delicious juice dot com: unapologetically inappropriate

So, I need to go shopping.

Today at work I was officially told I need to cover up. My boss seems to really want me to succeed with the company and believes I have a lot more to offer outside my sweater meat, so she’s working on making me a more respectable version me. We’re heading towards a Brave New World, and it’s gonna have a lot less cleavage in it.

I know I ought to be utterly humiliated that I had to be told to hide my shame, but I’m not wired that way. Actually, I find it hilarious. I even apologized, because she was so uncomfortable having to tell me that I am inappropriate. She didn’t even really need to get all the words out – I clued in at the vague chest gesturing, and knew the road we were about to head down. I may have even been a little giddy, but that was likely due to the relief of our conversation having nothing to do with my job and it’s continued existence in my life. I promised that I will behave (it seems I make that promise on a weekly basis), and things were fine.

She did explain that no one’s said anything to her about my out-of-control boobs, but she was bringing it up with me now before it got to an uncomfortable point of no return. None of the discomfort is on my side, but I SUPPOSE I could see how my unique style of not dressing from the nipples up might be uncomfortable to some. Maybe I should be offended and upset that I need to cover up my boobins so that people will take me seriously (not that there’s any danger in that whatsoever), but .. I didn’t make the world; I just try to live in it. Basically, I was told that people need to see my brain first and then whatever else I may be hiding up in here .. and I’m okay with that. I get away with a LOT at work, and I don’t call myself inappropriate for mere giggles – most people wouldn’t wear the things I wear to the sleaziest bar on Free Shots for Boobs night let alone to work on a daily basis. On one hand, it makes getting dressed for very easy (the same outfits do double duty as party time concert wear AND office clothing), but .. yeah. I need to buy some sweaters, and some cardigans that actually do up all the way. This’ll be interesting. Who wants to go shopping with me, with a strict guideline of not letting me be myself?

In the meantime, I have many scarves and even a couple dresses in the back of my closet I never wear because they don’t show enough cleavage.

Plus, I’ll have so much pent up boob during the week that I’ll need to spend my Saturday and Sundays topless to make up for it.

This is all very, very funny to me. Sometimes it’s great that I don’t have enough sense to take things seriously; it makes life so much more fun.

bad kimli. no biscuit.

It’s all my fault. I didn’t eat enough eggs.

The buffet/deli place next door was closed this morning for the first time since it opened. There was no signage, but I have a sneaking suspicion that they may be closed for good – business boomed for the first few months, but dropped off pretty severely as the months went on. I used to like the variety of food they offered, and most of the time I could find something relatively tasty to have for lunch, but the quality took a major header some time back and it was less and less busy in there. I only ever went in the morning, because it’s very hard to screw up scrambled eggs – I liked having a real breakfast several times as week. I rarely get out of here for lunch, so sometimes those eggs and potatoes were the only thing between me and 6pm.

I woke up really hungry this morning, and wanted some eggs. The deli was dark, and several people looking for coffee (and unwilling to stand in the Starbucks/Caffe Artigiano lines across the street) were wondering what the fuck. Me, I just wanted my eggs. And I can’t help but feel it’s entirely my fault that there aren’t any eggs, by virtue of not eating enough of them while I could.

It is a good thing that I brought cereal into the office today. That and the last container of Nutter Butters will be all that sustain me as I figure out how to link my three least favourite things – InfoPath, an Access database and Sharepoint – into one hideous monstrosity of resounding laziness and petulance. Good sense may be on my side though, as the two people I’ve asked for advice on this project both responded with “good god, WHY would you want to do that? Who asked you to do this? Show me where they touched you” – so I may weasel out of this with my underwear intact.

Speaking of underwear, here is the underwear Amanda Palmer wore on stage last night:

it's hard to see, but it's the australian flag

Last night was the Amanda Palmer/Neil Gaiman show in Vancouver. It was a lovely – if long – evening, and I am glad I stuck around even though I wanted to bail. I did have to leave the show early, as I expected it to be over by 11pm and had arranged to be picked up, but I was exhausted and sore in my bones due to standing outside for hours then sitting in the ice cold theatre with interactive fan girls screaming in my ear.

the place what we wuz

It was a successful Sunday – before the show I bought boots and unicorns, and I got to see Gill for the first time in a month. I ate a burger served on a cutting board, and got hollered at on Granville while making my way to the car. All in all, a good evening.

I am glad the Amanda/Neil show was not all ukulele all the time, but I really, really miss the Dresden Dolls. The show we saw in Seattle a few years back is in my top three favourite live shows ever, and I hope they do another album/tour some day.

neil gaiman is pretty awesome, but brian viglione is usually half naked

I think I will go to the Museum of Vancouver this week. They’re running an exhibit on Vancouver’s old neon signs, and I love neon almost as much as I love everything.

more things need to be in neon

I have not forgotten the CYOA story – Page 36 is coming soon!