My plan to take over the world one interview at a time, is slowly coming to fruition – I am this week’s Geek Speak over at the Straight. Stephen interviewed me last Friday, and the article hit the e-waves today:

please take me seriously as a professional

We did the interview over the phone, and my answers are pretty much word for word. It is embarrassing to see how I often I say “you know?”, which is apparently my version of “like” or “ummm”. At least, it should be – in my head, I’m just being polite and asking if the reader/listener is, in fact, knowing of what I am speaking. I can’t help it. I’m a trainer; I have an ingrained need to make sure people understand the point I am trying to get across.

Or it could just be that I am a very  bad speaker in general.

Still, hooray! I like being interviewed! So far this year I’ve been in the Straight, on Global TV, and on CBC for various things (being a geek, being at the opening ceremony rehearsal, and being online respectively). I am very slowly becoming famous in my own head! Soon I will be signing autographs and going clubbing in short skirts and no panties. Is it too soon to get an agent? Should I stop doing laundry so I can eBay my underpants? So many decisions to make!

I’m off to my next speaking engagement (aka doing my job – it’s time for Friday training) – when I return, we will talk about boobs and Monday and how I hope you will all come out to play.

Tonight I am going to be a ninja! I’ll be tweeting from and during the dress rehearsal of The Marriage of Figaro, which opens on Saturday. Please follow @OperaNinja to catch all the action as it unfolds on stage – I’ll be sharing my observations and random thought trains, so expect a lot of information on the tightness of the various opera pants!

i knew this picture would come in handy again some day

gonna cause an earthquake!

Ridiculous Activism is my very favourite kind of activism, and when you throw in my love of boobs and showing off boobs and looking at other people’s boobs, you had to have known that I would be all over Boobquake 2010.

For those not already familiar with the story, an Iranian Cleric (which, lol, everyone knows is the lamest character class ever – sorcerers for the win) has claimed that earthquakes are the fault of promiscuous women:

“Many women who do not dress modestly lead young men astray and spread adultery in society which increases earthquakes,” he explained.

To see if there is some truth in this, Jen of Blag Hag has declared Monday April 26th as Boobquake Day: all women should wear their most cleavage-showing shirts they own to see if the earth will move under our collective power. There’s a Facebook event and a Twitter hashtag (#boobquake) all ready to go – all you need to do is show off your rack, and in the name of SCIENCE we will see if women truly are the more powerful sex.

So, in other words, next Monday is totally a normal day for me except now it has an official name.

In truth, I won’t be wearing the most revealing thing I own because I am trying to lead young men astray and spread adultery, increasing earthquakes – not get arrested. I own some truly spectacular cleavage–displaying clothing, and as Monday is a work day, I will err on the side of caution just this once. I hope to see the rest of you coming out to play, though – take pictures! Share them with the internet! That way, more young men might be lead astray by our bountiful bosoms and the walls will shake with the wrath of god and also tectonic plates!

Monday is going to be fun.

I’m trying very hard to make good on my promise and get my pap test done, but it is not going as smoothly as I had hoped. For starters, I tried to contact the office that inserted my Weapon of Sperm Destruction back in ’08 but they won’t see me because my referral expired. I have to make an appointment with my family doctor (which is the problem, because I don’t HAVE one) or go to a walk-in clinic and ask them to get me an appointment with the vagina doctors. This is incredibly annoying, and I can feel untold amounts of rage building up in my spleen as we speak.

I made the stupid appointment for an appointment, and we’ll see what happens. It’s not until May, because that’s the earliest I could get – even for a referral. I suppose I could ask the clinic doctor to take a peak at my uterus for me, but that’s only half my issue – I want a family doctor I can build a relationship with; one that I can go to for regular checkups and prescription refills instead of blindly casting about for the first person in a white coat willing to prop me up and dive in. I don’t WANT to open a new file every time something is wrong or I need more pills to keep me sane. How am I supposed to take charge of my health when I can’t find anyone willing to see me more than once?

