feelings with onions

Many years ago, my dad found an old teddy bear in with the stuff that remained after I left home. He dressed it his old baseball uniform, the shirt worn on his station’s ball team. Dad loved playing baseball and told me about the teams he had been on throughout his career – apparently Montreal had enough broadcasting stations with teams that tournaments were formed (think the Anchorman brawl, with fewer moustaches and more outs). Dad tried to instill that love of baseball in me, but failed miserably: turns out there is actually a LOT of crying in baseball. Anyway, dad loved baseball and dressed a teddy bear his jersey and the bear had a place of honour in the home for many years.

After my dad died, my mom kept it (.. because hoarding runs in the family, and we keep everything) and when she sold the house to move to her current weird ass-home, the bear came with. It retained a place of honour: the lounge chair in the living room. That’s the bear’s/cat’s chair.

Dad passed in 2005, and mom’s been in her apartment since .. 2007? 2008? A long time. Bear’s still there. We hung out in December.

I’m 3 months deep in a massive archaeological dig, and recently unearthed a huge teddy bear Ed had given me early in our relationship. I hadn’t decided what to do with it, so it hung out in the femur-sized pile of things in limbo: I needed to Deal with These, just .. later.

That said, today did start with a treasure hunt for a picture of a girl in a martini glass. We’re 6/7 in the quest when I found trove (look, this is pirate-themed now): yearbooks! amazing shoes! a single crystalline rose suspended in time! baby witch gear! copies of doom and doom II on floppy disk! an old t-shirt of my dad’s!

I think you can see where this might be going:

The shirt I unearthed was dad’s team shirt from his station in Victoria. I had claimed it after dad died, and stashed it away on a shelf I couldn’t reach.

Say hi to Bear next time you visit #halfwack.

I am exhausted from all of these feelings and onions.

aging gracefully

I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to age gracefully – I haven’t done a single graceful thing in my entire life. Tuesday’s child, full of grace my ASS.

I’ve been trying, though. Over the pandemic, I grew comfortable leaving the house looking less than Full Kimli. I go outside all the time without makeup. Yesterday, I left the house wearing PANTS and a T-SHIRT and what the fuck is up with that? Anyway, I’m trying. I even stopped colouring my hair to rediscover my natural hair colour, because “unmitigated disaster” is too much to fit on a driver’s license. My brother and sister have both been rocking dad’s bright white hair, but my mother’s genes are too strong – I didn’t get the graceful plume of Gandalf hair that gleams from afar and flutters lazily in the breeze. No, I’ve got some sort of passive Medusa ombré vortex of black and white and .. orange? Great. I’m a fucking Halloween decoration, and I don’t even get to turn people to stone.

Ed says he really likes my grey hair, so I’ve been keeping it for him and not at all because I’m too lazy to figure out what I want to do with it. The grey has been growing on me (no pun intended), but I don’t love it – especially not in the current state of hopeless fuckery that it’s in. Luckily, summer is almost over, and I’ll inevitably be in a sequinned beanie from now until next June. That’s plenty of time to decide what I’m doing with my head, right?

During this latest bout of unemployment, I’ve been trying to streamline my life to make things a little less chaotic. I’ve finally had to admit to myself that keeping my passwords organized in my head is probably not the best way to go about it, so I spent most of my Saturday setting up a password utility to remember things for me. I suppose I’m really late to the game on this one, but I’ve always prided myself on having a good memory and lately I’ve just been .. forgetting things. Passwords, dates, why I went into a particular room. I’ve forgotten what I was doing while doing it. This is all new, and I don’t know if it’s simply a symptom of age or other, leafier reasons. I don’t want to make myself sick worrying about my memory, so I’m going to try using lists and tools to keep shit organized. Progress. Small steps. Prune juice.

I feel drab.

dramatic self-realization of the week, part 4

I never understood the appeal of colouring books. The perfectionist in me was horrified that I’d be responsible for, let’s face it, ruining how the image looks with my clumsy colouring skills, and my hands cramped in protest: I can’t physically write or draw or colour for long without my weird elf hands just seizing. I loved the aesthetic of beautifully coloured images, but hated the pain I’d have to go through to not even come close at making anything pretty. Nice idea, but not for me.

