Pork flavored happiness

So as you all know, (and by all I mean my whole whopping 12 followers- people, follow me. I swear I am interesting enough to read more than once) I don’t often write too much about food despite the fact that my every day is consumed by it.

I believe my last post on the topic was during my detox and I felt like my annoyingly excited spin instructor being so diet gung ho. So first- sorry about that- next time I detox I will keep my big vegetable filled mouth shut. Second, if your tastes are anything like mine- see below- you do not want to miss what I found!

Gelato. Has ever a more perfect food been created for the summertime? No. the simple answer is just no. Here is what is so amazing about it. Love ice cream and hate the calories? Gelato boasts about 140 -180 per cup while ice cream ranks in at 210-270. Don’t give a flying fuck about calories? Gelato has the craziest flavors like spicy chocolate and twix bar and unlike their ice cream counterparts, they actually taste like eating whatever flavor they say they are. Plus there is the fruit flavors that are A) made with no fat- calorie counters rejoice and B) come in every fruit flavor imaginable and again, taste like what they boast to be.

In my neighborhood about 400,000 gelato places have popped up in the past few years. Ok, obviously that is an exaggeration but there are a ton and the “locals” just love to argue the virtues of their particular gelato home base. I don’t have favorites per say, but there are some places that to me, have received a bit too much hype and subsequently charge a bit too much money (cash only no less) for their easily forgettable flavors and serving sizes. Otherwise I am sure they are all amazing.

So enough of my reviews- you are certainly not tuning in for them right? and onto the goods. This weekend I had a new flavor that blew my mind to the point that my fiancé insisted that I write about them.

I must first go ahead and state the obvious which is that I am not god. You are free and welcome to disagree with my flavor choice, scrunch your nose up at even the mere sound of it or try it and hate it. I am merely providing the tools for you to make a decision about something I enjoyed.

I also enjoy tweezing ingrown hairs and popping pimples- I don’t expect for us to have everything in common- or do we?

Off of blemishes and back to food.

Let me set the scene for you people.

First things first- I love pork. As someone who is relatively new to the other white meat- I am still in awe of how good it is. Second, I love savory desserts- I am not a sweet girl unless I am about to get my monthly friend (and by friend I mean enemy) and even then I would take a bag of chips over a chocolate bar any day of the week. This is just to give you some context to my taste buds…

So there we were, my fiancé and I, driving home from a great backyard get together where I had one too many glasses of Sangria- blame it on the weather-how can I resist?

So it is 11:30 and like every time I drink, I am starving. My fiancé doesn’t believe in late night eating- one of our many personal differences. I love to eat at night despite the fact that it is not great for you- he wont- so it was to my great surprise that he agreed and even was excited for late night gelato.

There, glistening in the way only good gelato does, surrounded by cherry and rice pudding flavors was a tub entitled “pancetta”. Bacon flavored gelato? BACON AND ICE CREAM? My wet dream in a frozen counter.

Is it beyond obvious that we both left with heaping cups of it? Yes? I know.

The pancetta was caramelized so that it was extremely crunchy but also sweet and also salty and also amazing. The gelato had a slight spice and was vanilla-y, sweet, salty and amazing too. Each bite had tiny flecks of pancetta in them and some had bigger chunks of the delicious meat. Every bite was like a slice of pork heaven and as the cup came close to being empty I felt truly sad for the loss of this treat to my stomach.

Reader, if you like me are interested in all things bacon and pork eat this. It comes from “il gelateria” on Mount Pleasant and it is a delight.

Bacon gelato is worth sharing with you all right?

Ps. While I am on topic and since I will not revisit food postings for a while and since, if you like pork then this is for you too- sausage fest. Yes, ladies and gents I bring you a festival of sausage. Check out Marben’s website for their weekly listing but expect that you will go on Wednesday to try 2 separate sausage dishes made by 2 different reputable restaurants in TO and get to vote on the best- finalists begin competing in August for the title of Sausage king/queen. I am heading there Wednesday to sample the offerings of a Palette and Parts and Labour- best food week of my life? It just may be.

Happy eating.

pps. i know that bacon and pancetta are different so please assume them as meaning the same thing. ok? thanks.

