Category Archives: everyday kimli

the gathering of my people

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I’ve been dodging aggressive kombucha vendors and eating handfuls of kale that fell from the sky since my train got in at 3pm, but it took me a full 6 hours to find a place to buy Diet Coke (which I did, in vast quantities). I passed 14 breweries, nine coffee shops, three boutique ice cream parlours, 5 bike shops, and one full-service sex store (bookmarked for later), but not a single one could help me fill my body with chemicals.

Welcome to Portland!

I’m here for a technical writing conference, and I am super excited. I’ve been trying to attend Write the Docs since its inception, but this is the first time I’ve managed to pull it off (thanks, boss!). There was a reception tonight where I awkwardly collected my conference badge, awkwardly collected some stickers, and awkwardly stood around being awkward for a while before I bailed to begin the Great Hunt (and also eat something that wasn’t friggin’ kale). The official start is tomorrow. I will be surrounded by people who are all about documentation. I’M HOME!

Before coming to Portland, Ed and I spent Saturday night in Seattle at the wedding reception of two of our friends. It was great to get all fancy and celebrate with awesome people – I am sorely lacking in excuses to get fancy, so I was pretty thrilled to doll up as the fanciest space hooker there ever was. The venue was a whiskey distillery in Woodinville, and there were open firepits and lemon curd everywhere. It was bliss.

While the Portland hotel isn’t hosting MamaCon like our Seattle hotel was, it’s still really nice. My room is a full-on suite with a kitchen and the most adorable Mad Men-esque stove I’ve ever seen, a separate bedroom with a king sized bed and almost enough pillows (there are 8), and a bathroom for unspeakable deeds. I’m both a block or so away from the venue and Powell’s Books, so I have plenty to do in the few free hours I have on Tuesday night. I’m also within skipping distance of the Dr. Martens and Fluevog stores, so .. sorry in advance, Ed. Portland has no tax, remember? That means everything is practically FREE.

Shit’s good, y’all.

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poor skeletor.

oh dear god

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A complicated money transfer sent me on a hellish stroll through memory lane, thanks to old yearbooks online in PDF form apparently being a thing. I couldn’t get into my bank account because it wouldn’t accept my answer for my high school mascot (or as is more likely, it couldn’t believe that my high school mascot was so lame and thought I was making a funny – seriously, it was the “warm fuzzy”. I went to hippie school, okay), so I went digging to see if the school still exists. It does, and there’s an alumni site. Neat! There isn’t much information for my “graduating” class, though. But our yearbook is online! Let’s take a look ..

Jesus christ, I wish I hadn’t done that. I am cringing so hard at my teenage self that I have practically imploded, so naturally I will share:

apparently i decorated this door, perhaps with my giant hair

apparently i decorated this door, perhaps with my giant hair

terminator was cool, okay.

terminator was cool, okay.

oh for fuck's sake this is fucking terrible what the hell i hate you teenage me

oh for fuck’s sake this is fucking terrible what the hell i hate you teenage me

I’m suspiciously absent from the school newspaper tribute page, as is probably fitting. Also, I fought really hard with my name – anywhere I was allowed to submit it shows up as “Kimli”, but anything anyone else wrote on my behalf came out as “Kim”. Jerks. I am predictably all over the band and choir page, not in any of the sports pages, and I have a sneaking suspicion that every school picture taken happened on just one day because I am wearing a big red sweater thing in almost every image.

Ugh I am actually ill when I look at that quote. Shoelaces? Cartwheels? ADVERTISING EXECUTIVE? 17-year-old me was a tool.

Kinda miss that hair, though.

perchance to dream

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This right here? This is my deep-down secret dream. Maybe not so much the “middle of nowhere in Texas” part, but I’ve always harboured a desire to live with (but not with) friends. You know that thing you do where you daydream about your life after winning the lottery? For the record I don’t ever do that, but in the darkest, quietest parts of my soul, this is what I want more than anything: to build a 4-6 unit building and fill it with my closest friends. A little community, just for us. A place where we all had our own space for secret no-pants times, but with large communal areas for friend times. I suppose this is really a two-part fantasy, with the logistics being the easiest thing to figure out (er, beyond getting the millions of dollars that is) – the other half of the equation is having good friends who’d want to join my commune, and not just for the cheap or non-existent rent. One of these things I can buy with money. The other I cannot.

