Monthly Archives: May 2007

better bring a towel

Posted in relationship drama by

Things today is:

  • a Thursday
  • payday
  • the day I got to work looking like I’d blown a polar bear, thanks to all the dandelion fluff in the air
  • World No Tobacco Day
  • the 123rd anniversary of the patent of Corn Flakes
  • 22 years since the day methylenedioxymethamphetamine became a Schedule I drug
  • the day Godiva rode naked on a horse through the streets of Coventry to protest taxes
  • the 151st day of the year
  • the 17th anniversary of the premiere of Seinfeld
  • 10 days until World Naked Bike Ride Day
  • Ed’s 31st birthday

Happy birthday, Ed! You are cool and stuff! Since you are turning 31 on the 31st, today is your Golden Birthday – here’s hoping you receive many golden showers on your special day!

i have a coke problem

Posted in everyday kimli by

I am difficult to understand:

Kimli: can I get a 2 hamburger combo to go please?
McMary: ok you want Coke with that
Kimli: diet coke please – actually, no, could I just have a big cup full of ice instead?
McMary: ok coke with lots of ice
Kimli: no, no coke – just a cup, with ice in it
McMary: but what you want in ice
Kimli: nothing, just the ice
McMary: so you don’t want combo?
Kimli: I guess not; I don’t need the drink – but can I have a cup with ice in it?
McMary: but combo is cheaper, you want coke to drink?
Kimli: can I have a combo but instead of a drink, just get ice?
McMary: what you want with ice? Coke?
Kimli: *tears*
McManager: here, just take a bottle of water and I’ll give you a big cup of ice
Kimli: THANK YOU
McMary: *calling to drink person* I need a coke please
Kimli: *runs away*

back scratch fever

Posted in everyday kimli by

Ed’s birthday is tomorrow, but more importantly, my birthday is in 20 days. While I have vaguely hinted at some things I might like to be showered with (pugs, nerd toys, ostentatious jewellery, adoration, sticky love juices), what I *really* want is rather simple: backscratchers. Lots and lots of backscratchers. Do they make collapsible or portable ones? I need ‘em. I am itchy, and I can’t take it much more.

Since the accident that landed me in the hospital (as opposed to my other accidents which usually don’t require a ride in an ambulance), I have reduced mobility in my right arm. It doesn’t hurt anymore (except when I stretch really hard), but I can’t bend in certain ways – for example, I can’t scratch my back anymore. Naturally, my back itchiness has increased a thousand fold – I am pretty much constantly itchy up in my spinal bidness. We have a backscratcher at home, but I can never find it when I need it. At work I have disposable chopsticks on my desk that I use for the sole purpose of back scratching, because it’s either that or ask creepy people to touch me. Obviously I do not want that, so I make do with whatever I can – chopsticks, pens, the wall, particularly pointy-looking people I see on the street – nothing really helps except a good hard pounding with a real backscratcher.

I have no idea where we got the one we have, though. Where do you get backscratchers? I don’t recall ever seeing and thinking “hmm, I could really use a backscratcher; perhaps I shall buy this one” and you generally don’t see people saying “GODDAMN I NEED A BACKSCRATCHER RIGHT NOW” (except for in this post) – so where do they come from? I’m itchy.

For Ed’s birthday tomorrow, we’re gathering the North Shore Hipster Squad plus some Special Guests and going to the Memphis Blues BBQ House. Everyone is very excited at the idea of lots and lots of MEAT, but I am a little apprehensive because dang – that is a lot of meat. I’ve been perusing the menu in preparation, and am overwhelmed by the sheer meatiness of it all. I had to look some things up, because I am just not that familiar with all the edible parts an animal has – but luckily, Wikipedia has once again stepped up to the plate:

I think I’ll have a salad for lunch.

now i see what you see

Posted in vroom vroom by

People often complain about the drivers in Vancouver. Most of the time I ignore the complaints because a) what can I do about it, b) I’ve seen some stupid shit but just chalk it up to everyone who is not me sucking, and c) okay already, we get it. Today, however – well, if everyone regularly sees the shit I encountered on my lunch hour today, I take back and apologize for my eye-rolling because HOLY CRAP WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH YOU PEOPLE OUT THERE ON THE ROADS???

It is completely unnecessary for you to drive less than 20km/h down Robson when there is no traffic in front of you. I don’t care how lost you are; pull the fuck over if you need to find an address. You say you aren’t lost but are just checking out the scene and trying to be seen? a) you look like a fucking tool; b) you’re driving an un-pimped Mazda 3 that no one will look twice at, c) HURRY THE FUCK UP ALREADY AND GET OUT OF MY WAY.

Why do you hate scooters? Do you really think people will think you are super awesome if you swerve around me in disgust, almost clipping me with your awesome Porsche or your awesome Pontiac Sunbird? I’m almost glad you have no idea how much I laugh at you when I catch up and/or pass you further up the block, because I’m sure knowing that would cause your already small genitals to shrink up even further.

You, lady. In the green car. Stop checking your makeup and reading whatever it is you have on the seat beside you, and oh I don’t know, drive your fucking car. I shouldn’t have to honk at you TWICE to get you moving, just as you shouldn’t stop at a green light to check your makeup or read whatever it is you have on the seat beside you.

