I took the last of my crazy pills on Sunday night, and made plans to fill my prescription for more on Monday after work. Unfortunately, when I got home I was stricken with an intense case of the lazies and didn’t want to leave the house or put clothes back on – no big deal; I have a stash of emergency brain meds for travel/this very reason. I would just take one of those, then replenish my stash later.

You can see the problem here – actually TAKING my crazy pill would have required putting Hot Springs Story down and getting out of bed. I fell asleep long before this could happen, but no big deal – I’d just take the pill first thing Tuesday morning and everything would be super.

Yeah, this didn’t happen either – I forgot all about it until I was actually at the pharmacy refilling the ‘scrip while reeling from the brain zaps. I didn’t really want to double up on the meds at that point so I went back to my normal schedule, but the damage has already been done – I’ve got Mega Vertigo and I’m gamely trying to stay upright because I’m not wearing my good underwear and passing out is just gauche.

If you’ve never had brain zaps, consider yourself lucky. I liken them to that scene in the Matrix where Morpheus is describing their reality to Neo – giant sentient robots roaming the earth sucking the delicious juices out of humanity under an unrelenting night sky; lightning crawling across the ominous cloud cover like electric spider webs. It doesn’t hurt, really, but it certainly doesn’t feel right in any way. It’s .. tingly. I have a tingly brain. Throw in the incessant vertigo, and it’s a wonder I’m able to keep my eyes from crossing. Please don’t ask me anything difficult today.

bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzap

I am not a practicing religionite, but I understand today is a Big Day in Western Christiness – it is Lent. Lent is when you give up things because your life is too awesome and that makes Jeeves sad because he is just a butler yet you have so much, so you stop being happy for a while and this makes your butler rise from the grave and feed everyone tuna sandwiches and chocolate eggs. I do not understand religiosity, but I am always respectful of forced suffering in the name of the Holly Father all the way up there in the mistletoe, so here is a list of things you could consider giving up for Lents:

• Lactose intolerance
• Tetris
• Traffic jams
• Orkut
• Diaper play
• Moisturizer
• Voice mail
• 17th century prostitution
• Full-frontal espionage

These are just examples, mind you – there are so many things you could give up for Lant to make Jeeves feel better about his indentured servitude and also your plan to crucify him so he can return from the dead with sandwiches and brightly coloured eggs. Also, it’s Mardi Gras. Show me your tits.

Ye Olde Office decorating is complete:

pray tell, didst thou complete thine inventory report due on the morrow?

Not shown: the other two flags, which are strung up elsewhere in the office. I’m covered in drywall – I think I have the white lung – but they look pretty good, if I do say so myself. People are already asking what the fuck because they are pretty ridiculous, but my boss likes ’em, my team likes ’em, and I think they’re kind of hilarious so it’s nothing but good over here. I love that I get to do stuff like this at/for work. I think I’ll add some more ridiculous to our intranet.

My team at work is a relatively new team, and people don’t always know what we do. It doesn’t help that every person in PCC does something completely different, either – we are a confusing but attractive bunch. At a meeting, we tossed around suggestions to educate our co-workers as to our roles – wearing hats, or refusing to talk to anyone unless they ask questions in grade school German. I jokingly suggested we needed to create banners to hang above our desks; each depicting what we actually do on a day to day basis. I wasn’t actually serious, but the idea picked up steam and kind of took on a life of its own .. end result, I spent my weekend doing this:

flags!

I couldn’t find a recipe for the style of flag I wanted, so I kind of made one up. They’re not perfect – neither my sewing skills nor my crest-making skills are really existent at all, but they’ll pass. It helps that they’ll be hung from the ceiling, so no one can really look too closely. I’m kind of proud of them, flaws and all – I sewed a thing! Five things! And I only swore at the sewing machine 9 times, and needed Josh to help me fix it 4 times! Craftiness is AWESOME!

I don’t feel very good, though. I had to skip brunch this morning for feeling like hell, and I’m kind of queasy. I’m not allowed to be sick, so I have until tomorrow around 7am to get better. So, here we go.

I may have made a grave mistake.

One of my few remaining shameful secrets is that I joined my office lottery pool. It’s the only place I “do” lottery, and entirely because I don’t have to do anything at all. I give John money once a month, and I get a bunch of emails I completely ignore. I assume someone will tell me if we actually win anything, but I don’t ever think about because it is extremely distasteful and embarrassing to me.

Joining the lottery pool isn’t the mistake. Telling my mother I joined the lottery pool? THAT was a mistake. She calls me twice a week now to ask how our numbers did, and I haven’t got the foggiest idea – I don’t know or care what they are, whereas my mother memorizes every set of numbers she plays and knows within seconds of watching the draw if she won or not. And if I thought she talked a lot about her numbers before – oh god. I wonder if she thinks she finally got through to me; that we’re now kindred spirits united through our love of organized gambling. Each conversation we have is a Beautiful Mind-styled dissertation on number theory and patterns, with some awkward motherly advice twisted to relate to the joys of gambling thrown in to make me incredibly uncomfortable. There’s something so, so wrong when your mother tells you to always buy lotto tickets to the point where “if you don’t have enough money leftover for meat, you can always eat peanut butter”.

