I am fully expecting to come home to a river of salmon and ice cream.

I lost my remote connection to my home computer. I asked our network guy to see if he had blocked my IP from getting out because he hates me, and while he assured me that he does in fact hate me, he claims that he did nothing to any of my ports (and then started talking about pasta and godfathers and I am super confused). So, that leaves the power. The city IS in the middle of a thunderstorm, so even with all my paranoid conspiracy imaginings, the most likely scenario is that the power went out at my house and that is why I can’t connect.

That does little to rest my mind at ease, though. My home PC is actually a laptop, so when the power blows (once or twice a week) I do not shut down. I lose my internet connection, sure, but when the power comes back on I reconnect as soon as the modem and router come online. It is a good setup. I dislike being offline.

It’s been over ten minutes since I lost my connection and I still can’t seem to get online. This leads me to believe one of two things has happened:

• Our power is still off, putting the contents of my freezer at risk – and I just bought some of my favourite ice cream that I only get once every two years or so, and the thought of it melting all over my floor makes me sad
• I can’t connect to my laptop because the power surged and fried everything on my desk and I’ve lost everything and have no more laptop

Both of these scenarios are terrible. I’m not going to be able to get anything done today; I’m too worried about my ice cream and porn.

In honour of Tim Hortons’ pulling out of the NOMRI event, I brought Timbits to work for sharing. I sent out an email telling people to come eat them, saying they were victory donuts and linking this CBC article.

Usually any offer of free food is quickly set upon by the masses, but I still have a lot of Timbits left. I asked around to find out why:

Kimli: eat my donuts.
Andrew: ha..if I could open my mouth wide enough I would
Kimli: i could squish it for you
tell others to come eat my donuts
did I scare them off with my email?
Andrew: if they see it they will come
Kimli: they are afraid of my gay donuts
Andrew: its this whole donuts are over there thing while were over here, duh
Kimli: pfft
if no one eats my donuts it means they hate gays
Andrew: maybe we just hate distance
Kimli: nope I choose to think it’s coz yer all haters
I’m telling HR that tech support is anti-gay donut
Andrew: I ate the gay donuts!
how can they be gay if they have no holes?
Kimli: oh they have ways
jim would be happy to tell you
Andrew: …
Kimli: (aren’t you glad you came back to work?)
Andrew: my disturbed quota has been met for today before I’ve even had coffee
Kimli: Then my work here is done
Andrew: at least I have donuts
eww. I just bit a filled one and it exploded all over
eww
Kimli: i *told* you they were gay donuts

.. okay maybe that’s funny only in my own head, but I was highly amused and almost choked on my own gay donut.

I dyed my hair last night in preparation for today’s haircut. Look for me during the Zombie Walk this Saturday; I’ll be the stylish undead in the polka-dot skirt dancing badly in the corner.

The sun is out and today I am glad.

After two straight days of soap boxing, I’m plain worn out.

It’s all for a good cause though, so I don’t mind. I know that my role in the Tim Hortons thing was ultimately tiny, but I do feel a spark of glee over the outcome – I helped! Just a little, but still! After 8.5 years, I’m finally being useful!

Sunday’s Bubble Bash was full of good times, and I’m now determined to find some sort of bubble machine for Lola. I had picked up a surprisingly phallic wand in preparation for Sunday, and even though the weather was not cooperating we stuck it out and blew bubbles until we ran out of soap. We actually started early, as we were done brunch by noon, and attracted the attention of a scary man in a homemade YouTube shirt asking us where the little kids were. He was creepy and he didn’t have sleeves. NO SLEEVES! He wanted to film people with bubbles, but had to settle for us even though we kept telling him a) the event didn’t start until 1pm and it was only 12:15, and b) I don’t think we said anything else to him because his comment about looking for children freaked me out.