I’m beyond pissed off that I can’t find a doctor because I’m not shitting babies with every step I take. I even used the BC Physician Directory to once again see if I could find someone willing to take me, but after eight phone calls and no luck I gave up. The list spat out 18 female doctors* accepting new patients, but none of them would take me. I foamed with rage over this years ago, and I’m still just as upset – it is fucking insanity that I cannot get a doctor to see me regularly because I choose to remain childless.

*: I could and will try for a male doctor next; I just feel more comfortable getting my cervix scraped by a woman. I don’t know why this is, especially considering the last few women who were in there for business not pleasure attempted to feed me the tired “oh you’ll change your mind!” bullshit when I explained that I am the President of Team No Babies. Truth be told, I think male doctors are afraid of my almighty vagina. When I’ve asked to be papped, they suggest I find myself a nice woman doctor, or refer me to someone else. Yeah, that’ll make me feel good about myself – no one wants my vagina on a personal OR professional level.

And people wonder why I’m so scornful towards breeders. It’s their fault I could very well have cancerous cells tap dancing on my fallopian tubes and can’t get them detected before terrible things happen! Stop the insanity! Equal health care for everyone, you elitist assholes!

So much angry. This can’t be good for my empty womb.

After I watched (most of) last night’s episode of Glee – screw you Global TV; I was watching the US feed for a REASON – I asked Ed if his first time was awkward and/or accompanied by a snappy song and dance number. He said he was nervous, but it was a fairly routine deflowering – no wacky sitcom-style situations or baffling plot twists. Mine was similar – nervousness, excitement, impatience, confusion (“so, when does the other person get here?”) – but nothing exciting enough to build an hour of entertaining television around.

I did realize something, though: this year marks the 20th anniversary of my first time.

This calls for a celebration! Or, perhaps .. a re-release!

the easter eggs are particularly terrifying

Kimli’s Virginity, the colorful, wildly imaginative family adventure starring Kimli and her first real boyfriend, returns from the afterlife in a digitally remastered 20th Anniversary Deluxe Edition. This special edition is complete with animated shorts, behind-the-scenes featurettes, and recently uncovered, never-before-seen footage. An all-new director’s commentary is accompanied by the original trailers, premium features, and an in-depth interview with the cast. Relive Kimli’s First Time all over again, in high definition and stereo surround sound!

Yeah, that would be awesome.

And very, very disturbing.

Pre-order yours TODAY!

My thighs hate me. They also hate you, your family, and your cat. My thighs are screaming incoherent things in a public setting. They’re protesting outside your house, holding up signs that say “GOD HATES STAIRS” and “DOWN WITH SOCIALISM (NOT STAIRS)” and “SOME RANDOM MISSPELLED CRAP ABOUT MORTGAGING CHILDREN AND ALSO ELEVATORS”. My thighs are terrible, terrible people who hate equal rights and health care. My thighs make me angry and fill me with hopeless rage at their sheer ignorance. My thighs make humanity look bad.

My feet, however, love everyone. They want equal rights and health care for all; peace and love and all that good stuff.

(I swear to god I have a point – read just a little further)

I wore my gorgeous new shoes to work yesterday, and they were awesome. What was NOT awesome was the fire alarm and subsequent evacuation of my building – I had to walk down 16 flights of concrete stairs. I hate stairs at the best of times; I get crazy vertigo and would have burnt to a crisp had this been a real emergency and not just a false alarm on account of either a) my incredible slowness at going down steep flights of stairs, or b) the fact that I had tripped somewhere around floor 11 and tumbled down to floor 9 and am lying in a bleeding wreck in the corner. I did make it all the way downstairs, but not without a couple of near misses – getting dizzy while trying to hurry is not a good idea, and I do not recommend it at all.

