The tooth I chipped last week was fixed on Thursday, but this morning it chipped again. I’ve decided I don’t want to deal with it – I am going to leave the damn tooth chipped, and hope the sharp edge will eventually smooth itself out. Sure, I look like a deranged hobo – but whaddya gonna do. The repaired section was the piece that broke, so my mouth rejected the fix like my body rejected the baboon heart – I could probably get the dentist to do it again, but a) it was a pain in the ass and b) they didn’t charge me (which, all things considered, is a good thing). If I was downtown on a daily basis, I’d go in and prop my mouth open for a couple hours .. but that requires getting dressed and putting pants on, and I’m just not that committed to not looking like a crazy old woman. It is much more relaxing to be nude and fancy-free – why all the worrying?

I was up bright and early this morning (the last time I saw 7am, I was just going to bed) for the first of two job interviews today. It went well, and could be a good opportunity. The interview I have this afternoon is a second interview, so the process is a little further along. On the dream job front, I’m holding steady with two applications marked “Under Review” (as opposed to the dreary “submitted” or flat-out-terrible “reviewed, not selected”). I hope something happens soon, because there’s very little else out there for me – I’m utterly awesome, but 99.9% of companies don’t seem to realize they need me and that makes me sad (and broke).

Off to prepare. Wish me luck!

I am going to rain on a parade.

It’s trendy at the moment to perform a random act of kindness at a Starbucks drive through, and pay for the drink(s) of the car behind you. That’s really nice and all, and a good way to give someone a bit of a sunshine happy boost with their caffeine.

But .. I can’t help but thinking it would be so much nicer if people performed random acts of kindness on people who truly need the help. Chances are, if you’re in a Starbucks drive through, you can afford the car you’re in and the drink you’re buying. Wouldn’t that kindness go so much further if you helped someone who didn’t have the means to fuel a vehicle or designer coffee habit?

I know that it’s the thought that counts, but I really wish people would think outside their own tax bracket once in a while.

It’s one thing for me to acknowledge that my time is basically worthless right now – but for other people to randomly decide the same is putting me over the edge of ennui into white hot rage.

I finally decided to freecycle the desk and bookshelves, and someone asked for my bag of random yarn. I’m happy to donate all three – Ed sees donations in terms of wasted dollars and cents, but I look at it as a chance to help someone else. The bookshelves were mad popular on Freecycle, and one person responded for the desk. In the interest of maybe Doing Something with my Sunday, I arranged for all three items to be picked up today between noon and 1pm. Ed taped everything up for easy transport, and we waited.

The yarn was picked up, but it was the least of my worries – my random stash wasn’t taking up most of my living room. The furniture, though, is giving me ass marbles of increasing density with every passing day – I want them out of here. If we’re ever going to paint this place, it has to be done while I’m still unemployed or it’ll never happen. As I waffle by the minute between hopeful anticipation and amber waves of despair, my entire life is in my least favourite of all possible stages: limbo. I hate limbo. I don’t even like the limbo dance; I hate limbo so much. And yet here I am, day after day, as I feel like any marketable skills I may have had slip away like grains of melodramatic sand. If I had a wall to paint, at least I’d have a temporary purpose: green. Green is an excellent purpose.

This rant isn’t about my increasing depression and hopelessness, though: it’s about people who arrange to meet you at a certain time and place then fucking bail without a word.

I know I have literally fuck shit all going on in my life, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to spend my Sunday afternoon sitting around the house getting angry. I’m offering you free furniture, and blowing me off after I agreed to give things to you and removed the freecycle posting is just all kinds of rude and mean. I kind of hate people right now, and wish I lived in an apartment again where I could just dump random things out back knowing they’d be gone half an hour later.

Fuck you guys. This scenario is exactly why I was hesitant to use freecycle again – pushy, entitled people make me kind of sick.

I am in an angry place at the moment. It is a nice change from my usual sad place .. I think. Maybe not. Yeah, this sucks too. 2012 can start being awesome any day now, please.

Ears are weird!

My ear hurts, and I wanted to take a look at it to see if there was something lodged in there like an elephant or a totem pole. Unfortunately, it’s really difficult to look inside your own ear, and Ed’s cursory glance and non-committal grunt told me nothing about the festering diseases lurking in my swollen canal. Not content to wait until he got home and demand he take a closer look, I thought of a brilliant solution: use my iPhone to take pictures of my ear!

So, I did. With some success, even – I was able to see why my ear hurt (ear syphilis). But then I got sucked into comparing my sore right ear with my normal left one, and now all I can think about is ears and how WEIRD they look close up (and how much my ear syphilis hurts). Seriously, try it for yourself and see. I used Camera+ with the flash and was able to get some great (disturbing) pictures of my ear holes.

Ears! Ears ears ears ears ears. They’re funny looking. And mine hurts. EARS!

Look! Someone made a comic strip about my life!

God bless you, Queen Wiener-Looks!

I am not a fan of Leap Year.

The extra day in February pushes all other days out by one, which means my birthday – the 169th day of the year – is suddenly the 170th and that is NOT COOL. There is nothing magical about the 170th day of the year OR June 17th; 169 has to fall on 06/18 or everything ever is completely meaningless. I am offended by February 29th. Because of the extra day, my birthday is on a Monday this year. What’s good about a Monday birthday? Nothing, that’s what.