So, we bubbled. We ran out of soap around 2pm, but the rest of the small crowd were still going strong. My bubble wand made excellent enormous bubbles, and we all took turns entertaining each other and small grubby children with our efforts. We eventually retreated to the safety of the trees when the small children started to get grabby – one boy in particular felt entitled to our bubble toys, and it’s difficult to say “no” in that situation without looking like a jerk (so I usually ignore them). Eventually the small child was distracted by someone else’s belongings, and we ran away.

Okay, I actually found the video that was shot that day. It’s about as creepy as I expected. I’m glad to see that none of us actually appear in it, because I don’t particularly want to be an unwilling part of someone else’s YouTube career. I also don’t care for the overall shots that were obviously taken from behind a tree – CREEPY! Don’t like it.

I had fun though, and I think we need to play with bubbles more in the future. I’m thinking about trying to gather some friends and hitting the park one sunny day for fun and bubble blowing – there’s something just so silly and awesome about it all.

And I really do need a bubble machine for my scooter.

shan makes big bubbles!

cait does it elegantly

bubble!

I got kicked out of a downtown parkade on Thursday evening.

Zombie rehearsal didn’t start until 6:30, so Shan and I made plans to meet at Pacific Center after work. We had a craving for Vietnamese food, and I wanted to check out the new Sephora store, so we made plans to relocate our scooters to the mall parking lot and meet up for deliciousness.

Shan managed to get past the ticket machine, but I had no such luck. Lola couldn’t trigger the sensor, and as I wiggled back and forth trying to get the machine to spit out a ticket, someone came over the intercom:

“You can’t park here.”
“Excuse me?”
“No motorcycle parking; you’re not allowed in here. You have to leave.”
“Where exactly am I supposed to go, then? There’s no street parking at this time of day.”
“I don’t know, but you can’t park here. I’ll open the gate but you have to leave the parkade.”

I tried to argue some more, but I was ignored. The gate rose, but instead of going to the exit, I went to find Shan’s scooter. She wasn’t there, so I called her and explain the situation: although we were willing to pay for parking and took up less room than a single car, we were not allowed to be in the lot because we did not have four wheels.

Shan came back down, and we prepared to leave. On our way out, we saw a security guard striding purposefully and looking for something – me, we assumed. It had been some time since I was told to leave, and I hadn’t been by either ticket booth yet and heaven forbid I sully their parkade with my inferior two wheels. We pulled up to the booth to be ignored by the three people standing around chatting, until I called out and asked for them to lift the gate. One of them gestured for us to drive around it, and turned back to the conversation. Awesome.

We drove around the block while I swore, looking for someone else to park. Since it was barely 5:30pm and still rush hour, we were out of luck – there was no street parking to be found anywhere, and no other lots nearby.

We were fully intent on spending money in Pacific Center that evening on both dinner and some shopping, but because they would not allow us to park in the only option we had, we decided to go elsewhere – I don’t have time and shouldn’t have to convince businesses to take my money.

It really kills me that Vancouver is so proud of itself for being a “green” city. We pat ourselves on the back and make fancy websites so we’ll look good to other cities, but it’s a total joke. Okay, they opened a bike lane on the Burrard Bridge and they expanded the Sky Train lines. How progressive; giving people a choice. We’re apparently the number 2 city in the WORLD for the very model of green and clean living, which is just ridiculous.

One of the reasons I ride a scooter is to try to minimize my carbon footprint. I produce a great deal less CO2 per year because of my scooter, and it really bothers me that I am actively persecuted instead of lauded for my choices. Motorcycle parking in downtown Vancouver is a joke: two narrow allotments with 2-hour limits. Very few lots offer discounted rates for two-wheeled vehicles. We’re not allowed (and shouldn’t) park at bicycle racks. We can’t park on sidewalks. There is nowhere for us to go.

Other cities are doing their part to encourage people to consider alternate forms of transportation. In Toronto, scooters are allowed to park on sidewalks. In San Francisco, entire blocks of the downtown core are reserved for motorcycles and scooters at $0.25 an hour, for a maximum of ten hours. In Vancouver, we get hit and manhandled and ticked and towed. People take it upon themselves to move our scooters out of their way when we have every right to be there. Parking authorities tell us to give up and get cars, because we’ll never be allowed to park in peace. Distracted drivers run into us, then yell as though we’re the ones in the wrong.

