a tasty burger
but i asked for no lettuce
it smells like hot death
:(
Monthly Archives: October 2008
this is what i think of you, tuesday
up yers
scaly skin and mommy issues
I planned to spend most of my holiday Monday naked and lounging, but a quick inventory of my remaining crazy pills and exciting new patch of eczema told me I’d be doing otherwise. I reluctantly found myself an assortment of clothes and headed out in the cold November October rain for a trip to the clinic down the road.
I dread going to the clinic, but I don’t have a family doctor yet. As much as I may dislike the random assortment of doctors who don’t really care about my problems, it’s very handy when I just need a quick fix in the form a prescription refill. I gave my name at the desk and was told to take a seat, and did as instructed.
The waiting room was considerably less crazy than I’d seen it in the past, but there were still quite a few people milling about waiting for doctorial attention. I resigned myself for a mid-length wait, and picked up the nearest magazine without babies on the cover.
I was barely three words in when my name was called. The brief flash of disappointment I felt – I really wanted to read that article on colour-changing lipstick – quickly evaporated when I realized that I had been waiting for under a minute, and I was going to get to see a doctor. Score! I should break out in mystery rashes on holiday Mondays more often! I shuffled into a small room, and grabbed another magazine to keep myself occupied.
There would be no reading in this waiting room, either. Within seconds, a doctor appeared through the door.
“What can I do for you today?”
“I have scaly skin and mommy issues.”
“Postpartum or psychological?”
“Definitely the latter.”
“Gotcha. Effexor and Hydrocortisone, coming right up.”
Two minutes later I was out the door and thinking about pumpkin pie.
The clinic may have failed me in spectacular ways in the past, but this time they were for the win. I picked up my prescription (and some bright blue sparkly eyeshadow for good measure) and came home. I have Diet Coke, a kitten sleeping against my bosom, and delicious Thanksgiving leftovers in the fridge. Stuff is good.
booty bounce
You’re meeting someone for the first time. Do you:
a) Smile politely and shake hands
b) Simultaneously jam hand down pants and tongue down throat
c) Drag the new person downtown and force them to learn a choreographed dance for two hours
If you answered b, then you are usually me. If you answered c, then you have the misfortune of being Chris today.
While Chris and I have spent many an hour chatting away via MSN and text, we had never actually met face to face. That all changed today, when he came to my apartment as he is crashing here tonight. We said our hellos, then Shan and I forced him to drive us downtown so we could do this.
It was awesome. Shan is an experienced dance person (her role in the Gang is that of Fine Arts), but neither Chris nor myself have danced recently (unless you count naked shower booty dancing, which I clearly do on a daily basis). Exhausting! Shan and I will practice during the week and go to another rehearsal next Saturday. It will be hilarious. And sweaty. Very, very sweaty.
Tonight there is to be beer and pizza. I clearly earned it, since I totally danced for two hours today.
his and hers
I do not sleep well with others.
Due to simultaneous cases of rampant discomfort, cranky sleeps and clogged-up snottiness, Ed and I have been sleeping in separate rooms: he in the spare room, and I in the cozy hole we usually sleep in. Ed has trouble getting to sleep if there’s any noise whatsoever, and between my snoring and the cats going insane in the middle of the night, he hasn’t been getting much sleep lately. To combat this, he’s been going into sensory deprivation mode by holing up in the spare room with the door closed and ear plugs in while I get the big bed to myself.
Yes, it kind of sucks – but to look at it another way, it is fucking awesome.
Last night I was feeling petulant, so he slept in the main bed with me. While he managed to get to sleep alright, I had a horrible go of it – I tossed and turned for hours and received many elbows to the face. Every time I tried to stretch out and get comfortable, there was a limb in the way. I hated it. A lot. And I’m starting to worry that I’m going to be forever unable to sleep with another person close by, effectively cutting a large part of married life out of our daily routine.
It’s all the rage in the upper middle class for husbands and wives to have separate bedrooms, but that’s just not practical. Not only do we not have the space for it, I’m afraid I’m not up to speed on my yoga pants, tiny purse dogs and oversized SUVs. And yet .. I can’t help but think this might be the way to go.
