Category Archives: everyday kimli

go to your room

Posted in everyday kimli, i'm an astronaut by

I’m back at the Space Station today. Let’s see:

  • Desk moved? Check!
  • Computer used? Check!
  • Monitor resolution changed? Check!
  • Desk items tinkered with? Actually, all my crap seems fine
  • 0 new email messages after having been gone for a week? Check! (this was an error with the auto responder – it’s all fine now, but I immediately jumped to the conclusion that my email had been forwarded to someone else .. I’m not paranoid, or anything)
  • Laptop peripherals unplugged, removed, and inserted into orifices that aren’t mine? Oh god, probably
  • Email from people who knew very well that I was away for a week demanding to know why I hadn’t done something they requested after I had left? Check!
  • Two people on opposite ends of the office having a conversation via speaker phone? Check!

Oh, it’s so good to be back.

My mom is almost all moved. Very few things are left at the house, and what’s there can be taken over in a car load or two. Ed and I spent a couple days setting up her new place, and it’s looking much better than it did. Her new bed was delivered and set up and is very comfortable – hopefully it’ll help her back, because her current 30+ year old mattress just isn’t cutting it.

It was an aggravating trip. I did learn something very important and enlightening, though: I annoy my mother almost half as much as she annoys me.

This was a huge breakthrough for me. My mom thinks I’m a pain in the ass! This is .. good. It restores a sense of rightness in the universe, somehow. We’re not close, my mom and I, and it would weird me out to have a relationship with her that was anything other than forced civility due to shared DNA.

As hard as I try to behave otherwise, being around my mother instantly turns me back into a petulant 16 year old. My curt, one-word contributions to the conversation and incredulous responses to her bizarre requests – I can’t believe you don’t have a hammer! Why would I have a hammer? For the move! – do an excellent job of masking the person I’ve become with the person I was a million years ago. I’m sure the random people my mom introduced me to last week think I’m mentally deficient in some way – well, she LOOKS like an adult, but why is she acting like such a brat? I can’t help it. I try to smile and engage in polite, disinterested conversation like I’ve heard other grownups doing – but I can’t do it. I can get as far as a smile and a hello before my eyes glaze over and I start thinking about video games or boobs or robots again. This is not normal. My mother makes me regress in frightening ways.

I did feel an excellent burst of satisfaction, though, when mom asked Ed if HE had a hammer – his response of “Why would I have a hammer?” was delivered in the EXACT SAME TONE mine was only 5 minutes earlier. Ed was outside with the car when she started in on the hammer that most people apparently carry around with them when moving, so he didn’t hear the conversation at all. Vindication! I’m not insane for not having a pocket hammer! My mom is nuts!

So, when do I get a vacation to recover from my “vacation”?

gasping for access

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This is the longest I’ve been able to get online since Thursday morning. I’m desperately afraid to move my laptop for fear that my nubbin will disappear again – it’s been the worst kind of cock tease ever.

We moved the majority of mom’s stuff yesterday. Today we plan to do nothing – I’m dragging Ed downtown to go to the Public Market – and tonight we will ROCK OUT at the Victoria Curling Club, where Rise Against is playing.

I miss you all (and a steady internet connection) terribly. We’re going back to the mainland tomorrow, where I plan to hug my cats and scooter and also cable modem for good measure.

I’m still relatively sane, but there have been some very close calls.

i have no internet and i must scream

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(I found that if I hold my laptop up to the ceiling, I have one nubbin of unsecure wireless – praise jebus!)

Normally I would just assume that people here have more sense than to bandy unsecure wireless connections about, but I honestly think that no one here HAS wireless. I am stuck in my mom’s new place with no TV, no internet, no music, no nothin’  except season 1 of Dead Like Me, of which I just watched the first six episodes back to back. My head kind of hurts. It’s also three am, I’m thirsty, and this place is creepy.

I really hope my mom has a lot more patience than I do. I mean, I’m pretty much universally known as Ms Patience, but I was at my limits today. Her new apartment is the basement of someone’s house, and living above her is an entire family of clog dancers. The floors aren’t very thick, and I’m easily able to hear entire conversations in between all the running – not to mention the small child person who likes to yell and sing and cry and make irritating noises. Ed thinks that maybe she’ll welcome the noise. Me, it fills with rage. I hate other people.

