I don’t ski or snowboard or do anything that requires me to voluntarily be wet and cold, but even I hate the bastards getting off the Seabus at 8am with all their gear. Why should they get to have fun frolicking on a mountaintop while I am at work wrestling with routers (literally; I fight under the name El Gato sin Pantalones)? I call shenanigans on them, the lousy slackers.

I am amused to find myself slightly obsessed with tulle. After all, tulle played a large part in the saga of my wedding dress woes – there was frankly too much of it, and my mind broke. At the time, I never wanted to see tulle again. Fast forward to today – I want tulle. Lots of it. I want a series of increasingly fluffy skirts, each with many layers of tulle in fabulous colours. I am well aware of my own home ec shortcomings and inexplicable fear of my sewing machine, but I really think I could make myself a tulle skirt very easily. I am tempted to try, and I bet I could convince Miranda to be my partner in crime as she knows her way around both the fabric store and a sewing machine. This could happen. It could be glorious, in a way probably only I can truly appreciate.

Last night I did some thinking about my recovered wallet and the bizarre shit filed under “things that only happen to Kimli” that came with it. The money that was in my wallet was long gone, which was entirely expected. What wasn’t expected was the fact that my prescription was also missing. I got everything back (and promptly cut up all the credit cards), but my refill for crazy pills wasn’t there. I’ve already replaced the prescription and am basking in my chemically induced sanity, but that’s weird. Who takes a prescription in someone else’s name? It’s not like you can fill it or get high off it or anything.

Along that line of thought, who admits to taking the cash in the wallet, takes the small reward you offered (after initially refusing it), then calls you up after you leave to attempt to extort more money out of you?

That guy, apparently. Watch out for him.