It’s funny. Of all the things I COULD be famous for – blogging, casting, my loose relationship with gravity, public indecency, my vagina, righteous indignation – I find that I am, in actuality, famous for ice.

I woke up in an extreme funk this morning. I slept poorly and late, my feet have been hurting non-stop for days, I’m stuck on a puzzle in Professor Layton, and everything just sucks. I tried to jazz up the funk a little with sparkly blue and Texan hair, but I just feel silly instead of fabulous and it’s not doing anything to improve my mood at all.

I was almost to work when I realized I didn’t have any cash on me, meaning I’d have to go without breakfast (doable) and Diet Coke (absolutely not doable) until I could get out of the office (rarely doable). At the last minute I decided to stop at the Chevron on Georgia to use the ATM and also get my morning fix of the good stuff. I knew this gas station had both Diet Coke and an ice dispenser, because it was the nearest source of ice from my last Space Station – I used to be a fixture in there, buying drinks and filling my enormous cup with ice several times a day.

As soon as I opened the door, I almost fell over in shock – I was greeted with some serious enthusiasm and mild scolding for not being around for the last two years. The Pump Guy and Counter Girl that work the morning shift were always super friendly, and they remembered me for both my scooter and my Diet Coke/ice cube habit. There’s something very nice about being warmly remembered and missed, even for something as silly as that. It completely lifted my spirits. It’s awesome being famous, even if my 15 minutes is doled out in 2-second increments.

Today is the day I’ll be picking a winner for the Delicious Juice Box o’ Fun! I’ll be doing a random draw at 1pm – the only time I’m free, according to my calendar – so you have until then to become a fan of Delicious Juice Dot Com on Facebook. I’m hoping to make this a recurring thing, because I love sending random presents to people. This month’s Box o’ Fun has some pretty silly things in addition to the awesome Voltron print, and I sort of have a plan for next month’s Box already. FUN! It’s like postcards, only three dimensional!

Okay, off to my next meeting.

I’ve been betrayed, and I don’t much care for it.

One of my (many, outlandish, weird) dreams is to live in a float home. I can see no downside to living on the water – you’re on the WATER, it’s different, you don’t pay for land, you live on a square boat, you can float away from irritating neighbours, it’s so much cheaper than stupid boring land-locked property – I really, really want to live on a float home. I’ve wanted this for years, and I fully plan on retiring in Victoria, living at Fisherman’s Wharf in my float home with my scooter and my pug and my cats and my computers, feeding the seals and scaring away the seagulls and shaking my broom at nosy tourists who get too close to my awesome float home.

i would wear slightly less purple

Ed is not only standing in my way, he is using DECEPTION and LIES and my FEAR OF POOP against me in an attempt to keep me from being completely awesome.

I’M ON TO YOU, BUDDY.

We did take a cursory look at the float homes in North Vancouver, and asked some questions to the friendly guy sitting on his dock drinking beer. He told us about living on a dock and Ed asked stupid practical questions while I was busy rearranging furniture in my head. We wandered the dock for a bit, then headed back to our scooters where Ed began his Campaign of Lies to make me think that living in a float home is out of the question.

He went on about the moorage fees (in the thousands!) and the kind of people who might live in float homes (unsavory types!) and our inability to block out our neighbours (we’d be trapped!) [this makes no sense] and the hazards of living on a floating platform (rough seas would make things unstable! You would fall out the window!) and worst of all: life with a septic tank.

There’s no indoor plumbing in a float home, so you would have to deal with tanks to hold your nasty business and you would have to manually transport those tanks and empty them yourself and clean them out with a toothbrush and you’d be covered in yuck and it would smell and –

This basically stopped me cold. I don’t WANT to deal with nasty things. I could never live on a float home! I refuse to be wrist-deep in human waste every week!

Josh found an ad for this house, which I’ve already looked at and have been coveting for some time. We talked about float homes (awesome) and the people who are stopping us from living in float homes (Ed and Shan) and I mentioned that it would totally suck to have to deal with the septic tanks on a weekly basis.

Then Josh told me that there are companies that you hire to do that sort of thing for you, and it’s a quarterly thing, and there are no toothbrushes or rubber gloves involved.

WELL.

Ed is a filthy liar! He tried to use my paralyzing fear of poop against me to change my mind about living in a float home! That’s HORRIBLE!

I am going to go out and BUY THIS FLOAT HOME TODAY OUT OF SPITE!

