Monthly Archives: April 2007

this is not mine so i think i will touch it

Posted in everyday kimli, vroom vroom by

My new bruises are truly quite spectacular. The right side of my body is going to up and leave any day now – there are scars and trauma all over the place, not to mention my dislocation-happy shoulder. When I fall, I tend to land on that side. I really ought to stop doing that.

It was the stupidest thing, too.  The four of us went for an epic bike ride on Saturday, going from our place on the North Shore, around Stanley Park, along Coal Harbour, then onto the Sea Turtle back home. I didn’t fall off my bike – instead, I tripped over a curb and went SPLAT on a sidewalk. It hurt like hell, but I was more afraid that I had broken my camera since I landed on top of it like the superstar I am. It was pretty fucked up, but Josh was able to fix it and it seems to be working fine. Just another typical day in the life – stupid accidents, more bruises, and another notch on the bedpost of wtf.

The weekend wasn’t all fun and gravity, though. Yesterday Ed and I discovered a) ANTS, and b) someone had knocked or tipped Sally over in the night and badly fucked up her right panel and exhaust cover, both of which had been replaced last year thanks to the geezer who knocked her over in front of our apartment building. Sally is all scratched to hell, and I am not amused. I took a ride yesterday afternoon and noticed that my mirror had been moved, but I just figured that someone was sitting on her again. I’m not quite sure why, but everyone in my neighbourhood seems to think it’s A-OK to sit on my scooter whenever the hell they feel like it. The grubby children across the street, the idiots upstairs, the drunken yahoos from down the street and the whores they associate with – all of them have taken it upon themselves to park their asses on my scooter like it was no big deal. I fucking *hate* it when people touch my stuff. Seriously, would you sit on someone’s motorcycle to see what it was like? Open up their car and sit in the driver’s seat? Pick up the back of their truck to see how heavy it is? Why the fuck do you think it’s okay to do it to a scooter? I hate people. Finding out that Sally was knocked over did explain why I found the kickstand on TOP of a half-empty beer can, but doesn’t do much to soothe my rage.

I rode in to work today because I didn’t want to leave the scooter at home for people to fuck with. I guess I’ve officially overcome my hesitation at riding again – now I ride, and I ride with rage. Are you me? No? Then DON’T TOUCH MY SCOOTER!

Grrrr!

let me show you my pokemans

Posted in everyday kimli by

It was a very productive weekend.

Number of:

  • kilometers cycled: 22.6
  • pieces of sushi eaten: too many
  • times down was found: once
  • new bruises: 3
  • pokemans caught: 88
  • long-lost friends Ed reconnected with: 1
  • people who are not me who sat on my scooter: too fucking many
  • sunburned boobies: 2

I really need to stop falling down.

failure

Posted in relationship drama by

I am a failure as a woman.

There’s something decidedly pathetic about asking your husband to leave work an hour early on a Friday afternoon for a triple X throw down, only to have him say no.

Ow, my ego.

Update: Not only does he not leave work early, he works late, “forgets” to tell me, and has no idea why I’m so upset. Asshole, I was basically asking you to come home and fuck me (go on, you try being actually horny for once when you’re on anti-depressants) and instead a) you turn me down, b) you stay at work late, c) you don’t bother telling me you’re working late, d) I am not as sexually exciting as premium fucking finance, and e) we fucking fought about this LAST week.

Wow.

You’re cut off for, like, forever.

helter shelter

Posted in everyday kimli, medical anomaly, nerd by

I have sympathetic nipples.

I don’t claim to be even remotely close to understanding what Ali is going through as a new mother, but for the last week or so my nipples have been incredibly, annoyingly sore. They’re so tender my bra hurts, and even my normally inoffensive blanket can irritate my nipples into grumpiness for hours as I toss and turn instead of falling asleep. I have sore nipples! Send in the reinforcements before my unruly vagina hears of trouble in the north and starts planning for war!

NOTE: The preceding paragraph contained Too Much Information – if you are offended by frank talk of primary and secondary sexual characteristics, please do not read the previous portion of this entry.

