may long

It’s just not a long weekend if I don’t completely fuck up my sleep patterns for no good reason. Up until 2am! Awake at 6! Rinse and repeat until today, when I actually wanted to get up and out of the house early – except I was so tired from three nights of poor/small sleep I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and I ended up napping at 8am! Boo. Today was .. not productive, unless you count the skirt: I finished up a skirt made up of a dress I cut in half. There was also a lot of me time, and perogies. Both the me time and the perogies involved a lot of bacon, so I suppose it was a good day after all.

As far as long weekends go, it was a quiet one. I tried to rouse interest in people for social times, but that failed spectacularly so Ed and I just hung out with ourselves. We had a really good time by our lonesomes: there were hidden comic book stores, a trip up Burnaby Mountain where there were bees, terrible terrible frozen yogurt, ALL THE ANIMALS EVER, Five Guys, and more: adventure! Apparently, we ARE capable of doing more than playing Guild Wars 2/MechWarrior Online for untold hours at a time. Good for us.

So, Burnaby Mountain. We like going up there because it’s rarely busy, and there are some spectacular views of the city and Burrard Inlet. Saturday turned out to be really nice, so after a variety of fascinating errands we took a drive up to see what we could find. Answer: all the bees ever, a battered old ladybug, some incredible views, and honest-to-god raindrops on roses (the whiskers on kittens and warm woollen mittens were at home).

Sunday was more of the same: morning moping, then afternoon in the sun. We went to North Vancouver to try out Menchie’s Frozen Yogurt, which was actually terrible: I didn’t know it was possible to make frozen yogurt taste horrible, but then there’s Menchie’s. We love Pinkberry and Qoola, but never again shall we be swayed by an adorable logo – Menchie’s was gross. We couldn’t find one flavour of yogurt that didn’t taste like ass (how do you fuck up strawberry), and settled for their sorbet which tasted like deodorant. Honestly, the best part of the visit was the awesome friendly cat that came to say hi on the patio, and the cute spoons.

Next up: Stanley Park. I wanted to see if there were any baby geese about, so we parked along Lost Lagoon and went for a walk. On our walk we saw:

  • Ducks
  • Geese
  • Vampire Ducks
  • Heron (which I can’t pronounce)
  • A baby heron trying to pass itself off as a duck
  • A mother swan sitting on an enormous nest with three eggs in it
  • Two raccoons (or maybe one raccoon that followed us around) that Ed wouldn’t let me take home
  • Squirrels
  • A goose brawl
  • Turtles
  • A pair of geese with 21 BABY GEESE OUT FOR A FAMILY SWIM OMG
  • Stupid people feeding the raccoons
  • More epic scenery
  • Seagulls being ominous

.. and more, all in the span of an hour. Lost Lagoon in the spring has been officially added to my List of Things I’ll Miss if I Leave Vancouver, which was sort of an ongoing theme over the weekend. There are things I would miss, like the easy access to nature and wildlife. My goal throughout the summer is to remind myself of all the things I’d miss if I left, and to recapture the joy I had when we first got here .. but that’s another post I’m not ready to write yet, so moving on.

Which we did, to Five Guys. I miss the one at Park Royal (which will be back when all the construction is done), but the new location downtown helps – at any rate, it’s not Surrey. I may love Five Guys in my mouth, but I’d never go to Surrey to satisfy my itch (unless that itch involves picking up Stephanie on our way out of dodge).

We really did see a lot this weekend, so I can’t really complain. I did, though. Out loud, where no one can hear me.

I’m looking forward to going back to work tomorrow: interesting things are afoot and hopefully I will have some news soon. News! It has goo written all over it!

i’m in the goo!

vacation slides

Television has taught me that there is nothing people in the past liked better than to gather in a darkened room with a scotch in one hand and a cigarette in the other, fire up the ol’ Kodak, and look at pictures of someone’s vacation. It was like taking the best AND worst of Instagram and adding a hostage situation to make it more fun. It was PowerPoint and scrapbooking rolled into one, without the kitschy themes and those dreadful quote stickers. It was a pure piece of historic Americana .. and now it’s back, and friggin’ ADORABLE:

tiny tiny projector is tiny tiny cute!

tiny tiny projector is tiny tiny cute!