There’s something infinitely depressing in imagining myself in this same situation – a 62 year old widow, living in a basement suite like some sort of lackluster college student, hording dish soap and paper towels because you can’t pass up a good deal. I hope I never get to this point. I always envisioned retirement to be at least mildly exciting, from an old person’s point of  view – lemonade, shuffleboard, flower arranging, maybe some weekly Bingo. This can’t be all there is – a crappy little two room apartment underneath someone else’s life, forging relationships based on lottery tickets and other pipe dreams. There’s more, isn’t there?

Maybe she’s happy like this. I’ve tried talking to her about it, and she does seem just fine with the status quo. Ed told me it’s not my place to worry about it; if she doesn’t want anything better then who am I to force it on her. Just because I want fireworks and scooters and food fights and raspberries for dinner doesn’t mean it’s what everyone else wants or needs – some people are fine with all this. Some people don’t miss excitement. Some people are content having nothing – or maybe they just have nothing I would want for myself.

That’s it, isn’t it. There’s nothing wrong with the life my mother is living; it’s just not what I want for myself. And that’s fine, because this ISN’T my life – and as long as she’s okay with what she has, my distaste for everything presently around me is of absolutely no concern to anyone. On Monday morning, I can go home to my own life and cats and friends and toys and not worry that I’m going to wake up in a life that’s far removed from what I want. I can do the Good Daughter thing for that long. If all else fails, there’s a liquor store down the street.

Remind me to tell you what happened at the Space Station this week, okay?

mommy dearest

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Train station bathrooms have to be one of the most depressing places on earth – they just seem so hopeless, like a desperate last resort after your life has been cut into pieces (sorry, couldn’t resist). I know this is far from the case – every time I’ve been in a train station it was either to go somewhere fun, or to pick up a friend who, while occasionally hopeless, was usually not hopeless AND desperate, being more of a “one or the other” situation. I had to go to the train station yesterday to buy Ed a bus ticket to Victoria – one way; the dirty bastard has crossed me for the last time – and on my way out, I peed. I kind of wish I hadn’t. Afterward, while my bladder felt infinitely better, I was very depressed.

Off to Victoria, for the Big Move. I am going to try my damnedest to have as much ME time as I can get away with – my mother drives me insane. I’ll be a drooling mass of humanity by the time I get back. I don’t think I’ve spent 5 days in close quarters with my mother since high school, back when we were trying to kill each other. Ed gets in on Friday. Here’s hoping he packed his mediator hat.

Behave! If I can steal internet, I’ll post updates on my mental condition!

they’re baaaaaack

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I take back every nasty thing I said or thought on my way into work this morning in the rain – my snails are back!

I was worried that the heat had done them harm, but I think they just burrowed into the cool dark of the soil and waited for rain. I saw one this morning, and when I came home there were so many more! Baby snails, too!

I picked this little guy up and put him on my hand. He was a little scared – in fact, he pooped on me.

For the record, baby poop is disgusting. Baby snail poop, on the other hand, is adorable (but also pretty disgusting).

I called Ed at work to tell him a baby snail pooped on me. He did not share my excitement.

I am going to be very very sad when snail season is over. I love my slimy little guys!

Yay snails!

where’s my sad

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I’ve been waiting for the House Sadness to kick in, but so far there’s nothing.

I tend to have emotional attachments to inanimate things and/or have deeply sentimental pangs towards anything with some sort of history. When I was young, I used to feel very guilty when I changed toothbrushes – I missed the old one, and thought perhaps it was sad it had been thrown out. By the end of this month, the house I’ve thought of as mine for the last 28 years will no longer be something I have a claim to. It’s only natural to be all sad and wistful about it, but so far I’ve got nothing.

I didn’t really have a very good time in that house, which probably lends a lot to my indifference. Still, there’s history there. I made and lost friends, have many memories of my dad, of the pets I’ve lost, the people I’ve made out with, still others I fondled, the room I lost my virginity in, that one time the group of us did that stuff ..  you don’t have decades of attachments to a place without having a lot of stories to tell. I’m leaving for Victoria in two days, and it’ll be the last time I’m in the house I grew up in. Eventually I’ll be weepy about it – right now, I’m just looking forward to being away from work for almost a week. Talk to me again in a few days, though – at that point, I’ll be insane from the constant close contact with my mother.

I’m tempted to leave tomorrow night instead of Wednesday morning, for reasons that are rather unknown to me. It would mean an extra day of insanity, boredom, no cats, and stress – I think I just have cabin fever, and am eager to .. do something. It’s dumb, since I just came back from Edmonton and spent the weekend having excellent adventures. Deep down I think I know why I’m itching to get this whole move over with, and my reasons are purely financially anxious. Our grand plans will come together eventually; I just want them to happen NOW instead of having to wait another few weeks.

