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.

I am frustrated with my face.

The habitual dry skin I get in the winter is out of control this year, and is so much worse than it’s ever been. I’m scaly and gross all over my face, and it HURTS. Nothing I’ve done is helping at all and I can’t stop clawing at the dried pieces of flesh hanging off my face like some sort of disgusting Kimli jerky. I got a prescription for some soothing creams from the horrible clinic I go to for my meds, but it did nothing – it lacked the steroid component I’m used to getting when my face threatens to fall off. I figured I could work around the cream and keep things under control, so I didn’t bother getting a different cream.

Fast forward to today, when EVERYTHING HURTS. Moving my face in any way is a crusty exercise in pain and bad times, and nothing I’ve done since September has made things any better. Even worse, the zombie areas have spread – there was a time when only the right side of my nose was devoid of moisture, but those were apparently the good days. My entire nose and both sides of my mouth are excessively, horribly dry and my forehead – I have a unibrow made of scales. No part of this is any good at all, and I am depressed and ugly and sad.

I won a shirt because my team somehow came in second in our office Rock Band tournament last Friday, but the shirt I picked out is hitting a little too close to home today:

ow my face

I have a doctor’s appointment on Wednesday after work, and I will not leave the office until there are steroids in my tiny elf hands. I am tired of being gross! In the meantime though, I will mope. Today it sucks to be me (and my face).

Thoughts I had while cleaning out my closet on this snowy Saturday afternoon:

• So that’s where my black tulle petticoat went! I should totally wear this to work on Monday to my job as a whore in a frontier brothel!
• Why do I have so many sequined vests?
• Wow, I sure have a lot of dresses
• I am going to kill the person who designed this closet, but he’s probably already dead because no one this stupid could ever figure out the finer logistics of walking and breathing at the same time
• I need a wardrobe for all my corset. I wonder if I could talk Ed into that.
• Cool, my white dress! Now I can tie-dye it!
• Will I ever wear this latex shirt again? Better keep it just in case.
• My friends are doing a lousy job of keeping me from buying things because they’re hilarious – they’re fired.
• Seriously, fuck this closet so hard. I wonder what would happen if we took off the doors?

Turns out, closet looks much better without doors. We stashed them under the bed, where they’re out of our way and also blocking any monsters from hiding underneath. It’s win-win for everyone, except maybe the monsters.

I think I’ll clean out the storage closet next – I need to dig up the leftover tulle from Tanya’s wedding so’s I can be a princess at River’s birthday party next month.

Yeah, you’re jealous.

i am drowning
there is no sign of land
you are coming down with me
hand in unlovable hand

Okay, maybe that’s a little dire – I’m not planning on taking you with me, and I don’t feel your hands are all that unlovable – I’m just SO FRUSTRATED I NEED TO SCREAM (and/or sing Mountain Goats songs until I’m hoarse and sobbing).

I’m building an intranet for my company, using Sharepoint 2010. With the exception of the two-day course I took on Sharepoint 2010 and my ability to write words on the internet, I have absolutely no experience or skill or talent with intranet building in any way. I am so over my head I feel like I’m drowning and therefore ruining food court tacos for millions across the land. I’ve spent the last two days wading through XML, CSS and Javascript; three things I am wholly unprepared to wade in. All I want to do is change a fucking font size, but is it an easy thing to do? Of course not. To change the font size of a pre-built SP item, you need to somehow unpack the .THMX file, extract the CSS that dictates font sizes, rewrite it, pack it all back up, and trick the system into thinking it’s the original file. WHAT THE HELL, MICROSOFT? NOT EVERYONE WANTS TO READ PAGE AFTER PAGE OF CONTENT IN 8PT VERDANA!

I am frustrated and annoyed that I can’t do this. I hate feeling completely lost; knowing that I am woefully lacking in the knowledge needed to do the things I want to do. I feel dumb and angsty, and my toes are cold. I AM A SAD KIMLI, AND I HATE SHAREPOINT SO HARD I COULD JUST POOP.

In other news, we paid our deposit: we’re going to Cuba in May. Perhaps I will defect – I bet they don’t have Sharepoint down there, and I could learn to like rum.