really know ask me what's so funny when I'm biting my hand to stop laughing to myself.

Obviously, I don't have the time to go into major detail with people I don't know about how my life is littered with so many hilarious anecdotes, I can't even concentrate on any regular task at hand. I think about the most ridiculous things!

For example, this would be a typical train-o'-thoughts:

This morning, I had to walk by a construction site. I put my head phones on so I wouldn't have to deal with the hassles of gross old guys. This hasslin' business is a catch-22, because I shake my head in disdain at them if they do (I'm very fancy), and spend an hour in front of the mirror examining why I'm so hideous if they don't. And then I'll ask Marty like infinity times, which doesn't tend to make for good dinner conversation.

Well, while I was walking, my eyes were tearing up over the beautiful song "Hello", by Lionel Richie, that was playing. Except it was being sung by the Glee Cast, which makes it even more ridiculous, so right away I'm already a gaylord and it's like 8 AM. So then the guys start whistling at me, and my musical brain is like:

"Hello? Is it me you're looking for??

I can see it in your eyes.... I can see it in your smile. You're all I've ever wanted, (and) my arms are OPEN WIIIIDE...."

And then I can't stop thinking about how absurd this entire scenario is so I start cracking up.

And they have no idea! They think I'm giggling and blushing because they're whistling so they're high fiving each other, and I just want to bring my headphones to the tough guy leader so he can see he's not the one that made me laugh. It wasn't you, it was the Glee Cast, fool.

Then I'll imagine Marty singing the boy parts of this duet to me and this makes me laugh even more because Marty is trés serious.

Then this face that Marty makes will pop in out of nowhere. It kind of looks like this:



Which brings me then to the most hilarious skit on snl of all time



Please watch it. I think about this skit often, and make Debbie Downer or better yet, CLIFFORD (!!!!) faces to myself in passing mirrors, windows...anything with a reflective surface, really and that makes me laugh even harder.



Like I just watched those two videos right now and I'm going to pass out from laughing so much.

By this time, I've rolled into work laughing my head off and everyone thinks this is totally normal. It's a good day.

Words Words Words

Remember Back In The Day when the cast of Dawson's Creek were under media fire for their extensive vocabulary and use of references that any normal teenaged viewer would have to break out their encyclopedia to understand?

Well, not all the cast. Not Jen, who was just there to be a slut, nor Pacey, who I always saw as Dawson's tagalong, but definitely Joey, and most certainly Dawson, who always appeared to be very wise beyond his years. Or maybe wise for his years. You're not fooling anyone with that pepaw, The WB.

I loved the way they spoke. I love words. I have had a long and stable relationship with words since I spoke my first one...at age three.

My mom thinks the tale of my imbecility is really hilarious and, to my sheer embarassment, tells anyone who will listen. I think she waited until I was 14 to tell me on purpose, so I could truly feel the effect on my social life.

My parents started getting a little concerned when after a year and a half, I made no sounds at all, other than crying non-stop, especially since my older sister, Olivia, had started speaking basically out of the womb. By two and a half, and after seeing numerous specialists that could figure out nothing, they booked me an appointment to see if I was just a little bit slow.

The appointment was set just past my third birthday. However, only days before having to endure the diagnosis, I miraculously started speaking... and didn't stop. I guess my mom had used my lack of speech as a vessel for her secrets, and told me everything, thinking her slow daughter would never be able to reveal these little nuggets of information.

Well, I got you, Mom! My very first phrases were along the lines of, "Auntie! Mom hates your haircut. She thinks you look like a boy!" and "Hey, why are you so poor? You're not?" And then I would start crying and crying because why did my mom tell me they were poor then? Until they would finally resign and admit that, yes, Cynthia, we are poor, okay? This was all in Cantonese, and therefore much funnier.



I learned English through the playground, fool. And in fact, I got so good at speaking English, I was put into Advanced courses all through grade school.

By grade four, around age 9, I was placed into a class with an elite group of students called Enrichment. It sounded like healthy bread, so my suspicious parents allowed it.

We got to leave regular class to play math races and read advanced-level books. Then they created a spelling team for us, and in a colour-based level scheme (white being the most basic and moving darker and darker from there), we were labelled The Black Team.

I walked around thinking I was The Matrix for a long time.

PEZ!

How terrifying is the very concept of PEZ?


Marty bought me a Betty Boop PEZ candy dispenser because I hadn't seen one in forever and thought they were taken off the market for obvious reasons. (Because they're terrifying.)

While PEZ candy is delicious, I can't help but wonder what kind of marketing executives thought of the concept of popping candies out of nearly decapitated toys...

(doodle-oo! doodle-oo! doodle-oo! That's the dream theme song from... emmmm... Wayne's World? OMG I'm a hundred.)

"I got it, I got it. We fill the insides of the cartoon character's bodies with candy, like a fuckin' mule, see? Then the kiddies got a toy to play wit' and a treat."

"But how are the kids supposed to extract the goods, Boss?"

"What am I, Joe? A fuckin' engineer? Ha! Fellas, get-a-load-a this guy. You better come up with something by noon, kid, or Imma break ya fuckin' head off."

...The Eureka moment must have happened right then and there in Joe (Pesci)'s brain.

GAHHH DAMMIT. OK. The problem with "research" is that, more often than not, my theories get shut down by "The Truth".

