I arrived at the doctor’s office a few minutes late, but nothing serious. I updated my paperwork, and waited for what seemed like a very long time – in reality, it was 40 minutes so I guess it WAS a very long time – before I was ushered into a tiny room and told to have a seat. Naturally, I started taking pictures instead:

no KY will be necessary, thanks - I have everything I need for vaginal lubrication riiiiiiight here

A quick look at Twitter led me to Jen’s news, so I offered to help her out by stealing some stuff:

some of this stuff must be useful to someone

She didn’t need any of the drug samples but expressed interest in the see-through womb – unfortunately, I wasn’t carrying a bag in which I could smuggle the creepy-ass thing out for her.

Then it was time!

well, this is awkward

As uncomfortable as the whole “spread wide open for the world” thing is, I kind of want one of these setups for home. Who DOESN’T want stirrups attached to the bed for sexy times? Communists, that’s who.

The exam was fairly routine, except for my bumpy cervix. She asked if I knew I had a bump down there – no ma’am I did not – so she took a machete and cut the fucker off. Ow! It’s off to the lab for testing, but she wasn’t too worried – after all, if it was anything bad, it’s already gone because she cut it off. Great! I think.

I spoke to the doctor about my recurring issue of BAD TIMES AT VAGINA HIGH – unfortunately, there was nothing down there. I had an incident last week, but it is sneaky and disappeared before my appointment – so she sent me off with homework:

why are all things they want me to shove in there so terrifying and huge?

Next time I have an issue, I need to swab the decks and send any mysterious fluids off for testing to see what I’m mutating into. Hooray! Except, no. Still, it’ll be good to determine exactly what the fuck that thing is and if I need to take to flamethrower to it – I want it to be gone. Recurring things that are not awesome have no place in my vagina or anywhere else.

I got dressed to head to my next appointment, but as I was getting dressed I spied something unseemly:

i am not nearly as stressed about labour as i am your liberal use of comic sans

What the fuck is with that walnut? I don’t want to give birth to children; what makes you think I want to give birth to a member of the Juglandaceae family? Terrible. And the Comic Sans? No. Just .. no.

I tried to get in to see the doctor with the pills, but he doesn’t work on Mondays so I made an appointment for this Saturday. A trip to the bank to deposit my pennies, London Drugs for some post-dentist pity chocolate, drive-thru for a refreshing beverage – but I still had 3 hours to kill, so I went to Winners to try on everything (it all sucked), and Old Navy (it also all sucked, but I got a lunch box). I scooted downtown in the scorching heat, parked at work, then went to Pacific Center for some food before the dentist. All too quickly, it was time:

this is going to suck

I hated every second of the appointment, but truthfully it wasn’t THAT bad. I watched the last 10 minutes of Mythbusters and half a Buffy episode, and it was done – two new fillings, a chip fixed, and several old things pried out and replaced. When the freezing wore off, I was sore – but not nearly as sore as my Visa: my dental benefits for the year are maxed out, and the visit cost over $550 out of pocket. What’s worse, this was the first appointment of two to fix stuff up: I have another next Monday, and that one is scheduled to cost $640. All that for the privilege of a sore mouth and cranky face times? OH BOY!

Ed is going to submit the paperwork to his benefits and we might get some of it back, but he doesn’t know how much if any. This blows, and was totally unavoidable – the alternative was to continue thinking I needed a dozen root canals, and have things just get worse. As it is, I’m getting off lucky with the three minor fillings I need; it’s the replacement of my toxic silver fillings that are costing me millions. This is full of suck, but what’s to be done? Nothing. So, here we are.

Today is going to be better than yesterday, OR ELSE. In fact, I’m already ahead of the curve – no one is expecting me to open up so they can look inside and charge me money. Isn’t that kind of backwards? Shouldn’t they be paying ME? I am the worst whore ever.

It’s not even 8am, and I want a do-over.

I have the day off, which would normally be cause for celebration – mid-summer long weekend hooray, right? Oh, but no.

I will be spending the majority of the day propped up with my various orifices splayed open for all and everyone to poke around in – four months after I made the pact, today is FINALLY the day I’m getting my lady garden soil tested. In just over an hour, I’ll be in naked North Vancouver with people spelunking all up in my girl business, and I plan to have The Talk with the doctors – FIX THIS FUCKING SHIT ALREADY. I’m tired of the Recurring Bad, and I demand they exorcise the evil out of my vagina once and for all. It’s my right to not be in random alarming pain with no real diagnosis, damnit – although, it’s ALSO my right to not have any goddamn kids, but we all know how far I got in THAT fight with these very same doctors. So, we’ll see. I am battle ready. Bring it, doctor bitches.