Smackdown

I was raised in a house with a 3 to one girl ratio. My dad was decidedly outnumbered and therefore had to get with girl stuff or be left behind. He has been the BEST sport and never was this more evident than when he came to all 8 bridal boutiques to watch me as I tried on countless wedding gowns all the while lamenting my various unflattered body parts and discussing appropriate bra support. He did it with a smile on his face and was the first to suggest we try another store when I could not find what I was looking for. My dad is seriously the best. In finishing that part of the story- I chose my dress based on the fact that when I came out and twirled around- he teared up. I never see him emotional like that so to me, that was it.

Anyways, at a very young age we realized that I was not athletically inclined. Fat children are never great at gymnastics, I ran like a duck that had been shot in the face so track and field or anything with running in it was out of the question, and my hand eye coordination was at a 2 month old baby level- at best. If you were to aim carefully and send a perfect pitch straight into my glove,  I would find a way to make sure it hit me in the face. I had a ski accident early in my ski career, a skating accident at the onset of that career, and basically was a lost cause to my dad who longed for someone to play catch with. Even rollerblading was an unsuccessful endeavor for us together as I was afraid of going too fast and therefore would scootch forward about 2 inches before slamming on the brake. I was the anti-boy.

I did however LOVE soap operas having been raised on Young and the Restless and Days of Our Lives- and yes, I do remember when Marlena was possessed by the devil…

Seeing an opportunity for some testosterone in the house, my dad acted fast and presented me with the BEST soap drama I would ever see. The WWF. It was incredible. People in costumes with crazy alter egos and even crazier music and even crazier hair fighting one another over a plethora of personal dramas. It touched on everything from love, friendship, politics and betrayal. I was hooked.

The fact that I had met my future husband through the WWF helped my addiction flourish. Me and Brett the Hitman Hart were destined to make a beautiful Hart foundation of our own- Jimmy the Mouth of the South would be our godfather of course, and British Bulldog, Jim the anvil Neidhart and Owen Hart would be the fun uncles- like full house- but in pink spandex.

I literally almost shat myself when at my Wrestemania themed birthday party (the first one- yes, I had 2) someone bought me a pair of the Hitman’s glasses. I would sleep with them for years to come while staring up at the life sized poster of him on my ceiling

Don’t think my father meant to fuel my teenage crushes but nevertheless it gave us a sport to bond over and we would sit for hours as the drama unfolded in the ring with the sounds of Mean Gene and then later Jerry the King’s voices narrating the action.

So some 20 years later, if you lave me alone on a Monday night I may or may not be watching RAW. I don’t care that it turned out to be fake, that Brett turned out to be married, that the Rockers never got back together, that somehow the Undertaker has never aged and that Mick Foley has been Cactus Jack, Dude Love and Mankind, that Dusty Rhodes became Goldust (which was one of the more atrocious characters on the show), and that over the years the once more wholesome plots have become all kinds of raunchy.

I lament the loss of midget wrestling with Doink and dread the thought of women wrestling. Dear Chyna, about your penis….

Overall, I just love it, it is a part of my being.

The best part of it all was when I took my dad to a show a few years ago and when, from the bleachers, we heckled the shit out of the wrestlers and “Hooooo-ed” along with the return of Hacksaw Jim Duggen I knew we had built a lifelong love with wrestling. I may never give a shit about anything to do with sports but if there is a fake match with well oiled men in spandex- you best bet I will be watching….mowahahahaha

Eau de Toilette

So here at my office we have public washrooms. 

Obviously right? 



I am fortunate that they are tucked away privately, are clean, and amply sized. It certainly makes going to them less of a horror story- as has been the case in other communal washrooms. I have once had to use one that smelled like dirty old Chinese food and one where there were only 2 available stalls for 50 women.



What you learn in public bathrooms is that women are pigs. Sure, we don’t pee on the floor (often) and our washrooms don’t have the never ending smell of stale urine but I have seen things that would make anyone just barf. But that’s just disgusting to delve into and although I like to push boundaries, I also like to eat lunch and will be doing so shortly after this blog gets published. As such, I aim to save my stomach, if nothing else.



But here are 2 things that happened to me this morning that I needed to share.

So, as I said, big washroom- 6 stalls for a small group of people. My go-to is the second to last stall good old number 5. I find that it never looks unkempt. So there I am going about my business when 2 people enter the bathroom. One takes number 6, the other number 4. Why? Give me my fucking privacy people. I feel like it is an unwritten rule that you aim to take the stalls not bordering the occupied one if you can. They could. 
Stall 1 and 3 were totally fine and available. I think it is so rude or weird to choose to sit right next to someone while you do what you do. 
Maybe it is only my rule but I firmly stand by my washroom ideals.