I regret my attempt to bond with my mother by telling her I joined the lottery pool. And it wasn’t really so much an effort to bond as it was to get her to shut up about the damn lottery pool. I don’t mind having Rain Man for a mother – it’s the only logical explanation; the woman runs different lottery pools with every person she knows and keeps them all straight in her head – but why couldn’t her weird super power be something even remotely useful and doesn’t cost her hundreds of dollars each week?

Stupid lottery.

The details have been ironed out and the deposits paid – we’re going to Cuba in May.

I’m excited. I’ve never been on a tropical vacation before, and neither has Ed. There’s a group of us going, and we’ll be there for a whole week. That’s a lot of communist sun to soak up, and I’m ready for it. I bought a Kindle so I can sit and read, and when that gets boring, I’ve been told I can rent a scooter and ride around looking for treasure. It’ll be an adventure in every sense of the word, and I am really looking forward to it.

I do have a minor concern about the trip – a niggling little worry that, if I let it, will turn into a full-blown panic attack. It’s not the flight or safety or the resort – those things will be fine. I’m not even all that concerned about our cats or home; we have A Plan. No, I’m trying hard not to freak out about something much more important:

Do they have Diet Coke in Cuba?

Everyone else is excited about drinking mojitos on the beach until they can’t stand up. This holds little interest to me – I don’t drink, and I like standing up. While I’m sure there will be a number of non-alcoholic options available, I’m really only interested in one: I drink Diet Coke. That’s it. I’ll drink water if there’s nothing else available, but everything I’ve read says to avoid water and ice cubes. What the hell am I going to do? I need my Diet Coke! It’s my caffeine, my best friend, my secret lover! I can’t even go one day without the deliciousness, let alone 8! Do I really need to bring clothing? Can I use my suitcase to smuggle in a supply?

Try though I might, I can’t see a way around this. I’m certainly not going to skip the trip just because I can’t wean myself from the chemical tit, but I need to find something else I can live off for a week without suffering from withdrawal. I’ve only thought of one half-assed solution, and I’m not too crazy about it: I’m going to have to learn to drink.

I’m thankfully not allergic to rum, so I’ll start there. We have some random rum in the closet somewhere, and I picked up some mango-infused rum to practice on. I will practice until I am Awesome at Drinking. I will get really Good at Drinking so I can spend my vacation plastered off my ass – the Thing to Do, apparently – so I won’t be annoyed at the lack of Diet Coke. This is a good plan, right? You can do anything if you just practice hard enough.

Who wants to get practice drunk with me?

Here is a picture of a tiny bejeweled monkey for some reason:

i do not know why i am

I’m not one to brag, but I have a pretty spectacular vagina. At least, I assume I do – why else would EVERY SINGLE PHYSICAL EXAM I HAVE garner an audience and mood lighting?

Almost two months after I had officially given up on my delicate sanctuary, I received a call from the Lady Part Clinic at VGH asking me to come down for a howdy-do: it seems my file had been misplaced. They were very eager to take a look at my fancy basket, so could I please come down and let everyone take a peek? The mysterious pain had long since subsided and I had all but forgotten my Adventures in Spectator Speculuming, but I’m not one to turn down a free glob of lube in my nethers so off I went.

I sat around waiting for a long time before anyone came in, and that anyone was an exceedingly young Asian chap who asked me ten thousand questions about my cloven tuft. After I had convinced him that I’m not crazy or a floozy, he left the room to fetch the doctor. Dr. Lady actually had Some News for me, which is much further than I’d ever gotten before – after examining my ultrasound in detail, she spotted something. She explained that it was very likely a lovely-sounding thing called a hemorrhagic cyst, which is a harmless bumpy thing that expands and contracts like terrifying disembodied lungs and usually hurts a bit. She suggested that she and the exceedingly young Asian chap take a romp through my silky gardens, and that I go for a follow-up ultrasound next month just in case. Both these things sounded just swell to me, so my pants came off and my legs spread and everyone had a good hard look at my cervix. Another Wednesday, another bunch of random spectators inspecting my quivering velvet – I should start charging admission.

I have an ultrasound scheduled for mid-April, but the rest of my sugar basin received high marks for healthiness and welcoming ambiance. It was nice to get some actual news about my gardens; it’s more than a little worrisome to experience Mystery Pains for no reason.

To celebrate my healthy tinkleflower, I am wearing a petticoat under my dress.

i am a true lady

My spam filter must be asleep, but I’m okay with that because this wouldn’t have made it through otherwise:

Sale!
1. Heroin, in liquid and crystal form.
2. Rocket fuel and Tomohawk rockets (serious enquiries only).
4. New shipment of cocaine has arrived, buy 9 grams and get 10th for free.

