Drinking Alone and Public Sex Acts: Otherwise Known As That Time I Accidentally Made A Cameo In A Porno

Two summers ago, I spent July and the beginning of August in a remote Quebecois town as a part of an immersive french program. My evenings consisted of either drinking by myself in bed and when that got old, drinking on the beach. Also alone. What can I say? I’m very classy.

As much fun as both of these activities are, after a time, polishing off an Archie comic in French and a bottle of wine while surrounded by pillows or sand started to lose its luster. And even though I still was enjoying the attraction of drinking tumblers of alcohol in the pink evening light, I found myself wanting a change of scenery.

Which was how I ended up in the forest, nearing twilight, wine tumbler in hand, Angry Birds backpack by my side, (Did I mention how classy I am?) reading the French version of my favourite Wimpy Kid book. An avid hiker, I frequented the forest often, mostly during the mornings before class and in the afternoons after class had finished for the day. This was the first time I had visited in the evening. In all my previous outings, I had had the forest to myself. Sitting on the bench, sipping my rapidly warming white wine, I overheard voices; it would seem I was sharing my treed paradise with a couple.

Expecting them to emerge from one of the many paths that led to the bench in the clearing where I was sitting, I tucked my bottle of wine into my backpack to save myself from having to share or it being confiscated. “Nothing to see here officer in my Angry Birds backpack, that is, unless you want to gaze upon my fabulous collection of Pokémon cards.”

Some minutes passed, no one emerged from the brush and I assumed that the couple had moved on. That was when I heard the first cry, “OOOOOoooooooo”. It was a girl’s voice letting out a moan of pleasure. I shifted on the hard wooden bench. Though accustomed to having the woods to myself, I was happy to share it with a couple in need.

At the beginning of the five week rural French immersion program, the organizer had called all of the students together and laid down the law; no sex in your host family’s house and that includes their garden, no sex in the back alleys, and sex on the beach is only acceptable in a hi-ball glass form. Thus for horny students without deep pockets to pay for hotels, the Canadian version of the famous drink was the only option; sex on a pinecone. Happily it had rained the day before, so any needles lying about should have been mushy and reasonably painless to remove from backsides. Deciding that I could read through the occasional cry and that nothing could take away from the hilarity of Wimpy Kid, I stayed put.

Then the moans became more persistent, and the male half of the party decided to voice his pleasure loudly as well. Admittedly, I was beginning to feel like I was sitting near the set of a low budget porno but it was nothing that a couple sips of wine and increased focus on the tough French syntax couldn’t cure.

Then it started, the rhythmic, unmistakable “slap slap” sound of a scrotum smacking against butt cheeks. This was a little too personal and X-rated for any amount of wine and even the hilarity of adolescence in cartoon form couldn’t distract me from the couple’s amorous activities. Forget being on the set of a porno, I was rapidly becoming an awkward extra. The cries became shouts as I frantically packed up my wine bottle, mostly finished tumbler of booze and book, then I fled the forest.

Having learned my lesson, the next night, I returned to the beach, a tumbler full of wine in hand, to watch the sunset and delight in French comic books. Although I still hiked during the day, in order to ensure that my presence was merely a cameo, rather than a repeat performance, I left the forest for the lovers at night.

Your Pregnancy Week By Week: The Second Trimester

Week 11 – Your partner thoughtfully greets you at the door after work with freshly made lamb stew saying “I made you dinner”, presenting a dish that you loved prior to being pregnant. You respond with “No you made YOU dinner that you are going to eat OUTSIDE”. Lamb is off the menu for the next seven months.

Week 12 – Welcome to cravings week at baby making central. Forget gestational diabetes that creates giant sugar babies, after consuming five avocados in the span of a couple of days, your baby is going to be two parts guacamole.

Week 13 – You’ve switched from avocados to eating ten kiwis in a sitting. Your baby is definitely coming out green. And possibly hairy, because who has time to peel sixty kiwis in a week?

Week 14 – Your partner now recognizes your “Puke Face” having seen it so many times in the past weeks. Car rides are peppered with this conversation “Are you ok? You look like you’re going to chuck. You’re not answering, I’m pulling over.”

Week 15 – Consuming an entire bag of movie theatre popcorn yourself (Don’t question it, you’re pregnant) causes your feet to slowly swell up like Jiffy Pop bags until your shoes no longer fit. Good luck walking back home.

Week 16 – Get ready for a big life change, after spending your whole life being cold, thanks to those two extra litres of blood, the need to peel off layers of clothing leads to this ensemble.

Folk Fest

Individually the clothing pieces make sense; UV shirt- smart, bathing suit bottoms at a music festival- smart, compression stockings – necessary to prevent the whole Jiffy Pop feet recurrence, however together with the sunglasses, you resemble a fashion challenged Lady Gaga, or maybe a partial nudist with sun phobia. Regardless, weird looks are both received and deserved.

Week 17 – Remember when you were fit and active? Those words have different meanings now; you once hiked ten kilometers and biked twenty in a day, now after five kilometers of trails you are exhausted and your bike ride is a nap in the car.

Week 18 – Your pants and all of your clothing have suddenly gotten too tight. In the words of your partner “You look like you could be pregnant or you might just have a pooch”. In other news your partner may never get any action again. Especially when he admits that when you are backed up (welcome to your pregnant colon), your abdomen becomes a “double bubble” and at one point pats your tiny fetus reassuringly after you’ve used the bathroom and asks “Are you ok in there? Did the poop baby squish you?”

Week 19 – Your colourful top that makes you appear youthful and outlines your burgeoning belly draws the attention of a group of women lunching. The words “She’s nineteen” are hissed at you while the women’s heads snap trying to maintain a judgmental stare as you walk past. This is made funnier by the fact that you turned thirty this past February.

Week 20 – Essentially you’ve become a celebrity as you puke repeatedly on the grounds of a swanky hotel, only replace cocaine and paparazzi with prenatal vitamins and a Kodak happy mother.

Stay tuned for weeks 21 to 40 and in case you don’t remember weeks one to ten. And who could blame you? I published it months ago! Here’s the link.




Now I know it looked like the end of the post back there but I think we all need to take a moment to appreciate the atrocity that is my rendition of myself in Microsoft’s Paint.

Folk Fest

It’s so bad I had to post it a second time.

Initially I was going to post the actual picture but then Tex was all “Would you put that up at work?” to which I replied “You are extremely difficult, unreasonable and unfair when you are right” hence the toddler like drawing.

The hair was easy. Curly hair is curly hair is curly hair; it’s messy and does whatever the hell it wants to, in whatever direction it wants. The hands on the other hand were not as easily replicated. I decided while drawing that I would take a page out of Matt Groening’s book and only give myself three fingers and thumb for simplicity’s sake.


See? Only four digits. Whoever created humans was clearly an overachiever. (Photo Credit: http://www.simpsoncrazy.com)

But even that proved too tough so my other hand became a skin mitten which sounds super gross but is easy to make on a touch pad. The picture was larger than my mini netbook’s screen so the sign is just hanging out in midair and it’s also the reason why I look like I’m doing some sort of Elvis Presley hip thrust; I was only able to see and thus work on half of the picture at a time.

Initially the lenses of my sunglasses were the same size and shape because I copied and pasted but afterwards I decided they weren’t large enough to deserve the description of Lady Gaga so now they match my wobbly misshapen mouth. Also I realized that the section between my legs didn’t get filled in when I inserted the picture into the post. A more detail oriented person who cared would have changed the image. I didn’t. My final comment and piece of advice is – if you squint and stand really far away, whilst wearing another person’s glasses it might look like a Jackson Pollock.