Anyways- a mistake I am willing to overlook as I guess people are free to sit wherever they want. So fine, sit next to me ladies. Whatever. I can hear you pee.

So on my second visit this morning, I am in the stall and I hear someone, who has kindly sat 3 stalls away from me, taking a dump.
It is always kind of embarrassing to dump publicly and I get mega stage fright when I l know that people can hear but life is life and dumping is a part of it- a shitty part, but a part (please don’t pardon my pun).
So she is just going at it and amidst the sounds of dumping I hear hissing- really loud hissing noises. Intrigued, I linger at the sink wondering what on earth could be happening in that stall for a hiss to come out. Suddenly, and without warning the air in the huge washroom because musty, almost unbreathable and the smell of lavender (but fake lavender- not the good kind) is wafting through the air. 

I realize that this dumping woman is spraying an aerosol can of odor eaters to mask her poo.

I gag and make a run for the door knowing that without my consent, I will now spend the day with the faint aroma of cheap lavender bathroom lingering in my hair- my hair always catches smells, this will be no exception.

So first of all, don’t do that shit (again, note the pun) in public. 

Pubic bathrooms, even the most pristine ones always smell a bit like poo- how gross could you be that yours needs air treatment. Like perfume, I think it is SO inconsiderate to overdo a spray smell. I now have to find another floor to use the bathroom on or suffer migraines related to your spray and subsequent lingering odor all fucking day long.

Second, and this goes to pooers in public and private bathrooms alike. I get it, poo doesn't smell good, it is gross and it can be serious- BUT masking it with a fruit, laundry, herb, seabreeze or floral smell is SO much more awful. 

The bathroom I left didn’t end up smelling like lovely lavender- it smelled like air freshner lavender and poo. The smell of your choice does not eliminate the poo- it just adds right on so you get poo+rose, poo+juniper breeze, poo+coconut... You get the picture right?



I know it sounds so cliché but if you cant treat your bathroom the way you would at home- minus the raunch smells- those should just never be used- you deserve constipation.  

After the rose

Last night, I took the opportunity to unwind at a friend's house and indulge in a little guilty pleasure called “The Bachelor”- or in the case of this season, “The Bachelorette”. Meet Bachelorette Ashley- a reject from last season’s “Bachelor” show and quite possibly, the most annoying girl on the planet. This lady seriously embodies all that is wrong with girls and therefore obviously provides never-ending entertainment- like watching a pink, glittery train wreck that flips its hair a lot.

Now, I don’t really give a shit what Ashley is like. I’m not her friend, and I don’t think she would support my mission to wash my hair as little as possible in life- HOWEVER, it is that she is the epitome of what is wrong with SO many girls I know that gets my fingers typing.




In one word- desperate. This girl has desperation oozing from every pore in her body and – as you can imagine, it isn't a pretty sight.




Girls, take note of what is wrong with this nut-job and consider the issues as they may apply to your own lives. Seriously, let's get rid of all this crazy.....




Thing the first- Desperation is never cute. 
So, Ashley takes her first date to Vegas wherein she forces him to try wedding cake, pick out a wedding ring and march down a Vegas chapel aisle to “test” him and see if he is ready for commitment. I get that this show is about finding your husband/wife and I also get that for most, dating- and especially dating in your late 20’s- is much of the same. I am still pretty sure that if you touch on marriage within your first date as it could apply to the 2 of you- you are nuts. Nothing screams desperation like moving that fast. Ladies, please.
If you feel the need to plan your wedding with your new boyfriend- refrain- not because you shouldn’t be yourself but because you should try to be a less psycho version of yourself.
So how did her “test” work on the show? Well, she ended up canoeing through a man-made pond in Vegas, eating dinner and locking lips with one of the more boring bachelors, albeit a cute one. It was magic- and by magic I mean vile. This is what happens when you are so blatantly desperado that you invite your date to a chapel- you end up with a boring man, a boring kiss and yet you will convince yourself that this is “the best date of your life”. I die.




