Hooray for me! I went with my gut feeling and ignored the fast, talking-down-to-me sales guy who was telling me there was no way my cable solution would work – and it works perfectly. Suck it, sales guy. I was right and you are dumb.
I’m still not looking forward to tackling the iPhone syncing issue, but godDAMN this new setup is sexy as hell. I’m so glad I finally took the plunge and bought the computer, already.
I am enjoying this long weekend!
Just as membership into fraternal organizations like the Stonecutters or Phi Beta Douchebag can be acquired through family ties, I think media credentials should work the same way.
Seeing all the work that goes into making a TV show at CBC made me wish I had chosen a more exciting line of work. My dad used to work in radio, and later in television – so clearly I already possess the necessary skills needed for “the biz”; having inherited them from my father.
Truth be told, I like what I do. Yes, I’d rather be writing interesting things instead of technical documentation, but my kind of humour doesn’t translate well to .. anything, really. My niche will likely never be bigger than this corner of the internet, but I do what I do well (I hope). Sure, I’d love to write a book or screenplay, but until I create the next image-heavy-snarky-caption meme to take the internet by storm, I’ll just continue writing here.
Back to inherited credentials. I knew I had some of my dad’s work badges, and thought I remembered seeing a CBC one in there somewhere. Turns out I was wrong – CFCF is Montreal’s CTV – but I wondered if there was anything I could do with these things. It would have been useful to remember this stuff during the Olympics – what do you mean, the logo on my badge is from 1965; I’m with the press – but maybe I could have some fun yet:
gonna strap a camera to lola and do some field reporting
The first logo was used between 1959 and 1975; no idea about the second:
would have been so useful in february :(
i actually have no idea how/where my dad got this; i never heard him talk about working for nbc
This is slightly less interesting but still might come in handy (in 1990):
let me in, i'm a visitor
I do have my dad’s CHEK-TV employee badge somewhere, but it has his picture on it so I can’t use it for evil.
These things are neat – I’ve actually started wearing the CFCF badge on my CBC bag. Again, I REALLY wish I had thought of this during the Olympics – it probably wouldn’t have done me any good, but if I had paired it with my True North Media House accreditation, maybe I could have gotten kicked out of more than just the opening ceremonies.
I also found an unused ticket for Expo 86 in dad’s things, and one from Expo ’67. And actually .. now that I think about it, my dad would have been working in TV in Montreal during the ’76 Olympics. Maybe that’s where the NBC badges are from? Man, I wish I could have asked him about this stuff.
Is it time to go home yet? I have a new computer to set up. His name is Leonidas.
Get it?
I am funny.
.. they all. fall. down.
i'm coming for you, pentaxjeeppug
I can’t help but feel a little ashamed – this list started out as a way to track those utterly impossible pie in the sky oh look here’s an extra pile of money that I absolutely no other use for kind of things that maybe I would get someday if I happened to find a sugar daddy or my mother finally won the lottery, but I’m slowly making my way through it as I end up with new toys.
Not that I’m complaining, mind you.
As with all of the above purchases, a great deal of justification and fast talking went into this. I got a surprise bonus at work today, which was nice. Ed is getting a bonus next month, and has promised me a chunk of it to do whatever I want. Those two together equaled two thirds of the iMac I’d been eyeing for MONTHS, and after a morning full of waffling and doubt, I took the plunge.
Basically, it was either this or an iPad. I *know* I don’t need an iPad – I’ve promised myself I would wait until the second generation if I get one at all, but I really and truly don’t need one – and my laptop is starting to chunk and do weird things, and it pretty desperately needs a reformat that I don’t dare do. I’ve also really wanted to set up a media PC for quite some time, and now that I have three episodes of Glee to catch up on, it’s as good a time as any.
Now, what am I going to name my Mac?!
it's a boy, i know that much
Tubal ligation was last night’s hot topic on Twitter, so I thought I’d throw my uterus into the fray. I sort of started the whole exchange (I have a bad habit of being the instigator behind a lot of things, both good and ridiculous) when I mentioned to ZoeyJane that I couldn’t ask, beg, demand, threaten or pay someone to tie my tubes for a multitude of reasons, with “never say never, dearie” being the most prominent and oft-repeated.
It’s been 21 months since I wrote this post about my frustration at being cock-blocked at every turn of my uterus. When I re-read my words, all the rage comes flooding back: fury at being talked down to, disgust that I can’t be allowed to make the choice for myself, additional fury that this is even an issue at all. Aren’t we past the point where the little woman can’t think for herself? This kind of backwards thinking makes my heart ache and fear for the future.
