The Vancouver Twestival was last night, and while I didn’t meet as many new people as last year, I went with quality over quantity – the people I DID get to talk to are some of my favourites, both new and old. I was an official volunteer this year (unlike last year where I just decided “I’m helping now, k?”), so I was pretty busy with various tasks (mostly involving the swag bags – I am the Master of Stuffing). I did get to mingle a bit though, and take many pictures of the spectacular view. This year’s venue was the Harbour Centre Vancouver Lookout, and it was friggin’ AWESOME. I love it up there – Vancouver is a phenomenally beautiful city, and it makes my heart all tingly that I get to live here.

As busy as I was last night, I certainly didn’t go without moments of sheer hilarity both inside my own head and also outside for others to play along. One of the sponsors of the event was I Love My Muff, makers of products that promote soft silky happy vaginas. I love vaginas, so I was more than delighted to inform everyone (even random people passing by that had nothing to do with Twestival – oops) that with their swag bag came a lovely treat for their vaginal areas, whether they had one or not. Poor Vincent was my table partner, and having only met me 40 minutes prior, he knew nothing about my extremely vocal love of the Almighty Flower of Creation. I hope my Happy Vagina Dance didn’t make him TOO uncomfortable; I was just .. excited. About vaginas. As usual.

I also showed an amazing act of restraint last night for the first time ever – I didn’t suggest to the Godfather of Vancouver Social Media that he purchase a Beauty Night raffle bracelet to use as a cock ring. I consider my tongue biting a personal win – look at me, being the very soul of discretion! I am a lady in all ways!

In other news, I am not sure if I should be dismayed or delighted: I decided I needed to wear sequins today, so I got dressed and put on a sequined vest. Then I realized my shirt was covered in cat hair and couldn’t be worn, so I put on a different shirt that and found that it really didn’t go with my sequins at all. No worries, though – I just pulled out an entirely different sequined vest, and went on my merry way. Sequins are for all reasons! I am going to be the most awesome old lady EVER!

Happy for Friday; fun weekend ahead. Stuff is good fantastic. My insides are smiling!

so high

the shadow is my penis

it's true; i so do

toys for a giant

dance, tiny puppets!

hairiest swag ever

I took off my pants between two parked cars – spring is officially here!

I’m wearing a dress to celebrate Wednesday (and because I’ve done too good a job at convincing myself dresses are awesome; I feel like a horrible slob in pants now), but I wanted to take advantage of the gorgeous day and ride Lola to work. It’s still too chilly (and generally foolish) to ride with bare legs, so I wore temporary pants and removed them when I arrived downtown. It’s a somewhat clumsy system, but it works for me and it’s better than the alternative – chapped thighs are never sexy.

This was all over Twitter yesterday. Enjoy, or something – it kind of defies explanation. Be sure to watch “Part 2” after you give up on the original; it’s hilarious. And I’m sorry.

My new business cards arrived. They are not as exciting as when my title was officially Internet Superstar, but since my job is several thousand times better, I will deal like the trooper I am.

training & communication & FUCKING SHIT UP DAWG

Well, that was unexpected.

Josh has been researching his family tree, and told me he found a great deal of information on a Canadian ancestry site. It’s a pay site, but you get a 2-week free trial and if you cancel before then, you won’t get charged. This sounded like an excellent deal to me, so I signed up and started looking around for information on my family.

I started with my dad, and entered his information. The site has a cool feature that allows you to search based on the information you provided, and it quickly let me know that a John Wangzilla with the same birth/death date was in the system; would I like to take a look and see if they were the same? I did indeed want to do this, so clicky clicky off I went.

Strangely, my dad was already in the system. That’s all fine and good – it gives me somewhere to start – but then I started reeling. I did not expect the reeling, or the deep ache that came afterward. I am now aching and reeling and frankly, it’s all giving me a headache – I have an intranet to build; I don’t need all these emotions.

Someone had already researched a family tree, and added my dad (albeit incorrectly; his middle name was spelled wrong). They added his wife, and kids, and grandkids, and their spouses, and their kids, and so on and so forth. Except .. they didn’t add ALL of it, did they?

They left out my mother, and they left out me. I’ve been effectively and once again cut out of the family by people who would rather pretend that we don’t exist, and that hurts. A lot. I wish it didn’t bother me, but it really does – my dad loved me, you assholes. I’m as much a part of his life as you are, and maybe you don’t agree with how he chose to LIVE that life, but it doesn’t give you the right to sanitize his past to erase what you consider a mistake.