The closest I’ve come so far is living in an apartment with friends a floor down. I loved the arrangement, although the other people in the building were varying degrees of terrible. Replace the terrible with awesome, and it would have been perfect – so if I ever come into a sizeable amount of money, I’m going to do exactly that. If you want a spot in my amazing daydream commune, become my friend. There’s gonna be so many cats!

true colours

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Last night, as I was sitting on the couch with saran wrap on my head, I started wondering about my natural hair colour. I mean, I know that at one point in time, my hair was black – I’m Asian. When Asian babies are born, everyone scrambles to discover exactly what shade of black their hair will be. However, I am not a full Asian baby – thanks to my mudblood, I inherited my dad’s powerful wizard hair gene and thus, have been colouring my hair since I was 14. It’s a pain in the ass, but I’ve always hated people commenting on my “grey” hairs. For starters, they’re not grey- they’re white because wizard hair. And I’m short, so people taller than I (aka everyone) would notice and made stupid comments about my old as though they were the first one to discover the flaws of a hyper-self conscious girl with severe body image issues. >:E

As I’ve aged (gracefully), more and more of my hair grows in white. This isn’t really a bad thing – when I dye/henna, it gives me natural highlights. That’s cool. I’m really curious, though, about what my natural hair looks like. Judging by the amount of white I cover up, most if not all of my hair would grow in glorious wizard colour. What would that look like? Could I rock my dad’s white hair as well as he did? Or would I just look old as fuck?

There’s really only one way to find out, and it’s a pretty drastic measure: I’d have to shave my head. I honestly don’t know if I’m brave enough to do it. I’m not a huge fan of my head shape, there’s a reason I have bangs, and I don’t even want to contemplate the horror of my unframed face .. but still, the curious. Almost everyone I know has gone through the “shaved head” phase, although they were smart enough to do it at the age where everyone just assumes it’s rebellion and not a medicinal side effect. Like so many other phases, I seem to have skipped that one.

Tell me, internet: should I shave my head and find out what lies beneath? Or is this burning curiosity just a mid-life crisis that will pass with time and topical ointments?

quiet storm

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So, I’ve been depressed lately. This is nothing unusual thanks to my history of depression, but this has been a whole new exciting layer of depression – the kind that makes it hard to get out of bed and go on with the day to day because there’s really no point in anything at all. I’ve been too depressed to write about being depressed. I’ve been too depressed to find my depression hilarious. I’ve been too depressed to play dodgeball. Basically, I’ve been depressed, is what I’m trying to say here.

I’m not really sure how to get out of this pit this time ’round. I’m questioning everything – my job, my life, my existence, my raison d’etre – and not finding any easy answers, just a lot of doubt. It feels like I’m sleepwalking through life, mutely looking at everything with giant anime eyes (that don’t quiver, so at least I know I’m not scared). It’s disconcerting.

I haven’t spent the entire last two weeks in a bed fort, although the temptation was mighty. I’ve managed to get out of the house a few times – once to see Shan’s dance recital downtown, and Ed and I went to Seattle last weekend (more on that shortly) – but beyond that, there’s nothing. I’m nothing. This sucks.

The worst part of all of this is that everything is actually fine. It’s even more than fine – things are pretty good. My health is improving. No complaints at home. Our cats are adorable. Hot singles in my area want to meet me. Everything is great, except for the fact that I can’t get out of bed in the morning and I have no joy. No big deal.

Except it totally is, and I hate feeling like this. I miss .. everything. I miss loving my life. I miss loving my work. I miss good times and adventures and laughter. I don’t really know what to do, so I just sit here, expressionless, until it’s time to get up and go sit somewhere else. Eventually, it’ll be time to be expressionless at home, then in bed, then sleep. Rinse and repeat, until the end of time. A big empty nothing of a life, wasting words on lower cases and capitals.