Ed is mean.

not shown: me, living here

how awesome would this be

beware this man: he is mean

I’m a force to be reckoned with – when I’m so frustrated I want to punch babies, I DRAW ANGRY FACES ON THE WHITEBOARD.

Oh yeah.

Bitches better step off ‘fore I bust out the whole damn pack of markers. I be drawin’ angry faces in multiple colours all up in their bidness, punk.

It’s Offensive Tuesday, in which I am offensive many times before 9am. A sample:

Jim says:
got a call for a job interview. Ready to jump this ship I think.
so yknow, pray and whatnot.
Kimli says:
you know me and jesus
we’re like this: 8=====D~~~~~ ( . Y . )

Yeah. Ascii dicks and blasphemy go really well with my slab of breakfast sausage.

OH I think I’ve just found a new title for my autobiography! Ascii Dicks and Blasphemy: The Story of Kimli

You’d read that, wouldn’t you?

I’m rambling to myself (and therefore the entire internet) because I do not want to get started on my enormous pile of work. Yesterday was a craptastic shit storm of a day, and today is forecasted to be about the same. There were heated emotions and the aforementioned whiteboard graffiti. DOOM!

Well, time to send out an email that will undoubtedly be ill-received.

It’s a very Vespa morning ‘round these parts:

pretty!

I couldn’t resist parking Lola next to the other two and taking a picture. Aren’t we pretty? In a delicious case of art imitating life, I am clearly larger and gother than the other two – as well as much more powerful. I will crush you all! Tremble before me as you cast your eyes downward to meet my tiny gaze!

Clearly I should not be in any position of power whatsoever, lest my ranking go to my head and I make my minions dance for my amusement. No one told the bosses at work, though – the new organization chart came out today, and my name is WAY up there. POWER! Okay, I have no minions of my own and my name tucked off to the side in a way that looks a little “executive assistant” for my liking, but I am on the same line as national managers so that’s something. Yes, I am placing too much importance on this. Let me have my fun; it’s so very rare that I actually appear on org charts at all.

For a weekend without plans, we were awfully busy. Friday night included near-death by Chrysler; Saturday was a late brunch at Raglan’s and the Farmer’s Market at Lonsdale Quay, followed by an evening scoot to the Richmond Night Market, and Sunday was an exercise in losing my scooter keys, bubbles, and a delicious meal.

I love the Richmond Night Market. We ate food on sticks – pork dim sum thingies and candied tomatoes – and I tried a Marshmallow Pocket because I had no idea what it was. Turns out a Marshmallow Pocket is a marshmallow wrapped in a wonton wrapper with chocolate chips, then deep fried until crispy. The ‘mallow melts on the inside, and you end up with a crunchy gooey disaster that has no right being that delicious. Plus, they called them Marshies. Awesome! After stuffing ourselves silly (and running into Heather and Christopher, which was great – we need to hang out with them more), we wandered the aisles. I bought false eyelashes and designer knock-offs; Shan bought many earrings; we both bought stripey socks. We managed to wander the entire thing, but we were all exhausted at the end of it and glad to escape the confines of Richmond.

I had many things I wanted to do yesterday, but had to battle my inner sloth before anything could be done. I desperately wanted to lounge around all day without pants on, but I needed to do things. Productivity eventually won out over sheer laziness, and we left the house to run a few important errands: replacing a dead 16GB SD card, finally getting new ice cube trays, getting a week’s worth of Diet Coke (8L), and buying every bubble apparatus I could lay my hands on for next Sunday’s Bubble Picnic in the Park.

I had a surprisingly difficult time finding bubble things, but what I was able to get will do very nicely indeed. I have a large arsenal of bubble things, so those who are unable to bring bubbles to the picnic will still be able to play. Hooray!

Ed and I crashed Josh and Shan’s dinner plans, and we had a lovely communal dinner: steak, garlic shrimp, BBQ’d corn, and blackberry apple pie with ice cream for dessert. It was completely awesome, and we got to use up some of the meats in our freezer. Deliciousness! We haven’t done a dinner like that in some time, and it was nice. I love that we’ve been living a floor apart for over two years now but aren’t sick of each other in the slightest – having great friends in the same building makes for many good times.

In fact, it makes for SO many good times that both couples are waffling on the idea of moving. We all want to move away from our street, but the thought of living in different buildings is a sad one. We *like* having people we trust so close by. Other people are dumb.