Thing the second- A different kind of desperation.
The highlight of the episode was Bentley- a bachelor who is such a player that he even admitted to being a player. Listen, it’s not like I haven't dated assholes- because I sure have- but it is fucking brutal to watch this idiot girl make a prince charming out of a toad. Where the other men, (who for now, we will assume are gentlemen despite the obvious loser quality they all share for being on such a stupid-ass show), wanted to sit and talk with her and get to know her- Bentley wanted to get down to business. He even used the amazing line, one I haven't heard since high school of “ I don’t feel like talking” before kissing her. Red alert. If a guy who you are hoping will marry you one day uses a super-corny line on you and/or shuts you up in a get-to-know-you session to make out- he isn't the one for you. I promise. I learned this the hard way, as have many of the ladies in my life but if it looks like a duck and walks like a duck- it’s a duck- and by duck, I mean douche-bag. They both start with a D- deal with it.




Thing the third- a call to the dark side.
Ladies, if a dude shows up in a mask, refuses to take off the mask and claims it is because he wants you to get to know him as a person first, then as a physical being- run. Run fast. Ashley, our paragon of good sense, kept her mask wearing bachelor again this week. The dude wears a fucking mask. And of course, it isn't even a good mask- you can totally see his face and unless he’s sporting some Mike Tyson tattoos on his eye, I am pretty sure you can tell exactly what he will look like unmasked. Of course, this all leads back to desperation because only a self loathing desperate girl would entertain such a psycho. I think that a good rule of thumb would be that if the guy you are meeting for the first time ever shows up with a mask, cape, or sword or any other device/costume that could suggest that he roams the streets at night as a vigilante or serial killer, run. 




Thing the fourth- playing games.
So on one of the one-on-one dates (I hate myself for knowing the terminology and using it so casually- oh, one-on-one dates- fuck me) she decides to flip coins to determine everything they will do. Hand in hand with desperation usually comes indecision. If you were confident enough to make some decisions and not “leave it to fate” you would likely be confident enough to throw the losers to the curb and be single over being an ass. Either way, here she is flipping away to decide everything from the ever-important red or white wine conundrum to whether or not she will give this guy a rose. Listen, logic would suggest that if you are having mixed feelings about someone and you are not certain- the answer is no. In life, there are lots of grey areas but do you want your lover to be one of them? Unsure means no- not “I’ll give it a chance to see what happens” how many times has that ever worked for anyone in love? no?

Peoples, don’t be Ashley. She says at one point that she is so happy that the guys are excited that she is the Bachelorette and she is so happy that they like her- please don’t settle for so little. Too often I watch as friends date guys and the central thesis to their relationship is that he likes her, plain and simple. Well he damn well better like you- that should be a given not a bonus.

Anyways, will I continue to watch this crazy needy stage 5 clinger as she gives women a bad name everywhere? Hell yes I will- I love me some reality TV but be forewarned ladies, and gents- this kind of dating only makes you a complete idiot- do not emulate the Bachelor/ette.  

Good weekend, bad salad.

What a beyond nice weekend this past one was. Perfectly sunny and temperate days were lightly sprinkled with tiny boughts of rain (not including yesterday's massive attack) and people were out and about with sunburns aplenty, vouching for a day spent neglecting proper skin care- please see next post.

I am a lucky girl to have the best family and the best friends with whom to share this glorious weekend with as my fiancé was out of town and I love company more than anything!

So, let’s begin with the good since I am in a mildly adequate mood and once I begin ranting, I am bound to revert to the foul mood I was in this morning being stuck on the subway with a hairy mans back pressing into my body as he radiated 400 degrees of heat.

The good.
We have such great markets to explore. Saturday was spent in TO down on Front street where we walked around St. Lawrence market. Alls I can say is thank god for the Koslicks mustard man. Does he not, every Sunday, scent the halls of St. Lawrence with his incredible fried pemeal bacon pieces which he doles out sparingly for your mustard dipping pleasure? I wish I could store him and all his mustard varieties in my pantry- if I had a pantry- and it wasn’t weird/ pseudo illegal to keep people in your pantry.

Anyways, from there we walked over to the Distillery market. Have you been to the Distillery? No? You should go. Here’s why. Every Saturday and Sunday the Distillery hosts a craft market. About 50 or so vendors set up in booths and sell their creative goods. Especially notable is a lovely lady named Lisa who sells flowers and a booth which samples olive tapenandes. Please love them.

In addition to market madness you can also check out all the actual distilleries including the new sake one filled with, of course, sake and uber stylish Asian girls in ridiculously high heels.

