hydroxypropyl beta-cyclodextrin

My leg has no odor.

This morning while talking to Ed, I was distracted by all the pretty lights and colours and shiny things. My morning routine had been derailed by a variety of Events, and I was scrambling hard to catch up and head into the office to collect my new iPhone work really really hard.

Also, I had dry skin.

I grabbed what I thought was the spray-on moisturizer that I use in emergency situations, and applied it liberally to my leg. At some point, it dawned on me that the bottle was blue instead of the usual yellow, and instead of being moistened, any scent my leg may have had had been neutralized.

I coated my left leg in fucking Febreze.

I do not like the smell of Febreze.



PSA: check your backseat before getting in the car

“I dare you!”

“No way, that’s so immature!”

“Yes way! If you don’t do it, you have to pick truth – and I’m gonna ask you what you and Billy did behind the tree last year!”

“UGH okay FINE.”

The giggling momentarily increased, but the girls grew solemn as they arose and tip-toed, single file, into the darkened bathroom. The cheap fluorescent light of the rec room (which was wood panelled like all good rec rooms are) streamed in around their shoulders, providing just enough light to see their dim faces and shiny sugar-crazed eyes in the large mirror above the sink.

“You know the rules, Sarah. When we close the door you have to face the mirror, close your eyes, and say the words.”

“And we have to be able to hear them!”, shrieked Katie, who was way more into this than she should have been.

“Yeah, and we have to hear you! No whispering. If you do everything right, and the Veil of Spirits –“ Janet paused here to wiggle her fingers in a poor approximation of spookiness. “ — is thin enough, IT’LL HAPPEN.”

The other girls helpfully made “OooOOOooOo” noises like in old Halloween cartoons, but it was less scary than ridiculous. Honestly, who’s dumb suggestion was Truth or Dare, anyway? They were 13 years old now, officially teenagers. This was a baby game, Sarah thought. But it’s Janet’s party, so I have to do what she says.

“.. and said her cousin totally saw it and she went CRAZY. So it’s totally true. Aren’t you scared?”

Janet finally wrapped up her long story about something that didn’t happen. Sarah scoffed at her and said, “I’m not scared, because nothing’s going to happen. It’s just a dumb urban legend!”

“Well, try not to scream too loud, or you’ll wake my parents!”

The giggling resumed as the girls filed out of the darkness and into the bright, warm light of suburbia. Sarah longed to follow them, but didn’t particularly want to admit that nothing had happened between her and Billy – she tried to kiss him but he ran away, horrified. She’d much rather keep quiet and pretend he hadn’t be repulsed by her, and if she had to do this stupid bathroom dare to keep that fantasy, she’d do it.

The door was shut with a grating thump, and all light disappeared. Not even the tiniest ray of light could penetrate the room, because say what you you will about half-assed construction projects that start and end in the basement, badly warped doors wedged into cheap drywall could create a lot of dark.

Sarah reached out in front of her to confirm she was facing the mirror (or to steady herself, she wasn’t quite sure). She took a deep breath, and someone outside hush-whispered “HURRY UP”, accompanied by shushing and giggles.

“Okay okay”, Sarah muttered. She took another deep breath, and closed her eyes. Opening her mouth, Sarah loudly recited the words that rounded out this dumb exercise.

Nothing happened.

Feeling more brave than foolish, Sarah chanted the words again in an exaggerated sing-song.

Still nothing.

Sarah opened her eyes (she thought, it was really very dark in there) and smiled triumphantly. Releasing the breath she didn’t know she was holding she yelled out “SEE, I TOLD YOU NOTHING WOULD HAPPEN” – but didn’t get past the S bubbling in her throat.

In the mirror
Over her shoulder
Out of the darkness
Bathed in a red light
A faint response, growing louder

“.. And baby my heart could still fall as hard at 23
And I’m thinking ’bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways
Maybe just the touch of a hand
Oh me I fall in love with you every single day
And I just wanna tell you I am
So honey now
Take me into your loving arms ..”

Sarah couldn’t make a sound.

She scrambled for the door, but it wasn’t there.

The mirror wasn’t there.

Nothing was there.

Just her
the warm wetness blossoming on her pyjamas
the studio audience
and special surprise guest
Ed Sheeran.


book it, danno


So, we’re going to Japan in April. It’s gonna be awesome. I booked the trip this past weekend, and some accommodations. We’re going with a group, so there’s been a lot of back and forth about what we’re doing – but it looks like everything has been planned, and haha we’re going to Tokyo (and Kyoto and Takayaka and Miyajama). There’ve been a lot of discussion about what people want to see – Tokyo Disney, castles, temples, sake tours, cherry blossoms – but there are really only 3 things on my list:

We arrive on April 1st. The Penis Festival is on April 2nd. Gosh, I wonder how that happened.

