Canada Day is a MUST

Tomorrow is Canada Day.  And Hubby and I happen live in the national capital, so venturing downtown to witness (and maybe take part) in some festive antics is necessary.  

On top of the regular fun to be had, William and Kate are here, which is expected to result in as many as 400,000 people meandering around town. And in the words of my very pregnant friend, going downtown (despite having TWO  babies busting out of her belly) is, quote: "NON-NEGOTIABLE".   

So Hubby and I will have stories for y'all upon our return.  But in the meantime, here is last year's Canada Day post.  Enjoy!

Oh, and make sure you check out the first picture.  It is undeniably the. best. photo. I. have. EVER. taken. 

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Commuter Chronicles - Canada Day

Where: Downtown in the Nation’s Capital
When: Canada Day
Why: It’s unclear

Riding the bus is the best option for Canada Day celebrations in O-town. Driving is a real pain, and parking isn’t cheap, nor convenient.

The ride downtown was something else. Keep in mind, I’m used to commuting with other commuters – people in suits and dresses, with briefcases and blackberries, who mind their own business with their books and music. I am not used to commuting with high-flying hoot-in-anies wearing bikinis and carrying beers. (Yes, one particular older “lady” was wearing nothing but her red and white barely-underwear bathing suit… glorious.)

We eventually arrived, met up with friends, and had a ball. Music and buskers and beer – oh my! There were even barenaked ladies – the band, as well as topless body-painted women strolling down la promenade, garnering whatever attention they could.

News reports said there were over 100,000 people in attendance. And after the fireworks, there must have been a million people waiting for a goddam bus.

Hoards of people flooded the streets, spilling over from the sidewalks. Hubby tried to follow me as I quickly deeked through the crowds.

And then there was nowhere left to deek.

We were all pathetic cows being herded. Standing on the curb, pissed off and pitying ourselves. Just waiting for a bus – any damn bus – to open its doors. Every single bus that passed was packed beyond capacity.

Hoards of people – Hubby and I included – we so… defenseless.

We finally got on a bus. Not even the right one. We’d have to switch later. But we’d do anything not to have to stand there like idiots one minute longer.

And then it was packed. PACKED. And damn hot. And so rank that I thought I might puke. I buried my face in Hubby’s arm just to avoid smelling the air.

We made our way at a snaaaiilll’s pace through downtown. Every time the driver had to open the doors, people tried to cram in. Mob mentality. Cops were restraining people. Crowds of drunk, tired, and trapped people – all just staring at us through the bus windows with pleading faces. It reminded me of Rose and Jack floating in the North Atlantic in “Titanic” (but with less death/melodrama).

Eventually we got moving. Amen. But that was only moderately more tolerable.

At one point there was a young drunk girl standing behind Hubby. She was texting, and had totally abandoned all concern for holding herself up. Hubby became the brace to fully lean against, and, at one sharp turn, his shirt became her lifeline as she nearly fell to the floor.

We were pretty much laughing by then. It was all so ridiculous.

Next year, I will read this posting and reevaluate, making an informed decision about whether or not to attend. Probably will though. It was still a shit ton of fun.

For your enjoyment, some photos:

First, a clown escorting our friend out of the driver's seat of his little cart. And there, on the right, is Hubby, sitting in the back.  

Second, the red and white view from a high bar balcony.

And the crowds on Rue Rideau. And there, in the middle, my dear friend with her arm raised in a celebratory cheer.

And finally, the fireworks behind the Peace Tower.

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Whisky, pig brains, and car sex

Rapid fire weekend updates!  Go!

Friday night:

We had beers and roasted marshmallows with the neighbours.  Hubby swore that the intense smell of the backyard fire pit would be noticeable on him the next day.  Needless to say, Hubby lost the bet and now owes the neighbour a beer.

Saturday:

We drove to Hometown for my cousin's wedding.  We were running late so we drove way too fast the whole way (which I normally don't condone, but in this case the wedding was on an island, so missing the ferry and shuttle bus wasn't an option). 

This is the ferry. But I'm not on it at this particular time.

The wedding was beautiful - on the lake, with the sun breaking through at the exact right time.  It was a musician's wedding, so all the guests were super cool and casual.  I've never seen so many sandals and shorts at a wedding.  And the groom was playing frisbee in the field.  

All the musicians later took the stage for the rock-out of all rock-outs.  Hubby said he brought his guitar pick just in case they found the band's guitarist locked up and gagged in the closet. 

Then one of the drunk groomsmen grabbed the giant pig head left on the table from the roast and brought it to the dance floor to join in the fun.  Best. Dance partner. Ever.

BRAIIIINNNNNSSSS...

The only problem with a wedding in a field is that my shoes were problematic.  Eventually I took them off, which if you wear heels, you know makes it impossible to put them back on afterward.  Swollen feet.  Or my body rejecting them.  Tomato/tomoto. 

The result was the dirtiest feet of all time - caked with mud and grass and I think maybe some pig head juice.  And they only got dirtier when we walked through knee-high grass back to the shuttle bus, and then from the bus to the ferry, then around the ferry (which doesn't allow beer on board, by the way), and then from the ferry back to the car.  Classy.

Sunday: 

First an all-you-can-eat sushi lunch with ma-in-law and some friends.  Turns out that even if mango ice cream isn't on the menu it will mysteriously appear if you just ask.  Bonus.

Then we had a lovely visit with Hubby's Poppy in the hospital.  Poppy has, despite everything, maintained his glorious sense of humour.  When we slipped some Jack Daniels into his Pepsi he said "Oh, that'll living me up." 

Hello, old friend.

From there a visit with the other set of grandparents and then a delicious fajita dinner.  (Minus brother-in-law's birthday cake, which was apparently too much food for one night.)  

Finally we stopped at Mom's to drop off my gift for her tiny dog named Ah-choo.  A dog bikini.  Enough said. 

Then we got stuck in traffic on the way home, which was a giant piss-off, so we said we'd only refer to it as the time we stopped on the roadside and got sexy. 

The end.

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