Meet Projecteo! It was a Kickstarter project I backed last year because I love ridiculous gadgets, cute things, and spending money. Mine arrived yesterday, and it is so cool! It fits in the palm of my tiny elf hand, is powered by three (included) watch batteries, and came with a reel of my 9 favourite Instagram pictures. You’ll soon be able to order more reels, which will be awesome – I’m already planning all kinds of hostage situations in which you’re forced to view my vacation slides even though you’ve already seen the pictures on Instagram, Facebook, and my  blog. Too bad! They’re different when shown in tiny 35mm format! The picture quality is very good (don’t let my picture above fool you – it’s hard to take a good picture of a tiny slideshow projected onto an iMac in a bright office with a phone) (hah that sentence is so future times), and it’s super fun to whip it out and show people (just like genitals!).

I’m totally pleased with the outcome of this Kickstarter. TINY CUTE GADGET! HOORAY!

warning

Here’s a helpful tip from me to you:

Don’t put yogurt in your pocket.

Specifically, don’t put yogurt in your pocket and then forget you put yogurt in your pocket.

You will inevitably squish it and end up with soggy yogurt in your pants, and then people will laugh at you.

I’m not sure if they’re laughing at the giant wet spot or the fact that I had yogurt in my pocket, but they are definitely laughing.

Now I am sad and soggy and probably sticky.

Today sucks. THANKS OBAMA

in the pudding

I took Friday off work anad went to Victoria, because I felt guilty for reasons. I didn’t want to go, and until I was on the ferry I was in danger of changing my mind – but I did my daughterly duties (and then some), so I’m off the hook for a little while. I do plan on scooting to Victoria this summer (because it is one of the greatest times ever), but I think we’re going to call it a vacation and stay at a hotel: I hate my mother’s place, and I hate the week of back pain I get for every night I sleep on plywood.

I gave my mom all the presents this weekend, which covers me for Mother’s Day and her birthday in early June. Ed and I gave her a new TV to replace the dinosaur 27″ CRT she had (and still has, because the two of us were unable to lift the damn thing to move it out of the living room), and I had a couple pictures of her cat done up in fancy frames by Hatchcraft. I also used the Power of the Internet to order her a CD she mentioned, and took her out to lunch. I am a Good Daughter <tm>.

Before leaving yesterday, I got a chance to go through my dad’s papers. While I couldn’t find anything belonging to my grandparents, I did find my dad’s birth certificate and my parent’s marriage certificate. While I was away, I also received the birth certificate of the correct Edith Jane Cornes in the mail. All this means that I can:

  • Prove my grandmother was born in England
  • Prove my father was born of the woman who was born in England
  • Prove I was born

.. is that enough?

My grandmother had many siblings, some of whom helpfully attended the official birthing ceremony (or whatever they did in the early 1900s) of my dad – two of her brothers are listed as witnesses. Thanks to the work Ken did, I’m certain the line he found is the correct one, and people from that family can be traced from birth in England, through immigration to Canada, and in some cases, death. I still don’t know how my grandparents met, when they got married, and what happened to Edith after her husband died. I may never know, but that isn’t the pressing point here: is this enough to get me to the UK?

If I can prove the blood lines, it seems weird and archaic that I would have to prove the legality of it all. After all, I missed being illegitimate by two weeks – even if my parents hadn’t married, I’d still belong to them.

Interesting stuff. Still all hypotheticals, but at least I’m getting somewhere.

all new 100% organic grandmother

all new 100% organic grandmother

what.

An iOS game in which you use a slingshot to break up the suicidal thoughts of others? French people, you weird.

bad day? razor blades and poison mushrooms!

bad day? razor blades and poison mushrooms!

this is weird, right? it's not just me?

this is weird, right? it’s not just me?

Not much going on. Kinda bored, actually. Need some excitement.

this is interesting, but not really exciting unless you like the smell of pee.

this is interesting, but not really exciting unless you like the smell of pee.

Things make me sigh.

market research

Last night I toyed around with a new craft idea:

blue = josh and shan; yellow = heather

I came up with three different setups that each hold three keys, and I’m thinking of selling them in kits:

  • Base piece
  • Your choice of three key rings (I have 6 different colours)
  • Your choice of magnetic or adhesive backing

If you saw someone with a great rack selling these (and my lego necklaces) at a local craft fair, would you be interested? What would you consider a fair price? Help me, internet. Be my market research.

