random sunday

  • Ed and I are the Kings of Errands. Yesterday we crossed 9 things off our list, and now we have groceries and cat litter and scooter insurance and a myriad of other things that were desperately needed. It was exhausting and expensive, but we are feeling pretty pleased with ourselves.
  • In two weeks, I am getting my very own storage unit and I am excited as hell. I can’t decide if that makes me weird or old. One of the errands we ran yesterday was to pick up boxes so I can pack up some of my stuff!
  • You wouldn’t think that something called “Cinnamon Cream Cheese Coffee Cake” would be horrible, but that is the sad, disappointing reality. It sounds amazing, doesn’t it? I assumed it would be life-changingly delicious. It wasn’t. It actually made me throw up. I will be burning the remains, and suspicious of any alliterated food for years to come.
  • I would dearly love to peek at the analytics behind this banner ad that popped up in a game I was playing last night:
i can't stop staring at her lip liner

i can’t stop staring at her lip liner

Does this actually WORK? Do people say “damn, a woman in matching underwear and a sword hot shit this is a game for me!” and immediately download it? I am so curious. And baffled. And need to stop thinking about work.

  • On Friday, a group of us went and got our brows tamed and our bodies henna’d! It was awesome, and deserves a post to itself so pictures will be coming soon.
  • I am glad it is raining, because I feel less guilty about staying inside and packing boxes to put into storage.

he woke up screaming for 40 years

The committee unanimously agreed: Gornak had the best costume at this year’s convention.

congratulations! what a costume!

congratulations! what an outfit!

What the other convention-goers didn’t know, and what Detective Briggs would only acknowledge on his death bed some 40 years later, is that Gornak wasn’t wearing a costume that evening. He was simply hungry.

oh the legomanity!

oh the legomanity!

Some say Briggs never recovered from that case. They were right. Briggs was a changed man from that day on – wouldn’t you be, when faced with that much carnage? When none of the clues make sense? When the only possible explanation will get you laughed out of town?

no amount of lego therapy will fix this.

no amount of lego therapy will fix this.

The other convention-goers did not die well.

appeasing the rain gods

The rain finally stopped, because yesterday I drove to Seattle and spent $200+ on rain gear. You are welcome for the no rain – I hope you used the dryness well.

The recalling of the rain was for mostly selfish reasons though, because today was the reboot of my motorcycle class. We had to postpone two weeks ago because of the snow, and I was NOT looking forward to mastering two non-scooter wheels in a fucking monsoon. The purchasing of rain gear was to appease the weather gods, and they were evidently satisfied by my foray into a terrifying store for hunters (it was FULL OF GUNS and there was a huge display at the back of the store featuring THINGS YOU CAN KILL WITH THE GUNS seriously what the fuck. It was like being in an enormous MEC or REI, but replace all the cyclist gear with camouflage and everything else with guns and crossbows and ammo and Ted Nugent) – it was an expensive gesture, but it worked so I guess it was worth it (and now I have my first raincoat ever and rain pants I’ll never remember to wear).

Riding a motorcycle on a lovely day is SO MUCH BETTER than riding in snow! Who knew? We got a lot of practice in, and ended the day doing our motorcycle skills test – the very test that I’ve been having nightmares about, and have failed once already. The orange cones were a enormous obstacle for me to overcome, thanks to some awesome mental blocks I put in place. Every pass we made at the cones resulted in my running them over with extreme prejudice – hell, even as I was walking into class today, I tripped over an orange cone. I hate them. They’re trying to kill me.

.. but that’s all in the past now, because I passed my skills test! I am now one step closer to being truly legal! Tomorrow I’m going to upgrade my yellow paper license to a slightly better yellow paper license, and then we practice actual road riding for two nights. I’m much, much less concerned about the road test than I was that stupid skills test, so I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. I’m still not sold on motorcycles versus scooters, but that isn’t what this is about – I just want my full class 6 license, and then I can do whatever I want. After today, I am more than halfway there. I’m sore and bruised (I dumped the bike on a really bad turn attempt) and achy and exhausted in six new exciting ways, but I’m also pretty pleased with myself. I did it! Go Team Venture!

let’s go rent some guns! except no, because that is terrifying.

awww look at all the examples of wildlife .. that you can kill with our many, many guns. want to know how to kill the noble moose or elk? we have specific ammo for that!

