Do you ever wish you had a more .. salacious past?

My own wanton past is nothing to sneer at (unlike my wonton past, which was really too salty and overcooked), but sometimes I wish I had taken more .. liberties with people. Especially when I was younger and completely oblivious to my own sexual charms.

I know the popular saying is “if I had known then what I know now”, but in my case, I think that knowledge would have NOT kept me out of trouble but rather have led to a great deal more nudity in mixed company.

Are you ever too old to indulge in your filthy, lustful daydreams?

On that note, does anyone want to make out?

I’m wearing polka-dotted shoes with pin-striped short pants.

Take that, society! I am thumbing my nose at you!

I’m manually adding Delicious Juice Dot Posts from March 30, 2001 until October 30th, 2006 to a subdomain of this website. Manually, as in by hand. I’ve been at it for almost 2 hours now, and I have March through June of 2001 done.

If I add these posts at a rate of one month per night, it’ll still take me over 65 days to do it.

I think I may have to work faster.

Still, I’ll be glad to have my archives online again. They’re horrible and embarrassing to read, but where else am I going to go to find out what I did on February 23. 2003?

I’ll give the URL once I get a little more content added. It’s not perfect – pictures won’t import, and text that linked elsewhere no longer does anything. As well, I used to update by hand so each post was manually date and time stamped – on days where there were more than one post, I got lazy and shoved them all into one update for the day. So no, it’s not perfect at all. Hold off the crazed villagers with flaming pitchforks; I’m doing what I can.

so. many. words.

Normally I’m highly amused by the public antics of Crying Girl and her Foul Mouthed Pompadour, but today their street fighting (not to be confused with Street Fighting) is just making me sad. I’m sad for him, because he’s so angry. I’m sad for her, because she’s always crying (and he likes to scream that she’s a whore) and because she really, really needs some new pants that fit right. Most of all though, I’m sad for their infant daughter, who has to be raised by these two screaming nincompoops – what possible chance does she have for a better life with parents like those?

Last night, there were fireworks.

We originally planned to scoot down to English Bay and watch the fireworks from the beach, but we’re down two scooters at the moment and really lethargic about it all. Josh had the brilliant idea to instead go up Cypress to watch the fireworks, so we did that. Unfortunately, so did everyone else. I’ve never seen so many people at the lookout, and the whole thing really felt like a picturesque tailgate party – there were pickup trucks and loud music and lawn chairs. It wasn’t too bad though, and we did get to see the fireworks. I took pictures. Clicky clicky.

Tonight, there will be cleaning. Ed’s parents arrive on Saturday, and while they’re not staying with us, they’ll still be seeing our place for the first time. I still really enjoy our apartment, and when it’s clean it’s pretty dang spectacular – but right now, that spectacular is hidden under several layers of crap. Tonight, we clean. I have excellent intentions.

We’re trying to record something in The Lab, so I brought in a lot of my casting equipment. I almost wished someone tried to cut me off on my way to work this morning – I had a giant mic stand balanced between my legs, and I really wanted to use it as a weapon. No one tried to kill me today though, so I didn’t get to go all Falling Down on the collective asses of society.

There’s always the ride home, though.

Everyone in my building is getting puppies but me.

There was a spider in my apartment this morning.

I’ve made great leaps and strides in dealing with my stark terror – ever since the Webcam War of ’03 (normally there would be a link here, but my archives are still broken), I’ve been able to grudgingly look at pictures of spiders without running screaming into the night. They still make me jump and shy away, but I no longer shriek and throw the book/monitor across the room, or make Ed cover the offending picture with Pokémon so I can continue reading the rest of the magazine.

See, progress.

The amazing progress I’ve made, however, does not translate into comfort around REAL spiders.

As I was getting ready for work this morning, I saw a spider on the floor. It was small by most standards, but still far too large for my own comfort – it was about the size of a dime, and it was dense. It wasn’t a wispy spider; it was big and dense and evil and black to a level I am not wholly comfortable with in regards to spiders.