Last night I mentioned we should just look for a whole duplex for sale, then go in together on it and each buy one half. We’ve all been looking at other properties longingly, and the epic crime on the street last night (drunken domestic disturbance complete with hands-on-guns-RCMP and doors being kicked in and people in handcuffs) only makes other places – basically anywhere that isn’t our block – look all that much more appealing.

This week is going to suck. I need to go earn that fancy org chart position of mine – too bad it doesn’t come with any extra chickens.

SO. GOOD.

If ever I thought browsing through eBay was a bad idea, Etsy takes that bad idea and pumps it full of puppies and candy then shotguns a can of Red Bull and wraps everything up in a green and purple paisley print and sticks it in my back pocket for later consumption like some kind of shrimp sandwich for secret eating from Ikea on a day when the meatballs are looking scaly and the lady in the hairnet is skimping on the dingleberries.

Wait, what was I talking about?

Right, Etsy.

I use Etsy a lot. I’ve purchased awesome custom-made clothing, jewellery, art, crafting utensils – you name it, and someone on Etsy is selling it beautifully made and unique. Sometimes I get bored and look around for random keywords, and end up buying fantastic things I didn’t know existed. Just yesterday I had a craving for pretty little briolettes in happy colours, so I hunted around and bought myself two necklaces full of glee and pretty pretty beads. Hooray!

A while ago, I had an idea to search for Transformer items on Etsy. I found a lot of t-shirts (yawn) and some strange pillowcases, and the most amazing little cartoon prints done by Dave Perillo. They arrived a little while ago, and I immediately framed and hung them above my desk:

love, love, love the trucker hat

Check out Dave’s blog; it’s full of awesome things that he ought to make available in his Etsy store so I can buy them (this is a hint; I’m hoping he is wise in the ways of Google-Fu and finds this post).

When I got the prints in the mail, I squealed and did a little dance. Not only are the prints SUPER FRIGGIN COOL, but he also sent me a bonus: a wee print of Voltron, done in the same style! Heeee! Extra things are awesome!

This is where you come in. If I ever were to be a full-disclosure kind of person (because I have so many secrets I haven’t written about, being as private as I am and all), I would have to admit that I am not a Voltron fan. I never watched Voltron (there was no room in my heart for additional robots), and was never into it at all. In fact, if the print didn’t have “Voltron” writen on the bottom, I wouldn’t have known what it was. What can I say – I’m a one-robot-race kind of girl, and my loyalties ring strong and true.

The Voltron drawing IS awesome though, and it deserves to be displayed and adored by someone who will truly appreciate it. With this in mind, I will give Dave’s Voltron print and a box full of random things of my choosing (and if you’ve ever actually met me or seen my desk, you will know that I am the QUEEN OF RANDOM – there’s no telling what you might end up with) to one hapless lucky person. Free things! AWESOME things! What do you have to lose?

On Wednesday the 26th, I will draw a random person to receive the official Delicious Juice Dot Com Box o’ Love. There’s a catch, though: you have to be a fan of Delicious Juice Dot Com on Facebook to be entered in the drawing. Pretend you like me, and win neat things. Yes, it’s bribery – but bribery takes two, people. Help me out here.

when i'm rich and famous, i'm going to buy every blindbox toy in the world

It’s amazing how quickly a little thing like attempted vehicular homicide can put a damper on your evening.

I had a work function this evening that filled me full of steak and lemonade. Sated, I made plans to meet Ed at the McDonalds on Hastings and Highway 1, as it was relatively central to his North Shore and my downtown locations. I arrived shortly before him, and we headed out to our evening destination: Coquitlam Center.

We pulled out of the parking lot and stopped for a red light. We were in the rightmost lane; an HOV lane during the day and street parking in the evening. There were cars parked in the lane ahead, but I had ample room to accelerate when the light turned green and get ahead of the cars next to me.

I did not count on two things: 1) a premature throttle twist on my part, and 2) the Chrysler full of homicidal frat boys in the lane next to me.

I tried to gun it when the light changed, but I misfired and started early. I pulled back, then had to re-rev when the light changed for real. Unfortunately, my misfire alerted the douche bags to my plan, and they decided it would be a right jolly thrill to do their damnedest to keep me from getting in.

I hit the gas, and so did they. I slowed down to let them get over themselves, and so did they. I tried to use Lola’s power and speed up to get ahead of them, but that no fat girl on a scooter is going to get ahead of the Douche Mobile – they sped up.