This one is my favourite: hey, blondie in the red Golf – I am surprised but delighted that you have been able to make it so far in this world with your four arms, given that physical defects of that nature are usually dealt with at birth. While it may be difficult for you to buy shirts that fit or avoid the stares and screams as you walk down the street, I am very happy for you’ve managed to find a niche for yourself behind, of all places, the wheel of your car. Those four arms are great – it enables you to talk on your cell phone, smoke a cigarette, shift gears, and still hold the steering wheel for safety and common sense purposes. I tip my helmet off to you, blondie with the four arms in the red Golf – your “can do!” attitude and multitasking skills you display while driving surely put my own two arms to shame.

perilous kimli redux

Posted in broken kimli by

From the carrier of such messenger bags as “Internet Superstar” and “Intergalactic Space Hussy” comes the latest in disturbingly truthful accessories:

Heee. The numbers are attached with double-sided tape and behind a removable pocket of PVC, and there’s a pouch with additional numbers in the bag so I may always be up-to-date in my accidental ways – it has, in fact, been 29 days since I last found down. I unveiled the bag last night to much appreciation, although so far today all I’ve gotten is a blank stare of incomprehension from the yuppie standing behind me in Capers with her box of organic wheat-nut crackers and soy juice. I love my new bag. It tickles me in many fantastic ways.

This does bring up a valid question, though – what constitutes a true accident in my world? It’s not black or white at all; it’s a grey area muddled with contusions and viral strains of Manhattan-style herpes. Drawing from chapters of my own life, I’ve devised a guide of sorts – a scale for keeping track of Perilous Kimli.

1: the paper cut I gave myself on my lower lip in the car last weekend while flailing about with the ferry receipt in my hand
2: that time I gave myself a chemical burn on my left nipple
3: when I tripped on nothing and fell in Seattle after breakfast, or that one time I did the same thing in Calgary
4: tripping on beer bottles in the apartment because my backpack shifted my center of gravity

—– not an accident —–

—– definitely an accident —–

5: any of my numerous burn scars because I never did learn that the stove is hot
6: cutting my finger open on pizza sauce
7: the Very Special Burn on my left nipple
8: that time last month I found down and almost broke my camera and gave myself massive bruises to add to my other massive bruises from the accident I had three weeks prior
9: poking myself in the eyeball, causing a subconjunctival hemorrhage and being sure I was dying of eyeball herpes
10: getting a stress fracture in my right foot, and during the course of healing it, causing a new stress fracture to form in my left foot
11: taking a header on Sally and dislocating my shoulder
12: re-dislocating the same shoulder three days later

The first items on the list are minor and/or not a) leaving marks, or b) requiring a hospital/doctor visit. Below the break point are injuries that either left a mark, required a doctor, or are just so insane – see numbers 6, 7 and 10 – that they have an epic back story and will be told to my friend’s children for generations to come as an example of why they ought to stay in school and graduate.

Hopefully this list will help the average Joe determine what is and is not considered an accident in the Perilous World of Kimli.

I am either amused or scared that it was way, way too easy for me to come up with 12 separate incidents with which I could build the scale.

that looks uncomfortable

Posted in i'm an astronaut, vroom vroom by

Outside smells like bacon, and I am ravenous. Our office is right across the street from a White Spot, and I guess they are having a bacon party to which we are not invited. I am sad. Sad and hungry. Surely somewhere out there, there is bacon for me.

If I were to have one complaint about my otherwise incredible, awesome, appreciated, excellent, marvelous scooter parking spot at the new Space Station, it would be this: it is awkward to retrieve my scooter at the end of the day. See, the bottom floor of our building is owned by a yoga studio. Every day at 5 when I stroll out to fetch Sally, there is a class deep in the middle of their daily yoga workout. Since the wall that I walk past and park Sally in front of is in fact a window, I have to try very hard to avoid looking the 30 or so sweaty crotches square in the eye as I do my thing. It is awkward. The yoga studio practices “hot yoga” meaning the heat is cranked and people are wearing very little. Far be it from me to ever complain about sweaty crotches, but there are so very many of them – YOU try not feeling funny when there are two dozen half fishes staring into your soul. Go on, try it. I’ll wait.

Yesterday I saw a car with “District Attorney” emblazoned across the side, and I laughed to myself – seriously, who drives a car with their job title splashed across it? Then it dawned on me that my business card does in fact say “Internet Superstar” on it, and so does my messenger bag – while it’s not on my car, it’s still a form of advertising. I officially take back my laugh, since I’m guilty of exactly the same thing. Still, I’d much rather advertise myself or some excellent form of irony instead of a brand name. I can’t remember the last time I wore an obvious brand name. I am not a human billboard, no matter how big my ass is.

I got a new messenger bag this week, but I can’t show it yet because it is not ready. Soon, though – perhaps tonight. It is truly excellent, and the hilarity will stretch long and wide – pretty much exactly like this.

I was trying to find a title for this post when I stumbled upon the Naked Yoga wiki entry. Normally I would suggest that you not try it at home, but if the option is trying it in public, then PLEASE try it in the privacy of your own home and not in my general area because wow.