That’d be bad enough, and the reason I took the day off – but I’m a sadist, so this afternoon I have another dentist appointment. The cleaning is done, so today is the first of two appointments to fix the three cavities I have, and replace my old toxic fillings with less shiny white ones. There will be drilling, and prying, and filling, and I HATE ALL OF THIS SO HARD! I know it needs to be done, but that doesn’t mean I have to like any of it – I am sad for my Monday, and I really wish I was just going to work instead. This is going to suck.

I’m also planning on going to the clinic to beg for more crazy pills and steroids, to the bank to give them a wad of cash that I would much rather put towards awesome things, and I was woken up by jackhammers outside my window again.

Who wants to trade Mondays?

If Scott Pilgrim vs. The World is the only movie I see this year (and given my track record, that is extremely likely), I will be so satisfied I might need a cigarette.

trashy girls with loose morals

We didn’t leave the house until almost 2pm yesterday, but we made up for our late start by doing everything ever:

• Sold my iPhone 3GS for fat cash (which will go towards my much, much fatter Visa)
• Went to a motorcycle gear shop so Josh could price out his equipment; Shan and I ended up buying new helmets that are completely awesome
• Used my last three Dairy Queen Groupons; had Blizzards
• Showed Josh and Shan the Condo That Almost Was
• Stopped at the BWM Motorcycle place so Josh could drool; Shan and I went to some random warehouse place and I bought Art To Be
• Went to New Brighton Park to wander around, poke at the ocean, admire the beach penis:

i hate riding this bridge on my scooter

shan, ed and josh on the beach

all hail the new brighton penis

• Quenched our thirst at McDonald’s – I am doing my best to make them regret offering any size pop for $1 all summer
• Headed west to Kits; went to the Space Centre to see Quest for Origins – as a special bonus, Ed got verbally assaulted by some chick at the parking lot pay station and I somehow tweaked both my back and neck while gazing at the projections on the domed ceiling – ow ow ow
• Indian Oven for dinner – omg so good
• Cruised through downtown
• Bought everything at the drug store
• Came home, divvied up some goodies, collapsed into bed where it was too damn hot to sleep

Today: Gastown Show n’ Shine; additional adventure. I love summer!

graffiti by new brighton park

flowers at the museum of vancouver

It’s Friday the 13th.

I will do anything – live through a teenage sex romp slash flick by being the prissy virgin bitch, go toe-to-toe with Jason AND his mother, shave my head to trick Jason into thinking that I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together like Corey Feldman did – as long as I don’t have to try and sleep through last night’s Skunk Jamboree outside my bedroom window ever again.

Skunks are not unusual in Vancouver, and they’re everywhere in the summer. Sometimes the smell of a skunk from miles (and miles and miles) away can be even somewhat comforting; it’s something we’ve all grown up with and it isn’t THAT bad when the skunk is over in the next township. Last night, though .. it was bad. The stench just wouldn’t let up! I tried to cover my nose, but then I couldn’t breathe and I LIKE breathing. Ed got up multiple times to close the window or move the fan, all to no avail. We’re both more tired than usual this morning, but as our weekend plans have changed, this is no big deal.

I am DETERMINED to go to Lush today, either at lunch or right after work. After I wrote about the boobie cream earlier this week, Alison in Ohio sent me a Lush gift card so my boobs can have a treat. Alison is awesome! I’ve been dying to get to Lush and pick up some Lovely Jubblies for my lovely jubblies, but this week has been a little bit crazy. I have no solid plans until Monday, so that should give me ample time to sensuously massage a thick creamy lotion into my bosom and report back on the results. Maybe I’ll make a documentary. That’s not shameless at all, right?