They were driving a Chrysler 300. It is a very large car. I tried to force my way into the lane – it was either that or hit the parked cars – but they sped up and drove right beside me in the lane, forcing me to the side. I tried again to get around them, but they would not let me. They kept revving the engine and forcing me out of their lane.

I gunned it one last time, and this is where I made my biggest mistake next to not just letting the assholes have their way – I flipped them off. I was filled with adrenaline and trying very hard not to get hit by this massive luxury car intent on pushing me into the row of parked cars. They were being complete assholes and putting me in danger for no good reason, and I was pissed off.

Apparently, douche bags in luxury cars don’t like it when fat girls on a scooters flip them off.

Previously they were just trying to keep me out of their lane; now they were actively trying to hit me. They sped up again, coming within an inch or two of me, and yelled something out the window. I felt the car brush my pant leg, but I didn’t hear their insult because I was too busy trying not to die. The other cars around us gave them a wide berth, and the 300 sped past just as a break opened in the row of parked cars. I moved over and turned right onto Boundary, all too aware that I almost fucking died a second ago.

Okay, maybe that’s a little melodramatic. For all I know, I would have been fine after being run over by an enormous 2 ton sedan.

I wanted to keep scooting, because I needed to calm myself down. Ed pulled us over though, and he called the cops. He asked if I got the plate number, to which I laughed hysterically – the car was never ahead of me until it almost killed me, and I was in no condition to memorize numbers. He passed along what information we had, and after a brief lecture at me (which I shut down; I didn’t need and couldn’t handle a scolding just then) we went to the mall as planned.

I bought a tank top and a necklace.

Then we rode home, unscathed.

I hate it when people try to murder me.

I’m dicking around with Facebook Pages, and I think I’ve created a page for my page (how meta!). I’m trying to create a fan page for Delicious Juice Dot Com that will import my posts here onto Facebook for easy readin’, and also boost my ego so I can say “look mom, I did something with my life – I totally have fans”. If you’re on Facebook and you like me and my silly words, can you click this thing and be a fan? I think if I get 100 fans I get an extra life or my own URL or something. I’m not actually sure. The help is less than helpful.

It’s a cold and gray kind of Friday, but I have sparkly purple eyeshadow named “Fairy Princess” and a bountiful bosom. I’m getting a free meal later today – the Router Project from Hell is OVER and we’re celebrating with crustaceans – and earlier I got called “brash and uncompromising” which is a polite way to say that I am completely inappropriate, and I like it.

In fact, I ordered (free) business cards that say “unapologetically inappropriate” on the bottom. I think that’s even BETTER than being an Internet Superstar.

Hey, rambling.

Be my fan! I don’t cause fan death or anything!

Actually, I suppose a little honesty is in order. I’m trying to convince a community website to bring me on as an official writer, and having a fan page could only help my cause. This is sort of a positive side effect of it; I really built the fan page because I didn’t want to document this process I’m working on – but if it’ll help me be declared official, that would be super. I like to write. You may not know this about me, but it’s true.

Besides, I would totally be a fan of you if you had a fan page.

There was an e-scooter on the Lions Gate Bridge today.

Not on the sidewalk.

On the bridge itself.

Let’s forget for a minute how much I *loathe* those stupid things, and instead focus on just the facts: there was an e-scooter on the Lions Gate Bridge today.

An electric scooter has a maximum top speed of 32km/h on a full charge. I sold my Honda Jazz that had a maximum speed of 65km/h, because it was dangerously slow on the LGB.

Oscar’s top speed was 85km/h, and at times HE was dangerously slow.

All this is bad enough, but let’s not forget that the LGB has a fairly steep incline. While my previous scooters could easily handle the speed limit on the down stroke, the real danger was in getting up there in the first place. A scooter with a top speed of 65km/h will slow down anywhere between 15 to 35km/h when going uphill, based on the incline, the rider, and the takeoff speed. On an electric scooter, I shudder at the thought of how slow it would be when getting up the bridge.

It’s dangerous and possibly illegal – I don’t know that electric scooters are allowed on main roads. He was riding off to the extreme right, but that is of little help – cars still needed to swerve around him by drifting into the left lane, and the bridge simply isn’t wide enough to allow that.