If it helps, each kit could come with free Smuttons! Hang your keys, get some porn! Everybody wins!

Thoughts?

lack

Darth Vader finds your lack of the following things disturbing:

minifigures!

lego minifigs

his torso

his torso

trail mix

trail mix

looooove

looooove

domo-kun

domo-kun

other vaders

other vaders

iron in your diet

iron in your diet

fabulous, sparkly birds

fabulous, sparkly birds

I got a new candy bowl today.

It is the greatest candy bowl in the history of candy bowls.

Also, it holds things that are not candy.

This is going to be fun.

caw!

caw!

GO SPORTS

My company makes sports, yet I am apathetic at sports. Today I decided it was time to hop on a bandwagon, and get a sports of my own.

Here I am practicing my GO SPORTS face:

GO ICE MEN

Am I doing sports right?

Yes, I picked the shirt that would show the most (ie: too much) cleavage.

GO SPORTS TEAM! WIN THAT SCORE POINT!

I need a haircut.

flux

I find I’m spending most my time these days waffling between extreme nothing and extreme OH MY GOD THE WORLD IS ENDING. After six days of nothing (hence my radio silence), I’m suddenly awash in apocalypse and frankly, I don’t care for it.

I’m being vague For Reasons, and I apologize. Additional details will be forthcoming as soon as I get everything sorted out one way or another: you’re either going to get a lot of whining that things are horrible and boring, or a lot of freaking out that I’m in over my head and I don’t know what to do. So, one of those. Happy mediums are for pussies.

Since I can’t fully make words of my current catastrophes, here are some things I have been thinking about lately:

  • After many years of being a die-hard fan, I’ve taken down the various Dresden Dolls prints I had in our house. I still love the band and have many fond memories of the Strong Feelings I experienced while listening to their music (not to mention a raging girl boner), but .. frankly, I’m tired of Amanda Palmer. What was once a massive crush and adoration has aged badly into some hardcore eye-rolling at the never ending antics. It feels as though everything she does is an Antic, and I just don’t have the energy or spare time to keep up. Too many words about everything. Too many videos. Too many TED Talks, too many “LOOK AT MEEEEEE” moments, too many terrible poems about people in the media. I’m tired of every word and movement being a call to arms to her fans to give, and I’m tired of the SO NAKED aren’t you shocked at my audacity and I’m tired of the ukelele. Just .. tired. I’ll always love the Dresden Dolls, but I’m a little over Just Amanda.
  • I’m worried about my womanly tubes. My Weapon of Spermal Destruction expires in September, and I have to either a) get it replaced, b) have it removed and free ball for a while, c) remove it and go on another form of birth control, or d) have The Conversation about getting my fucking tubes tied already. I’m not looking forward to any of this, really, and I’m also over-thinking things a lot. Like, more than usual. As in:
    • In my experience, doctors refuse to tie tubes because they assume women are fickle creatures who will change their mind re: babies the instant the procedure is done. I’d like to yell “BULLSHIIIIT” from the top of my lungs and do a dance and wax many poems about why this is stupid, but .. is it? It seems like I know far too many people who were once proud soldiers of Team No Babies, but one day they DID change their minds and now babies everywhere. It’s hard to argue against the idiotic notion of “you’ll change your mind someday” when I’ve seen it happen first hand – assuming that it’s not fucking ridiculous in the first place to paint all women with one very narrow brush – so how can I tell my doctor the idea is wrong when most of the time, it appears to be right?
    • Am I refusing to have babies out of sheer stubbornness? What if I DID change my mind but I’m refusing to acknowledge it because I don’t want to be one of those women who changes her mind? My god, what if everything I am today is simply because I’m too pig-headed and stubborn to follow the rules? Who am I?
  • That one worries me, because I know myself well enough to know that if one day I woke up and said “hey, babies”, I wouldn’t go through with it because I’d be embarrassed to change my mind. Yeah, I’d deprive myself of (according to some) the reason for my existence, just because I’ve always said otherwise. Can I stick to a plan, or WHAT? Seriously, though, I’m not having babies and you can’t make me and even if one day I did want them I wouldn’t have them because FUCK YOU IT’S MY LIFE MOM NOT YOURS.

Fantastic. I’ve made it this far in life as a 14-year-old emo kid with no end in sight.

