I am so lame. I have the house to myself, so I’m doing some cleaning. I put on some music to clean to, and it just happened to be a CD full of wistful emo-lite – so now I’m sniffly sad with nostalgia while I clean off my computer desk. Seriously, I’m all welly in the eyes. I am SO LAME! I think I’ll put on some of Ed’s epic dragon metal instead, so I’ll be full of righteous chivalry for orc-slaying and elven romance instead of deeply sad about the state of my desk.

I’m having a crisis of glamour:

Is this a viable look for me? I’m having a very bad hair day and my headache dictates that I do not wear a hat unless I want to spend the day flinching at bright lights and sounds. I have a feeling I look like someone’s Ukranian grandmother – perhaps Ed’s – and I’m getting a complex about it.

Here is a side view:

Help!

I’ve started this paragraph eight times.

I really wanted to review video games today – March brought a large number of new games to our house for a myriad of different consoles, and I have extremely important thoughts about them all that you are obviously on-the-edge-of-your-seat dying to read. I had solid intentions of reviewing some of these games today; in part because I have nothing else to say but also because I have valid opinions damnit and people ask my advice on video games all the time so why not share my thoughts with a captive audience.

However, it’s exceedingly difficult to form coherent thoughts about anything at all when you’re still stoned off the Benedryl you took before bed last night to try and clear up some of the wicked-sick allergies that have been plaguing your every waking second. I’m in a serious fog today, to the point where I was questioning my ability to drive into work this morning (nothing spoke to me on my way out of the house so I figured I was okay). Also, I’ve spelled my name wrong over the phone – forgotten how to log in to an application I use every single day – gave a client completely wrong instructions on how to do something extremely easy – and was at the counter at 7-11 handing over my money before I realized that I was about to buy salt and vinegar chips (I *hate* salt and vinegar chips). I am Not Right in the Head today. I am a danger to myself and others. Do not operate heavy machinery near me; I’m likely to fall inside of it and be ground to a pulp.

Here’s a word to the wise from me to you – taking Benedryl before bed but after you’ve done your weekly eyebrow grooming is NOT a good idea. I had nightmares. Nightmares about eyebrows. In my dreamed I over-groomed my brows and when I looked in the mirror I had removed then completely except for a thick bushy single-brow right between my eyes. It was scary! I had a Hitler moustache unibrow :(. No more plucking before bedtime for me.

Duuuuuuude. My hands are sooooo smalllllll.

My dress wearing may have been a little premature – it’s cold outside. It looked lovely and sunny when I woke up, but by the time I was ready to leave it had clouded over and the wind picked up. If I can see my breath, I shouldn’t see my ankles. I need to take that advice more often.

Yesterday there were Mystery Baby Clothes on our doorstep. A package was dropped off at our door, and because we frequently buy things online, we ripped it open without a second thought. Inside: two (very cute) sun suits for a tiny girl child aged 9 months and 12 months. One was checkered green with flowers, and the other checkered pink with cherries. They were adorable! Only problem: we have no tiny girl child, nor did we order tiny girl child or sun suits for said tiny girl child.

In a stunning display of hindsight, we looked at the address on the package. It was definitely for our suite, but neither Ed nor I lead a secret double life as a Mr. or Mrs. McKinnon. Also, we do not know anyone in Florida who would send us presents; nor does anyone named Jason live in our apartment. Well, shit – the package wasn’t for us at all. We thought about what to do, but eventually decided to Do the Right Thing and try to find the real killers owners. We called our landlord, who told us that the McKinnons lived in our suite two tenants ago, and that perhaps the building manager would know how to find him as they were friends. Ed trundled off to see Sleepy Scott, who did in fact know the McKinnons and would deliver the package with our apologies oh and also, the Jason in question is with the RCMP. EEK! Good thing we returned the package; I do not need the RCMP up in my (incredibly dull and ultimately very legal) business.

My allergies are owning my ass. It’s worse in the office because of all the dust, but the pollen outside is no picnic either. I’m okay with the sneezing, but the watery eyes are driving me nuts – they feel all raw and red because I keep dabbing at them to avoid tear running down my face. I’m not crying; I’m just happy to see you.

What’s the deal with bangs suddenly being in vogue? I’ve had bangs since I was 2. I was apparently ahead of the times.

I am having some sort of anxiety attack, and I don’t really know why. I don’t like it much; it feels like something is sitting on my chest and I have an incredible sense of doom lingering over me. There’s nothing wrong that I can think of; everything is pretty much where it ought to be and I have no major angst or marbles up in my business – so what gives? I am Freaking Out, Man. Perhaps my bad sleep last night is doing me more harm than I gave it credit for.

