delinquent

I am the worst delinquent ever.

I had to replace my bank card last week due to compromised situations, so I was issued a temporary card until the new one arrived. Unfortunately, in that time I also managed to forget my online banking password .. which you can’t reset unless you have your bank card handy. I was locked out of the online financial world, which meant I couldn’t pay my bills on time (they always get paid on the 15th because I am punctual like that). I had been stressing out a little about this, because even though my bills are never paid late, I figured Shaw and Rogers would immediately assume I was on the lam and never going to pay up and turn off every single internet I have. This would be an utter disaster (and frankly a recurring nightmare of mine), so as soon as my new bank card arrived in the mail, I got my online banking access sorted out so I could pay my bills.

I’m just paranoid enough that after I paid the bills, I logged into the services online to make sure they hadn’t covered my accounts in blinking red warnings. It was then that I learned that the bills I had sort of agonized over for the past week thinking I was seconds away from my home being repossessed .. aren’t actually due until the 27th of this month.

All that excellent worrying, wasted. When did I become so responsible? Back in the day an unpaid bill way a way of life, not a reason to panic. I feel like I need to go write some swears on the wall, just to make up for what a disappointment I must be to my teenaged self.

Also, this is my new favourite thing in the whole world and never fails to make me laugh myself silly:

keeping secrets

Sorry about the passworded post below – just protecting myself. Hit me up on the internet somewhere if you’d like the password; I will most likely give it to you. Blocking the world to keep out half a dozen seems silly, but better safe than sorry and other similar old world adages about spilt milk and salt and babies.

By way of apology for this annoying secrecy, here is a picture of a duck:

quack quack

quack quack

dreamthink

There are three things I want very much, and any one of the three would make the other two impossible or at least highly problematic. How do I decide?

For the sake of Science, let’s assume that whichever thing(s) I choose I can do without hassle (because all I’m really doing is entertaining high fantasy anyway). There are many logistical things like “money” and “details” and “Ed” that would require sorting out, but this isn’t a depressing exercise in realism: it’s 100% thought masturbation. As long as we’re all on the same page about that, I can count on everyone to not be so rude as to introduce facts and logic and cold water to my wishful thinking, right?

So, here’s the situation: I turn fucking 40 next June. If I drank, I’d be drinking right now: even admitting to MYSELF how old I am makes me queasy; blurting it out to the internet at large makes me want to throw up and cry. I am old. This depresses me.

To help me forget my extreme elderly state and so I can enjoy the little time I have left on this planet, I have decided I need to do something special for my birthday. Really special. “Common sense and consequences be damned” special. After all, I only turn so, so, so old once, so I may as well enjoy it in a way that is much more spectacular and memorable than tacos and cake for dinner.

I have three spectacular and memorable things specifically in mind:

KITTY
I miss Sasha. I know that I can never replace her, but I also know that none of our current cat army are “mine” – I miss having a cat who adores me and wants to be all up in my area at all times. To that end, I want to adopt a calico cat or kitten. I know there’s no guarantee that I’ll have another Sasha-like relationship, but getting another calico (who’ll be female coz that’s how they work) would be a big comfort to me. Since I’ll be turning so incredibly old, being comforted would be nice. It would go well with my dinner at 4pm and slipper shuffling.

PUG
I still very much want a pug. In fact, I had previously set up a deadline of “pug by 40”. I don’t know if Ed still thinks I’m joking or if he’s ignoring the issue in the hopes I don’t make it to the deadline, but I’m very serious: I want a dog (preferably a pug but I will also accept a French Bulldog) and I want one next June and there is no negotiation about this. I have been waiting for my pug for a VERY LONG TIME. Enough stalling; make with the dog already. PUG.

