Who knew? Apparently being told that something I’ve done is “rubbish” completely gets my hackles up. I’m as close as can be to snarling without actually showing teeth. Fun!

Few things sour my Monday morning mood faster than being run off the road.

I chose to ignore the ominous dusting of snow on the hills behind my house this morning and instead focused on the positive – the shiny yellow sunshine highlighting the shoes dangling from the trees across the street. My ride in was brisk, but I’ve been colder. In fact, it was largely uneventful if I completely ignore the fact that Fabio tried to kill me in a Range Rover.

He was on his cell phone – naturally – when he thought it would be an awesome idea to change lanes right into me. I braked hard to avoid the collision and zipped around him on the left, laying on my horn the whole time. I stopped at his window – he rolled it down, and apologized in a thick Italian accent. The accent combined with the smile were probably really quite charming, except I really fucking hate it when people don’t pay attention to the road and almost take me out. I was too pissed to let loose my usual barrage of insults and random swearing, so I just shook my head in disgust and went on my way.

Something about a shiny new day seems to make people kind of stupid. I was also cut off at the entrance to the bridge by an asshat in a Civic, but it wasn’t nearly as close as the Incident with Fabio. I was in a fairly good mood before the idiocy, but I got grumpy pretty quickly. I need to shake this bad mood; it’s too nice outside to dwell on rich assholes and their giant cars and stupid cell phones.

So, what should I wear to my COURT DATE on Wednesday?

I’m not sure how I did it, but I exploded the garbage can I keep next to my Girl Station in the bedroom. I threw it out last time I was cleaning, but I haven’t replaced it yet. As a result, my side of the room is covered in crumpled tissue paper because I’ve been liberally tossing them on the floor instead of getting a temporary garbage receptacle. The room looks like it belongs to a teenage boy with gender issues – dirty clothes, make up, video games and used Kleenex everywhere. A normal person would be embarrassed – me, I’m just amused. Jizz mops everywhere!

Last night’s Tegan and Sara show was *awesome*. I can’t believe I’ve never seen them live before; it was so much fun. They sounded amazing and are cute as all hell. They played first, and in a bizarre twist, the show started at exactly 8pm – apparently the Olympic committee is big on timely shows. It wasn’t a true concert in the usual sense, it was more like a performance but it was great just the same. Broken Social Scene took the stage second, but after the first couple songs we left – I’d never heard them before and was there just for T&S. BSS were okay, but not really my thing. 5 of us hung out in the lobby of the Orpheum for a while like high class hooligans, then we grabbed Reilly and walked down Granville Streeet (an adventure unto itself) to meet up with Tanya and company at the Two Parrots. We headed home around midnight after another fun Friday evening – one in which I did not cut any bitches.

I slept for approximately one million years, so it’s now 2pm and I’m barely showered and awake. Operation: Donate Blood was postponed because they have too much blood at the moment, so I’m going to spend my afternoon running exciting errands: getting MORE cat medication, buying a garbage can, containing my various rages. All in a day’s work, right?

This is pretty cool:

It’s a java app that makes you some pretty word art based on your URL or text block. Try it out – it’s nifty; I just killed 20 minutes playing with the different patterns and fonts. It doesn’t seem to work for specific articles, though. No matter what Delicious Juice entry I pointed it at, it came up with content pulled from my main page. Too bad – I would have loved to see a word ball made up of Return to Castle Bonerstein.

Duh – you can PASTE text in. So I did:

Hee!

As I lay awake last night fuming and generally being crabby, I realized two things that made light bulbs go off above my head (which made it that much more difficult to fall asleep):

a) It’s all fine and good to play the “I hate Valentine’s Day because I don’t want to be told when I have to be romantic” card, but your righteous indignation loses most of it’s mustard when you don’t exactly have a distinguished record of spontaneous romance under your belt. Sure, use your outrage as an excuse to not play the Hallmark game – but at least back your statement up with alternates. If you’re not one for impulsive flirty romance – no matter how many times you’re told it would mean a lot – then maybe you shouldn’t scoff at a forced celebration of love. Valentine’s Day is in place exactly because of people like you. If you won’t do all those sappy silly fairy tale romance bullshit activities because you’re “supposed” to, but you won’t do it because you’ve been flat-out asked to, and you won’t do it for no reason at all, and you won’t do it in reciprocate, but you won’t do it if it’s expected of you – well, don’t get upset when I laugh myself to tears when you ask for your steak and blow job a month later.

b) I now know exactly why my mother bought herself so many presents when I was growing up.

Another Friday night, another concert. This time it’s Tegan and Sara, whom I’ve loved since 2001 or so but have never seen live. Should be a really good time. Here’s hoping I won’t have to punch anyone on my way out.

you say it’s not what you do
it’s what you’re thinking of
well i think it’s just an excuse
it’s what you put across

coz i don’t wanna be the one
only overjoyed
i don’t wanna be the one
making all the noise
yeah i don’t wanna be the one

Then there are the days where it really fucking sucks to be me:

• An innocent email in which I cooed over a romantic gesture between two friends received a reply of “you make me feel like crap”
• I offered to pick up ingredients and prepare a favourite meal, only to be turned down in favour of a night of drinking
• I came home to two enormous piles of puke, one of which was helpfully situated directly under my desk
• There was a lovely pile of cat shit on the bathroom floor
• I had to disinfect my left boob, because Sasha scratched me with a shit-covered paw when I was struggling to force her cancer-fighting medicine down her throat
• I have Valentine’s Day rage
• .. in addition to just plain regular rage

I know these are all just a bunch of petty little bitches and things could be a lot worse, but *fuck*. I am annoyed at a whole bunch of things.