The combination of watching Kick-Ass two nights ago and my impotent rage/desire to bash some heads in has me daydreaming about being a masked vigilante on a masked scooter. I would drive around down looking for dangerous drivers, and take a +4 morning star to their cars. If I can instill raging fear in the hearts of many, maybe stupid horrible inattentive idiotic and just plain BAD drivers wouldn’t do this to my friends:

this woman does not look nearly as upset as i'd like to make her

This dumb cunt made a left hand turn from the far right lane directly into my friend Josh, who couldn’t react in time to stop. He’s okay – some scrapes and a mangled toe – but his bike is in bad shape. Honestly, I want to ride up to this woman and scream at her until she breaks down in sobs and promises never to get behind the wheel of a car again. I want her to feel the terror felt by everyone who loves Josh when they received word that he had been in an accident. I want her to beg for mercy in front of my +4 morning star, then cut to a fantasy scene in which I bash her fucking stupid head in John Woo-style before returning to a reality where I drag her dumb cunt ass to the store so she can buy Josh a new motorcycle. ICBC can handle the insurance; I just want pure Marvel Comics revenge. And my name would be way cooler than “Kick Ass”.

Wake the fuck up behind the wheel, people. That includes you, ridiculous bitch in a minivan on Hastings this morning who tried to change lanes into me and steadfastly ignored me when I laid on the horn and drove by her. I have many angry towards people who don’t pay attention when they’re behind the wheel, and if I get killed by some cockstain while on my scooter, I am going to be the most vengeful poltergeist the world has ever seen.

Stop. Hurting. My. Friends.

So, I’ve had my iPhone 4 for a week now (thanks again Reilly!), which is ample time for me to learn the ins and outs of the device. It’s gorgeous, of course – I kind of don’t want to put a screen protector on it because everything looks so crispy, and I am notoriously anal about my screens – but there are a thousand blogs out there that have both been there and done that, and I don’t aim to be another. So what’s left for me to write about? Well, there isn’t a single website out there that will cover the things that are important to ME – so I know what I’ve got to do:

A Delicious Juice Dot iPhone 4 Review!

side by side

The iPhone 4 looks much bigger than the 3G/3GS, but the opposite is true: the 4 is actually smaller. Not by much, but there’s a definite size difference there – the space lost by curving the sides in the previous model is significant, so the nice flat 4 clocks in ever so slightly smaller by width (like, half a millimetre) and a even more by height:

it's like godzilla next to an aligator!

That’s not really all that important, though. The difference isn’t enough to really be felt or even seen unless you do a side by side macro shot. No, I’ve got other things on my mind: WHERE DO MY DANGLIES GO?!?

Every time a new iPhone comes out, I pray at the Altar of Jobs for a hole – a small tiny little hole, that’s all – so I can loop a small, silly toy onto my phone. That’s all I want. Sure, the other things are nice – a fancy camera, a second camera, a screen that looks like pure sex, more power, more memory – but dude, all I want is a hole for a danglie thing. I have a couple that I really like, and I want to carry them around with me:

just one or two, i swear

BUT I CAN’T! Once again, my heart has been cut out by Papa Jobs and there is no place to attach anything extraneous to the phone. It would have been SO EASY – the corners of the 4 are practically screaming for decoration – but no. Nothing. I am a sad monkey with one or two danglie things I can’t use. Nobody ever lets me have any fun.

So, what about carrying the iPhone? Will it fit in my favourite carrying case without issue? The iPhone 3GS fit in there really well:

snug as a bug in a rug if by "bug" you mean "fancy phone" and "rug" you mean "bra"

I couldn’t have asked for a better fit – the 3GS fit in my bra ever so nicely. It was smooth and contoured and made me feel funny in my pants when I got a text message. I know it isn’t considered “classy” by “high society” to “carry” your “phone” in your “bra”, but sometimes you just have to thumb your nose at everyone in the name of comfort and no pants.

So, how does the iPhone 4 fit?

so pointy

Sadly, not as well. The flatness of the phone, while awesome (if antenna-problem-causing in the US), makes for an uncomfortable bulge in my bra. It’s not nearly as comfortable, so I find myself having to do the unthinkable – wear pants so I have a pocket ready at all times. I know, I know – it’s shocking and a real tragedy – but these are sacrifices you have to make when you carry the future around with you at all times.

Enough of the technical details: how do the phones look with a Domo on them?

fuzzy domo attack

Pretty darn good; thanks for asking.

I like the iPhone 4 – I think I’ll keep it, crushing disappointment and all.