LONDON (and maybe other parts of Europe too but let’s face it mostly London)
You may not know this, but I very much like London and I would like to go back. It seems fitting to me that I celebrate my descent into doddering senility in my favourite place of all for a long time – all of June, actually. I want to birthday like I’ve never birthday’d before by spending the entire month overseas, living a ridiculous life of European splendor and Instagram photos of old buildings. Some idle research on my part showed me that this is not that outrageous a thing to want: I could do it quite easily, and for far cheaper than I thought. It’s also the easiest thing of all on my birthday list to do, and the thing I want most of all .. right now. Ask me again in ten minutes, and my answer will change.

Any of those things would make for a giddily happy birthday to me. Using my pretend science (hell, even using real logic and facts), not a single one of my potential birthday plans are impossible or even all that difficult. I could throw caution to the wind and demand all three, but that’s just greedy: I’d settle for one. But which one? I can’t decide. Taking a crazy trip seems like the obvious winner, but would that come at the expense of my insane longing for a dog? If I got a dog, I wouldn’t be able to get any more cats .. but if I got another cat, I’d be putting off the dog-getting for another 15+ years. I could go to Europe for my birthday and adopt a new best friend when I return, but for reasons I am married to I don’t see that happening due to whatever anti-justification excuses come up at the time. The thought of never having a dog makes my insides hurt. The thought of no best cat friend makes my insides hurt. Not being in London now or making a concrete plan to go next year makes my insides hurt. My insides are OLD and can’t take all this strife: what do I want to do?

I CAN’T DECIDE.

Help me, internet. Grant me my ridiculous daydreaming and fear of getting old and help me figure out some fun I can work towards.

eight hours

Attention all short, fat, half-Asian girls stomping around Vancouver in discount clothing, second-hand boots, and terrible hair; with a permanent scowl on your face as though your once-amazing job has turned into some kind of devastating Gift of the Magi/Monkey Paw nightmare and you are utterly depressed about your reality and don’t see a way out: there’s a guy named Steven somewhere downtown who would like to “do that” for eight hours straight because you are perfect and amazing and just what he wants in a woman.

Huh.

I was scowling my way to work when a guy stopped me at the corner of Dunsmuir and Hornby. He looked like any other guy you’d see downtown at 9:30 on a weekday morning – dressed on the casual side of business formal, carrying a leather portfolio, tidy haircut – a normal-looking dude. When he stopped me, I assumed he just wanted directions or to know the time .. but instead, he wanted to stop me to tell me that I was his perfect woman, and please say there’s no husband or boyfriend “doing that” *gestures to my body*. When I said I was indeed married, he was disappointed; saying he would “do me for 8 hours” because he loves everything I have going on and I am gorgeous and I should tell my husband to have sex with me for 8 hours because he would do me all day long and *aroused grunt* oh man, the things I would do to you. I laughed – what else do you do in that situation – and said thank you but I needed to get to work; all while he was insisting he would do me right and demanding my husband be told I deserve sex for 8 hours and also I am gorgeous and perfect and exactly his type mmMMmm.

So, that happened.

I know that as a feminist I should be terribly offended that a random man felt he needed to tell me I made his penis daydream about marathon sex, but I’m really not. I didn’t feel threatened or even creeped out .. it was just funny. And let’s face it – I never get hit on. I am no one’s (well, except for this guy) “type” even when I’m not a walking wall of doom, so it was kinda .. nice.

Okay, back to being depressed.

 

a series of open letters

To the woman standing in the very long queue at Shoppers Drug Mart clearly waiting for someone to just dare to try and bypass the line so you could call him or her out indignantly in an attempt to publicly shame them but you got me instead and I was simply walking past everyone on my way out because I had just picked up a prescription: lol!

To fashion designers everywhere: please, please, PLEASE stop trimming everything in pleather. And decorating shirts with beans. And also learn to fucking spell oh my god you should be so ashamed of yourselves.

To Alexey, a guy I used to work with: Nice seeing you today!

To Domino’s Pizza: thank you very much for realizing that I probably didn’t intend to place two identical orders, and calling to confirm. Nicely done!

To anyone who wanted to buy any Diet Coke in Vancouver today: I bought it all. I’m not sorry.