I have no new news to share about my uterus and my struggle to convince someone – anyone – to tie my goddamn tubes already. It’s been almost 2 years, and while I’m not in danger of spitting out children any time soon thanks to my Weapon of Sperm Destruction, it absolutely kills me to know that I’m being denied something I have every right to request simply because someone else doesn’t think I know what I’m doing. My IUD has three years of shelf life left, but I don’t plan to wait that long before I confront the medical system again – I’m waiting for the clinic that did the initial installation to get my referral and call me to schedule my check up, and I’m going to ambush them with my request. I will let you know what happens when I do – if they agree or try to talk me out of it – but I anticipate a fight; one I am more than willing to take to the streets if it’ll get me what I need.
I envision a protest with hilarious signage in my future.
actually, this could be a lot of fun
I’ve had a theory for many years now that I’ve tested amongst my friends, but last night I received confirmation of my theory’s validity from an outside (and famous, so that counts even more) source.
My theory is quite simple: in order to appreciate Vancouver, you have to spend some time in exile; living far away in another city, another province, another country.
Then, and only then, will you be able to truly appreciate what a spectacular place we live in and never, ever want to leave.
For the sake of science, I extended my theory to include Victoria because I grew up there. I liked it well enough – Victoria is small, quiet, full of old people. I loved it because it was my home, but I didn’t LOVE love it – I thought I could move away and be perfectly happy somewhere else, because it’s just a city and your home is where you make it, right?
Not even a little. When I was 23, I decided that I was done with Victoria and I needed a change of scenery: I moved to Calgary. My plan was to be there for only 6 months, but I think I knew deep down that wasn’t possible – I didn’t have the means to move back, I had nowhere to go, and I was dating a guy in Edmonton. Before I knew it, I had a grown-up job and a car and settled in to a comfortable routine, thinking I was as happy as I was ever gonna get.
But .. every time I visited home, I’d spend a good chunk of time sitting by the ocean and crying. Leaving was terrible; I’d be wracked with a deep aching sorrow that felt like I was going to dissolve into sobs the further I got away from the city. It didn’t take me long to realize that I wasn’t even remotely happy in Alberta, and needed to move back to BC quickly before I went crazy (a deadline I missed by several years). It wasn’t going to be as easy to relocate the second time around – I had a boyfriend, an apartment full of stuff, two cats, and no money. Eventually I was able to leave Alberta and come back to BC, but it took 7 years; a period of time I refer to as my Exile.
Now that I’m back in BC, I’m never ever leaving. Sure, I’ll go somewhere on vacation or to visit people, but I know that I get to come HOME and home is Vancouver and it’ll never be anything else. I’m not going anywhere. If Ed wanted to relocate for work, he would be doing it alone. I’m not going. You can’t make me. I belong here, and it gives me a panic attack to think about packing up and moving away from this city, these people, my home.
I never truly appreciated everything Vancouver (and Victoria, but at this point in my life I need to not be waterlocked) has to offer until I was forced to spend time away. Honestly, I think everyone should have to do an Exile – maybe not seven years worth, but enough to realize what you gave up. I try really hard not to complain about things like the rain or the cost of living in this city, because those are a part of living in Vancouver. Yes, it rains – but not as much as people think. Yes, it’s expensive – but I’m so much happier here and honestly, what else would I be doing with the money? Yes, Vancouver is full of hippies and hipsters – but I am okay with that, because it is so funny. I want to slap the people who complain about this city, because they don’t know how truly awesome it is. Spend some time in Exile, THEN tell me how much Vancouver sucks.
One person does not a scientific theory make, but I’ve seen this in other people as well. Renee spent six years in Kingston Ontario, and finally managed to make it back this year. Even the rest of BC can’t hold up to Vancouver – Gillian is doing her Exile in Kelowna, and is planning a fantastic escape involving hot air balloons and a Goofy costume. Sure, the idea of the Exile has been proven in my own social circle, but all good science has to cast a larger net than that to prove a theory.
Last night, a whole bunch of us got to watch two tapings of The Hour starring everyone’s boyfriend, George. It was awesome – the guests were fascinating, George is so very cute and full of energy, and my Exile Theory was PROVEN by the director of District 9; Neill Blomkamp. During his interview with George last night, he revealed he moved to Vancouver from South Africa as a teen and hated it – until he moved away for a while, then came back. He did an Exile! My theory, proven by a famous guy! Science is AWESOME!
I expect my government grant and white lab coat to be coming in any day now.
cee bee cee
.. as delivered by someone who’s never watched Lost:
.. I may not watch a lot of TV, but I sure know a lot of useless stuff.
First on the docket will be the guy in Toronto who, if I haven’t responded to his email promptly, will WHINE TO MY BOSS that I’m not working. He does this all the time, as recently as yesterday – an email sent at 9am hadn’t been answered by noon (because I was BUSY), so he escalated to my boss TWICE to complain that I hadn’t gotten back to him. Seriously? Do you not have enough work to do that you sit around hitting F9 to see if people have replied to your messages? Do you have a stopwatch? This is rage-inducing and pathetic. Perhaps I will go whine to HIS boss that he is being a bully.