So, what’s new by you?

still not a fetish

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I am not normally one to go crazy over shoes. I’ve never understood the passion for expensive shoes ala Sex in the City; nor do I have any sort of loyalty to one particular brand of shoe. I am partial to Mary Janes, have a soft spot for pre-Nike Converse, and if I were disgustingly wealthy I would own many pairs of Fluevogs but that is about it. Contrary to what Ed thinks, I do not have any kind of shoe fetish. What is it about guys thinking that, anyway? They see more than two pairs of shoes and automatically assume some sort of obsession is afoot (*cough*). This coming from the boy who spent a week in Edmonton and took five pairs of shoes with him .. anyway, shoes: I can take ‘em or leave ‘em. When it comes down to it, I prefer being barefoot.

However, last weekend in Edmonton I found a pair of shoes that I am absolutely in love with. There’s a Skechers store in West Edmonton Mall, and while I couldn’t bring myself to spend $90 on a pair of supremely cute Mary Janes, I DID find their answer to Crocs: these things.

Most people either love or hate Crocs, and I am firmly in the “love” category. They’re the only shoe I can wear for a long day of walking or standing and not feel crippled the next day. They’re a tradeshow savior – without them I’d be pretty much fucked after day one. They now come in a Mary Jane style, which is less obtrusively ugly than the standard ones – these are good. I have several pairs.

While I wasn’t about to spend $90 on a pair of shoes at the Skechers store (even though they were very, very, very cute) I was willing to shell out $35 – the price of a pair of Crocs – for a pair of Skechers Calies, and I love them ever so much. They’re comfy and light and super cute. If I can find somewhere that sells them locally, I will get another pair. I heart them a lot. So much so that I do not mind that I just wrote four paragraphs about shoes. How ‘bout that.

Up next on Delicious Juice Dot Com: How inappropriate peals of laughter were my ultimate corporate downfall!

home is awesome

Posted in everyday kimli, i'm an astronaut, international kimli, medical anomaly, vroom vroom by

Home! Man, I like home.

Edmonton was great. The weather was perfect – not too hot at all – and we got to spend some quality time with the in-laws and also cousins. Some obligatory shopping was done (love that no PST), many donairs were eaten (okay only two, but they were enormous and oh so tasty), and good times were had all ‘round. The visit seemed incredibly short, but we got a lot done.

The ride back was nice, too. The weather was overcast for the first 7 hours of the 13 hour drive, so it wasn’t too taxing on the head and the scenery was gorgeous as usual. The cats were ecstatic to see us, which is always nice – nothing like a little adoration to perk the spirits right up again. A quick shower had us feeling human again, and now we’re back to status quo albeit with a jam packed July to look forward to.

I fucking hate mosquitoes, though. One bit me on the face in Edmonton, and we were pretty much attacked by them in Blue River when we stopped to get gas. Fucking beasts – I bet I have 19 West Nile viruses now.

I brought my wedding dress back from Edmonton. I don’t really know what I’m going to do with it; it’s not some sort of incredible heirloom I need to pass down to my non-existent spawn. I suppose I could sell it, but it wasn’t expensive to begin with – I opted for a bridesmaid dress that was around $200 instead of the traditional crazy expensive fanciness. I don’t want to preserve it – that is lame – but I don’t envision wearing it again, so .. what to do. Donate it? Set it on fire? Frankly, I’m leaning towards the fire – given all the horrible, horrible stress I had over the fucking thing, I’m content that it served its purpose and now it can go away. I wonder if it could be tie-dyed? Heh.

Ed has the day off and I’m working from home. He’s actually on his way to Scooter right now, using his birthday money from his parents to put a deposit down on his Dio – it needs to be imported and upgraded out the wazoo, so he’s giving Wayne the go-ahead to get the process started. SCOOTERS! SCOOTERS FOR EVERYONE! I can’t wait – having people to ride with is so much fun, and Ed’s wanted a scooter pretty much since I got Sally. FUN! Hopefully he’ll get it in time to enjoy a few months of summer riding before we have to store them for the winter, but WHEE!

In Edmonton, we rode a quad. Ed’s dad has an 800cc Polaris something or other, so we took turns riding up the back alley with it. The thing is fucking TERRIFYING – I went (very slowly) up the alley and then turned around (in an utterly graceful 25-point turn) and came right back. It’s about 675 too many ccs for me; I can’t imagine every riding something that powerful on a regular basis. It made me want to come home and hug Oscar in all of his 125cc glory – there is NO WAY I’m ever getting anything bigger. Ed liked it, but there was just way too much power under me for any sort of comfort level. Scary. Kimli no like.