It is difficult to ratify my need for speed when all the traffic lights are in cahoots and conspiring against me. I managed to hit every. single. light. on my way to work this morning, including a gratuitous and baffling stop in the Stanley Park Causeway. I wish to go fast, and squeezing the brakes every block or so does not give me the speed I desire. Given that my top speed is 80km/h (while going downhill with a stiff wind at my back), I don’t think I’m asking too much – I’d like to be able to at least go the speed limit, is all. Oscar is completely done with winter and wants to go quickly, and I would like to accommodate his reckless endeavor in a responsible and upright manner.

I’m fighting to resist the urge to take my scissors into the bathroom and cut my hair. I’ve got Scooter Bangs – my hair is long enough where my helmet flattens things out and covers my eyes. It’s times like this when I wish I didn’t have bangs, but I am oh so trendy with them. Also, I’ve *always* had bangs. There are numerous pictures of Tiny Kimli with varying degrees of terrible hair, but the bangs are always there (occasionally joined by blue eyeliner!).

Twitter is entertaining me with #nerdpickuplines, but I think I outed myself as a MegaNerd (because it was a huge secret) with my contribution of “I’d like to iddqd your idspispod until your idkfa looks like Dopefish”. No one seems to have gotten it, which makes me sad (and if you DO get it, please let me know and we will have some sex). I guess we can’t ALL make the same comments about the size of our epic mounts *snerk*.

Is it spring yet?

blood orange sky > vanilla sky

For as long as I can remember, my mother has had large containers of a special Malaysian curry powder she brought to Canada with her. She would get friends and relatives to ship her parcels whenever she was in danger of running out, and when she went home to Malaysia to visit her suitcase was stuffed with curry and the house was smelly for a month.

Some time in the early 90s, it stopped being available. The company that made it – I have no idea of the name; I only ever saw the powder in what I assume was its natural form: a large white Tupperware container in the back of the fridge – closed down, and there were no more parcels coming to replenish the supply. It didn’t seem to matter, as we had so very much of it – in addition to the curry bucket in the fridge, there were several large, carefully wrapped bundles in the cupboard. We had lots.

I learned to cook using this stuff, and adapted it into recipes that were my very own. While my mother was an expert at making delicious curries with it, I somehow failed to absorb that knowledge: the last time I tried making a curry from scratch, it turned out somewhat catastrophic. I scorched the milk – burnt milk is a horrifying thing – and had to throw out the pot and open all the windows to clear out the stench, in the middle of a Calgary winter. I never again attempted mom-style curry.

When I moved out of the house, I took a container of the curry powder with me. I used it in sauces and chili and treated it as my secret ingredient. It made things spicy and delicious, and the warm yellow smell usually brought about a host of good memories – my mom’s excitement when more came in the mail, my dad bringing me more when I started to run low, the satisfaction found in preparing a unique and fabulous pasta sauce.

Even a seemingly infinite supply can’t last forever. My mom ran out of the powder 5 or so years ago, and has been pestering me to find her a replacement ever since. I still had my supply, horded and doled out with increasing restraint, but it wasn’t enough to share. Between the two of us we’ve probably tried 2 dozen different curry powders, but none of them came close to the deliciousness offered up by the now-extinct powder from Malaysia.

Monday night was cold and sad, so I made a big pot chili to warm us up. There was so very little curry powder left in my jar, but it didn’t make sense to hang onto it for any longer – what good is it if it can’t be enjoyed? I used up the very last of my supply, silently thanking it for all it did to enhance my dishes over the years. So long, little spice. I’ll miss you and all your deliciousness.

Facebook appears to have exploded in memes lately, and since I am bored out of my sick little mind I thought I’d do some of them.
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My first year at the Lab is coming to an inauspicious close, as I am currently at home, naked and grouchy, instead of asking if I’m going to get a raise anytime soon. I like raises, I think. I haven’t actually gotten one in many, many years – I think I remember liking them, but it’s been so very long.

I am under the weather. Yesterday was emotionally exhausting, and as the evening wore on I found myself feeling terrible in a number of ways. Waking up this morning with a staggering headache and a sore throat seemed to seal the deal, so I opted to call it in instead of making a mockery of my to do list. Resting today will hopefully knock whatever this is out of the park so I can get back to doing all those things I do so well. I don’t particularly want to be sick with an identifiable cause – there are Things on my calendar that I don’t want to miss because of a cluster of germs that won’t sit down and shut up. Friday is the Tegan and Sara show at the Orpheum, and on Saturday there is blood to give, and next Monday is my COURT DATE – so you see, I am far too busy to give into my wanton illnesses.

Why is the average age of every artist on MuchMusic 15? And when did MuchMoreMusic turn into the Nickelback channel? This is NOT helping my convalescence one bit. Weren’t there more Pussycat Dolls? I thought there were like 9 of them or something; this (horrible) video only has 5. Oh, they’re dancing in the rain now. That’s original. This is terrible stuff. More, now than ever, an All-Simpsons channel is truly needed.

I’m well aware of the fact that I appear to be live blogging my sick day, and I’m sorry. I’ll stop now.