Too much heavy thinking for a Tuesday – I’m going to go buy some makeup to fool myself into feeling pretty.

i may never know

je me souviens (frustration)

I am now convinced that getting a UK Visa – hell, LIFE ITSELF – would be a thousand times easier if only I wasn’t from Quebec.

Don’t get me wrong – I am proud to be from Montreal and of my heritage; I am just ENDLESSLY FRUSTRATED at how complicated it is to get any official information out of the Province of Quebec. What evil deeds could I possibly do with a marriage certificate from 1910? What havoc could I wreak with a century-old death certificate? How will my figuring out where I came from lead to the ruination of all of Quebec? Obviously, it won’t – but judging by the number of hoops you have to jump through to get anything at all out of the government, one might start to think they’re some sort of sleeper agent with as-of-yet undiscovered powers that could end the world.

Or maybe it’s just me.

I can’t find a marriage certificate for my grandparents. Hell, I don’t know if they ever made it official. I can trace Edith’s family (the right Edith, or at least closer to being right than Fake Edith) from the UK to their immigration to Canada in 1893 via the 1901 census, then nothing until she shows up listed as “Mrs. Edith J Wangzilla” on my granddad’s war records. I literally have no idea what happened to her between 1901 and 1914 (when my dad was born), and after 1917 when my grandfather died.

“But Kimli”, you say. “Surely you can just request the information from the government! Each province has a department that deals with this exact thing!”

This would be where the whole “being from Quebec” thing gets really fucking complicated.

Like most provinces, Quebec allows you to request copies of official documents for a fee. It’s all very simple, really: set up a verified user account, and away you go!

To set up an account, all you need is:

  • Your Social Insurance Number
  • Your Revenu Quebec Access Code
  • Your Notice of Assessment Number

.. yeah, you need to be living and working in the province of Quebec in order to request copies of documents. Because no one would ever leave Quebec, right? Not at ALL. For ANY REASON.

My only option appears to be to fill out a form and mail it off with copies of my personal information and a wad of money and hope that something happens. Unfortunately, this is where my overall lack of knowledge comes back to bite me in the ass: the form wants me to provide the date and location this marriage took place. I don’t KNOW that information. I was hoping they did, which is why I’m requesting it. They can deny me for any reason – spelling a name wrong, missing a date, cheering for the wrong hockey team, Tuesday, a bad mood (they’re allowed to veto genealogy research as a valid excuse for wanting this information) – and it’ll cost me $45 for each stab in the dark I attempt. If I was in Quebec, I could go to an office and get some help, but I’m far away so I can’t. And no one can go for me; they won’t allowed a lawyer or notary to request info on someone’s behalf. Has to be me, and since I’m not the direct child of someone I’m requesting info on, I can be veto’d. But they’ll keep my money!

This is so frustrating. I keep finding awesome things that are no help to me whatsoever – for example, I found the burial announcement for my aunt, who died when she was 3. I had her name wrong the whole time (thanks again, dad’s foggy memory – I don’t care that you were barely two when she died, you’re supposed to know this) – Muriel Hazel Wangzilla was born in December 1913 and died in February 1917 (which was a terrible year for poor Edith Jane – lost her daughter and husband in the same year, then seemingly vanished herself). I found my dad’s marriage record to his first wife, which lists both his parents as deceased. Cool find, but doesn’t help me at all: I specifically need the marriage record of John James Wangzilla to Edith Jane Corn(e)s, and I CAN’T FIND IT. I can’t find my dad’s birth record either, but I’m less concerned about that – mom has the original. I’m working on Edith’s birth certificate, but I also need one for John James .. and getting records out of Nova Scotia is a whole other ranting blog post that I just don’t want to get into.

I now understand why it was so hard to get a copy of my birth certificate out of Montreal. I was correct in my assumption that no one got one – when checking in with other wayward Quebec babies, we all received an official non-official baptismal certificate (or nothing at all if you were a heathen) which is good for exactly squat. I don’t know if I’d even be able to get another copy of my birth certificate if I needed it, so I should probably relocate mine from it’s current hiding spot and into a vault or something.

Quebec, why you gotta be so complicated.

I do not feel so hot. I hope my cold isn’t morphing into something deadly and terrifying, because it would be fucking impossible to get a death certificate issued in my name.