But hey, it’s not all bad. Seattle was super fun – saw an Astronautalis show, met another Kim, fangirled loudly at the stage with her, had Good Times with Ed, visited the Sparkle Castle. I could use more of that – loud, sweaty human interaction. If nothing else, it’s a reason to get dressed and go outside.

I am grim. I shall change my name to Grimli.

if you need me, i’ll be a crow.

 

i dreamed a dream

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in times gone byyyyyyyyyyyyy

For the last week straight, I’ve dreamt about school: being late for school, enrolling in a new school, exams, not being able to find my class – the whole damn genre. It’s been incredibly stressful, and I’ve spent the better part of the last four days in a daze being a complete hazard to myself and others. It all culminated (I sincerely hope) last night in a Wes Anderson-esq dream about work being equal parts meetings, school, and carnivals – which, frankly, is not at all far from the truth. I’m actually working from home as I write this, because our office will be turned into a mini-golf course this afternoon. My desk is the start of hole 11, it’s covered in LEDs and glitter, and that is no place to do Serious Businessing.

Oh my god, I’ve become a Professional.

I’m fairly certain that my school dreams are over for now, though. My work focus will be changing, but at a much slower rate than I was stressing over. This is good. Things are good. I am pleased.

creeping on your feelings

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A Teen Movie just happened right outside my window!

A young couple just had a dramatic argument across the street from me. She, slender and exasperated, gestured wildly; throwing her arms out and clutching her head in frustration. He, gangly and now heartbroken, struggling to understand why she was so impassionately irate. As her anger gushed out in an agitated broth of fury, he collapsed to the sidewalk in a heap of despair. She stormed off but didn’t get far – deep down she knew they still had “it”; that magnetic and intoxicating mix of emotion and patchouli that brought them together in the first place. She turned and went to him then, sinking to her knees beside him and cradling his head tenderly. Eventually they rose from the pavement, and tentatively took their first steps towards the bus stop – together for now, but with a chasm between them. What does the future hold? Will their love tear them apart?

I couldn’t hear anything that was going on, but it was all perfectly set to this song, thanks to the One Hit Wonders playlist on Spotify. The whole exchange was exactly like watching a teen movie trailer with an upbeat, radio-friendly pop-punk soundtrack, or a pretty terrible music video. In fact, it was a little TOO perfect. What if I’m not real life?! If I’m just a background extra on a cheesy teen drama, I’m going to be so mad.

I HAVE EMOTIONS

I HAVE EMOTIONS

table flip

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Clippy

You know, I try really hard to not flip tables. For one, the table didn’t do anything to me. And even if it did offend me in some way, it’s an inanimate object that didn’t consciously think about placing itself in the path of my toe on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. It’s also rude, and as a Canadian, I go out of my way to avoid being rude (it’s why I don’t murder). So while I totally get the noble art of the table flip, I have yet to truly experience one.

Until now.

Last week, I bought a Windows tablet (this one, if you’re curious). It was a really good price, and would serve my nefarious needs quite well. It arrived, so I started to make my way through the setup.

It would take far too long to try and explain the tangled web I wove in paragraph form, so here’s the gist of it all:

  • Purchased tablet under x@djdc email address
  • Went to set it up under k@djdc
  • All is good
  • Tablet came with a free subscription to Office 365 Personal
  • Cool, but I don’t need it – I have Office 365 Home
  • Office 365 Home is set up under kimli@gmail
  • kimli@gmail is tied to x@djdc
  • Office 365 Personal (can be installed on 1 tablet and one PC) overwrote my Office 365 Home (good for 5 tablets and 5 PCs) subscription

Well, shit. I lost access to the software I paid for – it was replaced with free software that was exactly 1/5th as good as what I actually bought. There was no way to fix this online – once you make the switch, even if you didn’t intend to, you’re stuck with it. I had to contact Microsoft support, and have them sort out my accounts. Again, should be easy – just remove the Personal subscription, and put my Home subscription back in place.