To the Minibator: 48 bottles of Diet Coke is very heavy. I am sorry.

To Miley, Sinead, and Amanda: Hello. You are people I have heard of.

.. that is all.

 

making TMI seem quaint and docile

Don’t get me wrong – I’m still angry and not planning on taking it for much longer. However, my unusually heightened emotional state of the past week may have had a little more to do with womanly hysteria than I was willing to admit: it seems I was full of the PMS. I never recognize the symptoms until I have visual confirmation, because I’ve basically forgotten how to period thanks to my superhuman delayed cycle. Instead of 5 days of fun every 4 weeks, I get one day every 18 months .. so I think I can be forgiven for not realizing when I’ve gone insane because of hormones instead of just regular insane because of stress.

To be fair, things are really lousy outside my uterus, too. The ongoing situation at work has given me stress cysts in awkward places, and one fucking ruptured today. There’s something wrong with my throat: it feels as though something’s stuck in my esophagus, and I’m constantly trying to force the nothing out which makes my gag reflex go into overdrive and then I panic a little because I can’t breathe. The stuck-in-throat feeling has been going on for about a week now, but over the last two days it’s been really problematic. If it keeps up for much longer, I’m going to have to go to the doctor. Trying to self-diagnose did no good at all, because the internet says I have several kinds of throat cancer and pregnancy, so I’m freaking out about that too. I need a haircut and a vacation. I’m worried/keyed up/excited/terrified about the future. I started biting my nails again. Work is .. complicated and disappointing. Those Prada Candy commercials are weird and dumb. My face hurts.

So there’s all that stuff, and I feel bad for complaining. Throw it all in a blender and shed a surprise uterine lining or two, and BAM: tears everywhere. Ain’t nobody got time for that!

If change is coming, I sure hope it gets here soon.

full circle

When Ed and I first started dating, I cooked a lot for him. I like cooking, he likes eating, so it made sense. I was very poor then, so I cooked a lot of simple meals: eggs. A lot of eggs. Fancy eggs and breakfasts for dinner, but always eggs. Ed used to say my eggs tasted like love, and that was cute and sweet and d’awwww.

Years passed and I still cook a lot, but it’s less “trying to get him naked via food” and more “well, we gotta eat”. Lately though, Ed’s taken to making breakfast for both of us on weekends – fancy scrambles with eggs and tasty things and a heaping side of salsa and too much pepper, just the way I like it. It’s awesome and I feel very spoiled, and .. it tastes like love. I totally get it. Eggs = love.

:)

sexy blog post costume

Megan posted this site on Twitter, and I’ve spent the better part of my morning in sheer awe of the number of things you can get “sexy” versions of for Halloween costumes. Seriously, I was full-on prepared to hate the idea that Halloween is simply a reason to dress in skin-tight, cleavage-baring outfits (when that shit should be done EVERYDAY), but then I started to really look at the options available beyond the traditional “sexy witch” “sexy cat” “sexy nurse” “sexy sex-haver” stuff and was amazed:

Board Games

  • Sexy ScrabbleThis well read gal loves to play more than just word games. He’ll be dying to show off his large…vocabulary when he sees you in the Scrabble Sexy Deluxe Costume which includes: A glossy game board screen-printed dress featuring a fabric tile trim, matching tile bracelets and a petticoat for a little extra bounce.
  • Sexy Operation: Play Doctor in a whole new way! Get ready to play doctor in this Operation Sexy Adult Costume! Costume includes one yellow, red, and white dress printed with Operation symbols, matching fingerless gloves, and red character nose on a stick.
  • Sexy CandyLand