I LOVE GUNS YEAH WOOOOOOOO and it comes in pink, for the ladies!

I LOVE GUNS YEAH WOOOOOOOO and it comes in pink, for the ladies!

this is a throw down a hoedown

Timehop has reminded me that I utterly failed the prime directive: I was never supposed to replace my hardware; I was supposed to demand a traditional tying of the tubes. When I first got the WSD in 2008, I was evidently still way too young and immature to say I didn’t want children, and clearly couldn’t be trusted to make such a monumental decision on own. I reluctantly agreed to having a tiny sperm warrior shoved all up into my nethers, and hoped that by the time five years in the future rolled around, I’d be able to find a doctor who would take me at face value.

Then I forgot all about it, and I completely forgot to bring it up at any of the four appointments with three providers I had leading up to last Thursday’s cervixical (a word now) hoedown.

I thought about this a bit yesterday morning, and I think I know the problem (beyond my not bringing it up; that one is entirely on me): all the doctors I’ve seen ARE taking me at face value, and that face is not of a woman dangerously close to 40.

Science <tm>has irrevocably proven that three things are true:

  • Fat don’t crack
  • Black don’t crack
  • Asian women look 30 until they’re 60

Any one of these traits is powerful enough by itself, but I’ve got two of them working in my favour: I’m fat AND Asian, and also don’t look or act my age. This is less a humblebrag than it is fact sharing, but it’s not just my glowing youthfulness throwing a wrench into my uterus: I have the wardrobe and makeup counter of a spoiled tween. Every once in a while (but not often enough), I get kind of embarrassed for myself and think that maybe I should trade my awesome, ridiculous, rainbow-filled and nerd-happy wardrobe in for some twinsets and pearls, but that makes me sad. Same for replacing my glittery neon makeup with matte neutrals and mini-dresses with pantsuits and mom jeans: probably should; don’t wanna.

I need to start prefacing all my Important Decision doctor appointments with my age: don’t let the glitter and Dalek dress fool you; I’m almost 40 and therefore hopefully running out of time to “change my mind someday” about wanting children. I will not change my mind when I am older: I AM older. I don’t know if science has pushed back menopause while they expanded the baby window, but if I’m still in danger of getting knocked up by the time this hardware expires/I decide I want it out, I am going to be really pissed.

I do enjoy that my age is somewhat of a mystery, though. Earlier this week I made a Cheers reference at work (because what else can you do when presented with a guy named Norm), to which my boss replied he didn’t think I was old enough to know of the show. Cheers ran from 1982 to 1993, and while it’s flattering to imagine otherwise, there’s no way I look that young. I’m an ambiguous 30 at best. Also, I’m very likely older than my boss (which actually makes me look REALLY bad, given the tumulticity (also a word now) of the last 8 months).  Oops.

I do wish this headache would go away, though.

booked

Flights are booked. Accommodations are booked. Vacation time .. well, I’ve asked three times now, and each time I’ve been made to do math. Trip is happening, though. We leave in 95 days, and I have made SO MANY LISTS.

Can’t wait.

Yes, this is a really short, dumb update. Bort complained I hadn’t written, and I am too busy to write gay slash fiction, so .. this is what you get. Sorry.

95 DAYS

thrills! chills!

Yesterday was both bouncy-squee-exciting, and curl-up-in-a-ball-because-I-think-I-may-be-dying painful.

First, the Thrills (not the purple soap gum): a few weeks ago, Ed and I came to a handshake agreement on three weeks in London this June. It was a fair compromise – I had wanted four weeks, but Ed wanted two – and we shook on it (after which I posted a Facebook update so it would be down in e-stone). Since the agreement (and spurred to action by an overlapping vacation request at work), I’ve been researching madly to find the best possible time/place/price .. and yesterday morning, I bought our plane tickets. We’re going to London in June for my birthday. Is it too early to start packing?

