Today is apparently Celebrate Bisexuality Day! Hooray!

I never did get a birthday cake; surely I deserve a cake on Celebrate Bisexuality Day.

It’s a glorious day to swing both ways!

Without Ed and his law-laying prowess, I was powerless to stop the onslaught of  horrible wet pointy beasts last night. I’m already not feeling so hot, I did something terrible to my left foot at some point this weekend, and I didn’t sleep longer than 30 minute stretches last night thanks to the evil, rotten beasts all up in my business. I am exhausted, and I look terrible. I am unkempt, frumpy, speckled and cranky. None of those are good things.

I had an excellent yesterday though, which almost makes up for my appalling lack of beauty sleep. After a delicious breakfast at Stella’s on Commercial, Josh and his harem of sexy ladies went to the Retro Flea Market at the Croatian Cultural Center. The women folk picked up some cool things – my share included four little green and orange ceramic basket things that are cute and confusing as I have no idea what I’ll use them for, and an awesome vintage typewriter in a suitcase for $15 – while Josh looked at cameras and took many pictures. I also finally got the ring appraised. Verdict: It’s real; would probably sell for $700 new but as it is now (with scratches and slightly beat up) would get $250-350. It’s not the highest quality piece of jewellery but it’s definitely not costume, and I was recommended to just enjoy it – which I shall. It’s pretty, it fits me, and it has a good backstory. Also, found treasure. What’s not to love?

Most of the surprisingly beautiful Sunday was spent outside Doing Things, but by 6pm I was worn out and more than ready to turn in. I spent the evening on the couch with cats and cookies, then turned in to get no sleep at all and also await Ed’s return. He should be back early this evening. Hooray!

You should look at my Friday night pictures.

Here is a picture of a kitten to motivate you:

Last night I threw off the shackles of boredom and did a bunch of things that were totally out of character for me: I ate a steak at 10pm, I did something technically foolish, and I willingly paid a cover to go to a bar at midnight.

Most of the gang had gone to a fringe show on Granville Island, and while I wasn’t really feeling up to that (plus a play is just a live movie, and we all know how I feel about movies), I was still bored out of my ass and leapt at the chance to join them afterwards at the Keg. I hopped on my scooter just after 9pm and made my way there before their meals were served. I hadn’t planned on eating, but the smell of meat soon overwhelmed me and I found myself ordering a steak. It was almost 10 by the time it arrived, but I wolfed it down anyways – I was evidently hungry, and it was very tasty. We sat around for a while talking, then spilled out into the glorious night.

It was overcast but extremely warm outside, and I was just itching to take some pictures. Being on Granville Island at 11pm is something I’ve never done before and wouldn’t really have any reason to suggest to Ed, so I took advantage of my singlehood by (in addition to flirting with boys via SMS) deciding that I would stay outside and Do Things. The group split up at this point – Tanya went home, Reilly and Miranda dropped a still scooterless Shan off somewhere then turned in for the evening, while Josh, Darren and I stood around thinking of things to do. Normally Josh would be up for picture taking, but he didn’t actually have his camera on him – I was alone for this one. The boys needed more beer, so Darren took a cab home while Josh followed him on the Ruckus and a plan was made – we were to meet up at the Railway Club downtown.

In the meantime though, I was on my own on this gorgeous night with no plans and no one to answer to. On my way out the door I grabbed my tripod at the last second to act as a weapon should I need to beat someone’s head in – but since I was here, I might as well take some photos. I’m sure this isn’t the safest thing I could have done, but I spent close to an hour and a half walking around the bowels of Granville Island by myself in the dark, taking pictures. It was eerie and deserted and beautiful. I loved it. It’s not really something I could do under normal circumstances, because Ed and I seem to act as a mutual wet blanket sometimes – I can’t really explain it, but had Ed been home chances are highly likely we would have passed on one or all parts of last night – the Keg, picture taking, and the bar. I certainly wouldn’t have been on my own to wander around, and I wouldn’t have wanted Ed to have to accompany me just for the sake of my not being jumped and stabbed under the crane – being single for the night was the only way this could have been successfully pulled off and I chose to make the most of it.

Just after midnight, I started to be a little spooked by my own lack of common sense and I packed things up. I was still supposed to meet Josh and Darren at the bar, but was going to skip it until I scooted downtown – it was still really nice out, I didn’t have anything better to do, and hey – let’s go to the bar. I parked Oscar across the street from the Railway Club, paid the $10 cover to get in, and stood around looking absolutely shell shocked until Josh came to find me. I don’t do bars, you see, and being in a large place packed with sweaty drunk strangers kind of freaked me out. Luckily J and D were in a relatively people-free corner, so we sat and they drank and there were pirates and punk rockers and old people and it was a good time. Darts were played, sort of, and I ruined everything for everyone by getting a bull’s eye somehow.

Around 2am I decided it would be best if I were getting home, so I waved goodbye and hopped on Oscar. The boys were still going strong – I think they ended up at another bar, and there were shenanigans – but I was home by 2:15, in bed by 3, and lights out at 4. Sure, I didn’t get much sleep what with the four cats fighting on top of me and alternating who got to drool in my face for love, but I’m still content.