THINGS DON’T WORK THAT WAY, ALRIGHT

First, I had to sort out my two MS accounts. This basically turned into a ridiculous and infuriating Tower of Hanoi from hell:

  1. Log into k@djdc
  2. Verify account by email, since the phone number associated is some random number I had during the Dark Ages
  3. Cancel account
  4. Verify that I want to cancel this account
  5. If I don’t touch it, it’ll be deleted in 60 days
  6. Log into x@djdc
  7. Verify my identity by text message
  8. Add k@djdc as an alias
  9. Can’t, it already exists in the system
  10. Log out of x@djdc
  11. Log into k@djdc
  12. Account is in the delete queue
  13. Cancel delete process
  14. Verify I want to cancel the delete process
  15. Log into k@djdc again
  16. Verify my identity via text message
  17. Account is back, cool
  18. Add k@d as alias
  19. Verify I want to add k@d as alias
  20. Verify I own k@d by email
  21. Great, you’re aliased
  22. Set k@d as primary
  23. Verify I want to set k@d as primary
  24. Cool, k@d is primary
  25. Remove k@djdc email address
  26. Verify I want to remove k@djdc
  27. Yes goddamnit
  28. Cool, it’s gone
  29. Log into x@djdc
  30. Verify my identity
  31. Add k@djdc as alias
  32. Verify I own k@djdc
  33. Okay, it’s added
  34. Set k@djdc as primary
  35. Verify I want to set k@djdc as primary
  36. Shoot myself in the boobs repeatedly
  37. Why am I doing this
  38. Seriously
  39. This is my life now
  40. Cry

THIS WAS A BAD USER EXPERIENCE, OKAY

I’m not even sure if all this worked, as I THEN had to email Microsoft support and tell them where my various subscriptions should point to. I don’t know when I will hear back, but I’m guessing it will be later. And something else will be wrong. And can you please verify your face.

FLIP ALL THE TABLES

fourteen

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14

 

Delicious Juice Dot Com is 14 years old today. Every time another milestone passes, I am somewhat surprised that the site still exists at all .. but here we go again: another trip around the sun, please!

I’ve thought many times about simply throwing in the towel, but I know how terribly I’d miss having this outlet if I did. My updates don’t come as fast and furious as they did for the first 11 years, but they still happen. As long as someone out there is reading them, I’ll always have words to share.

I will celebrate this 14th bloggiversary with delicious Girl Guide cookies, which now cost an astonishing $5 a box.

Happy birthday, inanimate object of which I have grown inordinately fond!

last chance power drive

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On Saturday night, I didn’t sleep. By the time I put my phone down and closed my eyes, the coughing had already started and instead of waking Ed up by tossing/turning/coughing/barfing all night, I went left the bed and hung out in the living room to do various internet things. I never did fall asleep, which made for an entertaining Sunday morning – I was exhausted, but couldn’t sit still long enough to drift off. Honestly, I kind of felt drunk. Everything was HILARIOUS, and I kept having great epiphanies that I needed to share with the world like that one time I was high (sorry mom) and totally deduced why Sting was the halftime show at the Superbowl.

At some point during the day, I decided I was going to listen to nothing but different versions of “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen. After an hour or so of this, I began to wonder if anyone ever made a Springsteen-themed porno called “Born to Cum”, because this is a really good idea that apparently no one has ever had – I couldn’t find anything called Born to Cum, but lots of stuff called “Porn in the USA”. Which, okay, I guess that works, but it just seems lazy.

When I was done with the porn, I started wondering if the girl being sung to was the same girl in Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin'” or Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer”. They’re not – Springsteen sings about Wendy, whereas Bon Jovi is addressing Gina. The small town girl on the midnight train wasn’t identified by name in the song, so she could be anyone. Even you. Shine on, you street light people.

Ed wasn’t as impressed by my findings as I was, but I thought I had done some pretty good science and bemoaned the fact that no one ever appreciates my work. At this rate, I’ll never get a museum named after me. Life sucks.

.. I haven’t caught up on my sleep yet, so I’m still kind of amused by every exchange I had over the weekend. Also, I can’t stop listening to Born to Run. It’s my new favourite 39-year-old song. And out of all the covers I listened to, this one is my favourite but it kind of makes me sad because what a waste.

have some fish!

have some fish!