I’m willing to pay for the same rights as a car owner, but I take up less than ¼ of the space. I suppose safe parking is a privilege and not a right, but first I have to find a lot that’ll let me in.

It seems the only way to get any respect in this city is to line the transit coffers or buy myself an SUV.

Monday update:

Good work, everyone! Tim Hortons has responded to the hundreds of emails and phone calls they’ve received over this:

Tim Hortons responds to inquiries about Rhode Island event sponsorship

Recently, Tim Hortons was approached in Rhode Island to provide free coffee and products for a local event, as we do thousands of times a year across Canada and the United States.

For 45 years, Tim Hortons and its store owners have practiced a philosophy of giving back to the communities in which we operate. As a company, our primary focus is on helping children and supporting fundraising events for non-profit organizations and registered charities.

For this reason, Tim Hortons has not sponsored those representing religious groups, political affiliates or lobby groups.

It has come to our attention that the Rhode Island event organizer and purpose of the event fall outside of our sponsorship guidelines. As such, Tim Hortons can not provide support at the event.

Tim Hortons and its store owners have always welcomed all families and communities to its restaurants and will continue to do so. We apologize for any misunderstanding or inconvenience this may have caused.

Awesome. Thank you, Tim Hortons!

—

I’m bored and hanging out on Twitter (it’s IRC 2.0!), and came across this link saying that Tim Hortons is sponsoring the National Marriage Organization’s Rhode Island “Marriage Day“, an event described as:

.. a great opportunity to take a stand for marriage as it was created: between a man and a woman.  Our goal is to esteem marriage to its proper place in society and make a statement that Rhode Islanders believe strongly in this cherished institution.

Tim Hortons is a Canadian icon, and to have their name used to promote something so horrible is just repulsive. They have a “contact us” form on their website, so I sent in a note:

I am incredibly disappointed to see that Tim Hortons is sponsoring the National Organization Marriage’s Rhode Island “Marriage Day” event on Sunday, August 16th. Tim Hortons is a Canadian icon, and to have the name associated with an organization dedicated to denying basic human rights is truly distasteful. In addition, Tim Hortons has a stellar reputation for truly doing good in the community – the NOM does little more than spread hate under the guise of “the wholesome family”. I truly hope this was an oversight on your part, or there is SOME other explanation as to why you would lend your name to something so negative and abhorrent.

If you find this sponsorship as disgusting as I do, consider letting them know. I might love me an Iced Cappuccino on a hot summer day, but I won’t be refreshed at the cost of basic human rights or decency.

It’s been really quiet around here lately – it feels like I’m talking to myself. I’ve also been waking up sad for the last week or so, and feeling kind of lonely. Add everything together, and I am one glum chum. It’s most likely the weather – I don’t mind the cooler days and rain, but the sun gives me a happy that I could really use right now.

Is there anybody out there?

I’m the passive-aggressive Batman!

Drunk Bettie came home wasted last night. We can tell when she’s been drinking, because she gets loud and confrontational. She and the Admiral have been up for some time, being loud and stumbling around their apartment (in addition to mumbling out the window to the firemen outside – long story). Ed looked out our peephole to see why they were in the hallway, and noticed that they left their apartment door wide open and stumbled out the front door to the car.

We watched for a bit as Drunk Bettie warbled on about the flowers in the yard and her depression and how hard she works every day and took 3 minutes to figure out how to light her cigarette. We heard her say they were going to Sailor Hagar’s, a bar a couple blocks from here. She managed to get the car door open, fell into the driver’s seat, and they pulled away.

Then I called the cops!