So, my thighs are fucking KILLING me today. They hurt in places I did not know existed, and they are protesting my very existence with ridiculous signage and are probably a fan of Palin (those fucking idiot thighs). That sucks. BUT! I am happy – no, delighted – that my feet did not hurt. I wore brand new shoes yesterday, with a friggin’ HEEL (albeit a tiny one); had to walk down 16 flights of stairs and all over the damn place, and I was NOT curled up in a ball wishing I could take an axe to my feet to stop the pain. This is nothing short of a miracle, and if my thighs didn’t hurt so much I would be doing a dance of sheer joy. It’s so WEIRD to not be in heaping gobs of foot pain. I could get used to this!

My thighs just kicked me and called me a whore.

I feel like a neglected child! I am apparently the only person in the office who didn’t know that my boss is on vacation for TWO WEEKS, having left last Saturday. What the hell! I’m his only direct report and he didn’t bother to tell me?! I have pressing issues that must be addressed! Who’s going to throw me emergency flow chart requests on my way to the Diet Coke? Who’s going to fill the ice cube trays when I inevitably empty them and forget to refill? Who’s going to sign my expense report??! I feel so unloved.

I have decided that whenever I buy myself an outlandish present, I am going to justify it because I don’t get honoured with a day of my own. Mother’s Day? Father’s Day? Not going to happen. Administrative Professional Day? I would be horribly offended if someone celebrated it at me, as I’m not an admin worker. IT Professional Day doesn’t technically (heh) exist, and doesn’t exactly fit what I do anyway. I’m not just missing the annual Hallmark occasions, either – I didn’t get a bridal shower OR a bachelorette party, and I’ll never have need of a baby shower. When do I get random cards and presents to celebrate ME? Where’s my breakfast in bed and margarita served out of a giant penis cup?

I have no use for either of those things, so I bought myself a new pair of Fluevogs instead:

so much awesome

There was a $40 gift card (to celebrate the 40th anniversary of Fluevog Shoes) in our media kits for the OPUS Porter launch: I figured it would be rude not to use it, so I went on an expensive but gorgeous spree yesterday afternoon. As much as I love my Qtees, it’s impossible to wear them for very long because of the utter brokenness of my feet. I am tired of life in flats, so I opted to try a lower heel: the shoe I bought has a 1.5” bamboo heel that is, so far, perfect. Hooray! I am slightly taller!

The shoes are fucking HOT on my scooter, too. That’s right; I’m admitting to something on my person being sexy. You can keep your edible underwear and clay ashtrays made in kindergarten – I’ve got sexy shoes and a scooter, so I win.

I love my friends.

I had some vague, outlandish ideas for some pictures I wanted to incorporate into my Northern Voice presentation, so I asked the best photographer I know if he would donate some of his time to help me with my project. Reilly had a free Saturday afternoon, and one Facebook invite begging my favourite people to come out for a few hours and see if the images in my head would translate to real life (or if I would just have to Photoshop that unicorn in) later, we had a date.

I don’t know whether it was because they love me or because I promised beer afterward, but every person I asked (except Gina, but even I would ditch me for Vegas so that’s okay) came out to the rooftop of a rainy, pee-soaked parkade in Gastown on a Saturday afternoon to do my bidding. I haven’t seen the aftermath yet, but I have it on good authority that the pictures in my head translated perfectly onto (digital) film – I cannot WAIT to see them. All the props and planning and worrying that I did seems to have paid off, and I am so excited to put my presentation together (if still terrified to deliver it).

The photoshoot wasn’t without some issues, though – for example, I forgot that it’s good form to have the keys to the handcuffs before you slap them on someone in the name of art:

i used to be able to unlock these with a fork, but i didn't bring one of those either - it took brute force to get them open. oops.

When we had shot everything I could think of, we packed up and headed to the Black Frog where I thanked everyone with a round of beer. I really should have bought Dave several rounds for the handcuff fiasco, but I will just have to owe him more beer later.

I’ll ask Reilly to post the pictures after Northern Voice, because there were some hilarious things going on. In the meantime though, thank you SO MUCH to Reilly, Miranda, Josh, Shan, Heather, Chris, Renee, Yunn, Barry, Darren, Dave and Ed – in addition to doing me a huge favour, you all made me feel loved and junk!