I keep thinking my weekend was largely uneventful, but in actuality a lot of things both happened and got done. On Friday night, a group of us went to check out some local arty things down by the railroad tracks with the intent of purchasing Astrosatchels. Shan wasn’t able to find what she was looking for, but Miranda and I found cool things and Ed bought a pouch for his office girlfriend. Afterwards, we all (Josh Shan Miranda Reilly Ed [who is lame and has no URL because he is from the 50’s] and I – I really need to come up with a short name for the collective) had dinner at ye Old Spaghetti Factory, participated in Operation: Lots of Bread, then hung out at M+R’s super hip and cool loft. It was a Very Good Time!

Saturday was all about being girlie. Shan and I braved Metrotown for a solid afternoon of shopping (we had coupons to redeem) while the boys did not very much at all. I made dinner for the four of us, then Shan and I kicked the boys out so we could a) do facials, b) eat brownies, and c) watch Bring It On. Hah! I hadn’t done any of those things in a long time, and it was a lot of fun. The boys must have been having a good time too, because Ed didn’t come home until almost 4am – I think he and Josh watched every video on YouTube, which I am very glad to not have been a part of.

Sunday was absolutely gorgeous outside, but we didn’t experience much of it because I am mean. I finally cracked the whip, and Ed and I spent most of Sunday afternoon at the Laundromat doing 5 loads of laundry – only HALF of the massive pile o’ clothes that has taken over our apartment. Having clean clothes once again makes me feel a lot better about our apartment, and once we finish the second (5th through 10th) load I’ll be even happier. I made Ed swear on a stack of game manuals that we will never, ever let the laundry get that bad ever again. On the upside though, we discovered that the ‘mat we use doesn’t charge for Drop-Off Service – you only pay the machine cost of your laundry. Hah! I think we’ll be cheating tonight, since the two large garbage bags of dirty things are nothing more than towels and sheets. I don’t really feel comfortable having strangers pawing through my unmentionables, but they can feel free to browse through my mystery stains. Sucks to be them!

My Sunday was nowhere near as eventful as Doug and Ali’s though, since they officially welcomed River to the planet – congrats, guys! Way to have a baby!

I scooted to the office today, and I think I’m going to go for a ride. I really want to shake off these heebies. Anxiety attacks suck.

I need a new wok.

I don’t have any sort of wacky backstory or long-winded prose about my need for a new wok; I just need a new wok because my old one is falling apart.

I just couldn’t resist making a post with the title “wok this way”, though – and now I have it stuck in my head. Hopefully, you do as well.

it started with a little kiss
like this

There’s a hair somewhere on my nose/eye/glasses and I can’t find it. The tickling is driving me mad.

I just thought you’d like to know.

A word to the wise: this is one hell of a long-winded update, even for me. You might want to get a cup of coffee and a snack. Maybe I should start a spoiler page; a site that offers “get to the point” 10 word recaps of my posts. Anyway, it’s a long one. Sorry.

“She’s only a little older than I am,” said Laura, and Lena said “I’m a year older than she was”
They looked at each other again, an almost scared look. Then Lena tossed her curly black head. “She’s a silly! Now she can’t ever have any more good times.”
Laura said soberly, “No, she can’t play any more now.”

All my friends are having babies.

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Once upon a time, there was a piece of wood.

I had a big rant planned about how I am totally Pinocchio waiting for the Blue Fairy to show up and make me a real boy, but in light of my early morning astro-angst I think I will save it for another day and instead turn the topic to jollier things such as:

Happy birthday, Miranda! I hope your day is utterly excellent with many sparkles and perhaps some gratuitous nudity!

I’m a little worried about my hipster status, seeing as I just read this article from the New Yorker and laughed appreciatively. Does this make me old? Even worse, does this make me a Snooty McSnob? I have these preconceived notions about the readership of the New Yorker; men in full pinstripe suits and top hats, twirling the ends of their curly moustaches as they chuckle at a particularly humourous bon mot, swirling their brandy in a snifter to release the smoky aroma of cedar and fine cigars – and the women, draped in fox stoles and ancestor pearls; the kind of woman who says “well, I never” and actually means it, and possibly also carries opera glasses around for regular viewing instead of opera viewing. Those are the kind of people who read the New Yorker, not me. I’m not old. I’m drinking Diet Coke and listening to video game soundtracks on my Mac Book while looking at scooter parts, dreaming of summer and the perceived freedom it brings. Tonight, there will be bowling and the further shirking of laundry. Not old. Immature, sure, but definitely not old.

I often think I worry too much about avoiding the inevitable confines of age.

Stuff I’ve done is in bold. Stuff I’d like to do is in italics. Stuff I have witty commentary about is (in parentheses).

I like stuff.

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