Everyone is welcome, but not US citizens.

ATTENTION. Clearance offer. Buy 30 grams of heroin, get 5 free.

Prices upon reqeust.

WOW! What a deal! I’d be a fool not to stock up now! If any US citizens want in on the deal, we can work together and place a bulk order!

blow sparkles, right?

I can barely walk and I won’t eat again for a week, but that was the most decadent Tuesday night I’ve ever had.

Shan and I were among the lucky Yelp Elite to be invited to attend a chic soirée (for real) at YEW restaurant and bar in the Four Seasons Hotel. It was the second of two nights; instead of having one massive and crowded party they wisely and excellently threw two small parties which meant people had room to mingle, chat with YEW staff, and gorge themselves on some of the most incredible food I’ve ever had the privilege of trying. The entire evening was a blast – Yelp’s Community Manager Cyndi is adorable beyond belief (as is her sister), Shan and I lucked into the same party as some of my favourite people, and I got to play with power tools – there’s little more I need to ensure an incredible time, and thus a memorable Tuesday was born.

YEW really pulled out all the stops to ensure we were a well-fed and well-watered bunch. The wine flowed non-stop, and the bartender served up some wicked Negronis to all who dared. Molson was on hand as well, debuting their new Molson M (some sort of microcarbonated beer – near as I can tell, this means it has tiny bubbles) Lager. Me, I drank water. Even if the booze is free, I’m afraid of it – but what I didn’t ingest in alcohol, I more than made up for in food.

mac n' cheese done all fancy

Oh, the food. YEW served up plate after plate of incredible goodies – I officially stopped eating at least four times, but was easily convinced to try the new delicacy coming my way. Among the highlights of the tasty things YEW had in store for us:

• Lobster Mango Rolls
• Gourmet Mac n’ Cheese
• This absolutely incredible gnocchi dish served with fancy bacon and truffles
• Freshly shucked oysters
• Some of the best mushroom soup I’ve ever tasted

The food was amazing. Have I mentioned that yet? It was clearly prepared with love and deliciousness, and I truly enjoyed myself – and I haven’t even mentioned the desserts yet.

mango ravioli: tastier than you

The lighted dessert bar was the first thing that caught my eye when we walked into the room, mostly because it was shiny and pretty. I went over to see what was up and found that in addition to looking good, the table was groaning with YEW’s legendary dessert tapas: small portions of transcendental sweets allowing you to choose your own flavour explosions. I’m pretty sure I had more dessert than savoury food, but can you blame me when faced with:

• The above-pictured Mango Ravioli, served floating in a sea of honest-to-god Delicious Juice
• Chocolate caramel truffle lollipops
• Strawberry compote on whipped white chocolate ganache with coconut meringue
• And the surprise favourite, the espresso caramel pot de crème

truffle lolli!

espresso caramel

So much fun. Jeff Hanson spoke with almost every person at the party and talked about his restaurant, which he is clearly – and rightfully – proud of. It was a brilliant evening, and I feel incredibly lucky to have been included – YEW is a beautiful place with fantastic staff (and Joel the Waiter deserves a special shout-out for his smooth-talking ways that had me eating far more than I should have but enjoying every minute), and I’m planning to visit again with Ed in tow very soon.

I’m still full, but I’d give my left arm for more mango ravioli in delicious juice.

oysters were here

.. the life preserver, because it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Actually, I take that back – this won’t be a bumpy ride, because I don’t want it to be. I will try very, very hard to behave myself this time, and maybe I won’t need to worry that I’ll be tossed out into the open ocean as shark bait. I will sit perfectly still. I will not rock the boat. I will be quiet and keep my mouth shut and not many any (more) snide comments within earshot of people who thought this was a good idea. I’m good, see. That means no one will fire me for speaking my mind, because I don’t have one. No boat rocking here!

.. okay, maybe a little wave:

Our corporate website got redesigned. It looks nice – very bright and clean, and without any horrible stock photography. Except I almost wish they DID use stock photography, because at least those pictures of fake-ass smiling employees have WOMEN in them, unlike our new website which is a complete and total sausage fest. They had a photographer come in and take pictures of some of our more photogenic staff, and those people are the ones you see on our site. That’s a nice idea and all, but what are they trying to say here? We don’t employ women at all? Or we only hire ugly women not fit to be displayed for internet consumption? Boooo. Neither of those things are true, and the righteous feminist in me is appalled that they’d make our website so full of wang. Have we not come further than that as a society? Is this not 2011? Do I not work here as well? If you give me a project, do I not bleed hilarious and accurate documentation? I demand equal representation for our capable, knowledgeable sex! Put some ladies on our website! We can and do work here too!

*splash splash*

Okay, I’ll be quiet now.

It’s just kind of annoying, is all.