Dad never liked you anyway, you know.

The topic of midlife crises came up over the weekend, and I started thinking about what my own inevitable crisis would look like. Apparently only 10% of the population truly experience one, so I’m of two minds on this: will I be affected because I’m missing the things people consider necessary to live a successful life, or will I escape the crisis because I generally think I’m awesome? According to the internet, the unlucky 10% have problems or regrets over:

• work or career (or lack thereof) – I seem to have stumbled onto a career for myself, and I kind of like it. Yeah, I’m not saving lives or rocket sciencing, but I never really had grand aspirations to heal the sick or send them to space so I think I’ll be okay.
• spousal relationships (or lack thereof) – I have one of these and it is a-ok. Will my lack of dongs lead to a crisis? Better get more dongs, just to be safe.
• maturation of children (or lack of children) – This is an interesting one to think about. I don’t *think* I’m going to wake up when I’m 50 and cry myself inside out because I have no kids, but I can’t see the future (yet) so I don’t know how this will play out. I’m certainly not going to drop trou and make babies to ward off any regrets I might experience later, so I’ll just keep on keeping on. It’s certainly not unheard of for people to switch Teams, but as the thought still fills me with nausea and terror, I think I’m okay.
• physical changes associated with aging – not worried.

It doesn’t sound like stability or lack thereof is necessarily the trigger for a midlife crisis, so my confidence in my awesomeness doesn’t really play a role. You have to imagine, though – what on earth would my crisis look like? Here are some common behaviours in a normal midlife crisis:

• drinking
• acquisition of unusual or expensive items such as motorbikes, boats, clothing, sports cars, jewelry, gadgets, tattoos, piercings, etc.
• depression
• blaming themselves for their failures
• paying special attention to physical appearance such as covering baldness, wearing “younger” designer clothes etc.

.. this sort of describes my normal life, actually. Most people don’t do the things I do on a regular basis, so does that mean my crisis will look like THEIR definition of normal? Will I wake up one morning in the distant future and:

• Buckle down
• Straighten up and fly right
• Dress my age – not everyone needs to see my boobs
• Sell my scooter; buy a silver Honda Civic sedan so I can fit in
• Look into tattoo removal
• No, thank you, I do not need extra dongs
• Take things Very Seriously
• Switch to caffeine-free Diet Coke
• Keep my secrets and dirty laundry offline
• Unpack my emergency Running Away bag once and for all
• Empty my Optimus Prime shrine and use it to display collector plates

All those things are horrific to me (but give me a great idea for an April Fool’s joke at work). I live my life with by rule (don’t be a dick) and one goal (be happy); things that people often wait for years to discover. What will be waiting for me when I come to my own realizations?

Whatever it is, I hope it involves jetpacks.

(this is for Tim, who wanted a naughty blog post – while it won’t be as epic as the last time I wrote a post for someone specific, the general theme is the same)

I think I need to amend my postnuptual agreement – I *do* want sword play. There’s no use denying it. Still, I would be willing to compromise – this is an agreement after all; I’m not a sex commie – I can live without the crossing of swords as long as we could try pegging.

An article on the how/what/why of pegging appeared on Jezebel this week, and while I’ve always known what it was, the post made me want to try it. Unfortunately, that’s even less likely to happen than my fanciful dreams of more wang – Ed does not have an adventuresome prostate. He’s missing out on a great deal of fun because of his squeamishness (which I will never understand – you HAVE these things, why are you so afraid of them?!), and I am sad and inundated with lusty daydreams that go far beyond naughty and into the realm of Caligula meets Catherine the Great (without the tyranny, murder, incest or [rumoured but untrue] horse cock [actual, not a size-related euphemism]).

I am not at all interested in figging, though. It seems a waste of perfectly good ginger (which is delicious), not to mention unsanitary.

pissing behind the
dumpster while your best friend looks
on – you’re my bro, bro

I came home to a frat boy incorrectly using the dumpster in the parking lot, his buddy parked next to it and .. well, staring. He was staring at his friend as he was peeing. Not my thing, but I’m not one to judge – go ahead and treat my back yard like a toilet; it’s not like there’s a McDonalds with that high-falutin’ indoor plumbing literally 60 feet to your left or anything. Go douche bag pride!