I used the zoom on Ed’s camera to get the Admiral’s plate number, and called the RCMP on their drunken asses. I probably won’t hear the outcome of this, unless the cop lets on that it was me who ratted her out. If I was dressed, I would scoot down to the bar to watch. As it is, I’ll probably just go find her cat and put her back in the apartment and shut the door – not because I think anyone would steal anything, but because I wouldn’t want her cat to escape the building.

Drunks are pathetic, but drunk drivers are a special brand of evil unto themselves.

I’ve been tempted to call the cops on them before, but this is the first time I’ve actually done it. I hope they get their cars taken away before they hurt someone.

Assholes.

You’re going to have to bear with me, here. I had a good update planned – it was going to be meaningful and elegant and professional, without any swear words or obscure pop culture references or anything. It was going to be a Very Special Post. It would have made you laugh and cry and write letters to the editor. It would have changed lives.

Then I failed to wake up this morning. In fact, I am not entirely certain that I am awake now. If I’m not, I’m having a very bad nightmare. If I AM, this sucks ass. I am utterly unable to wake up. I fell asleep putting on my underwear. I zoned out while putting on lipstick, and now my mouth is sideways. You know how you sometimes fixate on a word and it stops looking like a real word at all? Well, imagine that but on my mouth. I don’t think my mouth is real. It’s too small, like a button. Did I always have a button mouth? Why does it look like that?

I will write that really awesome update later, if I ever snap out of this haze. I’m not having a very good Friday – I got in trouble with my boss, some woman in a yellow truck gave me the finger when I passed her, and my mouth isn’t real. This sucks.

Before the Thriller rehearsal tonight, Shan and I went to Wendy’s for dinner (we are classy but poor). As we were finishing up, I noticed a woman in the parking lot carrying a huge painting – it was enormous; probably 5 feet by 6 feet. Just then, a mini van taxi pulled into the lot beside the woman and her painting. The cab driver got out, and they spoke. The woman then put the painting into the back of the cab.

I pointed this out to Shan, and said (in my best imitation of what I assume a rich person sounds like) “Ooh, look at me! I’m a fancy lady, I buy taxi rides for my ART!”. We had a chuckle at my witty observation, and prepared to leave the restaurant.

Back at our scooters, I saw the cab pull out of the parking lot with the art in the back seat. I assumed the woman had walked around the cab and was in the passenger seat, but no – the cab pulled away, and she darted across the street and climbed into a silver car and drove away on her own.

The cab WAS just for the art.

Rich people are hilarious!

There are few things more terrifying than looking up and seeing the decayed, shambling form of a zombie Mon Calamari staring at you with watery dagger eyes from the window. It may, in fact, be a trap – but HE’S the one who set it. Darth Lola sprang to life just in time, and we sped away from the evil that was emanating from the window. Had I met his gaze, I am certain I would have been unable to move until it was too late – I’d be frozen in place until Admiral Andy shuffled down to his Toyota and ran me over with extreme prejudice.

I should have known I would encounter something eerie and unholy sooner or later, as the omens have been coming with alarming frequency to the point where I – normally the most unobservant of individuals – noticed that something was not quite right. The broken mirror. The black cat that continually crossed my path. The blood dripping from the ceiling and pooling on the linoleum, spelling out “redrum” and “never forget” with what looked like a dinosaur. The tidal wave of blood that came to a halt in front of spooky dead twins. I’m a man of science, so I could easily explain these away: the mirror broke because I am a klutz; the black cat is Cheddar; I’m a lousy housekeeper and you really SHOULD never forget the dinosaurs; the dead twins were actually escaped cosplayers from the anime convention that was in town a few weeks ago. What’s to fear when you have science on your side? Nothing.

This latest development, though – I don’t think I can ignore the signs any longer. The Admiral is coming for me, and no amount of grinding will increase my Disarm Trap skill enough for me to get away.

While I don’t necessarily miss the 37C weather of last week, this abrupt 180 isn’t quite right either. I had to wear a jacket this morning, and socks. I was actually cold on my ride in – I almost needed gloves. GLOVES! In AUGUST! Disgusting.

Bacon will make me feel better, though.