I am debating sending Ed a series of alarming text messages along the lines of “job finished – did you want me to dispose of her head or keep it for operation: human soup?” or maybe “I can cut you a deal on orders of 5 kilos or more, but anything less you pay street price” or OOH maybe “the girls are here, did you want the blonde or the asian? Only one will do anal – guess which one!”.

I broke Ed’s cell phone earlier this week in a fit of rage – he hit a bump in the road, and the open cup of water I had been drinking sloshed all over the place and soaked his phone. For some reason, it no longer works. He took it to the store and shipped it off to Repair Land, and got a loaner phone to use in the meantime. We had some fun going through the text messages received by the previous phone users – someone got dumped, someone was invited to a party, someone tried to buy weed, and our personal favourite, someone couldn’t do anything because they were too high as they had been doing coke since 11pm last night. I almost feel as if it is our duty to fill the phone with exciting content for the next loanee – after all, what fun is voyeurism if there’s no scandal?

Every once in a while I am reminded just how sheltered I really am. I’m amused and partially scandalized that someone I don’t know does cocaine, even though it’s probably far more common than I could know. The strongest drug in my world is Tylenol 3, and I don’t know anyone who does anything more than the occasional pot – it’s just not an issue around here. I’ve been mildly curious about other drugs, but I’d never actually do any of them because a) that would be stupid, b) I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea where I’d get any, and c) laziest girl ever. I’m content with my other addictions – video games, diet coke, hurting myself in stupid ways. Besides, I’m a winner and, as I’ve heard, winners don’t do drugs.

I just sent Ed a text message: Mike, you SWORE I’d never catch you in bed with my brother again – we’re through, you sick bastard.

Small amusements, people.

too tired for titles

Posted in everyday kimli, i'm an astronaut by

I’m recovering from night number two on melatonin, and I don’t know that I much like it. I find that I absolutely cannot wake up in the morning – I sleep through two alarms and Ed hollering, stirring only because I have to pee. I’m going to give it one more try tonight, this time not doing that thing I do – you know, take the pill then fight off the sleepiness so I can keep playing video games – and see what happens. It’s always an adventure with me, as long as you consider dozing off at your desk and drooling into your ample cleavage a fun time that can’t be beat.

Much to my horror, today I am one of those people. Technically, I *know* why sometimes women will wear nice suits or dresses with hideous running shoes – it’s not for the irony, it’s for the comfort. Still, knowing that does little to keep me from shuddering with revulsion. It’s UGLY. It’s more than ugly, it’s deplorable. It always looks like they’ve gone out of their way to pair the ugliest, off-colouriest shoes and fluffy sport socks possible with their outfit, and it always makes them look short and stumpy even if they’re not. I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen black or navy tights paired with white Reebok trainers from 1983 – so, so awful. Comfort be damned – there’s wanting to be comfortable yet still passably human, then there’s just plain wrong. Today, I am walking that fine line between comfort and wrong. I don’t own white sneakers of any kind, nor do I own tights or nylons, so I’m bare-legged in a fancy pinstriped skirt with Crocs. I have an “appointment” later today that I have to walk to, but my “wear with skirt” shoes render me cripple – so I will walk to the “appointment” in my Crocs, and change into other shoes in the building lobby. Yes, I’m hideous. I get extra points for acknowledging it though, don’t I?

Here is me, as drawn by some guy:

The Space Station VP decided we would all have our picture drawn by a friend of his to put on our corporate website. This one is mine. I like it – I make a sexy cartoon. I don’t know the artist’s name, but he makes a fat girl look good.