It feels like I’ve been gone from work for weeks, but I only took last Friday off. I suppose it’s good that no one missed me – next week I’ll be gone for 4 days to help my mom and I’ll feel guilty every time I think about work even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s tough having a superiority complex – people aren’t supposed to be able to deal with my not being around, damnit. I expect tears and wailing and a sense of utter hopelessness – how DARE you manage for yourselves! You’re supposed to NEED me!

Okay, answering my very few emails now. *sniff*

YAY-cation!

Posted in everyday kimli, nerd by

In two hours I am officially on vacation! Sure, it’s really just a glorified long weekend, but since I have to go through security and have all my many electronics scanned, I’m going to make the most of it. Vacation! Pass the tequila shots!

Our landlord cashed our rent cheque. This isn’t unusual at all, except that I honestly don’t think he HAS any cheques from us – I distinctly remember giving him post-dated ones for the entire year, which should have only gone until the end of June as we started living here July 1st last year. Also, our rent is supposed to go up $25 so I purposefully didn’t write any extended cheques past our one-year mark. So, how’d he cash it? Am I perhaps crazy and forgetful in my old age? Probably. I will officially stop worrying about it right …… now.

I wisely decided to work from home today until I have to leave, just so I could take my time getting ready and make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. I am extremely paranoid when it comes to packing for trips, which is why I tend to pack several weeks in advance and also over pack just in case. It does help that Ed took most of my stuff with him in the car; all I’m bringing are my toys and essentials. Of course, that doesn’t stop me from worrying that I’ve forgotten something important like feeding the cats or taking out the garbage before I leave or my medication (I’m allergic to the in-law’s dog) or my ID. However, I also know that in my last 5 years of many travels, the only things I’ve forgotten are my wedding ring once (to an iTG event in LA – not a big deal, since Ed doesn’t wear his at all anymore and is whoring it up in Edmonton as I speak) and mascara in Victoria last month. Pretty good track record, I’d say. Being anal is SUPER!

This guy wrote a great post about Transformers (and linked back to me, so he gets extra e-love). He also has a huge Decepticon tattoo on his right arm, which means that my left shoulder and his right arm are going to have to battle it out to protect and/or destroy mankind. He does make an excellent point about Dreamweave’s Transformers work – it’s gorgeous, and looks like a true updated version of the old school characters we know and love (and look, no flames or lips). Check it out. His points, they are on the mark.

I am too warm. Do you think they’d let me board the plane naked?

do you like to party

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I am either a) paranoid, b) guilty of watching too much crime TV, c) mentally processing the attempted boy-ho pickup I just saw, or d) all of the above.

It’s a quiet night out, and sound travels pretty well. I heard voices, so I looked out my window and saw a guy in a car in the middle of the street calling over a young guy to ask for directions. No big deal, right?

I stood and watched for a while, and in that time the guy in the car:

  • asked if the guy knew where a certain address was
  • had the guy look at the numbers of the buildings they were standing between
  • asked if he was out partying tonight
  • introduced himself as Jimbo
  • said he lived downtown
  • asked if the young man had a cell phone
  • offered up his own cell phone number
  • asked the young man to call him anytime, like on Friday, he’s free after 5pm
  • shook his hand
  • made some other intelligible comment that garnered an awkward laugh from the young man
  • eventually drove away

The entire thing was really fucking creepy. Jimbo was a large round white man dressed in light colours, driving a beat-up older sports car. The young man in question was from the reserve, tall and lanky and probably around 20. Jimbo spoke in a silky, smarmy voice. I bet he had disturbingly soft hands.

Scary. Seriously, who drives around at 11:30 pm in neighbourhoods they are not familiar with, then strikes up a random conversation with some random guy and asks if he likes to party? CREEPY SEX OFFENDERS, THAT’S WHO. The whole “so, you out partying?” and the “give me a call sometime, we’ll party” and the repeated “I live downtown”, not to mention that he was looking for an address that did not exist (he didn’t want my building, or the building next door, which leaves the crackenhaus at the end of the block or Reserve Land – plus he drove away right after the convo, not stopping to see if the address he was “looking” for matched the last place on the block) – on any TV drama, that would equal BAD NEWS.

I’m going to go hide from the scary men looking to pick up slender young studs for partying in front of my apartment building now.