Living for the weekend.

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Summering like a boss.

All week, I make sure other people have a bike ready to enjoy on their weekend. All week, I think about riding one of my bikes. I also think about camping. I think about beer. I think about squirrels. I focus on planning my weekend while I am supposed to be concentrating on twisting the nipples on a mis-aligned wheel.

It was too late to make any camping plans/find someone to watch the cats, so on Thursday night Yann, Mélissa, and I attended a festival that promotes binge drinking: Mondial De La Biere.

Continue reading “Living for the weekend.”

Vitamin D burns.

How do you make your legs burn in two different ways? Do a century ride on a day with no visible clouds.

As someone with next to no melanin, and a LOT of expensive artwork that would get damaged from exposure to UV rays, I almost always have this with me:

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Whenever someone sees this thing, they’re always like, “LOL. Girl sunblock.” Then I proceed to get defensive and explain, “They were giving away free expired sunblock at work, and I took a bottle to use as a travel size spray. I promptly dumped out the girl sunblock and refilled it with proper unexpired lady sunscreen.”

I don’t know why I get so defensive about this, but I do. Besides, when it comes to the sun, being on the defense is a good thing! I had just purchased a saddle bag for my road bike so that I would be able to carry this mini spray bottle along with a tube of lip balm (defense against chapped lips), an energy bar (defense against hunger), and a spare tube (defense against flats). Essentially, I keep my emergency kit directly underneath my ass.

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Can’t say I’m a fan…

It is 34° C in Montréal today which means if you wish to purchase a tub of ice cream to cool down, you’d only have about five minutes to transport it back home in your vehicle.

Montréal is a city that cannot be navigated without being forced to take surprise detours. Today, thousands of sweaty Montréalaises arrived home from the supermarket to find that they had bought a whole tub of… mint chocolate chip soup.

I generally enjoy the heat. Like many people, I do enjoy stating the obvious by declaring, “It’s hot!” Unlike most, I don’t do it in that whiny way. Rather, I do this to fit in; to show hearing people that deaf people understand the concept of body temperature.

“I can’t hear you whining, but please allow me to inform you that I, too, find it hot.”

Since I did not buy ice cream, I cannot cry over melted ice cream. Instead, I will complain about Yann’s fan.

Now, when I moved in with him back in March it was decided that we’d give away my super cheap fan and keep his much sturdier-looking fan. What I did not realize was that his fan came with a “Dance Party” mode that cannot be shut off.

Continue reading “Can’t say I’m a fan…”

Not to be cocky, but I’m pretty titillating.

With the recent surge in daily hits, I figured it was about time for an “about me” page to help any new readers decide whether I am “right for them”.

If you have extra time to piss away, do you want to be pissing here? I have carefully assembled a team of 269 words to help you make this decision.

What’s left to do is finding one or two recent photos of myself to help people decide whether they’d be able to stand seeing more photos of me.

For now, here’s a vintage gif of me licking a plastic hippo’s butt.

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Canada’s capital and the wilderness.

On Thursday morning, it took Yann and I nearly three hours to pack for our camping trip. Why did it take us three hours? We decided to fully load the Jetta wagon with everything from Alcohol to Zing Tarp, and install the bike rack so that we could incorporate cycling into our three-day adventure in parc national du Mont-Tremblant.

The cats know when we’re about to leave for an extended period which, in this case, was 21 “cat days”. Right before I left, I found Enfoiré (aka the fat one) laying underneath the side table in the living room looking indignant. I put my hand out in preparation to give him a “goodbye” stroke, and he bit me!

It warmed my heart to know that he cared that much. Enfoiré isn’t a mean cat nor the type to bite hard. He bites to “communicate”, and in this case he was saying, “Fuck you for leaving us again.”

Continue reading “Canada’s capital and the wilderness.”