Category — gross stuff

I learned today that I have limits regarding PDAs – and now I must share it with the Intarwebs and give you something to giggle about:

I went to my local DeSerres store today for some blank cards and clear bags for the fabulous stick people creations that are going to make me tens of dollars.

Anyway, I got the cards and the bags and was waiting for the #10 bus when I saw them – the couple that helped me find the outer limits of what I can just shrug off when it comes to PDA.

He was an older guy, probably early 50′s and she was mid to late 30′s – she’s wearing black high heels, black capris with a shiny belt and a black sweater. I watched him put his hand on the small of her back. Fine – that’s sort of sweet, but then! oh, then – he slipped his hand down the back of her pants and started visibly brushing his fingers across the crack of her bum! IN PUBLIC!!

She kept walking and he kept wiggling his hand down her pants and I couldn’t stop staring – which caused a few people to look at what I was looking at and then quickly avert their eyes.  I finally lost sight of them behind a Brinks truck and that broke the spell.

If Joe ever did that to me I’d tear his arm off and beat him with it. Arm around the waist? Fine. Holding hands? Sweet. Putting your hand down the back of my pants and grabbing my ass – NOT COOL.

Have I missed something? Is exploring your honey’s bum crack the latest way to say I love you?

What do you think? Am I a shriveled up old prude? What are your limits on PDA for yourself and other people?

Which is exactly what would happen if I were to make and consume this.

The alternate title for this post was:

“…And Ramble was nestled
all snug in her bed,
While visions of bacon rolls
danced in her head.”

But it was too long.

This is not a post for the weak of heart – or stomach! – I am going to say terrible and disgusting things!

You have been warned.

I like to eat. I’m not overweight, or a food snob, nor do I have a particular palate, but I do like food. That being said, I very nearly became a vegetarian today.

I was rooting through the cupboards looking for something more healthy than microwave popcorn for lunch when I decided on salmon. I’m a cretin, I used the tinned stuff in sandwiches because in addition to being a cretin, I am also lazy. Joe has taught me to leave in the little bit of skin and the bones that come in it as they are, respectively, a valuable source of grossness and calcium.

So there I am, mashing up salmon and skin and bone and glopping on the mayo when it hits me: I am mixing up a bowl of flesh and bone with mayo. Actual FLESH! and BONE!! with MAYO!!! I cannot find words for how disgusting this mix became to me. I looked at it, I wrinkled my nose at it and thought “What kind of barbarian eats mashed up fish flesh and bone? What sort of Neanderthal puts mayonnaise in that mix and calls it edible? What in the name of all that is good and delicious am I doing?”

Keep in mind that I have routinely disgusted roommates and boyfriends alike with my propensity for eating food while watching surgeries on TV: open heart surgeries, bowel resections, people having yard waste removed from their perforated intestines, live births (both caesarian and natural), liposuction, reconstructive plastic surgeries, autopsies etc.

I have also volunteered in the emergency room of a fairly large hospital where I saw actual things that would make other people throw up (and I saw a fair bit of throwing up too!) and I have a paramedic for a father.

I am no stranger to gross things.

Yet – today the thought of eating that salmon made me queasy. Me – of all people!

Of course, I am a practical person in many ways – I ate the sandwich anyway. No point in being wasteful after all, but I still feel a little sick. There is whole wheat bread and squashed up fish and mayo sliding around my insides.

It’s days like this where I’m glad I know how to make home-made ipecac.