Tonight I am going to be a ninja! I’ll be tweeting from and during the dress rehearsal of The Marriage of Figaro, which opens on Saturday. Please follow @OperaNinja to catch all the action as it unfolds on stage – I’ll be sharing my observations and random thought trains, so expect a lot of information on the tightness of the various opera pants!

i knew this picture would come in handy again some day

gonna cause an earthquake!

Ridiculous Activism is my very favourite kind of activism, and when you throw in my love of boobs and showing off boobs and looking at other people’s boobs, you had to have known that I would be all over Boobquake 2010.

For those not already familiar with the story, an Iranian Cleric (which, lol, everyone knows is the lamest character class ever – sorcerers for the win) has claimed that earthquakes are the fault of promiscuous women:

“Many women who do not dress modestly lead young men astray and spread adultery in society which increases earthquakes,” he explained.

To see if there is some truth in this, Jen of Blag Hag has declared Monday April 26th as Boobquake Day: all women should wear their most cleavage-showing shirts they own to see if the earth will move under our collective power. There’s a Facebook event and a Twitter hashtag (#boobquake) all ready to go – all you need to do is show off your rack, and in the name of SCIENCE we will see if women truly are the more powerful sex.

So, in other words, next Monday is totally a normal day for me except now it has an official name.

In truth, I won’t be wearing the most revealing thing I own because I am trying to lead young men astray and spread adultery, increasing earthquakes – not get arrested. I own some truly spectacular cleavage–displaying clothing, and as Monday is a work day, I will err on the side of caution just this once. I hope to see the rest of you coming out to play, though – take pictures! Share them with the internet! That way, more young men might be lead astray by our bountiful bosoms and the walls will shake with the wrath of god and also tectonic plates!

Monday is going to be fun.

I’m trying very hard to make good on my promise and get my pap test done, but it is not going as smoothly as I had hoped. For starters, I tried to contact the office that inserted my Weapon of Sperm Destruction back in ’08 but they won’t see me because my referral expired. I have to make an appointment with my family doctor (which is the problem, because I don’t HAVE one) or go to a walk-in clinic and ask them to get me an appointment with the vagina doctors. This is incredibly annoying, and I can feel untold amounts of rage building up in my spleen as we speak.

I made the stupid appointment for an appointment, and we’ll see what happens. It’s not until May, because that’s the earliest I could get – even for a referral. I suppose I could ask the clinic doctor to take a peak at my uterus for me, but that’s only half my issue – I want a family doctor I can build a relationship with; one that I can go to for regular checkups and prescription refills instead of blindly casting about for the first person in a white coat willing to prop me up and dive in. I don’t WANT to open a new file every time something is wrong or I need more pills to keep me sane. How am I supposed to take charge of my health when I can’t find anyone willing to see me more than once?

I’m beyond pissed off that I can’t find a doctor because I’m not shitting babies with every step I take. I even used the BC Physician Directory to once again see if I could find someone willing to take me, but after eight phone calls and no luck I gave up. The list spat out 18 female doctors* accepting new patients, but none of them would take me. I foamed with rage over this years ago, and I’m still just as upset – it is fucking insanity that I cannot get a doctor to see me regularly because I choose to remain childless.

*: I could and will try for a male doctor next; I just feel more comfortable getting my cervix scraped by a woman. I don’t know why this is, especially considering the last few women who were in there for business not pleasure attempted to feed me the tired “oh you’ll change your mind!” bullshit when I explained that I am the President of Team No Babies. Truth be told, I think male doctors are afraid of my almighty vagina. When I’ve asked to be papped, they suggest I find myself a nice woman doctor, or refer me to someone else. Yeah, that’ll make me feel good about myself – no one wants my vagina on a personal OR professional level.

And people wonder why I’m so scornful towards breeders. It’s their fault I could very well have cancerous cells tap dancing on my fallopian tubes and can’t get them detected before terrible things happen! Stop the insanity! Equal health care for everyone, you elitist assholes!

So much angry. This can’t be good for my empty womb.

After I watched (most of) last night’s episode of Glee – screw you Global TV; I was watching the US feed for a REASON – I asked Ed if his first time was awkward and/or accompanied by a snappy song and dance number. He said he was nervous, but it was a fairly routine deflowering – no wacky sitcom-style situations or baffling plot twists. Mine was similar – nervousness, excitement, impatience, confusion (“so, when does the other person get here?”) – but nothing exciting enough to build an hour of entertaining television around.

