I am walking funny.

I *wish* it was for interesting and carnal reasons, but the reality is much less naked and sticky: we had a fire drill yesterday, and The Lab is on the 16th floor. I had to walk down 16 flights of very steep concrete stairs, being quite terrified of falling the entire time. I was very tense, which probably didn’t help. I also almost fell three times. I don’t like walking down long flights of scary stairs because I’m convinced I’ll lose my footing and take a very painful tumble – as a result, I go very slowly and am overly cautious about it all. In a real emergency, I’d probably die of smoke inhalation long before I made my way outside to safety. That is, if the frantic crowds behind me didn’t push me out of their way before it came to that. This morning I woke up with very very sore thighs for reasons that were no fun whatsoever. Boo!

Our scooter trip to Victoria is in jeopardy, and I am completely bummed out about it. We’re supposed to leave Thursday and scoot to the island, returning on Sunday –  but the forecast changed yesterday and now we’re supposed to get three days of rain and then a heat wave. Sound great, except those three days of rain are scheduled for Thursday, Friday and Saturday. FUCK! I’ve been looking forward to this trip for YEARS, and now it may not happen because of the weather. I don’t know when we’d be able to do it again because of strict vacation scheduling rules on Ed’s part, and this weekend was just perfect with the timing. I will be a very sad girl if we have to cancel this trip. Go away, rain. Please choose to do your nasty business on someone else’s parade.

Our packrat stripper neighbour is holding a garage sale this weekend, and I am *beyond* curious as to how many of my items are going to appear in that sale.

I have a habit of cleaning out my closets of items and donating them to various places. Clothing always goes into the Goodwill bin, cosmetics and toiletries go to the whores, and “stuff” – furniture, hats, bags, books, etc – always go downstairs in our building entrance, for people to pick through. I’m fairly certain the majority of things I’ve put downstairs have ended up in the stripper’s apartment (or outside her door, judging by the massive pile of crap they keep in the hallway). Her garage sale notice says there’ll be many things for sale, including things I’ve left in the entrance – so tomorrow, I’m going to check out her garage sale to see how much of it was mine. It should be interesting, and profitable for her – I give away awesome things.

The weekend ahead looks to be busy and fun. Tomorrow is the start of my birthday week and the day of the Annual Birthday Event. This year there will be a visit to the Art Gallery (because I am very posh and cultured and totally not going simply because the exhibit is one about video game and comic book art), dinner, and wandering through the Chinatown Night Market. I am excited to spend time with fun people. Hooray for birthday events! Also, Amanda is in town and that is generally a good time as well. Hopefully this time around we won’t be kicked out of any horrible dive bars, but we will have to see (and perhaps keep Darren away from old men and their wallets).

I am actively trying to get Gillian to move to the North Shore. I asked our building manager to let me know if any vacancies come up (my fingers are crossed so hard that the Loud One moves out that I’m losing circulation) so we could have dibs, and he implied that Blowjob *might* be leaving. That is sad because I will miss her public blowjobs and the thrill I get from snickering at her every time we cross paths, but if it means Gillian can move in then HOORAY. I really wish the Loud One would leave, though. She decided this morning at 6am that it would be truly excellent if she held a breakfast party on her lawn (she has a private entrance) – fantastic, except that her voice is piercing and loud and grating and horrible and I’m sure she woke everyone in a 3 mile radius up with her horrible sounds. Ed finally got up and SLAMMED our window shut, at which point I heard them mutter and move back inside. Seriously, who the fuck does that. She HAS to know how fucking loud she is – hell, she had screaming matches with her upstairs neighbor about it – and yet she thinks nothing of disturbing not just our building but the one facing her suite and god knows who else is within earshot. She’s horrible. I would like her to leave so Gillian can have her apartment. That would be excellent.

Seriously, Shitva – I dislike you a great deal and your voice is just *awful*.

I have a brutal migraine that is not going away through conventional methods, so I am trying to *think* the fucker away.

Ed asked me last night why I plan things.

Honestly, I’m not quite sure.

We were talking about birthdays and events, and I was thinking out loud about what needed to be done to make the next Big Outing work for everyone involved. Halfway through my stream of thought, Ed asked me why I do it and I didn’t really have a good answer.