Today I am covered up in honour of George and the CBC!
This morning at the breakfast buffet next door, the bacon was so crispy it broke when I tried to pick it up with the tongs.
I’ve never been more aroused.
Or have I? I’m dealing some kind of crazy hormone imbalance or something – I’ve got an itch that I can’t quite scratch, and nothing I do has gotten me any closer to a happy ending that lasts longer than an hour or two. As amusing as this is for some people, it’s incredibly frustrating and annoying – especially when you start daydreaming more and more fantastic and complicated ways in which to trick people into having sex with you. The last plan involved a calculator, an elastic band, and three tablespoons of instant coffee. I’m like MacGyver, but I still can’t get laid. Is it my lack of mullet? Because I can fix that.
Even though Ed is out of town, I’ve been trying most of my tricks on him. I remembered I was married, for all the good it’s done me – it seems that Ed isn’t exactly receptive to my long distance attempts at seduction. I’ve tried every trick in the book, but because that book is Cosmo, things are going about as well as you’d expect if you were taking advice from a magazine that suggests aggressive testicle manipulation as a surefire way to surprise and delight your man.
For fun, I looked up a list of Cosmo-approved ways to spice up a relationship and tried them all (at once, which might be the problem). Things didn’t exactly go as the magazine assured me they would – I wasn’t swept off my feet in a fit of lustful passion so much as drawn into an argument about how poking me in the shoulder is a really fucking lousy way to let me know you want to fool around unless you’re an 8 year old – but it was an interesting experiment nonetheless.
What titillating things did Cosmo want me to try outside of surprising him with an unexpected prostate massage?
SHARE A SECRET
Tell your partner something about yourself that you’ve never revealed before. It doesn’t have to be a dark confession — it could simply be a big dream you have. Knowing that there are layers to your personality that haven’t yet been peeled away will pique his interest… and his attraction to you.
I don’t have many secrets left, so I had to think really hard about this. Finally, I sent Ed a text message with a secret to see if it piqued his interest…and his attraction to me: when I was 7 I got caught shoplifting bulk candy by a nosy old woman.
Hot, right? Can you not just picture the raging boner this scintillating, interest-piquing secret caused? If you can, you’re likely alone – it took forever for Ed to respond, and when he did, it was only to express mild surprise that he married a criminal and to ask if my text was a misfire, meant to go to someone else. That didn’t go remotely as I had hoped, so I tried to next one:
CREATE EROTIC ANTICIPATION
The days of not knowing when — or if — you’ll sleep together are long gone…and so is that libido-lifting sense of wonder. Well, you can’t go back in time, but you can reignite that excitement. Plan a really hot evening for both of you, but don’t let him in on the details. Just tell him that you’re cooking up a really sexy surprise for him. Build the anticipation by teasing him with hints of what’s to come. Let his imagination work overtime.
I was bored and horny last night, so I decided to try this “Sexting” thing that we’re all apparently doing all the time. I won’t give you the sloppy details .. mostly because there aren’t any. I said some naughty things and received some lukewarm replies about being stuck at a trade show. I hoped some saucy text messages would help, or at least make the day a little more interesting, but apparently at insurance trade shows people stare at each other’s crotches a lot and I was scolded for trying to give him an erection while he was working. Well then. Strike two, Cosmo.
WHEN YOU’RE COUPLED UP — BUT NOT HOOKING UP ENOUGH
Our motto is, “If you want an interesting sex life, start with the life part.” Re-enact the way you behaved when you first started dating. Little things like getting glammed up when you go out for dinner and acting like you would on a date keeps the relationship fun. And don’t forget to flirt. By sending a sexy text, playing footsie or whispering something suggestive in his ear, you’ll keep your chemistry up which will make sex extra hot. It’s also a good idea to plan some active dates like going on a long run or playing tennis against another couple. Working up a sweat might not seem that romantic, but it’ll keep your blood pumping and will make you feel more connected to your body — which will pay off once you’re naked.
I tried to get Ed to log into ICQ so I could ask him if he would ever have sex with five guys at once – all in capital letters – so we could act the way we had at the beginning of our relationship, but I was quickly shot down. He doesn’t like to be reminded of his first embarrassing steps on the internet, and the fact that I kept logs (and constantly refer to them because they’re so fucking funny) doesn’t really help matters. Then I tried to send a sexy text, which we all know ended badly. I don’t run – you try it when you’re sporting DDs; there’s no athlete bra strong enough to contain the awesome power – and I am far too hip to know any couples who play tennis because I don’t live in a fucking country club. Strike three!