Okay, enough objectivity:

What the FUCK do you think you’re doing, asshole e-scooter rider? You are not a vehicle, you’re a plastic piece of shit that has NO business being on the road. Not only are you slowing traffic down, you’re in extreme danger of causing an accident. You’re giving the rest of us a bad name, you selfish piece of shit – your pathetic excuse for a ride goes on the SIDEWALK, where you can piss off pedestrians and cyclists alike. When THEY hit you, you won’t cause half the North Shore to come to a grinding halt and back traffic up for miles. I felt like stopping Lola and asking you what the flying fuck you thought you were doing on the road – you don’t belong there. Get the fuck back on the sidewalk where you technically don’t belong either, but you’d at least be in less danger of becoming a fucking pancake during the Thursday morning rush hour.

You want to take the environmentalism up a notch? Buy an e-bike. They don’t take up any more room than a bicycle, you still have a motor to help you up hills, you won’t look like a fucking idiot, and you can ride them easily on the sidewalk. They’re also more durable than the flimsy plastic shitbox you’re currently riding. It’s assholes that you that make people not like or trust scooters on the street – the average person can’t tell a Ruckus from a C3; how are they to know I am approximately 10 times faster than you are and can therefore keep up with traffic?

FUCK YOU, E-SCOOTER GUY.

There were several reasons for not posting this on the main page, but I don’t think I need to spell them out for you – they’ll become all to evident soon enough.

Besides, I was practically *dared* to do it.

Some of you – Brooks, ‘nee, Ian – may remember these. For the rest of you .. well, what’s a Wednesday without a little jaw-dropping hilarity and offended sensibilities?

Enjoy.

Having a bee in your bonnet is not nearly as quaint as it sounds.

I’ve been experiencing higher-than-normal bee volume lately, and I don’t know that I like it. Bees don’t really bother me – I know Ed hates them and Shan is just shy of terrified of them, but for all my anti-crawly-thing policies, I am on very good terms with bees.

That being said, I don’t want them all up in my business.

A couple weeks ago, a bug hit me while I was riding. It’s a little startling, but no big deal – we get hit by bugs all the time. I saw it just before it hit me, and had enough time to note that it was a bee before it went splat.

Unfortunately for me (but luckily for the bee), my helmet visor was up. Instead of going squish all over my helmet, the bee flew right in my face. This made me jump a little, but I assumed the bee bounced off my cheek and landed somewhere on the ground. I rode on, this time with my visor down.

And then I heard the buzzing.

I ignored it at first, because the wind makes interesting noises through my helmet. I figured someone was using a chainsaw off in the woods, and didn’t think much of it.

Then I heard the buzzing again, this time accompanied by tickling.

The bee had not, in fact, bounced off anything but rather flew directly into my helmet and into my hair. He was groggily crawling around the inside of my helmet, attempting to fly around my ear. I freaked out – I might be okay with bees to the point of almost LIKING them, but having a bewildered bee think your ear canal might lead to the outside world is NOT a comforting thought – and pulled off the side of the road, yanking my helmet off in a panic. I shook it out, ran my fingers through my hair a dozen times, and removed all the padding to make sure the bee was gone. A bee! In my helmet! This is no good at all!

There were a lot of bees on our scooters this past weekend too. At one point there were four of them hovering around Josh’s bike, prompting me to ask if he had picked up a nest somewhere in Alaska. A bee or two chased Shan around, and we left the area to enjoy the rest of our bee-free Sunday.

Monday morning: Lemon was going insane and trying to climb a living room wall. I looked up, and saw the object of his frenzy – there was a bee in the house, flying around and looking confused. I did some Bee Whispering, and tried to reason with it: it should leave through that tiny open window, because there are no flowers in here and Lemon will probably eat you. The bee was in no mood to negotiate though, and it took Ed a good 15 minutes and an entire place setting to get the bee safely outside.

I am being stalked by bees.

This morning I discovered the reason for the scooter bees. There is, in fact, a very large nest in the blackberry bushes about 3 feet from where we park. This is a warning to the North Shore crew – be careful when parking across the street; there’s an army of bees waiting for you.

What do you do about bees? They’re not on anyone’s property, and the nest is large and exposed and scary looking. The blackberries are ripening, so a lot of people poke around in those bushes – it would probably be very bad for someone to stumble into the nest and anger a whole bunch of stinging meanies. Can you call the city about this? I don’t want to bug bomb it – killing them seems unnecessary and would poison all the berries – but the damn thing is at crotch level. The last thing I need is an angry horde coming for my crotch. How do I deal with bees?!

bzzzzz