I did realize something, though: this year marks the 20th anniversary of my first time.

This calls for a celebration! Or, perhaps .. a re-release!

the easter eggs are particularly terrifying

Kimli’s Virginity, the colorful, wildly imaginative family adventure starring Kimli and her first real boyfriend, returns from the afterlife in a digitally remastered 20th Anniversary Deluxe Edition. This special edition is complete with animated shorts, behind-the-scenes featurettes, and recently uncovered, never-before-seen footage. An all-new director’s commentary is accompanied by the original trailers, premium features, and an in-depth interview with the cast. Relive Kimli’s First Time all over again, in high definition and stereo surround sound!

Yeah, that would be awesome.

And very, very disturbing.

Pre-order yours TODAY!

My thighs hate me. They also hate you, your family, and your cat. My thighs are screaming incoherent things in a public setting. They’re protesting outside your house, holding up signs that say “GOD HATES STAIRS” and “DOWN WITH SOCIALISM (NOT STAIRS)” and “SOME RANDOM MISSPELLED CRAP ABOUT MORTGAGING CHILDREN AND ALSO ELEVATORS”. My thighs are terrible, terrible people who hate equal rights and health care. My thighs make me angry and fill me with hopeless rage at their sheer ignorance. My thighs make humanity look bad.

My feet, however, love everyone. They want equal rights and health care for all; peace and love and all that good stuff.

(I swear to god I have a point – read just a little further)

I wore my gorgeous new shoes to work yesterday, and they were awesome. What was NOT awesome was the fire alarm and subsequent evacuation of my building – I had to walk down 16 flights of concrete stairs. I hate stairs at the best of times; I get crazy vertigo and would have burnt to a crisp had this been a real emergency and not just a false alarm on account of either a) my incredible slowness at going down steep flights of stairs, or b) the fact that I had tripped somewhere around floor 11 and tumbled down to floor 9 and am lying in a bleeding wreck in the corner. I did make it all the way downstairs, but not without a couple of near misses – getting dizzy while trying to hurry is not a good idea, and I do not recommend it at all.

So, my thighs are fucking KILLING me today. They hurt in places I did not know existed, and they are protesting my very existence with ridiculous signage and are probably a fan of Palin (those fucking idiot thighs). That sucks. BUT! I am happy – no, delighted – that my feet did not hurt. I wore brand new shoes yesterday, with a friggin’ HEEL (albeit a tiny one); had to walk down 16 flights of stairs and all over the damn place, and I was NOT curled up in a ball wishing I could take an axe to my feet to stop the pain. This is nothing short of a miracle, and if my thighs didn’t hurt so much I would be doing a dance of sheer joy. It’s so WEIRD to not be in heaping gobs of foot pain. I could get used to this!

My thighs just kicked me and called me a whore.

I feel like a neglected child! I am apparently the only person in the office who didn’t know that my boss is on vacation for TWO WEEKS, having left last Saturday. What the hell! I’m his only direct report and he didn’t bother to tell me?! I have pressing issues that must be addressed! Who’s going to throw me emergency flow chart requests on my way to the Diet Coke? Who’s going to fill the ice cube trays when I inevitably empty them and forget to refill? Who’s going to sign my expense report??! I feel so unloved.

I have decided that whenever I buy myself an outlandish present, I am going to justify it because I don’t get honoured with a day of my own. Mother’s Day? Father’s Day? Not going to happen. Administrative Professional Day? I would be horribly offended if someone celebrated it at me, as I’m not an admin worker. IT Professional Day doesn’t technically (heh) exist, and doesn’t exactly fit what I do anyway. I’m not just missing the annual Hallmark occasions, either – I didn’t get a bridal shower OR a bachelorette party, and I’ll never have need of a baby shower. When do I get random cards and presents to celebrate ME? Where’s my breakfast in bed and margarita served out of a giant penis cup?

I have no use for either of those things, so I bought myself a new pair of Fluevogs instead:

so much awesome

There was a $40 gift card (to celebrate the 40th anniversary of Fluevog Shoes) in our media kits for the OPUS Porter launch: I figured it would be rude not to use it, so I went on an expensive but gorgeous spree yesterday afternoon. As much as I love my Qtees, it’s impossible to wear them for very long because of the utter brokenness of my feet. I am tired of life in flats, so I opted to try a lower heel: the shoe I bought has a 1.5” bamboo heel that is, so far, perfect. Hooray! I am slightly taller!