Say, who wants to go clean my apartment?

not so smart

Posted in everyday kimli by

My labret stud is made of plastic or acrylic. This is good because it weighs less than steel and is soft, so the potential for damaging gums and teeth is lessened. However, this is BAD because I cannot have plastic in my mouth without chewing on it. I have successfully bitten THROUGH the labret stud, and now have a pokey thing in my mouth with no way to reattach it. None of the downtown piercing shops are open yet, so I am sitting here and not moving my mouth at all or the stud will fall out and that would suck. I am dumb. How dumb, you ask? Read on:

Last week we stocked up on delicious pastas courtesy of the Italian supermarket. One of the things we bought was some lobster and crab ravioli, because seafood is awesome and pasta is awesome and the two together can be nothing less than double awesome. It was decided that Tuesday night would be seafood pasta night, so I did some thinking as to what sort of sauce would best compliment our fancy raviolis. We eat all our pastas with an assortment of tomato sauces, so it was decided that perhaps an alfredo sauce would be interesting to try. I went out and bought some different cream sauces, set about making some dinner, and greatly anticipated an explosion of flavour.

It wasn’t until AFTER dinner was on the table and I was surprisingly unenthusiastic about it all that I remembered that I *hate* alfredo sauce – in fact, cream sauces of any kind tend to make me retch. I couldn’t eat my dinner at all. Ed seemed to enjoy it, but that was of little comfort to me and my empty bellies.

I am not as smart as I would like to think.

I am thinking about using Scotch Tape to hold my piercing in.

can’t sleep, clown’ll eat me

Posted in everyday kimli by

Because my life wasn’t complicated enough, I now have a Sleep Complex.

Regardless of how tired I am when I go to bed, I can’t fall asleep. Ed snores, and I can’t make him stop – so we’re trying out a new plan in which I “get” to fall asleep before he does. The theory is that once I’m asleep he can snore all he wants and it won’t bother me, because I’m a viking. Seems like a sensible plan, except for all the pressure.

I can’t fall asleep. I’m so busy worrying that I HAVE to fall asleep or I won’t at all that I work myself into a frenzy, and I can’t relax. Ed falls asleep before I do, and once he starts to snore it’s game over – I can’t sleep, so now I’m anxious AND wide awake, not to mention irrationally pissy because he won’t stop snoring. The night before last I gave up and went into the spare room, and last night I would have done the same except I took some Benedryl before bed so I passed out before I could get up and gather my blankets. It sucks. I’m tired, I know I need to sleep, I know Ed will snore, and I know that I absolutely cannot sleep while he’s merrily horking away – and yet, the anxiety. I’m groggy from lack of sleep, and I’m a little worried that my newfound complex is going to spread. I’ve already discovered that having Hobble on my legs while I’m trying to sleep freaks me out and makes me twitch, regardless of how much I like having him there. Once I’m out, fine – lay on my face, for all I care. If I’m not asleep though, his presence gives me wiggins and I can actually feel the panic rising in my chest. I don’t want to rely on even more drugs to make me fall asleep, so I think I’m going to have to camp out in the spare room for a few nights even if just to catch up on the sleep I’m missing because of these damn anxiety attacks.

Over the weekend I was asked to take this online logic test. I like logic and I like online, so I thought HEY this would be a super breeze possibly scented like lilacs. It may surprise some of you to know that I *can* be logical – usually irrational, but often logical. I’m good at figuring things out, which lends to my awesome but unfortunate troubleshooting skills and my delight of sleuthing ala Nancy Drew. Armed with supreme confidence in my abilities, I set out to wow the e-pants off this online logic test.

Oh, but how I got served.

First of all, there was math. Not difficult math by any stretch, but definitely math. The “logic” part of the test was not at all logical – there was replacing and swapping and confusing language all up in my bidness. I can’t even really explain it, so here: a screenshot for you.

(image removed by request)

I’m sure there are some math geniuses among my seven readers, but by the time I got to this question – the 4th of 11 in an increasingly more “logical” pattern – my head was spinning and I’m pretty sure I was speaking in tongues. I pretty much flubbed the entire thing – I’ll be shocked if even one of the answers I came up with were remotely in area of being even slightly correct. In fact, for this particular question, I couldn’t make sense of it at all – I didn’t answer it. I hate it. Stupid test that makes me doubt my awesome, you are mean.

I’m tired and my shoulder hurts.