The Chills came in the afternoon at my appointment to have my hardware upgraded. I tried to prepare myself as best I could, but no one is ever really prepared to have a wheel jack crammed into your fun hole (twice, as the doctor had to go find a longer speculum to deal with my wandering cervix), cranked open, then a handful of lit fireworks shoved inside. The removal of the IUD 1.0 was unpleasant. The cleaning of my wonder box was very unpleasant. For some reason, a drying was needed: this was horribly unpleasant. Then came the applicator, which was terrible, and finally the main horrible terrible very bad no good hideously unpleasant main event, the IUD 2.0 itself. This time I knew well enough to NOT try and get up immediately after the construction crew left the site, but that didn’t stop my body from trying to reject everything ever and freaking the fuck out in pain and anger. There was much shaking, and my whole body broke out into an ocean of sweat – ever have your kneecaps start leaking? It’s weird. And damp. The doctor let me sit in a heap for a few minutes while the room spun around me, and I think I tweeted some inappropriate things before Find My Friends told me Ed was close enough for me to leave the doctor’s office. He took me home and took excellent care of me while I cursed everything around me, and the rest of the evening passed in a sticky, painful blur.

It’s all worth it, though. I’m now prepared to fight off the inevitable waves of sperm that come my way, and can resume living my secret life as a hentai revision of Elizabeth Báthory. Refreshing! 

(ewwwwwwwww I grossed myself out)

shut up, racists

Okay kids, we’re going to talk about race.

There has been a lot of noise about the cast of the upcoming Fantastic Four reboot, which features – gasp! – a black actor as the Human Torch. The internet, being the throbbing hub of forward thinking and reason that we’ve all come to know and love, is in a Giant Fucking Uproar because of this. In the comics, Johnny Storm is not black: he’s a big ol’ white dude. Casting Michael B. Jordan as the Human Torch is making internet racists – you know, the ones who threatened to boycott Cheerios over a commercial featuring a biracial family and said the most awful things about Amandla Stenberg for playing Rue in the Hunger Games – foam at the mouth. How dare they! They’re ruining the character! I’m nostalgic for the days of dysentery and leeching! I am poorly educated, largely illiterate, and spend my days festering in the bile of my hatred! And so on and so forth.

I think the change is a great one, and here’s why:

There was a time in my life, between my all-consuming Transformers love and my blossoming career as an internet pervert, that I was wholly into comic books – specifically, Marvel Comics. I lived and breathed those stories, and spent hours reading and researching facts and data and backstories. I read Marvel comics voraciously, and to this day I remember where I was and how I felt when I realized there was no one like me in the stories I devoured. I fully admit to being a pedant through and through, but that doesn’t mean I was expecting to find a major character who was also Malaysian/Canadian, overdeveloped, and shaped like a potato .. but it would have meant a lot to me if there had been Asians.

Other than Jubilee*.

Look, I’m glad Jubilee existed. She was spunky! And Chinese! And she had powers: she could create fireworks!

Yes, they gave the sole Chinese character the ability to create FIREWORKS. There was also a Japanese character, Lady Deathstrike. She was a ninja assassin, and often appeared in a kimono. Because she was Japanese, you see. But why stop there? Where was the Mexican character who could control chihuahuas? The Swedish character who could flat-pack anything item? The Australian who lulled people to sleep with a didgeridoo? The fiery Latina who dances a passionate salsa .. of teleportation? That’s the thing about people of different races: we’re all people. We go through the same milestones, the same Very Special Episodes, the same CRAP as everyone else. I don’t need a Chinese character to walk around dressed like a rickshaw driver talking about how much they love rice and fish sauce to prove they’re Chinese: there are a thousand ways to depict different races without having to rely upon stereotypes.

So, to sum up: female Asian superheroes. Asians, at all. Asians who weren’t an exaggerated racial stereotype, but faced the same – comic universe and Degrassi variety – problems as every other character, just in different skin. When I was reading comic books, there weren’t very many of them. And if I noticed this lack at a tender age, how many others felt the same way I did?

My point (and I swear I have one) is that why SHOULDN’T comic book fans be able to relate to characters who are JUST LIKE THEM? Yes, casting the Human Torch as a black man is different than the origin story written in 1961 (when race relations in the US were just super). Can anyone picture Nick Fury as anyone other than Samuel L. Jackson? The original Nick Fury was a big ol’ white man, to the point where he was once played by David Hasselhoff on TV.

