Strange things you may not know about me: I hate sandwiches.

I’m fully aware of how odd it is to dislike an entire industry of food made up of other foods that I generally have no problem with, but there you go. I do not like sandwiches. Occasionally when we are out, people will suggest we get something to eat and inevitably offer up Some Sandwich Joint as a possible snackery – at which point I have to flail about helplessly and attempt to explain why this would be a terrible, life-altering, devastating decision.

I hate sandwiches so much I have cried over them. Once upon a time I was planning our wedding, and my mother in law insisted we should offer up sandwiches at our reception. Given my utter loathing of things between bread, I freaked out and fought tooth and nail against Operation: Sandwich. In the end I won (and the food we ended up serving was beyond delicious and very reasonable), but I am sure Ed’s family had some pretty grave second thoughts about his upcoming nuptials to an obviously unbalanced round girl who threw a tantrum at the mere suggestion of roast beef and tuna salad.

I can’t even give you adequate reasoning behind this quirk of mine – it just is. I am Kimli. Please do not offer me a sandwich.

Naturally, this severely limits my lunch options and usually leaves me hungry after catered corporate events. My life would be a great deal easier if I could just come to terms with the thought of meat, cheese, vegetables and spread between two slices of bread or a bun or even a hogie, but I cannot. It is not to be. I hate sandwiches, you see.

In fact, you could say that I have a sandwich phobia.

That is probably not normal.

Good thing I’ve made my peace with that.

A meme I stole from Natalie under the cut!

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Regrets I have at 2am:

• That it’s not socially acceptable for me to vacuum right now
• That I didn’t take pictures of the blow job happening in the car outside our apartment this afternoon

I’m getting sick, so I slept from 7 until 11pm feeling sorry for myself. Then I woke up and started cleaning the house at midnight, and there are huge piles of crud and cat hair that I’m dying to get rid of – but I can’t, because it would be “rude”. Fuck rude – there is DUST on my FLOOR and how am I supposed to live with that at 2am?!

Miranda and I caught my downstairs neighbour giving a blow job in some guy’s car outside our apartment this afternoon. We got home from shopping (I bought heels. Coming soon: Ed’s recap of my hospital visit because I’ve fallen and broken many bones!) and I noticed a young man reclining in the driver’s seat of his car. It was a little strange that he might be napping at 4:30 in the afternoon outside our building, but whatever – then I noticed that he in fact wasn’t napping but rolling his head around in pleasure. I immediately Nancy Drew’d that he was getting a blow job, and sure enough, we saw a head bobbing up and down in his genital region. Naturally, Miranda and I raced upstairs so we could watch the blow job from above. I peeped every few minutes to see if they were done, and after ten minutes or so someone got out of the car. Imagine my utter hysterics when I saw that it was one of the two sisters who live next to Josh and Shan; they of the over-protective parents who wouldn’t let them rent the apartment until they had quizzed all her potential neighbours about the safety of the area (we lied). Turns out that maybe her dad shouldn’t have been so worried about the crime in our ‘hood so much as the fact that his daughter gives blow jobs to guys in the comfort of the front seat of a car. Klassy! She got out laden with shopping bags, and he drove off his seed firmly planted in her stomach (I assume; although she doesn’t look like the type to swallow). All in all, it was hilarious. Blow jobs: funny.

Except for the fact that Ed is officially sick and I am getting sick, I had a great Friday with Miranda and my house is clean for 2am. I think I will go drug myself back to sleep, after I look to see if there are any more blow jobs happening outside.

I smell burnt toast. Someone is either powerful bad at making breakfast, or I’m trapped in a Heritage Minute.

One of my bosses at The Lab keeps asking about the recurring theme of pudding in my work. He wonders if there’s some sort of joke that he isn’t getting, and that perhaps others won’t get it because they’re not from around here (The Lab is the most culturally diverse place I’ve ever hung my hat).

It’s a valid question, but it honestly doesn’t have an answer. The reason pudding keeps showing up in the chemical disasters I create is because pudding is hilarious. That’s it. Pudding = funny. He is clearly putting too much thought into what I do all day.

There was a protest across the street from The Lab today – apparently some people got it into their heads that shouting at a building would stop the war. I wonder how that went for them?

Also, I am beyond amused at how excited Ed is that the McRib is back. I mentioned it in passing yesterday, and he was so excited he almost rear-ended a car. He had one for lunch today, and if his email to me is any indication, he is very pleased with both himself and the sandwich.

Today I was smart enough to bring emergency pants (but not smart enough to wear socks), and they are not needed. I almost feel like wetting myself in retaliation for my excellent planning gone awry, but .. eww.

I found a way to disguise the majority of my leper-fisting wounds, but the bites aren’t quite past the itchy stage and my leather cuff (I would be so badass if not for the pink flowers) is making me twitch. The bites are truly disgusting to behold and I’m really conscious of the fact that it makes me look as though I’ve been ravaged by some horrible, possibly contagious skin condition. I have plans to be social tomorrow night, and I don’t want people to avoid me for fear of my wrist syphilis. I swear I’m clean!

We’re hopping onto the bandwagon a good 5 years late, but Ed and I have finally started to watch Firefly. We’ve owned the DVDs for the series and the movie for years, but getting me to sit down and pay attention to the TV for that long is an epic quest. I finally caved last weekend, and we’re 5 episodes in so far. I’m really enjoying it, but I refuse to become emotionally vested in it, knowing that it ends abruptly. Also, I accidentally spoiled a major plot point for myself and am bummed well in advance. Still, I see what all the fuss was about. I’m just a little late to the party is all.

In other news, I am totally going to send hit man spam to everyone I know.

• .. if you hit snooze enough times, my alarm clock will give up and turn itself off?
• .. if you put enough jam on your accidental cheese croissant, you can almost – but not quite – not taste the cheese at all?
• .. my many years of internet spoiler reading has finally backfired on me, and I accidentally spoiled something that I was looking forward to?
• .. no matter how sneaky you are when you try to enhance your downtown parking you WILL be busted and sent a nasty email with your only warning not to do it again OR ELSE?
• .. that you should always check your scooter gear for unmentionable nightmare bugs that might bite you while riding and leaving painful, itchy, hideous warty welts on your wrists the size of a quarter and make you look as though you fisted a leper?
• .. that leper fisting might be the worst mental imagery you encounter today, for that I am sort of sorry but really just very amused?
• .. that I am swamped with chemicals and really need to get back to work?

I just made Miranda, Reilly, Josh and Shan watch the last half of High School Musical.

Awesome.

Oh, and Reilly LOVED it. Don’t let him tell you otherwise.

I am actually too upset to use words.

I think I will take up drinking.

Alarms and fire trucks and giant hoses are generally pretty cool, but not when they’re coming from the parkade where your scooter is napping. I’m still not sure what happened, but I did experience some Spooky Parking today – most of the lights in the parkade were out and it was very loud in there. Monsters could have eaten me at any time.

I stopped at McDonald’s on my way to work because frankly there are few things more delicious than a breakfast burrito with quad salsa. In the drive through line, the truck in front of me was full of people dancing to YMCA. It was .. odd. And yet, strangely uplifting. Perhaps more people should dance to gay anthems while waiting for breakfast.

Ed is off to Montreal today for some exciting rodeo clown business. I am jealous – Montreal is super cool. However, Montreal is also super cold. I do not like snow.

Stupid Tuesday, why aren’t you Friday.