Part of it is because I’m afraid no one else will. Everyone I know gets so frustrated when the majority of the day is spent sitting around saying “what do you want to do?” “I dunno, what do YOU want to do?” that it’s just easier if a game plan is laid out beforehand. It’s also because with groups larger than 2 or 3, there are things to consider that may be overlooked – but since I’m so anal about details, I try to cover it. Yes, the planning is a little fun – but most of the time it’s a huge hassle, since people don’t necessarily appreciate the fact that I try to arrange stuff so there are no potentially disastrous situations.

I also tend to worry a lot. A big part of why I don’t enjoy 4×4’ing is because of the unknown – while I am almost always up for Adventure, something about driving off where you shouldn’t and without cell service or a non-homicidal human around for miles makes my inner anal spasm. What if we fall in a ditch? What if we drive into an 8’ deep puddle of crocodiles and can’t get out? What if our entire group goes missing and no one notices we’re gone for 2 weeks and we have to resort to cannibalism? As the juiciest, I’m sure to get eaten first – and did anyone bring napkins and ketchup? I truly do love Adventures, but I am just not that crazy about the Unknown outside of my comfort zone (which, to be fair, is a very large zone).

Also, I *hate* getting dirty.

When it comes to planning Events – birthdays, holidays, Big Fun Things – those I do out of love. I love my peoples, even if they drive me crazy sometimes (and vice versa – I am not much fun to be around when I am in a terrible mood). I plan things that would be fun for everyone because I love my friends and I want people to have good times. I worry about people’s birthdays – even and especially if they don’t – because I want them to know they’re loved and appreciated (and because everyone should feel special on their birthday).

That’s probably the answer right there: I do what I do because I am an anal retentive control freak with an eye for details, a wicked memory, and big squishy love for those I care about.

Awww.

My head still hurts.

Best of Vancouver my ASS.

I am seriously tired of The Straight’s “Best of” list continually being wrong and/or disturbing. When we first moved to Vancouver, we didn’t really have any idea of what to eat, so we relied on the hip and cool local rag to steer us in the general direction of delicious. Time and time again we were disappointed in what was considered “the best” in any number of categories – either someone has been buying reader votes, or a lot of people have just plain crappy taste.

Two examples spring immediately to mind: year after year, Las Margaritas on West 4th has been voted as the best Mexican food in the city. Even allowing for extra generous points knowing that you really can’t get good Mexican food in Canada, Las Margaritas was *terrible*. Overpriced food, poor service, and the worst crime a “Mexican” restaurant can commit: bland food. Salsa has flavour, people. It is not just watered down ketchup. Even with our warnings, friends have gone to Las Margaritas to check it out for themselves and came away with the same verdict: holy shit, that was awful. It’s places like this that make me happy to drive over the border into Bellingham, Washington to dine at Mi Mexico, which has some of the finest Mexican food I’ve ever had. Fie on you, Las Margaritas. You are no good.

Example number two: Mr. Pickwick’s Fish & Chips. My parents instilled into me a love of halibut, and every once in a while I get a craving for some good old fashioned fish n’ chips. We’ve had success at places like the Cockney Kings, but it’s so far down East Hastings it’s a block outside of Port Moody and too far to get to from our home on the North Shore. Also good is Montgomery’s Fish n’ Chips in the Lonsdale Quay, and Ed really likes the fish from Charlie’s in Sinclair but I personally think their tartar sauce is kind of funky. My current favourite, though, is C-Lovers – reasonably priced, fast service, completely delicious and close to my house, so it’s a win all around.

For the sake of adventure this last weekend though, we decided to try out Mr. Pickwick’s. It’s usually voted as the best Fish n’ Chips in Vancouver, so we scooted to the Denman Street location for some dinner. Apparently, calling yourself a “bistro” and serving things on square plates means you can charge out the ass for your food. We tried the crab cakes for an appetizer. They were okay; nothing spectacular although they were plentiful for the price. The real crime, though, was the fish – while I am truly down with the irony of this complaint, the fish was *watery*. And overpriced. A standard 2-piece halibut and chips plate ran a good $8 more than any other place I’ve been to, and the quality was just not there for the price we paid. Ed and I can eat ourselves stupid at C-Lovers for $24 – our meal at Pickwick’s was $45 and nowhere near as tasty.

I’m done looking towards random strangers for the lowdown on decent food options. Seriously, any poll that has McDonald’s winning more than one category with no trace of the funny should just not be taken seriously. Fie on you, Reader’s Choice voters. Your taste buds are clearly made of stupid.