I don’t know how my life would have been different if I had more to look up to than just Jubilee, but it would have been nice to have options. I’m not saying that every character should be black or Asian or Hispanic so people don’t feel left out, but there are an awful lot of white characters in comic books, and drastically fewer characters of colour. Would it really destroy the universe if a character is rebooted to make a change like this? I know the Internet Racists aren’t going to be swayed by my words (or logic, or reason, or decency) one way or another, but think about your life. Think about your family, and your job, and your home, and your hobbies. Now think about the Fantastic Four, and the Human Torch. Does the colour of his skin REALLY matter? It shouldn’t.

.. if anything, you should be worried about how they’re going to write the Human Torch and Invisible Girl into being brother and sister. That can easily be explained away by adoption (or not part of the story arc at all), but personally my entire day has been ruined by the news that Mr. Fantastic will be played by the 27-year-old Miles Teller. Mr. Fantastic is supposed to be a middle-aged scientific genius who has enough science-clout to invent, build, and pilot a starship into hyperspace while bringing along his buddy, his girlfriend, and her kid brother. Is that something you can accomplish by the age of 27? I DON’T THINK SO.

Ed and I had an animated (get it) discussion about this last night, and one of the things he said really fuelled this entire rant for me. When talking about various Marvel characters and their backstories, Ed mentioned his looking up to Bruce Banner as a kid, and how weird it would be to have an Asian Hulk. Ignoring the Asian Hulk angle (except for a brief mental image of the Hulk using chopsticks), why couldn’t Bruce Banner be Asian? There is nothing in his backstory; nothing in the past 52 years of Hulkdom that would be adversely affected by his skin having more melanin. Hell, there’s even a potential story arc where the Asian Bruce Banner starts dating Betty Ross, and how her Ultra American father General Thunderbolt Ross deals with it. Hire me, Marvel. I gotcha covered.

A black Human Torch will be different, but different is not bad – it’s just different. I like the inclusion of other races and cultures in comics and movies, and I think we should embrace it .. if not because the world is far more than just 7 billion shades of white, but because EVERYONE deserves to have an awesome superhero to look up to, regardless of their colour.

look out for those gamma rays, bruce banner! see, is that so hard to believe?

“look out for those gamma rays, bruce banner!” is that really so hard to believe?

*: There are many Asian characters in Marvel comics now – here’s a list. However, in 1989 I was a girl, and specifically wanted more Asian girl superheroes. In that list:

  • Itsu (Japanese, debuted in 2006)
  • Surge (Japanese, debuted in 2004)
  • Opal Takana (Japanese, debuted in 1990, superpowers listed as “Attractive Female”) – there are many superpowerless Japanese characters stemming from the 70s, all of whom are linked to Wolverine and are powered as “Attractive Female”
  • Sway (Chinese, debuted in 2006)
  • Nico Minoru (Japanese, debuted in 2003)
  • Armor (Japanese, debuted 2004)

.. and so on. Yes, Asian characters have mostly come a long way baby. That isn’t the point of this post, but I wanted to give props where props were due (and also have an excuse to read more Marvel character bios).

impeccable timing

On Saturday afternoon, I found myself hunched over in a parking lot halfway up a mountain, trying desperately to get the hang of shifting gears via the manual transmission of a sports bike, with snow flying directly into my eyes and thoroughly wet pants. It was .. uncomfortable. I was cold, sore, soaked through, tired, and sucking really hard at riding a motorcycle: basically, miserably.

Yes, only I would have the extreme good fortune to have a riding class scheduled amidst Vancouver’s first major* snowstorm of the year; one that started Friday night and as of this writing (Monday afternoon) has not yet let up. I arrived to class as prepared as I could be, but I don’t own snow gear (because I tend not to go outside when it’s snowing) or even rain gear (because I am dumb) so I was in for a rough day from the very start. To make matters worse, I was loaned a pair of rain pants which I promptly caused to split up the rear because they were the third pair of pants I was wearing, and the universe imploded around my ass. Here’s a helpful tip from me to you: learning how to ride a motorcycle when you’re fantastically uncomfortable and feeling pretty humiliated about torn pants is VERY DIFFICULT. So, don’t do it.

