push present*

Last June, while chilling in Oxford, Jen told us about the Ringly. I love shiny things, technology, AND impulse purchases, so I gleefully hopped on the bangwagon and ordered one from Jen’s couch.

Yesterday, my Ringly finally arrived. There were some manufacturing hiccups along the way, which added to the delivery time – and as you may know, waiting is my number one pet peeve. Still, the amount of time it took to get my Ringly was nothing compared to how long it took to get my Pebble, so I can’t really complain – especially if the extra time went into making it even better. As much as I want things now now now, I do appreciate quality. Having something work properly out of the box is the best.

I thought about making an unboxing video, but then I remembered that I really hate video so you get words instead. Here is my initial Ringly review:

Dude, this thing is awesome. For starters, it’s gorgeous – I don’t wear large rings because of my tiny elf hands, but the Ringly doesn’t look out of place at all. I chose the black onyx version, and wear it on my right hand:

my ringly in "stargazer"

my ringly in “stargazer”, please ignore the alligator state of my hands

In order to get the most out of your Ringly, you need to install the companion app. Without it, it’s just a ring. The app is available for Android and iOS phones (sorry, Windows/Blackberry/tablet only users), and is free. It’s a simple app without a lot of clutter, which the iOS designer in me appreciates:


Each line indicates the colour of the notification light, and the dots represent the number of vibrations. There are 5 colours (red, yellow, green, blue, purple) and 4 buzz patterns (1-4 buzzes), plus the option for no light or no vibration. The picture above shows the notifications I have set up, but there are other apps that work with Ringly such as Calendar, Tumblr, Pinterest, Google Hangouts, Vine, and more.

The notification light on the ring is located in the middle on the side, and is bright. My ring also has a diamond where the light is, because I am super fucking fancy (those of us who had to wait an extra long time for our Ringlys were upgraded to the “Diamond Club”, which means yay diamond) – it gives my notifications a little extra sparkle, and is pretty. Plus, random diamond!


blue and purple notification lights. not shown: good vibrations

The Ringly has worked really well for me so far. I’ve been setting up all the notifications with specific patterns and colours, and trying to remember what it all means. One of the things I thought was really cool is the ability to set up a special notification for people in your contacts, so if Ed or any of my secret lovers calls or texts me, I can differentiate from those looking for candy or drugs. You can also isolate notifications to ONLY people you’ve selected from your contacts. If you don’t care about the rest of the world but want to drop everything when Aunt Erma calls, you can make sure you don’t miss her. It’s neat.

I can’t speak to battery life just yet, but I’ll hopefully test it out this weekend. I’ve heard reports that it’s hard on your phone battery, but I’m never not charged/charging so I can’t tell. The app does indicate the battery level, which is helpful (and would be more helpful if it indicated with numbers instead of icon only, but it’s better than nothing).

I’ve been asked multiple times about charging the Ringly. I purposefully left that for last, because it’s pretty sweet:

what a twist!

charging! and also red notification light.

The box is the charger for the ring. It comes with a mini-USB cable that plugs into the back, and the ring sits on the charging prongs. It’ll blink red while charging, and when it’s off it’s full and good to go. The box has a nice smooth finish on it, which is good for stroking. I appreciate that.

So, yeah. I’m pretty impressed with this thing – the pictures don’t really do it justice. It’s a really nice piece of jewellery in addition to being useful, and I am awfully pleased with it. If you’re in the market for wearable tech but don’t want wear a watch or pretend your Fitbit is baller, consider one of these. It doesn’t have a display, but the whole reason for the Ringly is notifications – with it, you’ll know when you NEED to look at your phone versus always having it out just in case.

Plus, pretty. As I mentioned, mine is onyx (black like my soul) but it also comes in pink sapphire, moonstone, emerald, and crazy quartz. All versions are currently sold as pre-orders and I don’t know how far behind they are on shipping (people were complaining online that they’ve waited THREE WHOLE MONTHS oh you poor babies), but I’ve heard rumours that Ringlys ordered through ShopBop ship in 24 hours.

Initial Verdict: A+++, would Ringly again.

*: the Ringly was a present to myself. And it uses push notifications.





i dreamed a dream

in times gone byyyyyyyyyyyyy

For the last week straight, I’ve dreamt about school: being late for school, enrolling in a new school, exams, not being able to find my class – the whole damn genre. It’s been incredibly stressful, and I’ve spent the better part of the last four days in a daze being a complete hazard to myself and others. It all culminated (I sincerely hope) last night in a Wes Anderson-esq dream about work being equal parts meetings, school, and carnivals – which, frankly, is not at all far from the truth. I’m actually working from home as I write this, because our office will be turned into a mini-golf course this afternoon. My desk is the start of hole 11, it’s covered in LEDs and glitter, and that is no place to do Serious Businessing.

