As I lay awake last night fuming and generally being crabby, I realized two things that made light bulbs go off above my head (which made it that much more difficult to fall asleep):

a) It’s all fine and good to play the “I hate Valentine’s Day because I don’t want to be told when I have to be romantic” card, but your righteous indignation loses most of it’s mustard when you don’t exactly have a distinguished record of spontaneous romance under your belt. Sure, use your outrage as an excuse to not play the Hallmark game – but at least back your statement up with alternates. If you’re not one for impulsive flirty romance – no matter how many times you’re told it would mean a lot – then maybe you shouldn’t scoff at a forced celebration of love. Valentine’s Day is in place exactly because of people like you. If you won’t do all those sappy silly fairy tale romance bullshit activities because you’re “supposed” to, but you won’t do it because you’ve been flat-out asked to, and you won’t do it for no reason at all, and you won’t do it in reciprocate, but you won’t do it if it’s expected of you – well, don’t get upset when I laugh myself to tears when you ask for your steak and blow job a month later.

b) I now know exactly why my mother bought herself so many presents when I was growing up.

Another Friday night, another concert. This time it’s Tegan and Sara, whom I’ve loved since 2001 or so but have never seen live. Should be a really good time. Here’s hoping I won’t have to punch anyone on my way out.

you say it’s not what you do
it’s what you’re thinking of
well i think it’s just an excuse
it’s what you put across

coz i don’t wanna be the one
only overjoyed
i don’t wanna be the one
making all the noise
yeah i don’t wanna be the one

Then there are the days where it really fucking sucks to be me:

• An innocent email in which I cooed over a romantic gesture between two friends received a reply of “you make me feel like crap”
• I offered to pick up ingredients and prepare a favourite meal, only to be turned down in favour of a night of drinking
• I came home to two enormous piles of puke, one of which was helpfully situated directly under my desk
• There was a lovely pile of cat shit on the bathroom floor
• I had to disinfect my left boob, because Sasha scratched me with a shit-covered paw when I was struggling to force her cancer-fighting medicine down her throat
• I have Valentine’s Day rage
• .. in addition to just plain regular rage

I know these are all just a bunch of petty little bitches and things could be a lot worse, but *fuck*. I am annoyed at a whole bunch of things.

It is difficult to ratify my need for speed when all the traffic lights are in cahoots and conspiring against me. I managed to hit every. single. light. on my way to work this morning, including a gratuitous and baffling stop in the Stanley Park Causeway. I wish to go fast, and squeezing the brakes every block or so does not give me the speed I desire. Given that my top speed is 80km/h (while going downhill with a stiff wind at my back), I don’t think I’m asking too much – I’d like to be able to at least go the speed limit, is all. Oscar is completely done with winter and wants to go quickly, and I would like to accommodate his reckless endeavor in a responsible and upright manner.

I’m fighting to resist the urge to take my scissors into the bathroom and cut my hair. I’ve got Scooter Bangs – my hair is long enough where my helmet flattens things out and covers my eyes. It’s times like this when I wish I didn’t have bangs, but I am oh so trendy with them. Also, I’ve *always* had bangs. There are numerous pictures of Tiny Kimli with varying degrees of terrible hair, but the bangs are always there (occasionally joined by blue eyeliner!).

Twitter is entertaining me with #nerdpickuplines, but I think I outed myself as a MegaNerd (because it was a huge secret) with my contribution of “I’d like to iddqd your idspispod until your idkfa looks like Dopefish”. No one seems to have gotten it, which makes me sad (and if you DO get it, please let me know and we will have some sex). I guess we can’t ALL make the same comments about the size of our epic mounts *snerk*.

Is it spring yet?

blood orange sky > vanilla sky

For as long as I can remember, my mother has had large containers of a special Malaysian curry powder she brought to Canada with her. She would get friends and relatives to ship her parcels whenever she was in danger of running out, and when she went home to Malaysia to visit her suitcase was stuffed with curry and the house was smelly for a month.

Some time in the early 90s, it stopped being available. The company that made it – I have no idea of the name; I only ever saw the powder in what I assume was its natural form: a large white Tupperware container in the back of the fridge – closed down, and there were no more parcels coming to replenish the supply. It didn’t seem to matter, as we had so very much of it – in addition to the curry bucket in the fridge, there were several large, carefully wrapped bundles in the cupboard. We had lots.

I learned to cook using this stuff, and adapted it into recipes that were my very own. While my mother was an expert at making delicious curries with it, I somehow failed to absorb that knowledge: the last time I tried making a curry from scratch, it turned out somewhat catastrophic. I scorched the milk – burnt milk is a horrifying thing – and had to throw out the pot and open all the windows to clear out the stench, in the middle of a Calgary winter. I never again attempted mom-style curry.

When I moved out of the house, I took a container of the curry powder with me. I used it in sauces and chili and treated it as my secret ingredient. It made things spicy and delicious, and the warm yellow smell usually brought about a host of good memories – my mom’s excitement when more came in the mail, my dad bringing me more when I started to run low, the satisfaction found in preparing a unique and fabulous pasta sauce.

Even a seemingly infinite supply can’t last forever. My mom ran out of the powder 5 or so years ago, and has been pestering me to find her a replacement ever since. I still had my supply, horded and doled out with increasing restraint, but it wasn’t enough to share. Between the two of us we’ve probably tried 2 dozen different curry powders, but none of them came close to the deliciousness offered up by the now-extinct powder from Malaysia.

Monday night was cold and sad, so I made a big pot chili to warm us up. There was so very little curry powder left in my jar, but it didn’t make sense to hang onto it for any longer – what good is it if it can’t be enjoyed? I used up the very last of my supply, silently thanking it for all it did to enhance my dishes over the years. So long, little spice. I’ll miss you and all your deliciousness.

