you want babies; i want a pony

A word to the wise: this is one hell of a long-winded update, even for me. You might want to get a cup of coffee and a snack. Maybe I should start a spoiler page; a site that offers “get to the point” 10 word recaps of my posts. Anyway, it’s a long one. Sorry.

“She’s only a little older than I am,” said Laura, and Lena said “I’m a year older than she was”
They looked at each other again, an almost scared look. Then Lena tossed her curly black head. “She’s a silly! Now she can’t ever have any more good times.”
Laura said soberly, “No, she can’t play any more now.”

All my friends are having babies.

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take this job and restaff it

I keep offering our clients my job. For some weird reason, their stark terror shows up in their text as they try to politely decline and run away as fast as they can.

Last night was FUN! We went out for dinner in honour of Miranda’s birthday, and I got to introduce Josh and Shan to Miranda and Reilly (who I have a total crush on, but don’t tell) and also Tanya, Cynthia and Darren. I had forgotten how much fun it is to be Outside With People, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. We couldn’t join them for the post-dinner glow bowling though because Ed is deathly ill and I had promised him that I would return with life-saving Nyquil right after dinner, but I’m glad the three of us got to go out and have some fun that didn’t involve laundry or sushi because I am just not ready to go back for thirds.

Ed’s been hovering on the cusp of a cold for the last two weeks, and yesterday everything exploded in one giant snotty mess of germs. He’s been home from work the last two days, moaning as though the world were ending – and yet he’s still well enough to get many levels ahead of me in Zelda. I’d call foul, if he didn’t really look and sound awful. I think I’ll disinfect the Wiimotes before I start playing again.

I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror on my way to work and realized I look exactly like my Mii. It’s not a cartoon version of myself; that is actually how I look. I think it may have something to do with the blue eye shadow, but either way I’m a little creeped out by the resemblance to my pixilated doppelganger. Maybe it’s time for an extreme makeover?

Today I am so haircut I can actually hear the snipping.

i am the loudest

Once upon a time, there was a piece of wood.

I had a big rant planned about how I am totally Pinocchio waiting for the Blue Fairy to show up and make me a real boy, but in light of my early morning astro-angst I think I will save it for another day and instead turn the topic to jollier things such as:

Happy birthday, Miranda! I hope your day is utterly excellent with many sparkles and perhaps some gratuitous nudity!

I’m a little worried about my hipster status, seeing as I just read this article from the New Yorker and laughed appreciatively. Does this make me old? Even worse, does this make me a Snooty McSnob? I have these preconceived notions about the readership of the New Yorker; men in full pinstripe suits and top hats, twirling the ends of their curly moustaches as they chuckle at a particularly humourous bon mot, swirling their brandy in a snifter to release the smoky aroma of cedar and fine cigars – and the women, draped in fox stoles and ancestor pearls; the kind of woman who says “well, I never” and actually means it, and possibly also carries opera glasses around for regular viewing instead of opera viewing. Those are the kind of people who read the New Yorker, not me. I’m not old. I’m drinking Diet Coke and listening to video game soundtracks on my Mac Book while looking at scooter parts, dreaming of summer and the perceived freedom it brings. Tonight, there will be bowling and the further shirking of laundry. Not old. Immature, sure, but definitely not old.

I often think I worry too much about avoiding the inevitable confines of age.

most sincerely awesome

Dear Client:

Please yell at me more because of a mistake made by your inability to grasp the basics of how the internet works. It is truly awesome to have you talk down to me and explain in capital letters all my failings in life because I fixed something that you fucked up – at your request, no less. Thank you for ruining my morning and driving home the point that I am truly starting to hate my job because it seems less and less likely as every day goes by that I will ever get out of doing client support even though I’ve been promised that this situation is “just temporary” so many times. Seriously, thank you. It is totally great. Thank you for undermining my value to this organization not just to me but also to my boss by coping him on your infantile email. Thank you for being cozy with one of my co-workers who is now calling you up to “smooth things over” because obviously I am too stupid to understand your demands and making me look unstable with anger. I don’t know what I would do without you.

Fuck you.

On the upside, you ARE making my previous #1 most hated client ever seem like a fucking prince in comparison. I think I may offer him a blowjob by way of saying thanks.

an inconvenient kimli

Saturday was St. Patty’s Day, and we had a very traditional Irish celebration – Josh, Shan, Ed and I went to an environmental trade show and ate sushi. Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh, indeed.