Oh my god, I’ve become a Professional.

I’m fairly certain that my school dreams are over for now, though. My work focus will be changing, but at a much slower rate than I was stressing over. This is good. Things are good. I am pleased.

creeping on your feelings

A Teen Movie just happened right outside my window!

A young couple just had a dramatic argument across the street from me. She, slender and exasperated, gestured wildly; throwing her arms out and clutching her head in frustration. He, gangly and now heartbroken, struggling to understand why she was so impassionately irate. As her anger gushed out in an agitated broth of fury, he collapsed to the sidewalk in a heap of despair. She stormed off but didn’t get far – deep down she knew they still had “it”; that magnetic and intoxicating mix of emotion and patchouli that brought them together in the first place. She turned and went to him then, sinking to her knees beside him and cradling his head tenderly. Eventually they rose from the pavement, and tentatively took their first steps towards the bus stop – together for now, but with a chasm between them. What does the future hold? Will their love tear them apart?

I couldn’t hear anything that was going on, but it was all perfectly set to this song, thanks to the One Hit Wonders playlist on Spotify. The whole exchange was exactly like watching a teen movie trailer with an upbeat, radio-friendly pop-punk soundtrack, or a pretty terrible music video. In fact, it was a little TOO perfect. What if I’m not real life?! If I’m just a background extra on a cheesy teen drama, I’m going to be so mad.



table flip


You know, I try really hard to not flip tables. For one, the table didn’t do anything to me. And even if it did offend me in some way, it’s an inanimate object that didn’t consciously think about placing itself in the path of my toe on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. It’s also rude, and as a Canadian, I go out of my way to avoid being rude (it’s why I don’t murder). So while I totally get the noble art of the table flip, I have yet to truly experience one.

Until now.

Last week, I bought a Windows tablet (this one, if you’re curious). It was a really good price, and would serve my nefarious needs quite well. It arrived, so I started to make my way through the setup.

It would take far too long to try and explain the tangled web I wove in paragraph form, so here’s the gist of it all:

  • Purchased tablet under x@djdc email address
  • Went to set it up under k@djdc
  • All is good
  • Tablet came with a free subscription to Office 365 Personal
  • Cool, but I don’t need it – I have Office 365 Home
  • Office 365 Home is set up under kimli@gmail
  • kimli@gmail is tied to x@djdc
  • Office 365 Personal (can be installed on 1 tablet and one PC) overwrote my Office 365 Home (good for 5 tablets and 5 PCs) subscription

Well, shit. I lost access to the software I paid for – it was replaced with free software that was exactly 1/5th as good as what I actually bought. There was no way to fix this online – once you make the switch, even if you didn’t intend to, you’re stuck with it. I had to contact Microsoft support, and have them sort out my accounts. Again, should be easy – just remove the Personal subscription, and put my Home subscription back in place.


First, I had to sort out my two MS accounts. This basically turned into a ridiculous and infuriating Tower of Hanoi from hell:

  1. Log into k@djdc
  2. Verify account by email, since the phone number associated is some random number I had during the Dark Ages
  3. Cancel account
  4. Verify that I want to cancel this account
  5. If I don’t touch it, it’ll be deleted in 60 days
  6. Log into x@djdc
  7. Verify my identity by text message
  8. Add k@djdc as an alias
  9. Can’t, it already exists in the system
  10. Log out of x@djdc
  11. Log into k@djdc
  12. Account is in the delete queue
  13. Cancel delete process
  14. Verify I want to cancel the delete process
  15. Log into k@djdc again
  16. Verify my identity via text message
  17. Account is back, cool
  18. Add k@d as alias
  19. Verify I want to add k@d as alias
  20. Verify I own k@d by email
  21. Great, you’re aliased
  22. Set k@d as primary
  23. Verify I want to set k@d as primary
  24. Cool, k@d is primary
  25. Remove k@djdc email address
  26. Verify I want to remove k@djdc
  27. Yes goddamnit
  28. Cool, it’s gone
  29. Log into x@djdc
  30. Verify my identity
  31. Add k@djdc as alias
  32. Verify I own k@djdc
  33. Okay, it’s added
  34. Set k@djdc as primary
  35. Verify I want to set k@djdc as primary
  36. Shoot myself in the boobs repeatedly
  37. Why am I doing this
  38. Seriously
  39. This is my life now
  40. Cry


I’m not even sure if all this worked, as I THEN had to email Microsoft support and tell them where my various subscriptions should point to. I don’t know when I will hear back, but I’m guessing it will be later. And something else will be wrong. And can you please verify your face.





Delicious Juice Dot Com is 14 years old today. Every time another milestone passes, I am somewhat surprised that the site still exists at all .. but here we go again: another trip around the sun, please!