I also fucking love building pretty Lego sets.

There’s something deeply, intensely relaxing about letting go and following instructions for the sake of beauty and joy. If I do it right, my reward is this odd, colourful little piece of art that fits right in with my entire aesthetic and I can’t kill it. I am in control of the speed at which the project is completed and the preciseness of instructions followed, but not the beauty of the outcome.

Assembling Lego is my colouring book. It makes my world a little bit quieter and a little bit brighter at the same time. It keeps my hands occupied. I can listen to music. I don’t have to think or listen or focus or create, I can just tune out and accomplish something for fun. The end result affects, and is for, no one but me – and there is no pressure about it. It is, or it isn’t. That’s it.

Is that what true relaxing is?

Anyway, if this is the same reason people love colouring books, I totally get it. This is niiiiice. My brain is napping.

The irony of finding following instructions the most relaxing thing is like 3 extra layers of fucked up that I am not yet ready to face thank you.

That was a lot of fucking words to say “I like Lego” Sorry.

we’ll carry on

Welcome to the Black Parade Pity Party!

First is first: my COVID is progressing mildly. I’ve had some instances of Feeling Gross, but for the most part it’s a chest rattle and some l33t light hacking. I’m still infected (extremely and immediately, according to the last two rapid tests), but otherwise fine.

That doesn’t mean I’m not not ENTIRELY MISERABLE, though. My entire week has been a towering inferno of disappointment and salad dressing, the details of which I will now describe in agonizingly inane detail.

So, this COVID thing. I can’t leave the house even more than I usually don’t leave the house, and it’s giving me significant cabin fever. Amongst my COVID angst:

  • Ed’s been home since Wednesday, and we haven’t been able to hug or kiss or make an mockery of procreation. I need hugs! Although tbh I really like the separate bed thing as it turns out I enjoy getting enough sleep.
  • I had plans for tomorrow that included three things I was looking forward to:
    • Hanging out with Shan (Shanging)
    • Breakfast at Deacon’s Corner which is my favourite and it’s been so long and I’ve been ever so good
    • Running around downtown Vancouver on a spectacular spring day, just existing

Side note – missing out on any one of the three items above would have been keenly felt, but all three of them together is just a dick move, universe.

On Monday, I’m missing lunch in Vancouver again (!!) with friends I haven’t seen (in SIXTY YEARS no lie at) my other favourite, Anton’s, to celebrate Shan’s belated birthday. I’m extremely sad to miss this for basically the same reasons as above, except with pasta for daaaaaaays. I’m actually double missing this one: even if I didn’t have COVID, I’m doing an online conference all day Monday. The COVID just makes it extra layer of fun, because Ed probably shouldn’t go either even if he’s negative, just in case.

That’s all bad, right? WELL THERE’S MORE!

  • An interesting development I was courting fell through and it made me sadder than I had anticipated
  • A pair of shoes I ordered are too big and an item was missing from the order (sold out and oops)
  • I’m insanely busy at work and this is the worst possible time I could have picked to get sick, so I’m stressing out about my work not getting done
  • .. and the same time, I’m still working except now I have guilt that I’m not working at my best or quickly enough which Jesus Christ woman pick a neurosis and stay in one fucking lane
  • .. and that whole “stressing and working myself into Scary COVID” thing hovering back there somewhere
  • *ahem* all that to say I was supposed to go to a work retreat thingie the week after next and I was nervous but really kinda excited about it – but because of my covidity AND my workload, I decided it be best if I didn’t go

I think that’s it. All the big ones, anyway. I could probably go on for an hour, but that sounds exhausting.

Basically, I am a very sad duck and I am allowed to be so. Feeling sad is a natural reaction to disappointment, and no one is judging me for my sadness.