The shoes are fucking HOT on my scooter, too. That’s right; I’m admitting to something on my person being sexy. You can keep your edible underwear and clay ashtrays made in kindergarten – I’ve got sexy shoes and a scooter, so I win.

I love my friends.

I had some vague, outlandish ideas for some pictures I wanted to incorporate into my Northern Voice presentation, so I asked the best photographer I know if he would donate some of his time to help me with my project. Reilly had a free Saturday afternoon, and one Facebook invite begging my favourite people to come out for a few hours and see if the images in my head would translate to real life (or if I would just have to Photoshop that unicorn in) later, we had a date.

I don’t know whether it was because they love me or because I promised beer afterward, but every person I asked (except Gina, but even I would ditch me for Vegas so that’s okay) came out to the rooftop of a rainy, pee-soaked parkade in Gastown on a Saturday afternoon to do my bidding. I haven’t seen the aftermath yet, but I have it on good authority that the pictures in my head translated perfectly onto (digital) film – I cannot WAIT to see them. All the props and planning and worrying that I did seems to have paid off, and I am so excited to put my presentation together (if still terrified to deliver it).

The photoshoot wasn’t without some issues, though – for example, I forgot that it’s good form to have the keys to the handcuffs before you slap them on someone in the name of art:

i used to be able to unlock these with a fork, but i didn't bring one of those either - it took brute force to get them open. oops.

When we had shot everything I could think of, we packed up and headed to the Black Frog where I thanked everyone with a round of beer. I really should have bought Dave several rounds for the handcuff fiasco, but I will just have to owe him more beer later.

I’ll ask Reilly to post the pictures after Northern Voice, because there were some hilarious things going on. In the meantime though, thank you SO MUCH to Reilly, Miranda, Josh, Shan, Heather, Chris, Renee, Yunn, Barry, Darren, Dave and Ed – in addition to doing me a huge favour, you all made me feel loved and junk!

I’ll be the first to admit that I know nothing about fancy hotels – the places I tend to stay offer vibrating beds, mirrors on the ceiling, and charge by the hour – but even so, I was amazed by the penthouse suite at the OPUS Hotel in Yaletown.

Yesterday morning an intriguing email appeared in my inbox from Miss 604 herself. It seems there was an event at the OPUS to launch the Porter Shoe by John Fluevog that Rebecca couldn’t attend, and knowing that I was a fan, would I like to go in her place? I almost tripped over myself in my haste to reply that I would be delighted to go, and thus I found myself at 5pm dressed up in my least-indecent finery, rubbing elbows with people who probably don’t store their iPhones in their cleavage for safe keeping. Miss 604 graciously RSVP’d my name to the event organizer +1, meaning I was allowed to bring my favourite safety net: Miranda. Armed with high heels, a deep admiration of Fluevog shoes, and a healthy dose utter terror, I was off to be fancy!

OPUS Hotels partnered with Fluevog Shoes to create the Porter Shoe exclusively for the hotel properties. The shoe is a gorgeous combination of shiny black leather and a custom-mixed shade of pink, and stands out by delivering a peek of awesome with each step. It’s part of the uniform for Opus Hotel valets and agents (worn along with a snazzy argyle sweater and, sadly, pants), and it looks incredible. It’s both a great way to add a dash of colour to an outfit AND an excellent conversation starter – I know I would fall head over heels in admiration with anyone I spotted wearing these things, because they are seriously cool.

forgive the phone picture - click to see the shoes in action

The shoes will be available in limited numbers in all ten North American Fluevog stores, or – and this is the best part – from the hotels themselves. You can order a pair right out of your mini bar! What better way to remember your trip to Vancouver? I LOVE this idea, and if I had man feet I would have caved there and then. Mini bar Fluevogs! So much fancy!

not pictured: toblerone and pringles

The event was held on the top floor of the Opus Hotel in a gorgeous penthouse suite that made me regret buying space over location – I suddenly desperately wanted to live in Yaletown and embrace everything the lifestyle has to offer. I could have happily lived in the bathroom of the suite alone. There was a wrap-around balcony that offered views of the city like this:

taken from the 7th floor - rainbow not always included

It was a very cozy place to hold an event and would be an ideal place for a glamorous “staycation”, if you’re into that sort of thing. If not, there’s also an OPUS in Montreal. Someone should send me there – I will blog all about it. No, really. I wouldn’t even charge for the multi-syllable words.