Movies that Don’t Really Lend Themselves to Costumes OR Sex

  • Silence of the Lambs: A sexy lady gone psycho! Clarice has nothing on this cannibalistic sexy psychopath! Transform into a riddle chanting killer babe this Halloween. The Silence of The Lambs Sexy Adult Costume includes a white fitted straight jacket style dress with attached arm ties.
  • Halloween: A truly sexy psychopath! You wont have to chase your next victim down they will be lined up waiting for you! Transform into a sexy version of a horrific killer this Halloween! The Halloween – Sexy Michael Myers Adult Costume includes a fitted blue zip front jumpsuit.
  • Friday the 13thNot your average camp counselor. Camp Crystal Lake’s savage and scintillating co-ed heats up those Halloween nights in the Sexy Ms. Voorhees costume. Jason’s hockey jersey has been re-designed to hug your curves and seduce your victims into submission. Red stripe trim, classic “Jason” insignia, screen-printed “Voorhees – 13” on the back and a V-neckline are all features that put a sassy twist on this Friday the 13th costume favorite. A Jason Hockey Mask handbag* is also included to stash all of your slasher essentials.
  • Robocop: Peter Weller never looked so hot.

To Hell With Your Childhood

Victims are Hot

  • Mental WardDrive ’em crazy in this sexy style! You’ll look insanely alluring in the Goin’ Outta My Mind Adult Costume which includes: A blood splattered stretch Bengaline two way zip front dress with elongated straight jacket sleeves and adjustable buckles with uneven hemline. A matching hat with “Mental Ward” detail and faux blood.
  • Slaughter House SurvivorThe gory days. Makes you think twice about hitting up that meat market this Halloween, huh? Either way, you’ll look bloody fabulous this Slaughter House Survivor Adult Costume! Includes a black and white bloodied dress, leg garter with detachable “bloody putty” prop, bloody knife headband, torn pantyhose and 3 band aids.
  • Slasher StarYou always did want to be on the silver screen. Make your horror flick debut this Halloween in this Slasher Star Adult Costume. It’ll be a real scream! Costume includes a bloodied black and white dress, wrist bandage, “HELP!” word bubble headband and bloody knife prop.

Sexy Cultural Stereotypes 

Just Plain Disturbing

  • Dying to Please You – sexy costume, or clever social commentary? Sadly, I think it’s the former.
  • Pocahottie – .. REALLY?
  • .. every fucking thing on the site, really

There’s so many more incredulous things on this one site alone that I can’t even. I’m amused and horrified. I’m annoyed that the Sexy Scrabble costume’s board doesn’t follow traditional Scrabble rules. I’m sad there’s no Sexy Optimus Prime (but I bet I could find one elsewhere). I’m horrified at the sheer number of offensive cultural stereotype costumes in the sexy category alone. I’m .. suddenly craving candy corn (but not Sexy Candy Corn).

My head hurts.

rage and capital letters

I like to say I got into the business of process improvement and tech writing so I can writes the rules (and know which ones to break), but the truth is far more alarming than any kind of need to thumb my nose at The Man: apparently, I’m a textbook Type A control freak.

Right now, I’m struggling with an overwhelming desire to CONTROL ALL THE THINGS. Stuff at work is a cluster fuck of New Coke proportions, and I want to roar and flip tables and TAKE OVER so I can fucking FIX IT ALREADY. It’s driving me crazy. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss structure. I miss rules and processes. I miss checklists and milestones and deliverables and deadlines and actually fucking MEETING those deadlines instead of floating along all willy nilly with my head stuffed up my ass. I am so much happier when everyone knows what to do and how to do it and we can all count on one another to do our jobs and do them well, and right now I am NOT HAPPY. I’m generally a happy person, and right now I am FULL OF RAGE AND CAPITAL LETTERS. ARGH!

I need to step away from the internet so I don’t go into further detail. I really want to. So badly. I’ve already sent many sternly worded emails outlining all the things that are going wrong that I can easily fix if you’d just let me oh I don’t know DO MY JOB. We’ll see if those help.

Next step: distributing yellow flags to the team to be raised every time someone interrupts you mid-sentence; red flags for being steamrolled.

So frustrated. So unhappy. This is not what I was expecting with my promotion.