I think I’ve finally caught up on my sleep, and all it cost me was a night out. It figures that I wouldn’t be able to truly rest until the weekend, but I’ll take it. Plus, sausages! And two more nights of decadent sideways sleeping! Things are looking up. Not parking lot piss show up, but up all the same.

Some enterprising huh choo-shung tza-jiao duh tzang-huo stole the last can of Diet Coke from my stash at work, and I. Am. Pissed.

Take a can? Sure, go ahead. I don’t mind. Even if I’m not actually at my desk and you’re thirsty, that’s cool – I can share. But to take the LAST can without asking me or saying anything or, you know, not taking it at all is da-shiang bao-tza shr duh lah doo-tze. What the fuck, people. Now I’m cranky AND thirsty. Never get between me and my Diet Coke – that’s just BEGGING for an impolite nickname.

Still tired. Better than yesterday, but tired. Looking forward to tomorrow – there is absolutely nothing on my plate but laundry, and I intend to catch up on my sleep. I’m supposed to go out tonight, but I’m torn between the blissful silence of an empty home and the sure-to-be-fun of Board Game Night.  I’m gonna leave the decision to my future self because I’m too busy looking up Chinese swears on the internet to think straight right now (seriously, who the fuck steals the last of someone’s stash) – throw in some imperious demands emailed to me and the fact that I didn’t get any packages in the mail again, and you’ve got a very grumbly Friday complete with a righteously indignant Kimli.

Tah mah duh hwoon dahn!

I’m either coming down with sleeping sickness, or caffeine and I need to have a long boring talk about our relationship.

I’m tired. Beyond tired, even – I’m exhausted and more than likely drooling. There’s no real reason for me to be so tired, and I’ve tried all week to catch up on my sleep but each time I do it’s a restless endeavor that leaves me cranky and worse off than before. What gives? I have no trouble falling asleep, but once I’m there I’m lucky if I stay under for 20 minutes at a time. There’s a great deal of tossing and turning, and I’m always too hot never too cold you take your best shot too hot to hold and it sucks. I need to figure this out, and soon – so I’m Doing Science for the next few days. Ed is out of town, so we will see if I get a better sleep tonight. If not, I will stop drinking Diet Coke past 8pm and see if that helps. I’ve narrowed my problem down to either Ed (he won’t let me sleep sideways) or the caffeine (I take Diet Coke to bed with me), and something’s gotta give before I explode in a fountain of blood and glitter.

Today is St. Patrick’s Day. I am wearing a green sweater, green eyeliner, and a green necklace – I look like a slutty 4-leaf clover, but I’m okay with that.

Here is a video by a nice young man who overdubbed the House of Pain’s Jump Around in Gaelic – it is pretty awesome:

Dún do chlab, dún do bhéal, éist le mo scéal
Má cheapann tú go dtuigeann tú tá tú cur i géill

Bring on the frozen thighs and knee pads – it’s riding season! I thought I saw a glimmer of sunlight out the window this morning, and all at once could no longer handle taking the bus every day. It’s been an unusually wet end-of-winter around these parts; I don’t think I’ve waited this long to start riding since the year I bought my first scooter. Freedom! I has it! Smell ya later, transit!

Of course, the forecast for the next ten days or so show nothing but rain so I’ll probably end up on the bus again tomorrow .. but today I will enjoy the ride.

I am seriously conflicted about something and in a bizarre-to-me position of silence for the sake of discretion. I live my life like an open pop-up porno book, and NOT saying something that’s on my mind is just alien and backwards. It’s not about any of you, I’m not dancing around the Passive Aggression Pole, and I’m not dropping thinly-veiled hints at anyone in particular so put down the butter knives; I’m just wrestling with my need to write about the WTF and my desire to not upset anyone. Maybe I’ll write about it later – after I’ve spoken to someone in the same boat – and see where it goes. Maybe I’ll come up with some insane analogies to hide the truth but get my point across anyway. Maybe I’ll just sit here and drink Diet Coke. I HATE not writing about things, damnit.

My 10-year bloggiversary is in two weeks and I haven’t thought of anything fun to do outside of justifying the purchase of an iPad 2 to myself. Boooo.

Me: Someone is wearing perfume that I know, but I can’t place it .. who smells?
Her: It’s me, but it’s not a regular perfume .. I got it from a sex shop.
Me: Well, that explains why it smells so familiar.

People attempting to take over my job make me angry. KIMLI SMASH and also send extremely snotty emails!