Would it really be so bad if we had separate rooms? Yes, allowances would have to be made for when we have guests, but it might work. In my head I’ve already started to rearrange furniture and make up a list of things I’d want in my very own room. Truth be told, I long for my own space. My corner of the living room just isn’t as private as I sometimes need, and damnit, I just sleep so much better by myself. I can stretch! I can sleep diagonally! All four cats could sleep with me and I wouldn’t end up on the floor! I wouldn’t have to limit myself to 4 pillows – I could have eight! It would be fantastic! We could have giggly date nights complete with sleep overs! There’d be a whole new dimension to our relationship that would be in no way weird!
I haven’t talked to Ed about this (although by making this post, I suppose it’s now out in the open – hey Ed, how do you feel about separate bedrooms?), but I doubt he’d go for it. Even if you ignore the emotional response, the whole damn thing is a logistical nightmare. Also, who would get which room? Naturally I’d want the main room because it has the better bed, all my stuff, and the TV – but the smaller room is cozy and has better air circulation and would be quite cute if laid out just right. It’s all just wishful thinking, really. I don’t want a roommate, I rather like having a husband. I’m sure we can work something out, like trading the queen bed in for two twin beds.
Actually, that would be so much worse. It’s bad enough having someone snoring in your ear; if they were snoring but too far away to kick? I believe I would go insane with rage.
The sudden change from summer to winter appears to be affecting people negatively – everyone is weird and sad and stressed out, myself included. I don’t like it. Everyone be cool, okay?
fail
I fail at not going to Richmond. I’m off to crawl around in a warehouse again, much to my eternal delight – at least I’m dressed slightly more appropriately this time.
Coming up: something about beds!
extremes
The only thing worse than a chronic hypochondriac is a chronic hypochondriac with a level 70 Google mage and a black belt in fact-based conclusion-jumping.
It’s been four weeks since the Weapon of Sperm Destruction was installed in my uterus. So far, things have been fine – but I’m hyper sensitive to any potential side effects I may or may not be experiencing.
As with any drug, there’s a big list of horrible things that could happen to you. Mirena’s list is really no shocking or different than other methods of birth control: there’s the possibility of weight gain, acne, back aches, spontaneous elliptical pregnancy, superhuman sensory deprivation, articulated hamstrings. No big deal, really.
Unfortunately for me, while I definitely do not want any spontaneous miracle births, I also do not want to experience anything on that list. If I start showing even a hint of a possibility of a chance of a symptom, I freak the fuck out. Not by a little, either – I mean, I go completely over the top in a wild orgy of fear and prevention.
Two days after the WSD was inserted, I got a zit. Big fucking deal, right – most adults struggle with bad skin from time to time and I am no exception. This time, however, my minor (and frankly invisible) breakout wasn’t just the result of a clogged pore or two; it was the beginning of the end of my clear skin because obviously that one pimple meant that 754 more were on their way. I am not exaggerating when I say tears were shed. I immediately started to research drastic acne cures, from the celebrity endorsed (Proactive), to the last resort (Accutane), and all the way up to the insane (saliva, cow dung, the blood of a virgin drawn by a white cat under a full moon). I was ready to start decorating paper bags to wear during formal occasions because obviously I was days away from becoming a hideous mass of oozing flesh. I gave some serious thought to having the device removed, because I am just that vain.
Of course, the pimple went away and has yet to be joined by its disgusting brethren. My skin is just as good as it was while taking Tri-Cyclen (birth control also marketed as an acne cure), if not better. My over reacting gave me a lot of knowledge I don’t really need and a bathroom full of skin products meant for teenagers who rub up against strangers on the bus, but I’ll take those over the horrors of bad skin any day.