Anyway, join me next time when I explain how my special flavour of damaged is a paradox and that’s so on brand I could just fucking spit !

the saviour of the broken, the beaten, and the damned

(hi k! i am flirting with you in reference form!)

this post made me cry

You are never going to believe this, but I have things to say about Turning Red.

The framework in which I make it all about me (part 1 of 2 – I have so many words): I don’t watch sad things. A whole lot of Pixar’s catalog is off-limits to me, but I made an exception so I could watch Turning Red. I actually timed how far I could make it into the movie before I started crying: 27:09:11.

Man I love data.

As a Chinese-Canadian woman, I am exercising my right – nay, my DUTY – to provide my unsolicited opinion on Turning Red:

Honestly, I did love it. It was spectacular to see myself represented as not only the main character in an animated film, but one set in Canada! My icy heart melted, and please excuse my Divine Ya-Ya squirting here but I’m so happy for all the women and girls that’ll experience the sheer delight of representation. It’s such an important thing. You can tell, because of all the white men losing their absolute shit at the movie. It mentions periods! The movie isn’t even ABOUT periods – it’s an analogy – but periods are MENTIONED and there are PADS and THINK OF THE CHILDREN!

Obviously everyone’s first period story is different, but I honestly don’t understand any of the outcry. It’s a biological function that affects 50% of the population – that’s over 3.5 billion people – yet it’s “too personal” a subject to discuss. Yeah, get the fuck out of here with that bullshit. We were taught about periods in grade 5/age 10. Mine came in at age 11. Still waiting to turn into a panda, though.

I also watched Encanto recently, and while that movie made me cry sooner than 27 minutes in, I *sobbed* throughout Turning Red. Full on ugly cries. I wiped my tears away with a hot dog bun. I don’t recommend it.

It’s not just the main story that made me cry, though – so much of the film is so well done (minor spoilers ahead):

  • The friendship between Meilin, Miriam, Priya, and Abby: I wish I had friends like that when I was 13. Hell, I wish I had friends like that now. Note: if anyone is looking to start a friend group, I will gladly be your Abby: I’m short, round, weird, and enthusiastic, and I probably already own pink overalls.
  • The relationship between Meilin and her mother made me sob because I also had a Skydome-destroying fight with my mother, but we didn’t get our happy ending. And it was in Victoria. Ever wonder why they replaced Memorial Arena with the Save-On-Foods Arena? Yo.
  • Elder relatives! I don’t know any of mine. More crying.
  • Being “different” yet beloved? How does that even work? I cried because I want to light up rooms I’m in.
  • Absolutely no big deal being made about Tyler being an annoying shit bully who is secretly probably gay and becomes the 5th member of the friend group by the end. I cried because it was cute.
  • I skipped the boy band craze of multiple generations, so I cried because I was confused. This may have been where the hot dog bun came in, but my memories of the evening are soggy.

If you haven’t yet watched Turning Red, I recommend it. I love that Pixar is finally starting to tell stories from BIPOC POVs and from women – Domee Shi previously won an Oscar for the Pixar short Bao. I’m going to reuse a trick that went around at the height of Black Lives Matter campaigns – even if you aren’t watching the video, stream it in the background so it registers the view. More viewers = more chances for people to tell their stories. Hollywood is finally starting to realize that brilliant things can come from people who aren’t cis white hetero men, so let’s help that along any way we can.

TL;DR: Movie good. Feelings bad. Therapy coming.

lowered standards

Back in March of 2020, all we wanted was for things to go back to normal.

It’s February 2022, and “normal” is no longer a thing. We’ve all been told that this – whatever “this” might mean to you – is the new normal, so buckle up and sit still.

I don’t want 2020’s normal anymore. I can’t imagine actually going out into the world without a single worry about other people’s vaccination status or viral load. Crowds – even crowds full of my favourite people – are an alien concept. I’d no sooner volunteer to be in any kind of crowd than I would, say, gather up a station wagon full of idiots and caravan into the nation’s capitol to proudly declare on a global stage that I’m really *that* stupid.