WHEN YOU’RE TOTALLY COMMITTED… AND BORED
After a few years together, even the best relationships start to cool off a bit. The easiest way to keep things hot is to make over one half of your couple (that would be you). Take a foreign language class or start a craft biz on Etsy.com. It’s simple really: If you do interesting stuff, it’ll keep him interested too.
.. yeah, this hasn’t worked either. I do nothing BUT interesting stuff – crafting, going to conferences, giving presentations, doing interviews, attending the opera and being on TV and blogging the hell out of my life. I’m a smut-peddling, Fluevog-wearing, scooter-riding, sexually aggressive loud mouth suffering from both social anxiety and exhibitionism. I honestly don’t know how my life could get more interesting outside of having a third arm grafted on to my torso. I’m so fucking interesting it hurts – so where’s the interest? Isn’t Ed supposed to be salivating over me? What the fuck, Cosmo. You are a giant fucking fail.
Short of declaring an open season on the relationship and my pants (which I’ve actually done, but that’s a story for another time), I’m out of things to try and getting more frustrated by the second. Nothing I do arouses anything more than mild curiosity and irritation, so clearly the problem must be me. This is more than a little damaging to my self-esteem – nothing makes a girl feel more sexy and desirable than non-stop rejection – but here I am, still pathetically trying to keep things interesting and failing miserably.
Seriously, I had JUST gotten over being told that I was too fat to fuck – it happened 13 years ago – and now this.
Has anyone written The Dumpy Girl’s Guide to Sex: How to Trick People into Fucking You When You’re as Desirable as a Turnip? I could use it.
not desirable
Ed is out of town at a wedding slash insurance trade show – Alberta is weird – so I’ve got the house to myself. I don’t really have much time to enjoy the noisy solitude though, as the time so far as been filled with Many Things and there are still More Things to come. I really like having alone time though, so I set Sunday aside to do Absolutely Nothing and it’s been a raging boner of success – I slept in, took a nap, did some minor housework, and not once have I been dressed at any time. It was difficult to hold to my plans – I was enticed by an invitation to the beach and other Hanging Out – but this is the only time I’ll have to myself until .. well, this is the only time I have to myself. MY SUNDAY! GET YOUR PLANS – HOWEVER FUN AND AWESOME THEY MAY BE – OUT OF MY SUNDAY! I REFUSE TO PUT ON CLOTHES!
I was really productive yesterday, though. I went on a DATE – fully chaperoned; no backseat cock-riding happened – picked up a muffler, bought some shoes, then crafted the night away and made some neat things with LEATHA:
because it's midnite
Cheryl brought over her stash, and we invented stuff. I’m particular fond of the button/flower pendants and my Twitter cuff – it says @kimli – and I’m planning on making some other stuff tonight just for fun. Naked crafting is dangerous, but that’s just how I roll.
I have nothing to say, and it is glorious.
Among the pornographic gold (not literally, and yet kind of – I didn’t know they published golden showers) given to me last weekend by Jen were two issues of Penthouse Forums; the magazines filled with stories that start “Dear Penthouse, I never thought it would happen to me but ..”. While there are some pictures in these magazines, they’re all about the stories which is great – some of my favourite Smuttons are the ones with snippets from trashy erotica.
For the last week, I’ve been randomly Tweeting/blogging the same phrase over and over:
The silence was broken only by the sound of his best friend’s zipper.
This, my friends, is the single greatest sentence ever written.
It’s from a run-of-the-mill Penthouse Forum letter: he licked this, she sucked that, she inserted slot B into slot B, he emptied various things all over the place, she was insatiable, he was able to go five or six times in one session – but the writer obviously missed their calling as a mastermind of hardboiled fiction. The story ended with everyone spent and sweaty, blissed out on the orgasmic aftermath and enjoying the peaceful stillness, until the silence was broken by the aforementioned sound of his best friend’s zipper.
I *love* this line. It’s pure pulp fiction GOLD. I want to get it printed out on 10” high wall decals and put it above the love seat in the living room. I desperately wish I was clever enough to come up with a snappy loaded line to end my posts with; something that someone like me would find hilarious enough to quote on a regular basis like some kind of drunken douche bag demanding not to be tazed, bro. It’s good to have goals, I suppose.
All this raunchy content is doing my libido no good whatsoever – Ed is out of town for 5 days, and I keep talking about spending my weekend fucking strangers. I’m kidding, I think. I told Ed he had free rein to do as many drunken bridesmaids and/or sexy insurance brokers as he wanted, but he seemed rather put off by the thought. I still haven’t come to terms with his persistent, perpetual heterosexuality – and now he won’t even exercise THAT? Goddamnit. Being all talk does me NO GOOD WHATSOEVER.
Why must my vagina be thwarted at every turn?
best friend? is that you?
delicious juice dot com 