Delicious Juice Dot Com is six friggin’ years old today.
If my website was a child, it would be entering the first grade in September and, if it took after me in any way, would probably already need a training bra. Wacky!
I know it’s not an official internet-sanctioned Deleurking Day, but in honour of this special occasion could you please leave a comment and say hello? Think of it as a birthday present for my website.
I’ve been boring the pants off the internet for 6 whole years!
I’m having a crisis of glamour:
Is this a viable look for me? I’m having a very bad hair day and my headache dictates that I do not wear a hat unless I want to spend the day flinching at bright lights and sounds. I have a feeling I look like someone’s Ukranian grandmother – perhaps Ed’s – and I’m getting a complex about it.
Here is a side view:
Help!
The ONE TIME I could really USE some disposable underwear for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with menstruation or leftover semen, do you think I can find any? NO. I am beyond upset.
I am wearing a skirt today, and since it’s a light colour, I thought that perhaps wearing my usual goth panties might be a bad idea. I fished around in my underwear drawer and came up with a pair of plain white undies that had been shoved in the back. Excellent, I thought. These will go very nicely under my skirt and then everything will be super.
Well, things are not super. They’re not super at ALL. It didn’t dawn on me until after I had spent a good four minutes fiddling around under my skirt trying to hike up my wayward panties that perhaps there was an excellent reason this pair was hidden in the back of my drawer – namely, they are THE WORST UNDERWEAR KNOWN TO MAN. I can’t take three steps without having them fall down – I had to walk three blocks with my underwear bunched under my ass, my legs clenched tight lest they shimmy down to my ankles. Gravity has it in for me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I went to the drugs store looking for disposable panties so I could replace the cotton horror lurking under my skirt, but they were nowhere to be found. I am pretty much trapped in my work chair until I can go home – I’m deathly afraid of accidentally exposing my shame to all of Yuppie Town (where they frown on that sort of thing).
Oh, my angst!
I am not wholly convinced our new intern is not an axe murderer.
I’ve started this paragraph eight times.
I really wanted to review video games today – March brought a large number of new games to our house for a myriad of different consoles, and I have extremely important thoughts about them all that you are obviously on-the-edge-of-your-seat dying to read. I had solid intentions of reviewing some of these games today; in part because I have nothing else to say but also because I have valid opinions damnit and people ask my advice on video games all the time so why not share my thoughts with a captive audience.
However, it’s exceedingly difficult to form coherent thoughts about anything at all when you’re still stoned off the Benedryl you took before bed last night to try and clear up some of the wicked-sick allergies that have been plaguing your every waking second. I’m in a serious fog today, to the point where I was questioning my ability to drive into work this morning (nothing spoke to me on my way out of the house so I figured I was okay). Also, I’ve spelled my name wrong over the phone – forgotten how to log in to an application I use every single day – gave a client completely wrong instructions on how to do something extremely easy – and was at the counter at 7-11 handing over my money before I realized that I was about to buy salt and vinegar chips (I *hate* salt and vinegar chips). I am Not Right in the Head today. I am a danger to myself and others. Do not operate heavy machinery near me; I’m likely to fall inside of it and be ground to a pulp.
Here’s a word to the wise from me to you – taking Benedryl before bed but after you’ve done your weekly eyebrow grooming is NOT a good idea. I had nightmares. Nightmares about eyebrows. In my dreamed I over-groomed my brows and when I looked in the mirror I had removed then completely except for a thick bushy single-brow right between my eyes. It was scary! I had a Hitler moustache unibrow :(. No more plucking before bedtime for me.
Duuuuuuude. My hands are sooooo smalllllll.
My dress wearing may have been a little premature – it’s cold outside. It looked lovely and sunny when I woke up, but by the time I was ready to leave it had clouded over and the wind picked up. If I can see my breath, I shouldn’t see my ankles. I need to take that advice more often.
Yesterday there were Mystery Baby Clothes on our doorstep. A package was dropped off at our door, and because we frequently buy things online, we ripped it open without a second thought. Inside: two (very cute) sun suits for a tiny girl child aged 9 months and 12 months. One was checkered green with flowers, and the other checkered pink with cherries. They were adorable! Only problem: we have no tiny girl child, nor did we order tiny girl child or sun suits for said tiny girl child.