I froze.

Then I called for backup.

Unfortunately, Ed had long since left for work and I was on my own. Undaunted by the lack of manly help forthcoming, I called out for the cats to come save me. The cats were unsympathetic and not rushing to my rescue, so I cast about for something else to save me.

Unable to tear my eyes away from the spider lest it attack while my attention was diverted, I reached out for the closest thing I could find that would double as a weapon. I grasped the first thing at hand and lofted it at the spider: a cat toy shaped like a sock. I would not die without a fight!

My aim was off. I steeled myself, and tried again; this time with a catnip-filled sheep. It, too, soared over the spider – but by mere millimeters. I let out a manly, capable squeal and made to run to safety should the spider charge towards me, but .. nothing.

The spider did not move.

Perhaps it was a stupid spider. Maybe it was stuffed full of evil spider testosterone and wouldn’t let something as silly as a scared girl end his mission of terror. Maybe it was trying to fake me out. Maybe it was a TRAP!

I know a little something about traps – I live next door to Admiral Ackbar. This was definitely a trap, and as soon as I let down my guard the spider would grow to the size of a horse and kill me with acid dripping from razor sharp fangs and stomp me to goo with eight hairy legs. Damn you, spider! Curse you all to hell!

Now I was pissed. You come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married and ask me to do murder for money, crawl on my floors, scare me into making a mess of the cat toy box? This is not justice!

I threw another toy at the spider. This time, my aim was true – I hit the evil thing right on its evil spider head. That’ll show it who’s the boss, and it ain’t Tony Danza.

Still the spider did not move.

Could it be that my nemesis was already dead? I still feared a trap, but I inched closer (in that I stood within 8 feet of it).

Nothing.

I decided to look at this from another angle. I went through the kitchen and came out on the other side of the spider – you can never be too careful – and looked at it again from afar.

Nothing.

I got closer. There was no sign of movement.

Hey, look! It’s Cheddar! She peeped out a greeting, and sat there looking cute. Sure, she wouldn’t come to my rescue in my hour of need, but now she wanted attention and love. Oh, I’ll give her love, alright. I pet the cat in all her favourite areas, squishing her belly and rubbing her ears.

Then I picked her up and tossed her at the spider.

It wasn’t so much of a toss as it was a drop – we were dangerously close to the inert beast, and I needed to find out once and for all if my enemy was truly dead. My proximity to the fiend paid off in spades – my Cheddar Grenade was a direct hit.

SQUISH

She landed on the spider, then chirped in delight and came running back for more. Past her happy waddle I could see what was left of my enemy – a crumpled spider, sad and forlorn (but still dripping with evil) and clearly dead. I gave Cheddar some extra love, and hastily got ready for work. Sure, the spider might LOOK dead, but it could still be a trap – best let Ed deal with it when he gets home.

I don’t like spiders.

I’m cranky for no reason. Most of it, I’m sure, has to do with the 6+ hours of QA I just did – not to mention the skull-and-crossbones-adorned sign I made this morning reminding me via post-it what is due this week and looming over my adorable head. I like my job, but today it is making me cranky.

Other things that could be contributing to my crank:

• I’m wearing short pants and my ankles are cold
• What’s for dinner tonight? Nothing? Awesome.
• I want adventure. When is it my turn to have some adventure? I would like some fun now, please.
• There’s a big ugly scratch right down the center of the right lens of my Usual Glasses. I broke out the Backup Glasses today, and things look funny.
• Where the hell is that thing I ordered 3 weeks ago. Should I email them again? Packages make me less cranky, and I was really hoping it was going to come today.
• I have a secret with a hilarious name that I can’t share yet
• People don’t update often enough, damnit
• Is it time to go home yet?
• There are sites that are way more popular than mine and I absolutely do not see their appeal. What do I have to do to be popular? I want internet fame and notoriety too.
• Sweet jesus, it IS time to go home!
• Too bad I can’t, because there are still 5 post-its on my wall
• Crap.