It’s a rainy horrible Saturday, but I have nowhere I need to be, a cupboard full of Diet Coke, a cat eating my pizza pop remains off my plate, and a kitten sleeping on my shoulder. It is good. There are plans for tomorrow that will keep me distracted from the whole “anniversary minus the husband” thing, I still have a lot of Diet Coke, I’m feeling much better, and I got some great pictures last night. I like being me.

Good news: the bottle of olive oil didn’t break when it fell on the kitchen floor

Bad news: the lid flew off mid-tumble

I have a big mess to clean up now.

Yesterday’s sniffles and sore throat blossomed into something much nastier last night. We had to do groceries for Ed’s upcoming road trip, and I must have looked just awesome – a sniffling, dripping mess who could barely stand up and was seriously thinking about throwing up in the canned fruit aisle. I made it home and collapsed into bed, and many hours later I am still here. I would probably feel better if Lemon wasn’t trying so desperately hard to make sweet love to my MacBook, but we will both live.

Ed is on his way to Edmonton. He planned to leave this morning around 4am, but that was some mighty wishful thinking – he was on the road by 7, which is still plenty early. As of 10am he was in Kamloops. He should make fairly good time there, since I’m not in the car – I tend to have to pee every 100km or so.

So, I’m home alone and sick and bored. Bill Kurtis is on my TV telling me about American Justice, Lemon is pissing me off because I’m cranky and don’t WANT to be bitten, and there is no one to fuss over me and make me feel better. There’s really only one thing to do: read Cosmopolitan. That’ll help, right? I can learn such life-changing things like:

• 15 date ideas he’ll be into
• How long guys want sex to last
• His Body: the non-verbal clues that let you read his mind!
• How to be just bitchy enough
• Outrageous things chicks do in bed – like the crazy hot firestarter technique

Oh yeah. I’ll be feeling better in NO time, and will be a sexual dynamo to boot! Thank you, Cosmopolitan magazine!

My thighs hurt. Sating the appetites of more than a dozen people is hard work.

So, a long time ago I wrote this post about my adventures in modeling school. In the post I mentioned that there were pictures, which seemed to generate a little excitement and offers of money (which has yet to materialize – c’mon, people). In the spirit of having no shame, I will share these horrible pictures with you.

Sort of.

In the original post, I mentioned the “product shot” images that were taken. When I went looking for them the other night, they were nowhere to be found. I did, however, find a small strip of two OTHER images taken on July 16 1986, according to the handwriting on the back – a head shot and a full body shot to see if I had any potential as a model.

I’m sure you can imagine how well this all went over with me.

Nonetheless, I give to you: Kimli the 12 year old supermodel!

strike a pose!

Check out the awesome Gowan hair and the highly stylish lab coat. I would also like you to please note the jeans I am wearing – I distinctly remember those jeans; they were a light acid wash with big pink and green flowers all over them in an equally acid washed print. They were awesome. The floppy shirt I’m wearing under my lab coat was a dark blue, if I remember correctly. The mullet is not really a mullet but a result of wearing a baseball cap at all other times and then a vigorous pre-photo brushing, giving me that awesome fluffy helmet that I’m sure will make a fashion comeback any day now. On my feet: Reebok high-tops, with velcro. I think they were pink. All of this on a 12 year old tomboy who’s only concern at the time was the upcoming release of the Transformers movie. It was totally awesome, and in no way scarring and humiliating.

This picture was taken before it was decided that perhaps I would be better suited for hair shows. I don’t think I have any pictures from that time frame, but there were a great many perms that did a lot of damage to my previously bone-straight Asian hair. You can see the progression in the rest of my school photos – my hair is straight straight straight straight holy hell what happened to you.

As soon as I find the other modeling pictures, I promise I will scan them – you’ll just have to do with these ones for now.

So hot.

I miss my dad.

Love you, dad.

I am sad, damnit.

Tomorrow is the Deathiversary, and I am suffering from a severe case of premature ejaculation sadness. Compounding matters is the guilt. I have guilt. Have I mentioned my guilt?

I feel guilty for being sad. Half of me spends the entire time I’m sad thinking “dude it’s been three years, get over it” – and the other half of me is incredulous at my own insensitivity, thinking “dude your dad died and it’s only been three years, you can be sad as you want for as long as you want” and then there’s another part of me thinking “I want some Diet Coke”.

It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. There is no statute of limitations on grief, and I loved my dad and it sucks that he’s gone. It’s been three years – somehow that seems like an eternity, but some days it feels like it was last week.

I had the first two deathiversaries off, so I could wallow around in my own sadness. Tomorrow I have no such luxury, and I’m wondering how it’s all going to play out.

Then there’s the guilt for the whole “going to New York when my dad was sick because my mom insisted that’s what he would want and then his taking a severe turn for the worse while I was 3000 miles away and making it back to Victoria literally half an hour before he died meaning I never got to hear his voice or know that he heard me telling him I loved him” thing, which is a whole other epic spell in a therapist’s chair.

Yeah, today is full up with the sad.

And yet, I feel bad for feeling sad.

I am not so smart.