I ordered a whole bunch of new makeup online, and it arrived today. Hello, pretty sparkly things! I know I really need to do laundry tonight, but I’m very tempted to blow it off so I can paint myself up like a clown and dance around the house naked. I don’t think I’ll be able to get away with it though, since that’s pretty much the same excuse I’ve used for the last two weeks to get out of doing laundry. The situation is beyond critical – we’re at laundry terror level alert neon orange with subtle red-gold highlights and a pearlescent finish. It’s *bad*. Eight double loads bad. I knew those 65 pairs of underwear would come in handy!

My eye herpes is spreading but fading. We took some more pictures over the weekend after noting that the dot was now an elongated smear of disease and horror – check my Flickr page if you really have a thing for eyeballs. I’ve almost gotten used to having a disgusting spot right next to my iris, but I’ll be very glad when the whole damn thing goes away. It doesn’t hurt or anything, and it’s not all that noticeable to anyone except me – but when you spend as much time gazing at your reflection as I do, you’re bound to notice every little imperfection in your otherwise stunning visage.

*snort*

Epic Vancouver
was interesting but wee. There weren’t as many booths as I would have thought, but those that were there were very interesting. I drooled (quite literally, how embarrassing for me) all over the clothes and bed linens made of bamboo and fervently wished I was some sort of grandiose billionaire so I could afford to buy them all. There were displays of electric bikes and scooters, and some hybrid cars although it was odd to see SUVs at an environmentally friendly show. I sat in a Smart, and it pretty much changed my opinion of them (as did learning the price point starts a good $20k below where I thought it did). I do lust over the Smart Cabriolet quite a lot, but we have absolutely no need for a second car of any kind so it’ll have to wait until a) I am not so desperately poor and b) we actually NEED additional wheels. In the meantime, I will continue to wait for the rain to fuck right off already, and be delighted with Sally when spring finally comes.

It really sucks that I need to be in a whole new tax bracket to be environmentally friendly to the level I would like. We do a lot with what we can – recycle everything in sight, wash things in cold water, use public transit and carpool, get our groceries in reusable sacks and refuse plastic bags, swap out light bulbs for energy efficient ones, flash people the peace sign whenever possible – but I still feel a lot of guilt sometimes for the things I’m not doing, like composting or being vegan or living in a tree. Then there’s the sheer consumeristic lust – I want everything I own to be made of bamboo or hemp or organic cotton plucked from ethical fields by the United Nations and spun into fibre by transgendered mulatto eco-feminist pixies because not only is it the softest damn material I’ve ever felt, it’s the green and friendly thing to do. It’s just so damned EXPENSIVE though, and I simply can’t afford to spend $200 on bed sheets even though they’ll supposedly fund a goat and a well and the schooling of 17 adorable orphans. I want to, but I just don’t have that kind of money – so I have to make due with my tattered cotton sheets that were made by hungry children making $0.03 a day in a filthy sweatshop, belched out by a toxic smoke stack that poisoned three villages and killed off 9 different species of unicorn and were purchased from a Walmart that caused the closure of 15 locally-owned businesses including the dealership from which I bought my Hummer.

The planet is dying, and it’s all my damn fault.

what in the name of god is that

After injuring myself, my first instinct is to take pictures and tell everyone about it. That is going to end up being my downfall one of these days – ooh, massive new england coronary! *click* *click* *upload* *prose* *email* *consider calling 911* *ask internet for advice* *die*

That being said,  should I be at all worried about this?

I swear to god that bloody red spot wasn’t ON MY EYEBALL just a few minutes ago.

Oh god, I have eyeball herpes.

AHHHHHH!

a rash young girl

Beware the Ides of March, indeed – our Chief Space Developer is running around the city NAKED.

At least, this is what I have deduced from the large pile of clothing on his office chair – pants, shirt, shoes, jacket. People have tried to tell me that he probably changed into different clothes, but I know the truth – he’s out there somewhere, naked and not answering my email. Look out for the naked cosmonaut on the streets of Vancouver, if you please.

I also think we have gremlins in the space station – every morning when I come in, my chair has been adjusted to a height that is not pleasing to my tiny stature. It is a TOTAL HASSLE to have to fiddle with the lever to get my chair to an appropriate height each morning. I just can’t work under these conditions.

My allergies have been really bad lately, so today I’m giving my face a break by not wearing any makeup. It doesn’t seem to be making much of a difference; my eyes are just as itchy and watery now as they are when slathered in glitter and mascara. I think I’m building up another immunity to my antihistamines; I switched last year from one brand to another XTRA STRENGTH kind and that worked for a while. Maybe it’s just the onset of spring making all my various passages freak out, but this sucks. I miss my glitter. I do not, however, miss this weird red patch on my collarbone. It would have to go away for me to miss it, and even then I do not think it would be something I would pine over. I do not like mystery rashes.

Maybe one day I will write something that does not involve any kind of oozing or rashes whatsoever!

I think I want to go to this.