What DOES bother me is how quickly the rules change, and how badly I want things to go back to .. something. Not “normal”. Each week, it seems like I’d be happy with what we had last week because it keeps being taken away. This time two months ago, we had plans to finally see our friends and were talking excitedly about spending Christmas together for the first time in two years. The week before Christmas, all gatherings were cancelled due to the surge in Omicron. Thanks to another climate disaster, we had a tiny loophole that allowed us to cross the border for essentials – in my case, packages and a long-awaited trip to Trader Joe’s. Then TJ’s was too risky – so many people! – but I could go to Safeway, right? Then that became too much, but at least I could get my packages and some yogurt from the dairy store and it was so little but it was good enough, until it changed again – now I can’t get packages OR yogurt OR groceries OR see my friends and fuck all I want is the few freedoms we had 6 weeks ago. Or two weeks ago. Or yesterday.

What’s left to take?

I’m speaking strictly from my own pity party, of course. We’ve all been negatively affected by the last two years of confusion and fear and mixed messages. I’m not blaming anyone for this current mess (except you, anti-vaxxers and mandate protesters – go fuck yourselves!), and I’m fully aware that it’s my own sense of mortality actually stopping me from just doing whatever the fuck I want. There are no physical barriers to me packing shit up and going .. anywhere. It’s logistically complicated, but I thrive on the logistically complicated so that’s not the problem. It’s that annoying little sense of “for the greater good” that I can’t seem to shake, which is not really a bad thing as that’s basically what separates us from them, good from evil, true Canadians from the freedom convoy, etc. I wish things were different. I don’t think we’re going to get there with trucks and nazi flags and ignorance.

At the end of the day there’s nothing left but patience but it’s so hard and I’m so lonely and I miss everything.

But I’ll keep calm, I’ll carry on, I’ll listen to a lot of sad weepy songs, I’ll cut some fancy vinyl signs with giant cocks, and this too shall pass.


I’m sad and tired and lonely, but I’m alive and loved and safe. What more do I really need?

tee hee

If you know just one thing about me, know that I am pro orgasms. On the controversial topic of climaxing, I am all for it. As often as you want, anywhere you want*. Go orgasms! Manual, digital, analog, solo, group – it’s all good! Hooray for sex juices!



I was looking around the internet, minding my own business, when I stumbled upon a website that sells .. cum sponges. They’re small absorbent cotton rolls on a stick. You use them to extract cum from your vagina (or anus, I suppose) for that fresh, not-just-cummed-in feeling.

Toilet paper is still a thing, right?

I love cum (there’s no way to say that without being entirely awkward, but I’m just gonna own it), but this is awful for several reasons that you better believe I’m about to share with you here:

  1. Buying a specialty product to do a specific task that LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE could do: toilet paper, socks, a discarded t-shirt, your cat (don’t do this), etc
  2. Buying a specialty product that is entirely unnecessary: there’s a lot of shame and shade being thrown about over needing to “waddle to the bathroom”, but the ungainly post-coitus shuffle to the bathroom is part of the miracle of going to pound town
  3. If you’re too embarrassed to get up and attend to your needs after sex – fix your hair, get a drink, give yourself the orgasm your partner didn’t – you shouldn’t be having sex
  4. If anyone gives you a hard time over the hasty, unsexy clean-up walk, they don’t deserve the orgasm that created the need
  5. THIS IS SO BAD FOR THE PLANET holy shit you made a disposable, plastic, boxed, possibly individually wrapped item that is in no way necessary or useful
  6. THE REVIEWS oh my god these women are so happy that there’s a “solution” that doesn’t involve rolling over and going to sleep and dealing with the aftermath in the morning (“the trickle”) – basically, implying that these women don’t do the post-sex pee thing. YOU HAVE TO DO THE POST-SEX PEE THING! It’s like the third most important part of sex!! Not only does it eliminate the need to put more garbage in landfills, but it’s necessary for health and safety! ALWAYS PEE AFTER SEX!
  7. This gif:
I call shenanigans on this gif – there isn’t nearly enough Twinkie cream on that sponge for this to be real

8. These reviews:


I need – NEEDKhaby Lame to make a video about this. He can borrow my towels.