I wish the list of medical freak outs I’ve had over the last month ended here, but that is sadly not the case. My stupid rain pants were tight the day before my cycle began – clearly I am gaining weight by the horseful. I had to pee really, really badly after drinking several litres of liquid and accidentally lost a drop of pee before I was fully seated – clearly I am losing control of my bladder and will have to start wearing Depends. My abdomen hurts – clearly some sperm swam up into my tubes and made a baby in my spleen. It never ends – I am a hypothetical encyclopedia of horrible potential conditions, each one less likely than the last.
Knowledge and explosive melodramatic hyperbole are dangerous things.
backwards sausage
Someone slipped me Backwards Sausage (to be known henceforth has egasuas) this morning.
Normally when I have sausage, things are super. The sun is out, birds are singing, bees are trying to have sex with them (as is my understanding) – everything is as it should be to a level of satisfaction that generally only comes from ground meat and a great deal of salt.
Tuesdays are generally a cluster fuck around these parts, so I made a preemptive strike against woe in the form of a sausage patty. This is where the evil egasuas comes in – it wasn’t until AFTER I had eaten my salty breakfast treat that the world started to implode a little. There is stress. Post-sausage stress. That is unheard of, and frankly, I do not approve.
North Vancouver smelled really, really bad this morning. It was incredibly acrid and not at all pleasant. It smelled sort of like a mutant strain of fertilizer cooked up in a lab by some mad scientists bent on creating a race of super soldiers ostensibly to protect us from terrorists but in reality are programmed to wreak havoc and destruction against the weak and pathetic worms of humankind.
Um, not that I would know, or anything.
So hey, I completely urge you to check out this website. Click on a book, and do the preview – it is fucking hilarious. I am so tempted to buy one of these, except for $40 I am pretty sure I could write my own trashy romance that would be a lot filthier and with more tongues in cheek. Still, it is highly amusing:
Kimli didn’t respond with words, but met his lips with her own and kissed Ed until both were dizzy with longing. Unable to deny their desire any longer, in moments they were naked beneath the blanket. Kimli leaned forward until she was a breath away and whispered lustfully, “Gentleman, start your engine.”
Oh, the lols!
team up
nerd cred
I do so enjoy fun weekends.
Ali arrived just before 7 on Friday night, and we promptly went to what is fast becoming my favourite pub on the North Shore, the Queen’s Cross. Gillian couldn’t make it, but the rest of the gang was in full force. We ate and drank and it was a good time, but then I played a mean trick on the remaining bar patrons. As I waited for Ali to finish with the ATM, I wandered over to the Digital Jukebox on the wall. As I started poking buttons, I realized there were three credits in the machine just sitting there. Naturally, there was only one thing I could do – use the credits to have the three worst songs I could think of play throughout the bar.
- Song 1: (Everything I Do) I Do It For You – Bryan Adams
- Song 2: Hit Me Baby (One More Time) – Britney Spears
- Song 3: Take a Chance On Me – ABBA
Okay, the ABBA song isn’t that bad but we were leaving and I had to make a quick decision. While I didn’t get to stick around for the reactions for the second song, the uproar over the first song was frankly hilarious – people did NOT appreciate the croony ballad where there had previously been a rather excellent selection of rock. I am a bastard. I readily admit it.
The weather wasn’t spectacular on Saturday, but we had a late brunch on West 4th with the gang (again minus Gill, who clearly hates me). Ali tried to introduce me to the wonders of geocaching, but we didn’t have much luck. We did find an awesome community garden along some scenic train tracks, had some coffee, bought some rain gear, and just hung out enjoying the company. It was great seeing Ali again – it’s been far too long, and we’re not going to let that happen again. Hopefully Ali will be free when I go to Seattle in December to see Amanda Palmer, but if she’s out of town, we’ll just have to schedule a weekend visit some time in November.
Speaking of traveling to Seattle to see things, all my friends lost a huge amount of nerd cred this past weekend. I was beyond excited to learn that Jonathan Coulton is playing Seattle in January, but when I shared my excitement, I was met with many blank stares and general confusion. Disgusting! They are not nerds at all!
I’m going to the show anyway. Perhaps I will find myself a new gang of real nerds instead of hipsters just disguised as nerds. :(
stand by me
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