The very best part about all of this is that I should have actually finished the riding course two weeks ago. Due to a scheduling conflict, I had to move my February 6th start date out to the 20th. At the time I was really glad for this, because the temperature had dropped and the weekend was forecasted to be frosty. I figured that I could skip the “high of 0” days, and learn later in February when it would obviously be warmer, possibly even spring-like as it has been in the past! And while it was very cold* over that weekend, it was also clear and beautiful out – and I have plenty of warm gear, so I would have been fine. This past weekend, in the snow and slush and wet and frozen? Not so much.

I was in no way looking forward to class on Sunday, so I was secretly glad to see the snow continue to fall throughout the night. The following morning I stirred myself from the warm cocoon of cats and blankets to text the instructor, and Sunday’s class was indeed postponed: I was off the hook, and could nurse my aching muscles (motorcycles have clutches, and those clutches are STIFF AS FUCK) as well as spend the entire gloriously terrible Sunday doing absolutely nothing.

My remaining three classes have been moved to March 9-12. In the meantime, I can practice shifting on Ed’s bike (interesting fact: I thought I would want to ride nothing but cruisers because I like how they look. Then I actually tried riding one, and I hated it very very much. Sports bikes, which I dismissed entirely because eww, were very comfortable. If I ever decide I need to get a motorcycle, I may have to look at dumb sport bikes.) and prepare for the skills test that will happen on the Sunday. My goal is to pass it with very low speed flying colours that go through a bunch of stupid plastic cones, because I have a Master Plan that revolves around my having my full Class 6 license before my June so I should hurry up and get on with it, already.

I’m working from home today, which means I haven’t left the house since Saturday at 5pm. Tomorrow I have to venture out into the stupid wet cold real world. I am not looking forward to it.

*: by Vancouver measures, “major” is less than 3″ of snow and “very cold” is -2C. We’re delicate folk who had the good sense to move to the coast to get away from REAL winter, because fuck that shit.

I am learning to motorcycle! Soon I will be legal!

this is not good riding weather.

the toppings contain potassium benzoate

Due to a scheduling snafu, my INVASIVE DOCTORB APPOINTMENT is not today. That’s bad!

It’s now officially scheduled, on paper and everything, for next Thursday at 2:30. That’s good!

I took a now-unnecessary afternoon off to deal with the searing vagina pain I don’t currently have. That’s bad!

I have muscle relaxants to take before my appointment, to help with the aforementioned searing. That’s good!

I thought my appointment was today, so I took one. On an empty stomach. I am high as fuck! (That’s bad)

My doctorb is right above a Whole Foods. That’s good!

Except, while High as Fuck and also hungry, I went into Whole Foods and spent a lot of money on organic bisque and cheese with credentials and imported lime leaves. That’s .. well, hilarious.

I can salvage some of my afternoon to do some work, so I don’t have to take additional vacation next week. That’s good!

Ed has to come pick me up, because I am too muscle relaxed to take the bus. I’m standing across the street from Whole Foods leaning on a pole because jelly legs, looking for all the world like someone who would do unmentionable things to you for just one hit of quinoa garnished with a balsamic truffle reduction on a bed of sensually massaged kale. That’s bad!

So many cheeses. But, no speculum! That’s good!

I’m going to sit down now. Right here looks really, really good.

overextended

I’m a little worried that this week is going to take a lot out of me, but also put a bunch of things into me. I’m not exactly sure what I was thinking when I booked an INVASIVE MEDICAL PROCEDURE the day before I start a motorcycle riding course, but here we are: on Wednesday, I will be having my expired IUD extracted and a new one installed, and on Thursday I begin a safety riding course with ProRide. Also, I have an aquarium date scheduled for Wednesday evening. And an early-morning webinar on Thursday. Basically, all kinds of important things happening at a time that, historically speaking, I will be incapacitated with shock and awe. From the hardware upgrade. In my vagina.

I’m tired just thinking about this week, but that may just be because Monday.

afterlight