In a stunning display of hindsight, we looked at the address on the package. It was definitely for our suite, but neither Ed nor I lead a secret double life as a Mr. or Mrs. McKinnon. Also, we do not know anyone in Florida who would send us presents; nor does anyone named Jason live in our apartment. Well, shit – the package wasn’t for us at all. We thought about what to do, but eventually decided to Do the Right Thing and try to find the real killers owners. We called our landlord, who told us that the McKinnons lived in our suite two tenants ago, and that perhaps the building manager would know how to find him as they were friends. Ed trundled off to see Sleepy Scott, who did in fact know the McKinnons and would deliver the package with our apologies oh and also, the Jason in question is with the RCMP. EEK! Good thing we returned the package; I do not need the RCMP up in my (incredibly dull and ultimately very legal) business.
My allergies are owning my ass. It’s worse in the office because of all the dust, but the pollen outside is no picnic either. I’m okay with the sneezing, but the watery eyes are driving me nuts – they feel all raw and red because I keep dabbing at them to avoid tear running down my face. I’m not crying; I’m just happy to see you.
What’s the deal with bangs suddenly being in vogue? I’ve had bangs since I was 2. I was apparently ahead of the times.
Dear Universe:
I appreciate that you are going out of your way to provide me with incredibly bad customer service at every single opportunity – really, it’s very refreshing to be unable to get a straight answer out of anyone whatsoever, regardless of the company they work for. I love being stuck in limbo in four different places. It in no way is causing me untold amounts of rage and sneezing.
My UMPC is broken. I am trying desperately to get it fixed so I can tell you all the cool things it does and the wacky wireless adventures I have with it – but I can’t get it fixed. Samsung was absolutely no help; it took five phone calls, four support forms filled out, two bounced-back emails, and a desperate plea for assistance before I was able to get anywhere. Where’d I get? Well, I was given the direct contact information for the company Samsung uses for repairs. Great! They can tell me where to send my toy, and soon I will have it back as good as new!
Oh, how foolish and simple I was back then. I have made contact with the repair company – in fact, I’ve spoken to them once on the phone and four different people have emailed me to promise they’ll help. Hooray! Oh, but wait. The last communiqué came on March 15th, and there’s been nothing but radio silence since. I emailed a different person, the one I’d talked to on the phone – nothing. No answer. Was Texas swallowed by el chupacabra? Is there some sort of national holiday I am unaware of? I’m willing to pay to have my Q1B fixed. I have a US address that it can be shipped from and to. I’ll do whatever it takes – I just need someone to TALK to me. Too bad I ask for the out of the question! Hah on me!
I bought some clothes online. I received the shipment today, and something is missing from my order. Strange, because I didn’t get any kind of notice saying that something was backordered, nor did I receive a refund because the item is no longer available. I’m actually just guessing at the backorder thing, because there’s nothing in the box that indicates a backorder except for the item in question being highlighted in yellow on my packing slip. Wacky! Even though the website specifically says:
“If the delay is due to backorder, you will receive notice and be given the choice to remain on backorder, substitute to another item, or cancel your order. Prices and availability are subject to change prior to shipment. Should this occur, you will be notified by email or phone, and given the option to accept these changes or cancel the order.”
Oh, that so did not happen. I’d be fine with it, if I had been told – these things happen. Now I have to play email tag with the customer service department and find out why the hell I wasn’t told I wasn’t going to get my full order. This fucking sucks. I am tense and sneezing with rage.
For some bizarre reason, we have a great number of domains registered at RegisterFly.com. That is a bad thing, because the former boyfriends/co-owners are fighting and as a result there is fraud and investigations and the losing of ICANN status at the end of this month. Since I live with my head in a box, I’m just finding this out today and as such get the extreme delight of trying to transfer my domains off RegisterFly and onto GoDaddy. Dealing with either of these companies makes me want to cry and sneeze all over myself; dealing with them both at the same time is likely to make me suicidal and incontinent with sneezing.
Fuck.
I am having some sort of anxiety attack, and I don’t really know why. I don’t like it much; it feels like something is sitting on my chest and I have an incredible sense of doom lingering over me. There’s nothing wrong that I can think of; everything is pretty much where it ought to be and I have no major angst or marbles up in my business – so what gives? I am Freaking Out, Man. Perhaps my bad sleep last night is doing me more harm than I gave it credit for.
I keep thinking my weekend was largely uneventful, but in actuality a lot of things both happened and got done. On Friday night, a group of us went to check out some local arty things down by the railroad tracks with the intent of purchasing Astrosatchels. Shan wasn’t able to find what she was looking for, but Miranda and I found cool things and Ed bought a pouch for his office girlfriend. Afterwards, we all (Josh Shan Miranda Reilly Ed [who is lame and has no URL because he is from the 50’s] and I – I really need to come up with a short name for the collective) had dinner at ye Old Spaghetti Factory, participated in Operation: Lots of Bread, then hung out at M+R’s super hip and cool loft. It was a Very Good Time!
