I admit it – I’m cheating today. I AM wearing a dress – slutty dress #1 – but the pants I wore for scooter-riding purposes underneath haven’t come off yet. I’m rocking the dress-over-pants look from 1998, and I am okay with that. I woke up with a terrible headache that threatened to blossom into a migraine (still is, although I don’t want to throw up anymore), and I’m hanging onto that as a valid reason for not wanting to take off my pants today. The pants stay – I have a headache!

I wonder if my coworkers are sick of my boobs yet. I’ve had shocking amounts of cleavage for the last three days, and I’m probably kidding myself if I think my pathetic attempts at modesty (a knotted scarf; an undone jacket) are covering my shame in any way. I can’t help it, okay – clothing is not kind to people of my shape. I’m aware that I usually look ridiculous, but what’s the alternative? Turtlenecks and paper bags? Do not want.

I really wish this headache would go away. I Have Plans for the evening, and don’t have time to hide in a dark room until the throbbing stops.

This is a late, uninteresting Wednesday post. Read the last post instead – it’s much more entertaining than this one, I swear.

All couples argue from time to time, and Ed and I are no exception. Earlier this evening, we got into a fight about porn star Mark Davis: is he cut or not? Based on the magazine I was chopping up for Smuttons, he looked cut to me – but Ed pointed out the wrinkly skin in the picture, saying “that’s a foreskin. trust me, I know dick.” I argued – it looked cut to me, and I too know dick. We could not come to an agreement on the foreskin issue, so I did the only logical thing: I went online to check.

First stop: Wikipedia. It’s where I usually start, because it has a lot of good information about the things I am interested in – ie: things that have no bearing on real life whatsoever, and it’s always the non-important issues that have the most accurate information. It made perfect sense to me, but Ed thought this was absolutely hysterical. He laughed at me, a lot – “you went to Wikipedia to see if a porn star has a foreskin or not? What kind of internet do you USE where information like that is readily available, especially on Wikipedia?!” – and just about peed himself with the hilarity of my ridiculousness and all. Silly Kimli!

…

suck it, ed. please?

I WIN.

I mean, I was wrong – yep, that was a foreskin – but the information WAS on Wikipedia, and that is worth all the foreskins in the world.

HAH!

Day Two of Operation: No Pants is going strong, although this morning was a struggle. It looked cold outside, and I really wanted to cave in and wear some pants – but I resisted the urge for warmth over cuteness, and instead am wearing one of the slutty new dresses I purchased this past weekend. It was pretty entertaining to hear Miranda and I trying things on – many, many perfectly serviceable items of clothing were discarded on account of being “too modest”. Heh – boobs are awesome.

It’s a Zombie Tuesday ’round these parts – everyone at the office is stumbling around and looking like they’d like to eat some brains, myself included. I’ve already asked a coworker to come see me at my desk so I could “pick [your] brains .. with a fork”. I got more sleep than I did on Sunday night, but my dreams were totally fucked up on account of my spending the evening making some really, really raunchy Smuttons and playing Pokemon at the same time. Multitasking allows me to achieve both my goals at the same time, which are a) to catch them all, and b) see cum-guzzling sluts take it in both holes.

What?

Driven by her desire for new clothes and my need to restock my supply of chocolate-covered peanut-butter-filled pretzel bites, Miranda and I took advantage of the strong Canadian dollar to do some cross-border shopping yesterday afternoon. We left the house just after 9am and took a gamble on the Abbotsford crossing, making it to our destination in record time. It was a great day to be out and about – a gorgeous day with light traffic and scented breezes. We found ourselves in Bellingham by 10:30, and started our day of shameless consumerism at Target (oh man we love Target) before moving on to the wretched hive of scum and villainy that is Ross. Exhausted from repeatedly getting naked and being coughed on by disgusting people, we went for lunch at the best Mexican restaurant in the universe before making a quick stop at Trader Joe’s before we left for home. It was a very fruitful trip, even after being (mostly) truthful when crossing back into Canada – we declared everything we bought, and were let through without needing to pay duty. Hooray!

I apologize for anyone who may be trying to buy a new dress in American this week, though – I bought every dress the United States had to offer. All of them. There are none left for anyone else. I came home with a record SIX dresses – three slutty, two classy (but still slutty), and one absolutely fucking ridiculous one that is too hilarious to be slutty. I’d been meaning to refresh my summer wardrobe and replace some of my worn out items that I still wear because I hate pants, and now I sort of have to because I bought all the dresses in the US.

In order to justify my spree, I have decided that I will wear a dress to work every day this week. Today I am decked out in black with white polka dots, and I am cute (if slutty). Hooray for new things at crazy good prices! Hooray for no pants!

I threw up* in a parking lot on Friday night after the craft night, and I am very pleased with myself. I did not do a lot of binge drinking during my formative years, and therefore missed out on a lot of the rites of passage into adulthood such as having someone hold my hair over a toilet, or date rape.  This past Friday I quite literally tossed my cookies after a night of binge drinking crafting, and am confident that it will count towards my merit badge for Grown Up given that I am allergic to alcohol.

