When I woke up yesterday morning, I thought to myself “Self, your life is pretty awesome. You have a good job that whips you into a murderous froth only sometimes, someone to shower naked with, fun people for Good Times, and the sweetest scooter this side of Quadrophenia. But you know what – I bet, deep down, something is missing.” My inner dialogue was correct – something WAS missing. But what?

After some serious thinking, I determined that I wasn’t missing just one thing from my life – there were TWO wet gaping holes in my soul that needed to be filled; hard and fast.

What could be missing from my life, you wonder? I admit that, at first glance, I have everything I could possibly need: a home, food to eat, pills that keep me sane, a thousand things that go boop and beep – but .. well .. have you ever woken up in the morning and thought you might just waste away and DIE if you went one more day in this life without purple hair?

I have.

So, now I have purple hair.

i am what ate gilbert grape

I’m not exactly sure what level of decorum I expected from a colour called “Lusty Lavender”, but here we are. It’s Asian Purple, of course – obvious in bright light; slightly odd looking otherwise. My horrible roots and weird natural highlights did wonders with this dye – I was too chicken to use the bleach and just dyed my hair as is, and it came out super. I’m going to give it another coat tonight (I think I could be more purple), but I’m rather pleased with the outcome. My hair had been bothering me for weeks but I had no time to deal with my faded red and white roots. Last night I sucked it up and dove in, and now I am a grape. Hooray!

The other thing missing from my life: a talking anthropomorphic edamame bean that only speaks Japanese:

i wish i knew how to quit and/or understand you

Sweet, satisfied bliss. I am content. And purple.

I would like a kitten, though.

I don’t know if you’ve seen this infomercial, but I’ll wait here while you check it out:

While you’re at it, you should probably check out this spot-on rebuttal to the Cami Secret (aka the worst invention ever):

Okay, then. Now that you’re all caught up ..

I think I might need to invest in some Cami Secrets of my own.

No, seriously. Hear me out.

Those things are hideous, but I think I might need them. It’s easy to laugh at myself – oh look, I’m so inappropriate – but what most people fail to realize is that I’m like that ALL THE TIME. It’s one thing to look like a shameless hussy when I’m out with my friends, but another all together when I’m at work and I think I might have to Do Something about it. I can’t imagine it’s really affecting my career all that much, but I don’t really want to become a joke in the office because of my massive funbags, y’know?

So when I first saw the Cami Secret infomercial on TV, I was incredulous .. then speculative. It might work. One of the reasons I’m always overexposed is because I hate wearing layers – the other reasons all have to do with not getting enough attention as a child and pure hilarity – so a stupidly named piece of fabric attached to my bra straps might just solve the problem for everyone: I could cover up a little without having things bunching all up in my business, and you wouldn’t be involuntarily subjected to my dirty pillows on a daily basis. Just see for yourself how this stupid boner killer could work wonders:

this is no good for anyone

I think you will agree that this look, while clearly stunning and enviable, is sometimes not appropriate. I wouldn’t intentionally dress like this for work, a wedding, a funeral, grocery shopping, Tuesday – yet I do, because it’s all I know. But look what happens when I use a boob apron:

viewer discretion totally not necessary!

Awesome, right? It’s fun for everyone! No more averting your eyes from my monkey mounds! I am Safe for All Ages! The Pope himself would not be visually offended by my presence (my love of gays and abortions and disdain for pedophilia might get in the way of any lasting friendship, though)! This is something I should look into further. If I could make some sort of Cami Secret knock-off that wasn’t, say, hideously ugly, I might actually wear it and be rated E for Everyone instead of my current triple X throwdown. It’s something to think about, anyway.

Or I could just keep on keeping on, and share my lady prizes with everyone always. That would certainly be easier, and kind of fun – your scorn is amusing to me, old lady in Safeway! I laugh at your sneers, clearly jealous girls in the mall! Your indiscreet “daaaaaaaaaaaaamn” makes me snort, drunk guys at the county fair!

Maybe this IS fun for everyone after all.

Since Friday, I’ve:

• Cheered at a wheelchair rugby game courtesy of a former Space Station 1.0 coworker I’d never met until that evening, to watch Canada play the US and lose by 1 point in the last 18 seconds (GO TIPPY!!)
• Rode the rails to another country
• Wandered Pike Place Market
• Enjoyed my first cruise ever!
• Three words: naked patio sex
• Rocked out at a punk/indie show at the Rickshaw

Serves me right for whining about being bored – now I am busy and having ALL THE FUN! None left for anyone else! Sorry! The fun just keeps on coming, too – I have 7 completely different and occasionally random things scheduled to happen over the course of the next two weeks, in addition to rolling out a big project at work. I love the fact that there are Things Going On – it keeps me entertained and running like a chicken.

