Today would have been my dad’s 92nd birthday. I honoured his memory by making his favourite meal – Sheppard’s Pie – and having mincemeat tarts for dessert. I don’t actually like mincemeat all that much, but the smell totally reminds me of him. It was good.
Happy birthday, daddy.
I *know* I had an extremely good reason for placing Snow’s “Informer” in my directory of Christmas Music, because there’s an extremely good reason behind everything I do. I just can’t think of it right now, but I know it’s there somewhere. An extremely good reason, yep. You bet.
KELOID’D!
It’s bad enough my cat scratched me, but it looks like the wound has formed a keloid. Luckily for me it’s on my chest, which is prime Kimli real estate. There isn’t a single thing I own that isn’t cut down to my belly button, and every thing I wear shows off my lovely new keloid scar. Thanks, Hobble. You are a totally awesome cat and in no way a great big pointy sack of dumb.
I should invest in some turtlenecks, except the only ones I seem to buy have a keyhole cutout which does little to hide my more buoyant assets. I could make a nun’s habit look slutty. I’m far prouder of that than I should be.
Fuck. Me.
“The introduction of a new search engine does not ordinarily elicit the same oooh’s and aaah’s as the introduction of the new Prada collection, but this is unlike any search engine we’ve ever seen,” enthused the blog at a women’s Web-shopping site. “Now we don’t even have to be able to read and write, to be able to shop,” it says. “Text searches are so last season.”
This may be the single saddest thing I’ve ever read on the internet. I’m going to go cry myself illiterate now, so I can truly appreciate the website in question.
I do have to be honest, if a little disgusted with myself – the site really is kind of cool. I’ve been poking around it and have already found some really neat things that I didn’t know existed (but have been trying to create in my own clumsy Fisher-Price Fashion School sort of way). If only I were as rich as I am illiterate! I could fill up my Porsche SUV (not to be confused with my Gen1 Hummer or BMW SUV) with brand-name merchandise; the more expensive the better!
In the same vein of consumer greed, I am deeply in lust with this. I need some sort of internet Sugar Guardian to provide me with all the shiny things I’m finding online. Any volunteers? No? Crap.
My shirt has puffy shoulders, and every time I turn my head it kind of freaks me out. *turn* *puff* AHH!, etc.
This morning, while trying to squeeze in as many precious seconds of sleep I could get before my insistent bladder made me get out of bed, I had a fairly serious freak out. I was coherent enough to realize that it was Wednesday, but I could not for the life of me remember what my first class of the morning was. I knew on Thursdays I had Social Studies first then a spare, but what the hell was my schedule on Wednesday?
This is all fine and good, except I haven’t been in school in oh say 14 years or so. So not only was I in danger of being late for class this morning, I woke up 16 years old. If you think my updates are sad now, you should see the crap I wrote when my teen angst was real and not just what I do to pass the time on the internet. By the time I was in the shower I had cleared my head of the fog and knew that I wasn’t in high school, this really WAS my apartment, I really am totally fabulous in all ways, and I work as a cosmonaut on a space station. It’s a good thing I figured all this out, because I would sure hate to go about my day all delusional about who I am and what I do.
I am slightly jollier than I was yesterday. Confirmation of our Annual Christmas Wyatt helped; now I just need to get paid so I can shower my beloveds with gifts and meats.
Where are my jollies? I know it’s only the 5th of December, but usually by this point I am ripe – and have been for at least a week – with the spirit of the holiday season. Right now, I have nothing. Nada. Not one ounce of excitement, no lust for figgy pudding, and nary a trace of sugared plum dancing in my head. Where’s the fun? Why aren’t I soaked in it?
We’ve put up our tree already, and it’s very pretty. I’ve started buying presents for my friends and loved ones, and have already wrapped some. Usually any one of those acts would fill me with holiday glee, but not this time – instead of bubbling over with boughs of holly, I’ve got a whole lot of weary on my shoulders. I hope this goes away, because I love being excited about Christmas. I get almost ticklish with the anticipation of present-giving, and I have to keep myself from giving everyone their presents early because I’m so excited. Everything just seems like a huge chore right now – I have a list of things I need to buy for people, and instead of thinking about what fun I’ll have wrapping gifts and writing silly notes, it just seems like a huge hassle. Part of my woe is financial; I can’t even start this list until the 15th of the month and shopping will just be that much more annoying by then. I know that the few things I’ve asked for are pretty much unattainable because of our geographical location, and IOUs make me sad and wary because of the Christmas That Wasn’t several years ago. I know our Christmas might be pretty lonely this year because everyone we know has other plans and won’t be in town. I know I’m not getting a pug. I know I miss my dad, and his birthday is coming up which’ll make me even sadder. I’m tired and sad all over, and this just sucks.
I want my jollies back, please. This holiday apathy is just no fun at all.