(*: I hadn’t eaten more than Diet Coke and half a Snickers in 12 hours, and I was violently car sick on the way home with gross consequences)

this is why i need a handler when I go shopping - I bought both of these things.

I had an awesome time at the Museum of Vancouver last night. The event wasn’t as busy as the first one – we blame the gorgeous Friday night – but it was fun and full of merriment. Shan, Miranda and I hung out at our table and crafted, sold Smuttons, and chatted with great people all night long, especially Kim who is our new favourite and we totally want to adopt her (seriously, I’m not only willing to share my initial with her; I don’t even care we share a NAME*). I feel bad for her poor husband, because every time they tried to leave something hilarious would happen and would lead to stories and uncontrollable laughing and education. I laughed until I cried more than once last night – neither Miranda nor I could remember the last time there was so much hysterical amusement in one evening.

Everything culminated at the end of the night, when Ed came to pick us up. He was cradling a carton of apple juice in his left arm, which was strange. “What’s up with the apple juice, yo?” He furrowed his brow, hesitated, then said haltingly “.. this was outside our door when I got home.” He handed me the juice box, and told me to look closely at it:

i always envisioned delicious juice to be orange, but apple works too

:toot:

click to see the rest of the pictures

Someone left me personalized juice outside my condo door. I don’t know the person in the email address – I’VE BEEN FOUND.

I don’t know whether to laugh or be very, very scared. I’ll probably go with laugh – it’s not every day I get actual Stalker Juice – but it freaked Ed right out, which I am sorry I missed. I have a stalker! She brings me JUICE!

It is hilarious and a little bit frightening to be me!

Every time someone says something good on Twitter about Calgary, I am fairly quick to jump in with a disparaging fact or statement about the city and/or gloating about ways in which Vancouver is better. Even *I* think it’s getting to be a little obnoxious, and I feel I should explain why I hate Calgary so much:

Truth is, I really don’t. The city itself is fine, if not my cup of tea – I can’t imagine living anywhere that doesn’t have the ocean at my front door and mountains in my backyard (which coincidentally makes the list places I could stand living in very small indeed). I lived in Calgary for seven years (and two weeks, and three days, and 4 hours), and I would be hard-pressed to say that I hated every minute of it – there were some things I definitely liked about the city.

When I bitch about Calgary and all the things I hate about it, I’m really thinking about how bad things were for me in that period of my life. I was cataclysmically depressed for most of the time I spent in Alberta, and even thinking about going back gives me an actual panic attack; it was so bad. I don’t ever want to feel like I did that day in those seven years ever again – suicidally depressed, manic, without friends, unemployed, miserable, fighting with Ed a lot – it was bad. Really, really bad. When I think about Calgary, I think about all the times I very nearly threw myself under a bus just to end all the bad things. I know that’s dumb, but I can’t help it – even the words “moving to Calgary” make me almost want to vomit with terror, and I try to deflect that by repeatedly bringing up things like the snow and cold and lack of spring.

My resentment towards Edmonton, however, is entirely different.

So, sorry Calgary. I know I’m doing you a disservice every time I bitch about you on Twitter. I think it’s best for the both of us if I just stay here in Vancouver where I belong; don’t you agree?

Ali is a month or two away from popping out her second child, and has been bemoaning the task of writing her birth plan. I don’t know what that is, but I assume it’s like having to write up your goals or self-evaluation package at work. Everyone hates those things – for some reason putting “fewer murderous black-out rages at the office” is not a valid goal to have – but I’m always up for a challenge, so I thought I would help Ali out. After all, I’m a technical writer and I saw someone giving birth once on the internet so this should be easy.

With that in mind, I present to you the Delicious Juice Dot Birth Plan:

click to embiggen and see entire flow chart

Good luck with the baby, Ali! Let me know if my birth plan worked for you!

Tonight I will be at the Museum of Vancouver, selling Smuttons with Miranda and Andrea and other crafty people. Won’t you join us? It will be a Good Time!

I love necklaces. I probably own a hundred or more – mostly silver, all awesome. I am drawn to shiny things like a magpie to .. well, shiny things. It can be a problem – how many necklaces can any one person (who isn’t Mr. T) wear at a time – but I am okay with that.

Recently though, I’ve getting more into buying necklace PARTS instead of finished pieces. I’m somewhat handy with a pair of pliers, so I’ve been attempting to make my own jewellery and getting my craft on. It’s a little cheaper (in theory; I buy a LOT of supplies and can’t possibly wear them all – I really ought to sell some) but a lot more fun, and I get to play with sparkly things. Everyone wins (except Ed, who inevitably has to vacuum up the tiny silver pieces that I lose in the carpet/bed)!

I got some new pendants in today, and made myself this:

*sparrow noise* (what? they don't caw)

It’s a freshwater pearl and something called a London Blue Topaz that was ridiculous expensive (comparatively speaking; it was a hair under $10 for the single stone), and the bird and chain are from various Etsy supply vendors. It is pretty! Hooray for being crafty!

There is no way this could possibly end badly:

keem! did you check with craig? he has a list!

(click for big)

If I disappear, it’s because I’ve been lured into a den of sex crimes and thievery.