At the show last night I came to a startling conclusion – more on this later, as it is noon and I am still naked and need to go into the office.

Happy!

I’m on a boat train
I’m on a boat train
Take a good hard look
At the motherfucking boat train

I’m on a train motherfucker take a look at me
We’re hobos riding rails across the land of the free
60 km/h through the border crossing in Blaine
We’re stopping for immigration even though we’re on a fucking train

Take some pictures, click
We’re on a train, bitch
Drinking gallons of Diet Coke because that’s all I ever really drink
Got my iPad out, and seven gigs of porn
You back in Van hanging out but you’re all forlorn

We’re in business class, cuz riding coach is shit
There’s a dining car and it’s getting me all wet
But this ain’t a choo-choo, this is real as it gets
We’re on a train motherfucker, don’t you ever forget

We’re on a train and it’s a little slower than a car and
I got a nautical themed Pashmina afghan
Because after the train we’ll be on a boat like Leo
Here’s hoping for no Titanic situation; I ain’t no holy diver like Dio

.. I think you get the point. Yay for the train! :D

Do you ever wonder why you do this?

I really hope I haven’t hit the blog wall.

.. to take offense to the lack of space to hang danglie things off the iPhone, and Do Something about it.

In fact, they did (at least) three things about it:

option one: stick it in your headphone jack

option two: stick a button on the back

option three: screw a bar on the bottom

Soon after I wrote my review of the iPhone 4, I went on an internet hunt for a solution. I stumbled upon Strapya World, a website from Japan dedicated to all things meant to hang off a cell phone. I was entranced – I might have wet myself a little – and I quickly placed an order for all three iPhone charm holder options they had. They arrived today, so it was time to start dangling.

The first one I tried was the easiest of the three; the one meant to go in the headphone jack. It does exactly as advertised – holds a danglie thing – but then you can’t listen to music. What good is being awesome if you don’t have a soundtrack to go along with it?

super hello kitty is here to save the day

Option number two is the stick-on button. It too works well enough, but it sticks out a little and seems as though it would be easy to rip off when shoving your phone into a pocket. I haven’t tried to take it off my case, but I’m worried that the sticky will leave goo. Not a big deal I guess, but it kind of ruins the overall sleekness of the phone.

good for rainbows

Okay then – let’s try option three. The third one of the bunch took a little more work: use the included tool to remove the two small screws at the bottom of your phone, attach the plate, and use the two included screws to put it all back together. It sounds simple, but took a surprisingly long time to do – the longer screws were a giant pain in the ass to get in all the way, and because the bar lies flush against the bottom of the phone you can’t use it with a case.

anti-ninja hangin' around, being not stealthy at all

I had high hopes for this method, but it turned out to be my least favourite of the three: too damn fussy. It would also interfere with any sort of dock you use, which gives it an immediate fail – at least with the headphone jack option you can take it out when it is time to rock.

All three pieces do what they’re supposed to, but to my disappointment none of them were quite perfect:

the most innocent threesome you'll ever see on this site

Still, it’s really nice to have the ability to add one of my many (many many many) danglie things to my phone. The stick-on one is there for keeps (until I change the case, anyway), and I’ll use the headphone one because I enjoy plugging holes. Besides, I can never really have TOO many charms on my phone – I’ve gone from zero to 2, and that pleases me.

Next up: MORE!

that's about the right number of phone charms to carry

I feel .. better. Not quite human, but definitely more Morlock than shambling undead. I’ve stopped taking the zombie drugs and have since moved on to a relatively harmless cold/sinus formula that seems to have stopped the spigot and brought a temporary sense of calm to my morning. This is good. I can handle this.

We are likely getting a PVR this week – hooray! I’ll be able to record TV shows and not watch them! So handy. I’ve been bugging Ed for a while now to upgrade our digital box thingie, but he resisted because he hates giving into my requests. Last night though, we both spent a very long time trying to order the NHL Centre Ice package through Shaw only to discover that we can’t because our box is too old. Shaw told us to bring it in, and they’ll swap it out for a newer one that will just happen to have PVR capabilities if you plug a hard drive in. I have a 1TB external drive sitting on my desk acting as a paperweight, waiting for this exact scenario – so I get a PVR! I may have to try to use it for more than Simpsons reruns and Glee!