My melons are already pretty soft and luxurious, but that doesn’t stop me from really wanting to try this:

i want lovely jubblies plz

I know it’s all marketing, and any kind of moisturizer would do if I was really intent on greasing my chest up, and it’s expensive, and likely wouldn’t go very far when you consider the sheer amount of surface area my boobs take up – but still. Maybe it would make me pretty, and at the very least, my boobs would smell like flowers so really it’s win-win all around. I think I should get some, just to be safe. Would you really begrudge me an excellent décolletage just because it’s vain and desperately silly? Why must you be so mean?

I had a grand and glorious update planned for today, but I had neither the props nor privacy needed to pull it off so you’ll have to wait until tonight or maybe tomorrow, depending on how long it takes me to massage soothing lotions into my bosom.

I have a dentist appointment tomorrow afternoon and even though my last visit was a total breeze, I still don’t want to go.

a flaming k for a flaming kimli

Flaming!

I can’t be the only person out there with zero interest in Eat, Pray, Love – can I? I’ve never read it, but I know the general idea and I find it kind of repulsive: a rich white woman fucks off for a year to “find herself” and goes on all sorts of endearing adventures while eating, praying and loving. Sure, the general theme of the book is “open up and find love” – but why does that have to come with an astronomical price tag that 99% of the population can’t afford?

I can write inspirational bullshit too, and maybe even sell it to a publisher. Thing is, no one is going to give me a huge pile of cash so I can run away from life for a year to find myself, which is what happened with the author of this book: her eating, praying and loving was all funded in advance by her publisher. I’m sure that if I could drop everything and flit around the world on someone else’s dime I’d have some deep meaningful exchanges too – but it’s not realistic and kind of insulting to the regular folk. I have nothing in common with this woman except a uterus, and I’m supposed to take heart in her adventures and come out the other side a complete person? Um, no. Send ME on the adventure; maybe I’ll come out a better person too. Let ME live in Bali, and India, and Italy for a year. What would I be like on the other side? And more importantly, who would play me in the movie version of my book entitled “Drink, Fuck, Fight: One Woman’s Search for Adventure and Gay Porn Across the Planet“?

I admit that I don’t do chick lit, and I don’t understand a lot of things that are popular – I just can’t see why people are so caught up in rich white woman find-yourself porn. Don’t you think that ANYONE would be different if someone handed them a huge wad a cash and said “you’ve got no responsibilities for the next year other than to FIND YOURSELF – see you later”? Some people might even be able to eloquently tell the story afterward, too.

Maybe I’m unique (but I doubt it) in that I’d rather try to fix my own life than read fanciful ways in which someone I can’t relate to fixed theirs. After all, I can’t go to Italy to experience the joys of pasta – I’ll have to do my soul searching at The Old Spaghetti Factory instead. It comes spumoni ice cream!

Seriously, though: “Drink Fuck Fight” would be a best-seller. If there are any publishers out there wanting to give me an enormous advance to fund my trip to South Korea (the competitive video game hub of the world), Tokyo (Japan is awesome), Finland (Tom is from there) and London (I’ve never been to Europe) in exchange for my writing about it (as if I wouldn’t be blogging by the minute anyway), please email me via this website and start thinking about casting the film.

totally a best seller (click to embiggen)

There is NOTHING WORSE than spying on someone masturbating in the privacy of his own (filthy) home, only for him to a) not finish b) not do it right c) not be any good at it.

Last night we went to Yunn and Barry’s awesome Yaletown place to hang out and be disrespectful towards others. We all got very excited when we thought porn was being filmed in a penthouse suite across the street, but after several agonizing hours with no sweaty threeway action, we determined it was just a saucy photoshoot. We kept a watchful eye on all of Yaletown for most of the evening, until someone was finally seen doing something naughty – there was penile manipulation going on across the way! Sort of. For starters, it wasn’t very interesting – the guy seemed bored by his own hand. We took turns providing commentary on his activities until he gave up and left – without pants on – for over an hour. I was quite worried about him, and thought about sending out a search team but he finally he came back and tugged at his meat a few more times before giving up again. All in all, it was a sad attempt at masturbation – he wasn’t into it at ALL. We were far more excited than he was, and it was a depressing end to our night – we wanted fireworks! Happy endings! A crusty sock; a wadded up tissue! ANYTHING! Alas, it was not to be.

I am hoping my Sunday will have far more penis in it, but so far nothing is going my way. I think the bubble bash is a wash due to the rain, but I was waffling on my resolve anyway. Still, I have hopes that something entertaining – flesh-based or otherwise – will make itself known to me: a rainy Sunday is no reason for nothing!