Sunday was spent at Aberfoyle market- this is about an hours drive away and every Sunday is home to a bagillion antique dealers who set up shop and sell their creepy/ wonderful goods. You can literally buy anything from used light bulbs to antique Tiffany lamps. I swear I found a doll that comes alive at night and murders small children amidst a row of used license plates.

Point is that I love markets, aggressively. I am always a huge proponent on supporting local art and culture initiatives- which you will see now that it is finally summer and I begin to leave my house and venture out again...

To finish the weekend I had dinner with my sister and 2 of my most favorite of all girls to hang out with and over Venison cured meat and Fred Flinstone sized ribs at Czehoski’s, we delved into territory that would make a pervert blush and with the help of an especially light red zinfandel, our voices raised several octaves despite the obvious need for us to have toned it down- such is life with these ladies- love you all.

So overall, really nice weekend- spent quality time with my fam, with my sister in law to be, friends.... Perfect way to enjoy the extra day off.

The bads.
But now, sunshine and rainbows aside, I take you back with me to the Distillery and invite you to my dinner. I’m not going to name the dining establishment we chose whilst down there but dear undisclosed dining establishment, you really suck.

Here was the “special” that night. A roasted beet salad with crumbled goat cheese. Having eaten probably a whole pig at the mustard guy’s booth in St. Lawrence, I was hoping for a lighter dinner so I was delighted to hear about a salad option, I adore beets and felt like they would substantiate an otherwise drab salad. The salad was 8 dollars. I asked the waiter “is this salad filling enough for a meal?” (it was listed as an appetizer so fair question, I think) he replied “of course.”

Oh you shitty little waiter. Did he not, but 15 minutes later produce a small plate with 8 pieces of shaved beet a tiny finger pinch sized clump of green and the littlest bowl in the world- like could fit in a dollhouse sized- of goat cheese dressing stuff that looked/tasted like mayo.

Fuck you.

What kind of a meal is that? For who would this plate be filling? It would be an appetizer for a 5 year old. Maybe.

I get it, I get it. You are a big fancy restaurant and everything should be micro sized and overpriced but 8 shaves of beet the size of my thumb pad? That’s not a meal in anyone's standards, unless your chef is an elf from Disneyland. Is he an elf? A very happy elf who believes that beets and magic will fill you up?
That my parents meals both sucked at 40 dollars a plate was no shock but at least they came in human size...

Anywho- what did you do long weekend? Whatever you got up to, I hope it was fabulous.   

Music is my iphone

Having been quite sick for the past few days and home with only the repetition of various House Hunters shows on HGTV to keep me company (and sane), I had too much time to fill and winded up spending a lot of it on my iphone playing fruit ninja.

Fruit Ninja is a game where pieces of fruit are flung on the screen and you use your finger as the sword to slice up those pieces of fruit and watch as they splatter on the background wall. The objective is to slice up as many fruits as you can in 60 seconds. Brain science? No. A 2 hour time waster? Absolutely.

This game is the most fucking addictive thing you can imagine- I dream fruit every night.

And, of course, in our ever competitive relationship, my fiancé and I have an ongoing war to determine who the real fruit ninja is- (me- naturally). It has gotten so bad that a few nights ago, the romantics we are, we both lay in bed and played on our respective iphones until we couldn’t see straight and had to go to bed. That is how epic this game is (or how incredibly lame our sex life was that night).

All this leads me to my ultimate point. iphones are just so awesome (and I am a fruit ninja).

When everyone around me started getting iphones and I was stuck with my blackberry, I made up a million reasons why I didn’t even care that I didn’t have an iphone. I praised the glory that was BBM and the way that I could so easily open a PDF email. I hailed RIM for being a Canadian company and demeaned the keypad on the iphone as archaic.

Was I ever an ass.

Point 1. BBM is the worst. To think of the amount of times I stressed because I knew you read my message and hadn't responded/ the amount of times I wanted to read your messages but didn’t want you to know I had read them- the whole thing just brought about a new kind of relationship politics. I want to be able to read my messages as they come- because lord knows I live with my phone at my side- and then respond to them when I want to. I do not want the message sender to be able to essentially track me as I go along my day, knowing the precise moments where I chose to receive messages.
I was all like, “how will I talk to people without BBM”- it is simple really, I either call them ( I find that I actually call and speak to more people than I used to now) or I text message them. With the fun bubble conversations on the iphone, texting is really so much less old school than it seems and just as effective in getting your message across. 
So in short, do I miss BBM? About as much as I miss ICQ uh-oh.