I like opening up the conversation about the realities of sex. I don’t like the implication that these women previously just walked around full of baby batter and went about their day, constantly worried about wads of semen causing a social faux pas. I also don’t like the founder’s tee hee humble brag about the sheer volume of her husband’s sex pudding. Is volume something people look for in a partner? “I really like Stan, but he only deposits up to 10ml of creamy risotto into my snatch at a time. I wish he was more like Johnny – he’s an asshole, but he cums like a firehose!” And don’t get me started on the “mistaking last night’s milky leftovers for my period” thing, or we’ll be here all fucking day.

Look, if you take only one thing away from this post, let it be this: ALWAYS PEE AFTER SEX. Even if you use a condom, or toys, or food (don’t use food). If anything whatsoever gets all up in your lady garden, go to the bathroom afterwards. If your partner makes fun of you for the necessary cleanup, a) don’t sleep with that person again, b) limit your sexual activities to the bathroom so there’s no waddle involved, c) I don’t know, maybe keep some tissues by your bed or something. Don’t buy a disposable product to splunk out your flesh cave. It’s bad for the environment, bad for your hygiene, bad for women, bad for impressionable youth who aren’t being taught to ALWAYS PEE AFTER SEX, and bad for my mood.

I’m all for the betterment of society, but not like this. Never like this.

Disclaimer: The preceding post is Not Safe for Work. Please exercise the necessary precautions.

infinite overboard

We don’t generally celebrate Halloween. Giving our religious background, we don’t feel right worshipping Satan and hahah yeah that’s not it. Honestly, in-office Halloween celebrations were the only real “celebrating” we did, and once the office went away, October 31st was just another day. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE Halloween – I just didn’t have an excuse to dress up, because I had nowhere to go. For the last 6 years, my default costume has been “Sexy Technical Writer”, because I wear it so well.

My last actual attempt at a Halloween costume was in 2014, when I went to work dressed as an anachronism: Han Solo outfit, Star Trek crew badge, phaser, and Starfleet Academy class ring, Firefly’s Independents flag, a wooden stake, an ADAM syringe from Bioshock, and a dozen other nerdy bibs and bobs from assorted universes. I thought I was brilliant and hilarious, but I had to explain it a lot and any costume that requires a lengthly explanation is probably not the success you’re hoping for.

Last year for Halloween we were on Salt Spring Island. This year we have no plans that don’t involve sitting on our balcony, but for the past year or so I have been all about the overkill: let’s do something, but let’s do it BIG and COMPLICATED. Things that start out as a simple “wonder if I could do this” turn into productions, with logos and labels and quality control and databases. Forgetting simple things led to digital display boards and spreadsheets. Reorganize the spice cabinet? MAGNETS. So, when I decided I wanted to do Halloween for realz this year, shit got chaotic.

It started out kind of simple: if I got a specific wig and dress, I could call it a day and it would be a low-effort but decent costume.

Then I remembered a) we have a door, and b) the door is yellow. It, like everything else in my life, snowballed from there.

I was going for “pumpkin”, but “Lovecraftian horror” is good too

All I needed to do next was stand in front of the door:

stand in the place that you live

I did a pretty good job standing, but it was missing something:

what is this, an infinity room for ANTS?!

WAIT this is Halloween – where’s the candy?!

ngl I am fucking hilarious

Pumpkins are not just for Halloween, but you can’t have a Yayoi Kusama costume without at least one pumpkin:

also, cat

.. or a dinosaur:

special guest star: lil yayoi!

Or everything all at once:

I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to spend most of November attacking my door with a paint scraper and some Goo Gone, but I don’t care – it was worth it. I may never do another costume – this was surprisingly expensive to put together because I kept having ideas – but I did the heck out of this one and the pictures make me laugh.


I have an office redecoration idea but I’m gonna need a lot of mirrors

Thank you to Ed for indulging my idea and helping with the picture taking and grosser parts of the pumpkin carving process!

I wonder how long I could keep my door like this.

Happy Halloween from #halfwack!