They’re either filming something downtown, or we’ve been invaded by the US – there are stars and stripes all over the place and it’s a little disconcerting. I don’t mind a Yank or two – heh heh – but an entire invasion’s worth would be just too many soaring eagles and “Never Forget” mudflaps for my liking.
I promised the story behind my chemical burned nipple, so here it is. It’s actually not really THAT interesting, but as I couldn’t sleep that night because it hurt all over, I had to laugh at yet another one of those things that make the whole “Perilous Kimli” thing a little to factual to be just a cute nickname.
I did, in fact, get hair removal cream all over my left nipple. I was taking a bath and was kind of bored and hairy, so I decided to would put my bath time to good use by a) giving myself a facial, and b) using the rest of the Nair to de-hair my legs. It took some fancy maneuvering to get the lotion all over my legs while moving as little as possible and keeping my limbs out of the water, and for some reason I thought that if I were to lie on my back and stick my legs up in the air above me, I would be able to keep the cream from washing off while my face mask dried and the rest of me soaked.
Needless to say, it was a lot more complicated than I thought it was going to be. A big glob of cream dripped off my leg and onto my boob, and I .. didn’t notice. It wasn’t until I was done scraping the hair off my leg and rinsing out my muck-clogged pores (sexy takes work, you know) that I noticed an uncomfortable burning sensation on my boob. I looked down, yelped, and rinsed the goo away – but it was too late. The cream had burned nasty red marks and spots into my admittedly already-scarred nipple, and it HURT. It’s better now, but still not entirely pain-free. I wasn’t TRYING to remove anything from my nipples; I do not have hair there – I am just clumsy and kind of oblivious to my surroundings about 80% of the time.
I promised a fabulous prize, and I will gladly deliver. In fact, it’s sitting beside me ready to send out. But oh! What to do! Ali is well-versed in my accident-prone ways, and quickly guessed the right answer. However, I already have a fabulous present for her that is completely independent of the Delicious Juice Dot Contest. It hardly seems fair (although she probably thinks otherwise) to give her TWO fabulous presents, so I am instead going to offer up the prize to LOLA, who posted the silliest – yet absolutely plausible, given my track record – guess of the lot. Yay! Lola, email me (kimli at this domain dot com) your address (I swear I am not a creepy stalker) and I will send you a fabulous prize!
I have more to say but I am swamped in other people’s laptops that are drenched with viruses and other nasty horrible things.
Josh and Shan are all moved in, sort of – all their stuff is in their new apartment, it’s just not in any sort of organized state. It didn’t take us too long to unpack their truck (once I started bossing everyone around, that is – I may be bossy, but I get the job done); about 2.5 hours all told. We were going to go to Ikea after showering and changing, except Ed and I fell asleep and didn’t get up until almost 6pm. Still, we made our way to Ikea for meatbulbs and lightballs and home again in one significantly poorer piece.
Now I’m going to light some candles and sit on my butt for a little while, because my feet are very sore. No one is allowed to move anywhere anytime soon, ok?
This is not a plea for random compliments. I don’t want my angst to be read as my fishing for love; I’m just typing words to make myself feel better because that is what I do.
I’ve been struggling with my self image lately – more than usual, I mean. On any given day I’m generally unhappy with my overall appearance but I can usually find something about myself that doesn’t make me want to break mirrors. Lately though, the whole angsty emo self-loathing has just been out of control and I’m not quite sure what to do (which is where, as always, the internet comes in).
The more involved I become with the gaming scene and in particular girl gaming, the worse my self-image and chronic rage seems to get. There are dozens of reasons why this is so, and I’ve helpfully narrowed it down to the worst offenders to my ego:
The entire thing makes me terribly sad, and I berate myself for both feeling this way and having the misfortune to be who I am and look like I do yet have too much stubbornness and anger to want to subject myself to that kind of environment, no matter how much I may want to be one of the pretty girls and cool kids. I can’t boil it all down to simply saying “I hate myself”, because that’s not really true – even in the pits of my angst I know that I’m fabulous – I’m just sad and angry to live in a world makes me feel so worthless because my talents are overlooked because of the package I come in and I constantly get passed over because let’s face there’s no (you’re not worth) marketing Mama Cass.
if you can’t change the world, change yourself
if you can’t change yourself, then change your world
It’s December! In the spirit of giving, I will send you a fabulous present!
There is a catch, of course:
You have between now and the end of the weekend – 11:59pm Sunday night – to guess how I gave myself a chemical burn on my left nipple. The answer closest to being right will get a Delicious Juice Dot Prize!
Contest rules: all guesses must be posted in the comments below. Contest open to everybody, since my nipple deserves to be thought about globally. Winner (and backstory) will be posted on Monday, December 4th. Have fun, and don’t keep it clean at all because seriously, what fun would that be?
Yes, this is the same nipple that I burned on the oven. No, that’s not what happened this time.
Also, OW.
delicious juice dot com 