Before I can truly get bat-shit excited about Japan though, I’ve got something a little closer to be excited about: we’re going to Dublin later this month. I’ve spent the evening booking adventures for us in Dublin: we’re gonna rent a car and go look at some creepy-ass statutes, drink some beer (if I have to drink an entire pint anywhere in the world, it might as well be a Guinness right from the teat), fondle the Oscar Wilde statue, then rent a car again and go roaming the Irish hinterlands armed with little more than a camera and Google Maps.


I am also incredibly amused that most of the internet says “If you can handle the long drive, the coast of Ireland is a sight to see” – the “long drive” they speak of is 3 hours. A 3-hour car ride must be a daunting trek to a European, but I’m from Canada – I’ve driven more than three hours to get to the good Denny’s, instead of going to the terrible one. A 3-hour drive is nothing. We should have ample time to stop a million times for a) ridiculous scenery and pictures, and b) peeing a lot.

This is all very awesome and I feel so lucky that we can do this, but I am sort of sticking my fingers in my ears and not looking at the credit card. Go away, reality. I have fantastic adventures to plan.

Besides, I just got a raise. That extra $1.25 an hour is gonna pay for SO MANY AIRPORT IMPROVEMENT FEES!

Oh, and I’m not doing the Remote Year. I have a Grand Plan that is pretty much just a fantasy at the moment, but once my near-future solidifies a little bit more, I will know what I am doing. In the meantime, I’m going to bask in planning and maybe just maybe have something else brewing up my voluminous sleeves for the fall.

Did I mention that I’m excited?


fully expecting shibuya station to look exactly like this, graffiti soul and all.


let it flow

It’s September 1st. 

  • Wore a dress with leggings and boots 
  • Snuggled on the couch to the sound of rain
  • Ate a pumpkin spice muffin
  • Turned on the (fake) fireplace

Mmm. I’m so ready for you, fall. 

the purge: out of the closet, onto the floor

I hate our bedroom closets, violently. I finally managed to talk Ed into getting a consultation for redoing our closets into something a little less likely to drive me to homicide, and now some woman is coming out on Thursday to judge us in a multitude of ways. This is what grown ups do for thrills, right?

In preparation for the visit, I’m purging my dress closet. I know one of the things causing my rage is that there’s just too much shit in there – I have a pretty powerful addiction to buying fabulous new dresses – so I’m trying to make room for common sense by getting rid of dresses that do not meet the new arbitrary standards I’ve laid out for myself. Also, Ed is helping. He’s not the greatest at grading my outfits as we have wildly different tastes, but it’s better than playing Fashion Show by myself.

Maybe I should have Twitch’d this shit.

Anyway, these are the outfits that have thus far not made it back into my closet:

  • Slutty Pregnant Toddler
  • The $2 Goth
  • What the fuck this dress is made out of couch
  • Perfectly Okay but seriously I have too many dresses for a mere “okay” to survive the cut
  • Klingon Fetish Club
  • Too Long Yet Too Short Plaid Lumpy Times
  • Executive Perfume Saleswoman
  • Goddamn That’s a Lot of Red
  • Slutty Postpartum Toddler
  • Why Are These Sleeves So Puffy I Am Not Anne of Green Gables
  • Cool Mom Likes Star Wars and Extreme Couponing
  • The Empire Waist Strikes Back
  • Maleficent (that is not a cute name, it’s literally the dress Torrid made as a tie-in for the movie)
  • 1992 called and wants the literal faux-velvet-skull-and-rose-embossed-baby-doll-dresses (yes, plural) back what the fuck were you thinking you have GOT to stop shopping at Hot Topic
  • Hey There, Panda Tits
  • I Secretly Wish I was Steven Tyler
  • Cute Dress, Terrible Sleeves (They’re Like Little Nubblins) (Ed named this one)
  • Jesus Christ I have a THIRD Slutty Child-Baring Toddler Dress Still in the Plastic

Looks that were on the fence but have survived this round:

  • Complicated Slutty Clown
  • 1960’s Goth Opera
  • Pumpkin Spice Circus Tent
  • The Vaguely Asian Maxi
  • The Sole H&M Dress I Own (aka once I shopped like a normal person)
  • Houndstooth No Boobs
  • Saucy Giraffe Milk Maid
  • The $3 Goth
  • The Space Bathing Suit
  • Latin Nights at a Drag Show
  • Saved By the Bell Sleeves
  • I’m Not NOT Hiding Drugs in These Sleeves
  • Yep, This is a Black Dress
  • The Woodstock Gang Bang
  • Hey, This is a Beach Cover Up! (someday I might go to a beach)
  • The Asian Cosplay
  • This Dress Literally Has DNA On It. Wanna Add More?
  • Rainforest Madame (Ed hates this dress but I think it’s hilarious so I’m keeping it)

Not bad. Stay tuned for The Purge: Pick a Card(igan), in which I go from owning 150 near-identical cardigans to a much more manageable number. Oh, this life I lead!