Facebook appears to have exploded in memes lately, and since I am bored out of my sick little mind I thought I’d do some of them.
Continue reading →

My first year at the Lab is coming to an inauspicious close, as I am currently at home, naked and grouchy, instead of asking if I’m going to get a raise anytime soon. I like raises, I think. I haven’t actually gotten one in many, many years – I think I remember liking them, but it’s been so very long.

I am under the weather. Yesterday was emotionally exhausting, and as the evening wore on I found myself feeling terrible in a number of ways. Waking up this morning with a staggering headache and a sore throat seemed to seal the deal, so I opted to call it in instead of making a mockery of my to do list. Resting today will hopefully knock whatever this is out of the park so I can get back to doing all those things I do so well. I don’t particularly want to be sick with an identifiable cause – there are Things on my calendar that I don’t want to miss because of a cluster of germs that won’t sit down and shut up. Friday is the Tegan and Sara show at the Orpheum, and on Saturday there is blood to give, and next Monday is my COURT DATE – so you see, I am far too busy to give into my wanton illnesses.

Why is the average age of every artist on MuchMusic 15? And when did MuchMoreMusic turn into the Nickelback channel? This is NOT helping my convalescence one bit. Weren’t there more Pussycat Dolls? I thought there were like 9 of them or something; this (horrible) video only has 5. Oh, they’re dancing in the rain now. That’s original. This is terrible stuff. More, now than ever, an All-Simpsons channel is truly needed.

I’m well aware of the fact that I appear to be live blogging my sick day, and I’m sorry. I’ll stop now.

Sasha has multiple abnormalities:

• Enlarged liver
• Enlarged and mottled spleen
• Multiple shady areas in the ultrasound
• More weight loss
• A kidney infection
• Inflammatory bowel disease
• Thickening of the intestine
• Anemia
• Lymphoma

Some of these things might be treatable with steroids, but they could make her other problems worse.

They’re sedating her and doing a biopsy. The vet wants to refer her to Canada West, land of the incredibly expensive treatments. As it stands, today’s visit is going to cost around $700 which’ll bring the total so far to $1500, pre-treatment. Hooray! This is just .. so awesome!

The donations collected by Jeanie and Miranda’s Chip-In page will come in very handy. Thanks so much to everyone who has donated – knowing that people are cheering Sasha on makes this a little easier.

But it still sucks so fucking much.

I’m always amazed at how easily I can slip back into the comfortable yet gory routine of morning crime drama on A&E when I’ve got nothing better to do. I have the day off work because I thought I had to be at the vet with Sasha during her ultrasound, but they took her from me and said they’d call. I’m now sitting and staring blankly at the TV, waiting for the phone to ring. My stomach is in knots – I might be hungry, but it’s more likely that I’m miserable with anxiety.

I know I’m not alone in my misery, but that’s cold comfort – Kris’s cat Odin is in surgery today, and I know she’s going through the same stuff that I am. I feel for her, and I hope Odin pulls through.  He’s a tough kitty – just like his person – so I’m sure he’ll be fine, but it still sucks to have a pet in discomfort.

I wonder how much trouble Sasha is causing at the vet. They told me they’d have to shave her belly, which is sort of hilarious – she is NOT going to enjoy that, and I’m sure her displeasure will be heard across the street.

I am utterly useless at the keyboard right now. I’m going to go back to worrying on the couch and pretend that Bill Kurtis is running commentary on my life, and also that my life is interesting enough to warrant commentary.

Winter months are ordinary months, and they bring me down down down.

The big box of cleaning goodies I received last week was pretty timely, all hopes of excitement aside. I woke up this morning utterly disgusted with our apartment – I don’t know that it’s ever been this dirty; not even during that week I spent raising pot-bellied pigs in the living room for bacon and profit.

There’s a common theme to each of the items in my last delivery: they’re all cleaning products made by Procter & Gamble. When my Mysterious Yet Practical Benefactor told me I would be receiving some P&G stuff, I hesitated before coming clean and relayed my dark past as a P&G employee. It didn’t seem to matter, and so the box appeared on my doorstep (aka the receptionist) full of sensible, wholesome things.

I’ve had previous experience using most of the things in the box. I was especially pleased about the Swiffer Wet Jet, as our old one is about to die – we use it to clean and disinfect our floors after Sasha pukes up the universe, so it gets used with unfortunate frequency and a good deal of success. The Mr. Clean Magic Erasers are good too; they’re the only things I’ve come across that can remove some of the mysterious stains that appear on the ceiling and they saved my life once, stemming the flow of pure unadulterated evil from our fridge in the Unspeakable Horror of 2008. We usually keep several on hand to clean up any accidents from my frequent abuse of hair dye and random murders.

I’m curious to see how the Febreze smelly products will work though. Being a couple of filthy hippies, we cover most unfortunate smells with Nag Champa incense but I will endeavor give the Febreze Noticeables a try. I’m not a fan of most chemical smell removers, so we’ll see if they can pass mustard ’round these parts.

It dawned on me this morning that I completely forgot to pick a winner of the Oral-B Vitality ProWhite fancy brush from last week’s sellout. All the images  submitted were awesome, but Meera’s picture made me choke on my frosty beverage. I can’t help but be amused and grossed out at the thought of having to share a toothbrush with anyone, let alone your significant other – so I will send her a package as soon as she emails me with her info.

Ed is watching the Superbowl and asking the cats to identify their poop in the litterbox. Who is this strange man, and how did he get into my apartment?