Point 2. The emails. Really? Who was I kidding about PDF emails? Am I a business rock god? And if I was, and it was essential to my job function that I be able to read such emails, wouldn’t the company just get me a blackberry for said purpose. Yes. And in the meantime, my daily groupon blasts that overwhelm my inbox and make me feel important, show up just fine. Do people really PDF me in my casual life? No- and please don’t.

Point 3. ok, so I sold out on this point because MAC certainly isn't a Canadian anything. But, Apple is so wicked and some good things come from America right? Like the Olsen twins, and Jersey Shore.... Ok, bad examples (ish) but if Canada made a super amazing fantastic technology like Apple has, I’d be all over that like a fat kid on fudge (mmmmm fudge).

Point 4. The keypad. WAY better- plus auto correct on iphone is the funniest thing ever. Please refer to www.damnyouautocorrect.com to see what I mean.

And enjoy

Karma is a bitch, bitch.

So forgive me dear reader, as this post is yet another about my joyous rides on the subway whilst commuting to and from work.


To me, the subway has yet to loose its panache. I love being at one with the city and having absolutely no control over things like the subway randomly stopping at Summerhill Station for 20 minutes resulting in the scowling man at the door scowling harder. Does it bother me? Not in the slightest- my timing is in the TTC’s hands and there is nothing I can do about it. I relish in this- for now. Sure, one day I may learn to abhor being pressed up against my fellow passengers in a sweaty car of BO- but for now, it is AOK by me.


What does really get me irked about the subway is the total lack of humanity displayed by my fellow riders- this shouldn't be too surprising though I guess seeing as human stupidity outside the subway is really just as ridiculous- I guess the subway just concentrates the level of idiots into a smaller and more confined space.

Anyways, so yesterday I got to the subway a bit later than usual having had trouble logging off my computer. Getting to Bloor late is the absolute worst because people are total pigs and it seems that if I get there on my usual time I miss the hoards of these animals. Yesterday was not that case.


So, the good thing about the behavior on the busy platforms is that people make somewhat of a line so that we can all sort of file into the car once it unloads. In theory, this would be systematic and just perfect but of course for those of us who feel that they are more deserving of space on the next car out and cannot stand to wait the whole 2 more minutes should they miss the current car.


Enter blond bitch. Blond bitch is the woman with 3 big shopping bags full of crap, a giant wavy jacket and a large body size who is quietly maneuvering herself over to the front of the line. Without regard for the pseudo order to which we are all adhering to, she finagles her way over, closer and closer to the yellow line. Of course, she isn't in fact quiet as her huge self is hardly unnoticeable and I am watching her knock everyone around her with her carry-on.
Look, I’m not saying that if you shop or weigh an excess of 200 pounds that you shouldn’t be able to ride the rocket- all I am saying is that common human courtesy would suggest you don’t cram your fat ass in.


So, subways comes, she is obviously shoving her way in closer before those on the train have gotten off. Enter seriously old Chinese woman who has been patiently waiting at the yellow line.  She doesn’t carry a cane but walks as thought she should and is so shriveled and small that she would be swallowed alive by that blond bitch. I stand back and watch- somewhat in horror, but mostly not surprised, as blond bitch hip checks the old lady and shoves herself into the closing doors.
I have to laugh as I watch the doors close on her shopping bag trapping it in the doors. I silently pray that that bag is carrying eggs or tomatoes.


Gone is that blond bitch of a woman, left on the platform, looking defeated is the old lady. I think to myself that her bags being trapped in the subway door is hardly “revenge” enough on the blond bitch for being such a blond bitch.

Thankfully, when all seems lost and the plight of humanity seems lackluster at best- in comes pretty girl in purple coat to save the day. In her pretty purple coat, she managed to not only make way for, but escort the small old lady onto the next car as most around her stood back to let her through.
We need more purple coats, less whore bag bitches and really, if I can be so bold as to go there- better TTC cars.

Second to hating people in condensed areas I also wish that once you were on the car you could hold onto something and not smash into the bald man behind you playing World of Warcraft on his ipad. Dear TTC- regarding your handles...... just saying.