Saturday was all about being girlie. Shan and I braved Metrotown for a solid afternoon of shopping (we had coupons to redeem) while the boys did not very much at all. I made dinner for the four of us, then Shan and I kicked the boys out so we could a) do facials, b) eat brownies, and c) watch Bring It On. Hah! I hadn’t done any of those things in a long time, and it was a lot of fun. The boys must have been having a good time too, because Ed didn’t come home until almost 4am – I think he and Josh watched every video on YouTube, which I am very glad to not have been a part of.
Sunday was absolutely gorgeous outside, but we didn’t experience much of it because I am mean. I finally cracked the whip, and Ed and I spent most of Sunday afternoon at the Laundromat doing 5 loads of laundry – only HALF of the massive pile o’ clothes that has taken over our apartment. Having clean clothes once again makes me feel a lot better about our apartment, and once we finish the second (5th through 10th) load I’ll be even happier. I made Ed swear on a stack of game manuals that we will never, ever let the laundry get that bad ever again. On the upside though, we discovered that the ‘mat we use doesn’t charge for Drop-Off Service – you only pay the machine cost of your laundry. Hah! I think we’ll be cheating tonight, since the two large garbage bags of dirty things are nothing more than towels and sheets. I don’t really feel comfortable having strangers pawing through my unmentionables, but they can feel free to browse through my mystery stains. Sucks to be them!
My Sunday was nowhere near as eventful as Doug and Ali’s though, since they officially welcomed River to the planet – congrats, guys! Way to have a baby!
I scooted to the office today, and I think I’m going to go for a ride. I really want to shake off these heebies. Anxiety attacks suck.
I need a new wok.
I don’t have any sort of wacky backstory or long-winded prose about my need for a new wok; I just need a new wok because my old one is falling apart.
I just couldn’t resist making a post with the title “wok this way”, though – and now I have it stuck in my head. Hopefully, you do as well.
it started with a little kiss
like this
There’s a hair somewhere on my nose/eye/glasses and I can’t find it. The tickling is driving me mad.
I just thought you’d like to know.
I am tired of being in exile.
Ed’s been just this side of dying ill since Monday, so to give him a break and to keep myself from flying into rages when he snores I’ve been sleeping in the spare room. At first it was fun – sort of like camping, and I always love having a bed to myself – but as the days wore on, it became less exciting and more of a hassle than anything else. I miss my bed. I miss my alarm clock. I miss not sleeping directly above the entrance to our apartment building, and not hearing the comings and goings of my neighbours. I don’t need or want to hear Drunk Betty and her companion, Admiral Ackbar, coming home tanked at 3am and stumbling around as they try to figure out how to open the front door. I love me some fresh air, but I also love me some not waking up at 6am with full rigor mortis because the temperature dropped and my blankets fell on the floor. I even almost – but not quite – miss Ed’s flailing elbows to the face. The day he got sick we went and bought new sheets – these crazy deep pocketed 650 thread count Egyptian cotton things made by Isis herself, and I haven’t been able to sleep on them yet and now they’re all germy! It is unfair. I want my bed back. Ed promises tonight is the last night of my exile, but I am unsure – he was still looking and sounding pretty retched when he left for work this morning.
Maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong. I should just make the best of it and turn the spare room into MY bedroom – this whole notion of married couples needing to share bedspace is archaic and painful, what with the elbows and all. If I got rid of the crap in the room that I don’t necessarily want to share space with – say, Ed’s snowboarding equipment and the FUCKING CAR TIRES THAT ARE SO WHITE TRASH HOLY CRAP I HATE THEM – I could make the spare room my own personal boudoir for sexy times. I’m an only child; I just don’t get the idea of needing to share. I want my own bedroom!
There are a thousand reasons why having my own bedroom is an excellent idea, but I think I will resist the urge to redecorate with silk scarves and posters torn from Teen Beet for the time being because I know once I got settled, I’d be damned if I’d go back and Ed would probably start to pout after a while, or just get far too used to farting when and wherever he saw fit.
I am equally fascinated and horrified by these. I want a pair in every colour. Finally, my dream of being a Solid Gold Dancer is close to reality!
delicious juice dot com 