With my exceptional Googling prowess, I just found out that this handsome devil, Eduard Haus, created the idea of PEZ.


This guy. Created a candy that children had to break the head off of their beloved toy to acquire, then ingest via neck sucking. That, coupled with the fact that he's like infinity years old, automatically makes him perverted.

Who you giving side eyes too, Eduard?

The Problem with Crying

The problem with crying is that people think there's a problem with it. Crying is AWESOME! I don't do it very often, so when I get the chance, I immediately think of all the fun things I can use my tears for.

The first thing I do is lock myself in the bathroom and turn a hot shower on, because nobody in the world can see/hear what is about to happen. I try to bring some form of music in with me, but if not, I have to use my imagination. Now my bathroom has basically been transformed into a music video set, with all the smoke, bright lighting, and mirrors going on.

Voilà! I am now Lady Gaga, on the set of Bad Romance.



"I don't wanna be friends... No, I don't wanna be friends... I WANT BAD ROMANCE! I WANT BAD ROMANCE!!"



On Pretend Music Video, no makeup is required when you have Cry Face. That being said, it really only works well with Cry Face, and only for sad or very angry songs. Songs that work very well are Unbreak My Heart, You Oughta Know, Out From Under and if you are a guy (which, for your sake, I am really, really hoping you are not. Like seriously, I don't care what the magazines tell you about girls wanting to see all the sensitivity. They lie. Stop crying.), The Scientist.

Another thing that can help you pass the time while everyone feels bad for you is to bring your camera in your cry hiding ("cryding") spot with you and take hilarious pictures.

My personal favorite is what I like to call "The Hideous Bog Creature". It's very simple. You just have to make a motorboat noise with your mouth, and take a picture very quickly in the midst of it. You are about to be entertained for hours. You don't actually need to be crying, but I think it gives it that extra... Le Hidéouse, you know what I mean?

For example, take this handsome, debonair fellow.



'What a fine young gentleman', you are thinking.

and then all of a sudden...BAM!


You see? In an instant, our elegant and beauteous Bond has become a Hideous Bog Creature!! In a few short moments, this could be you! Aren't the miracles of science fascinating? It's time we used the forces of winds and gravity to our comedic advantage. It's time we took science back.

Oh my God. Marty is asking me what I'm doing with this picture that I promised to delete and definitely not post on the worldwide web for the entire planet (i.e., my three followers) to see. I'm about the get the indian sunburning of a lifetime. Gotta run!

Phrases that are stupid

1. "I wouldn't know him from Adam." Like do you mean "Adam and Eve" Adam? Cause I Googled and this is biblical Adam vs. a normal guy that might be named Adam (although there's like a one in an ultrabillion chance). I don't actually know the guy below, I just found this picture on the internets. I hope you're a good sport if you are reading this, "Normal Looking Guy".

On a side note, how funny would it be if you Googled "Normal Looking Guy" and your face popped up? Or better yet, if this was actually the best and easiest way to show your friends a picture of the guy you're dating?



How can you not know the guy you are looking for from Adam? Try harder.

And if not, then I only know one Adam, who was best friends with my ex, and still owes me $15 from a bet. So if you're talking about that Adam, I'm pretty sure I would be able to tell the difference. I don't think he's particularly good at disguise. That guy's just okay. Adam, stop being so cheap and give me back my $15.

2. "The bee's knees" or, alternatively, "The cat's pyjamas". This is used to describe something very cool, but I think it's stupid because a bee's knees must be very tiny (I didn't even know they had any!), and cats don't even wear pyjamas unless they are very cold...or..cool... OH! I get it now. Okay, the cat's pyjamas makes a bit of sense, I guess. It's still a weakly formulated analogy. (Like I still don't really get it.)

3. "Don't throw the baby out with the bathwater." If anyone ever said that to me, I would punch them in the face. Who is going to throw out a perfectly good baby friend?!? They're fucking adorable. I can't wait to have a million babies for two reasons. I bet you're thinking one is "Motherhood" but that's like probably number 8 because that seems pretty hard, and I really only like to try medium hard at anything. The main reason is so I can take those douchebag photos (in black and white for extra elegance) where you're practically naked and you have to look at the camera all determined-like, as if you're thinking, "This moment right here? I was born for this moment." You know which ones I'm talking about. I'm not going to post a picture because I don't want some new mother to see that I posted a picture of her and called it a douchebag photo and come kick my ass with her newfound baby friend strength. I am not a tough girl.

The second reason is so that I can listen to Britney Spears' song that she wrote about Sean Preston, "Someday I Will Understand", on repeat, which I already do, but then I really will understand! It's a very exciting time. Oh my God, the entire video one of the aforementioned photos. In movement. Brava, Miss Britney, Brava.

Obviously, I'm not in any way ready for baby raising (I've actually been described as "dizzy". Recently. Who in the history of mankind has ever been described as "dizzy"?) but a friend couple recently announced their pregnancy and they're not so "mature". Here is an actual excerpt of a conversation I recently had with the male half.

Him: "Sup, shitballsdickface?"

Me: "Oh, hey. You wanna talk to Marty?"

Him: "Men are awesome. You are stupid."

Me: (Pause.) "Yeah. I'm just going to go get Marty for you."


Good luck, little baby friend.