I wish I could taste things. I hate this part of having a cold.

Okay, I’m coming down now. That was a perilous couple of hours, and I’m not totally grounded just yet – don’t ask me to do any math, and I should be okay.

I’m at least able to concentrate long enough to print the necessary documents for our trip this coming weekend. I really hope I beat this thing before then, because I’m really looking forward to it: a train ride! A random mystery hotel! TIME ON A BOAT! I am excited.

There’s a lot of paperwork involved in this. I realize that most cruises are multiple-day things and you’ll want to make sure you’ve got everything you need, but 10 pages of instructions for a 14-hour tour seems a little excessive to me; as does the dress code of “Smart Casual Nights”. I have no idea what that means – it sounds like a terrible Avon perfume. I read further, and found that Smart Casual means I’m going to have to re-think what I shove into my backpack for this trip. Other people may have the luxury of bringing additional items – the online check-in helpfully told me I could print up to 10 luggage tags at once – but I’m planning on traveling really lightly. I had planned on bringing a dress, but I’m not packing “Smart Casual Nights” shoes – the dress will be worn with Doc Martens, and they’ll LIKE it dag nabbit. It goes on to say that we should bring swimsuit(s), cover-ups (that may have been written for me specifically), and good deck-walkin’ shoes. I plan on cramming a lot of Cruise into the short time we have on board, so I will do all of these things. I wonder how many boobs I should show? They ask that we “complement your fellow guests” by observing the dress code – this is all very complicated. I am just going to go with my usual: a lot of boobs in a dress and boots. It will have to do.

I can apparently upgrade our trip with all sorts of things. I don’t think the “Shore Excursions” really applies to us, but next time we cruise I am so going to book time on a floating ocean horse:

i want a floating pony!

I can also pre-order all the booze ever at outrageous markups to be waiting in the room when we get there, but I think I’ll skip that part. I wonder if I’ll need to smuggle Diet Coke on board? I better save backpack room, just in case.

All this is for a celebration, really – today is our 8th wedding anniversary. Ed surprised me with a card (filled with secret cocks) this morning, but I’ve been too sick to even think about it so I’ll have to make it up to him later. Traditional gifts for an 8th anniversary are bronze or pottery; modern gifts are appliances or linen. None of those seem very romantic to me at all – are you supposed to be past romance at year 8? I mean, I do want a blender, but not as an anniversary gift. Oral sex is still popular, right? Maybe I’ll just give him that.

I should eat. Maybe I’ll come down faster if I eat.

Maybe I should have taken the blue pill instead.

I triple-checked – red equals daytime and rabbit holes; blue equals nighttime and believing whatever I want to believe which includes believing a daytime pill is NON-DROWSY.

Everything has colour trails and I can’t feel my ankles. I’m high as a fucking kite and one comfortable chair away from passing out. This actually really sucks – I’m stuck at work, can’t possibly take my scooter home like this, and don’t know what to do. I can’t actually work on anything because I can barely form a sentence – you have no idea how much effort I’m putting into this – so I’m just .. twitching. I hate these drugs. I’m starting to get paranoid – I can’t find mention of these exact pills online. Where did I get them? Did I stumble upon some alternate reality medication again? Fuck. I’m dizzy. I wanna go home. The urge to take my pants off is becoming impossible to ignore.

“Baby fat?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is that baby fat?”

“.. no? I’m just big boned, really.”

“Your perfume. Are you wearing Baby Phat?”

“OHHHH. Um, no.”

“Smell good. Like Baby Phat.”

“Thanks .. ?”

Speaking of fat babies, I got the dreaded “So when are you going to give your mother some nice grandbabies?” question last night. I was too zoned out on the cold-fighting cocktail I invented earlier that evening – water, T3s, two dusty mystery pills I found in a suitcase and what I now think was a Skittle – to answer the question appropriately, but my mother (bless her crazy soul) piped up with raucous and a hearty “oh god no!” My mother is many things (most of them crazy), but she is fully on board with Team No Babies. This inability to relate to children isn’t some sort of cool hipster front I put on; it’s one of the few things I inherited from my mother. Given the other options, I’ll take it.

I am still sick, but at work. I’ve got too much to do (and 5 new people for some reason; what the fuck) to stay at home again, and I am completely sick of my bed. I bought some drugs this morning that should keep me propped up until 5 or someone forces me home, but I plan to sequester myself away for much of the day to do project work. I think. Wait, where am I?