Also, if you’re holding a garage sale anytime soon, can I piggy back on it? Most of these dresses are in excellent condition (if not actually brand new and unworn) and totally adorable (just ignore my naming conventions), and I’d love to try to recoup even a tiny bit of money for them. Or, if you’re local and could use some new clothes and are not an axe murderer and also wear size 16-20, email me! Perhaps we could “work” “something” “out” *wink*.

la indecisión me molesta

Okay, okay.

The Thing: I was accepted into Remote Year for 2017. Remote Year is a program for Digital Nomads, who spend one year traveling the world and working in a large group. It is not a job – that is one of the things you must supply, so a key factor in RY is getting your employer to agree to let you work from wherever you happen to be at the time. You pay a (not insignificant) fee up front, then $2K a month for your travel and accommodations. You are responsible for your own food. People have done the calculations, and it costs each participant an average of $42K USD/$55K CDN for the year. This is a major factor in my decision.


  • Epic. Fucking. Adventure.
  • It’s what I wanted – to live abroad for a year
  • Forced to deal with my social demons
  • I could be in a group full of amazing, fun people and make some lifelong friends
  • Seeing several parts of world! Hello, world!


  • It’s an extremely long commitment
  • Yes, I can always quit – but they want people to stick it out for the entire year, so there’s a financial penalty to quit
  • It’s not exactly what I wanted – it’s my dream, on someone else’s terms
  • It’s expensive. I’d use up all my savings and break even for the year if I’m lucky – I still have a mortgage and other financial commitments, so it’s not like I’m escaping rent by doing this (as I imagine most other participants are)
  • I’d have to cancel plans for 2017, including a trip to Tokyo, a trip to somewhere else not yet determined, and a UK visit
  • For the amount of money I’d be spending, I could easily afford to it on a smaller scale – in chunks – and be in total control of where, when, why, and how. This would also be a thousandfold easier to get approved through work.
  • I am figuratively too old for this shit. I love me some comforts.
  • I could end up in a group full of gorgeous 20-somethings who party and drink all the time and I’d be the sole fat shy weirdo with unkempt hair and no pants
  • No stability. Sometimes, stability is nice. (only sometimes tho)
  • Living out of one suitcase for an entire year. I can barely do that for a week.
  • I kind of like my husband and cats and don’t really want to be continents away from them for a year
  • Ed doesn’t want me to go (but won’t stop me if decide to go). He’s not actively trying to sway me one way or another (I’m gonna find ya, I’m gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha) and has been very positive about it, but I asked him to be completely honest with me and he doesn’t want to be apart for that long. I can’t blame him for that; I’d likely feel the same if the situation was reversed.

The Unknowns

  • Who am I signing up to spend a year with?
  • Will my employer even consider letting me work extremely remotely for an entire year?
  • What will the accommodations be like? Will they be filled with spiders? Is the internet stable? How’s the weather? What’s nearby? Where’s the nearest source of Diet Coke and ice cubes? A thousand questions, repeated each month.
  • The month I spent in London away from home was hard. How would I handle that times 12?
  • How on earth do I handle the mountain of medication I’m on?

Every person who has responded is encouraging me to go, but it’s just making me feel guilty for considering turning the invite down and/or deferring it. So there.

What to do.

flip it and reverse it

The reaction to my thing-waffling has varied between a mild “you should do the thing!” to a complete dissertation on WHY I MUST DO THE THING RIGHT NOW. Understandably, my mind is not settled. I am still waffling. It is significantly less delicious than it sounds.

So, let me throw this into the mix: the thing requires you to leave everything behind – your family, pets, friends, the excessive Funko Pop collection, your still-unfinished game of Fallout 4, that one really bulky jacket that kind of makes you look like a marshmallow but you love it anyway – for an entire year.

My waffling is not fear of the unknown – it is fear for everything I’d leave behind.

Armed with that knowledge, do you still encourage me to do the thing? What would YOU do?