I’ve thought many times about simply throwing in the towel, but I know how terribly I’d miss having this outlet if I did. My updates don’t come as fast and furious as they did for the first 11 years, but they still happen. As long as someone out there is reading them, I’ll always have words to share.

I will celebrate this 14th bloggiversary with delicious Girl Guide cookies, which now cost an astonishing $5 a box.

Happy birthday, inanimate object of which I have grown inordinately fond!

last chance power drive

On Saturday night, I didn’t sleep. By the time I put my phone down and closed my eyes, the coughing had already started and instead of waking Ed up by tossing/turning/coughing/barfing all night, I went left the bed and hung out in the living room to do various internet things. I never did fall asleep, which made for an entertaining Sunday morning – I was exhausted, but couldn’t sit still long enough to drift off. Honestly, I kind of felt drunk. Everything was HILARIOUS, and I kept having great epiphanies that I needed to share with the world like that one time I was high (sorry mom) and totally deduced why Sting was the halftime show at the Superbowl.

At some point during the day, I decided I was going to listen to nothing but different versions of “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen. After an hour or so of this, I began to wonder if anyone ever made a Springsteen-themed porno called “Born to Cum”, because this is a really good idea that apparently no one has ever had – I couldn’t find anything called Born to Cum, but lots of stuff called “Porn in the USA”. Which, okay, I guess that works, but it just seems lazy.

When I was done with the porn, I started wondering if the girl being sung to was the same girl in Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin'” or Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer”. They’re not – Springsteen sings about Wendy, whereas Bon Jovi is addressing Gina. The small town girl on the midnight train wasn’t identified by name in the song, so she could be anyone. Even you. Shine on, you street light people.

Ed wasn’t as impressed by my findings as I was, but I thought I had done some pretty good science and bemoaned the fact that no one ever appreciates my work. At this rate, I’ll never get a museum named after me. Life sucks.

.. I haven’t caught up on my sleep yet, so I’m still kind of amused by every exchange I had over the weekend. Also, I can’t stop listening to Born to Run. It’s my new favourite 39-year-old song. And out of all the covers I listened to, this one is my favourite but it kind of makes me sad because what a waste.

have some fish!

have some fish!


dancefloor 1942

This ain’t is a song post for about the broken hearted:

I am fighting a fierce battle with fluid, and rapidly losing the war. I’m writing this from the charred aftermath of another violent struggle in which I fought for the right to sleep and was obliterated where I stood. This is the 5th such battle this week with the same tragic result, and morale is at an all-time low. The fight for the right is very real.

I don’t think this makes any sense. I’m very tired, you see.

Several days before my check up, I learned a fun new dance: a terrible tickle in the back of my throat just as I was trying to sleep. It felt like someone was poking the far wall of my throat with the pointy end of a feather – it didn’t hurt, but it had to be stopped. To make the tickle go away, I would clear my throat. Then I would cough. Then I would cough more, and then I would run to the bathroom and throw up a bunch of fluid. If I was really lucky, this would happen once around 2am, and I’d be allowed to sleep until dawn.

The general consensus was that the water pills weren’t watering hard enough, so we upped the dosage to make more pee go. Unfortunately, it hasn’t helped. Over the last week, the dance has become a massive hit and I now perform it 2-3 times a night. The vomiting has become more violent and pronounced – it’s not just fluid I’m barfing up, but everything that might be in my system. In the beginning I’d fall asleep afterward, but now I stay awake and wait for the next attack – as soon as I lay down and close my eyes, the enemy attacks again like some sort of relentless attacking machine. Last night I was up until 6am, just coughing and barfing and wishing for sleep and loathing my full dance card.

I honestly don’t know how I went from a battlefield metaphor to a dance and then MIXED THEM in the same paragraph (a cardinal sin). I just signed up to give a talk on writing/editing at work next week, too. At this rate, the presentation is going to be “read my blog and be the opposite of this”.

As much as this all sucks so fucking much, it’s still better than what was happening pre-hospital. So far, the most extreme symptoms of my catastrophic* heart failure haven’t returned, and I am very glad for that. Still, it’s really hard not to feel scared and sorry for myself: I was feeling so much better for those three weeks between visits, and the thought of returning to my previous don’t dead open inside state is terrifying.

I miss the good old days, when all the weird things just happened in and around my vagina.

I’m so tired and petulant. I had brunch plans, but I am literally drooling at my laptop because I can’t brain. I clearly shouldn’t leave the house in this state – but I wanted waffles, damnit. Dance War is hell.


*: it’s not really catastrophic. I mean, heart failure will never turn out to be the good guy with a case of the red herrings, but I refer to my condition as “catastrophic heart failure” affectionately/I like big words/because it flows better, like “adorable syphilis” or “inscrutable overdraft”. Adjectives: cathartic!


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