Miranda enjoyed wine and pink cocktails while I indulged in citrus-scented water and cupcakes. We had a lengthy conversation with John Fluevog himself, in which I found myself trying to convince him that he needs a scooter to get around Vancouver on – it is the only way to go, and coincidentally is hot as hell when paired with his shoes, something I know from experience. Miranda discovered a wacky connection with the man – they live in the same building – and, when scrambling for something intelligent to say, I remembered that the Museum of Vancouver is opening a Fluevog exhibit next month and managed to get myself invited to the media event. That, plus the fact that I didn’t fall over or out of my dress once during the whole evening, made last night a complete success for me. I am getting better at this “talking to strangers” thing!

High on excitement and parking tickets, we drove back to the Loft to collect ourselves and whatever people we could find in the area and ended up at Incendio for dinner. On the way, we – or more specifically, our shoes – were catcalled from a passing car by a Fluevog fan. It was a great end to an outlandishly awesome evening, and thanks are in order to Miss 604 for remembering that I love Fluevog Shoes and inviting me to attend, OPUS Hotels for the very fancy affair, Miranda for all the talking up of my skills she did (if you believed a word she said, I am apparently a very popular and influential local blogger), and John Fluevog himself for a) designing works of art for your feet, and b) indulging in excellent conversation with Miranda and my ridiculous, tongue-tied self.

I could absolutely get used to doing this sort of thing.

so pretty.

Oh, Murphy – you and your law are so hilarious!

I am very good at not following through on my own bets with myself (unless made when I was 12 years old – see scooters and Autobot tattoo for reference). It was very noble of me to attempt to wear a dress for five days straight, but I woke up late this morning and had to pry myself out of bed with a crowbar and a full bladder so I made a beeline for my jeans when I stepped out of the shower and called it good.

Naturally, I’ve just been invited to attend an event immediately after work for which I am drastically underdressed. I’m not just underdressed, even – I’m kind of a sloppy wreck. I need to change. I did some fast talking with my boss, so I’ll be leaving here at 3pm to do a quick tour of the North Shore to get cat food before going home for a whirlwind costume and vehicle change then to Yaletown for 5. Phew!

I don’t know if I’m to keep things on the DL just yet, so you’ll have to forgive my vagueness for a while longer. I promise to post a full recap tomorrow – things will be tying together around the city in a most delicious way, and I will share the fun as best I can!

My Upcoming Fun calendar to the right is woefully out of date. I’m not at the point of “having too much fun to write about it” just yet – I don’t know that I’d ever get there; such is my commitment to words – but it seems like awesome things happen on an almost daily basis, and I can’t keep the calendar up to speed. If that’s the only thing that drops in accuracy due to my hilarious and awesome social life, I will consider myself a very fortunate duck indeed.

Last night Miranda hosted a get together for Vancouver’s small business wimmenz, and it was awesome. Ladies who do all sorts of lovely creative things (and me) drinking wine (and Diet Coke) and eating delicious things, meeting each other and making connections (and hiding in the corner talking about video games). I wasn’t planning on staying the whole evening due to my headache, but I didn’t leave until after 10:30 because I was having so much fun talking with Kim, Miranda, Monica and Catherine. I know, I know – I was supposed to network and meet new people, but a) not very many people have a need for smut and words, which is all I peddle; b) my peeps are frickin’ awesome and I love talking to them, and c) my social anxiety means I’m terrified of people I don’t know, even if they’re in a place I spend almost as much time in as my own home. Still, it was good fun and other people really loved it – almost every person who came up to Miranda when leaving asked if she could do it again because it was so great. Miranda also had a friggin’ ingenious idea to share everyone’s contact information, the end result of which will be online soon. Whee!

Reilly was the only man in the entire joint last night, except for the hour when Chris stopped by. He dropped off some police tape I need for Saturday’s photo shoot, and there was much talking and planning for future events. I’m officially on the planning committee for a top secret invite only showing at the VPM, which I cannot WAIT for. Also, the Sins of the City walking tours start up again next month and I’m thinking about arranging one for my birthday. We shall see, but it looks like the Year of Awesome is not slowing down in any way – if anything, it’s picking up speed and that is just delicious.