I’m a little testy these days. Between my never-ending unemployment, my wonky shoulder, and the tooth I chipped last night, it’s safe to say that I’ve been better both physically and mentally. I hope tomorrow will help – I’m getting my tooth fixed in the morning, then going for a haircut. I’ve got two interviews lined up for next week, and I haven’t officially been rejected for my dream job yet so I’m counting that as a plus. I’m nearly three months without a job, which is incredibly depressing – I wanted to be working long before this. I am bored. There is only so much laundry I can do.

I could use some good, I think.

I dislocated my right shoulder yesterday morning – the same one I dislocated five years ago in the case of Kimli vs. the Curb. More on the how and why (Ed is convinced there is a why) in a bit – first, PONIES!

We drove down to Seattle on Friday afternoon, narrowly escaping some nasty weather. We tried to leave town early, but our timing was off and we got caught in traffic AND the border was a nightmare; it took us almost 2 hours to cross into the US for no good reason. After stopping for a quick dinner, we finally made it to Doug and Ali’s place just after 10pm. Unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling so hot so I crashed out pretty quickly (after the traditional Christmas in Seattle box opening, where I collect all the stuff I shipped to Ali since our last visit). We had Big Plans for Saturday, and there was no time for me to be sick. I slept in the following morning, then made myself presentable in time for us to leave – we were all off to see ponies!

Ali had invited Ed and I to join them on their family outing to see Cavalia, a Cirque-esq show with horses and acrobats and lovely shirtless men tumbling all over the place. River and Hazel were squirmy with anticipation of seeing the show, but I was right there with them – everything I had seen about Cavalia looked amazing, and I was giddy that Ali asked us to come along. We even had VIP passes, which gave us early access to the Fancy Tent: a cosy bistro set up in the middle of a field, with hors d’oeuvre and booze and popcorn. We hung out there snacking on delicious things while waiting for the show to start, then shuffled into another tent to see ponies. Our seats were ridiculously good, and before long we were watching an amazing show full of music, crazy people, and horses. So many horses! I’ve never really been a horsey person – never went through the standard Horse Phase that girls often go through – but I can absolutely see the appeal. The animals were spectacular, well-trained and just a little bit ornery to make things extra special. It was an incredible show; one I’d recommend to anyone – so much fun! During the intermission, we went back into the Fancy Tent for dessert (chocolate covered strawberries? YES PLEASE) and wine (aka more Diet Coke), then back for the second half of the show.

Afterward, there was an autograph session in the Fancy Tent with a couple of the performers followed by a visit to the stables. We got to get up close and personal with the horses, which was amazing – they’re SO BIG. The horses really didn’t seem interested in all of us silly people; it was feeding time and there was hay to be eaten (plus another performance that evening). Still, it was incredible to see all the animals and how they’re cared for, and the entire afternoon was so much fun. It was a definite treat for Ed and I, and Ali and Doug are way too good to us. As a thank you, I bought stuffed horses from the gift shop for River and Hazel (I am not above bribing small children for their love), which were well received (and unbeknownst to me, something River had asked for).

We are all old and turned into bed relatively early, but I stayed up until almost 4am reading scary stories on my iPhone. Truthfully, I tried to go to bed many times but I was too spooked to do it – turning off my phone meant it would be COMPLETELY DARK in the room, and that’s when things would get me. My inability to keep my eyes open for another second longer finally did me in, but it was an awkward sleep that I eagerly shook myself out of not four hours later. I awoke early, showered, and went upstairs to join the family for pancakes and bacon! We ate our fill before I had to go pack up our stuff: Ali and the girls had a birthday party to attend and Doug was heading out of town on business, and Ed and I had some American errands to run before heading home. I went downstairs to finish dressing and get ready, and that’s when I fell down.

Ironically, my need for safety and sense of self-preservation is what did me in. I used the railing as I carefully walked down the stairs, because I’m a little afraid of them – I have a phobia of slipping and falling down steep inclines which, when coupled with my ongoing rivalry with gravity, is a little more likely to happen than my phobia of tarantula attack or another Calgary winter. I’m not quite sure how I did it, but I missed the last three steps and fell down them .. while holding onto the railing, which caused my arm to jerk upward and pop my shoulder out of the socket.

I landed at the bottom of the stairs, sprawled out in an undignified manner. No one heard or saw me fall, so I sat there for a few minutes poking at my arm. Luckily, the bone relocated itself when I landed on my right knee so I didn’t have a floppy arm or anything .. just a lot of pain and bruises. I slowly picked myself up and went to the bathroom where Ed was showering to tell him what happened. After showing concern via frustration (a trait I personally hate), he tried to make me feel better by doing a penis dance – it helped a little, but I was still very sore. I left him to finish showering, packed up what I could, then went upstairs to pout and feel sorry for myself.

My arm hurts, but according to the research I did there isn’t a hell of a lot I can do about it. Being in a sling will do nothing but make me look stupid, and outside of Advil there are no miracle drugs that will make my shoulder behave and stay in the damn shoulder hole. It was being worrisome all evening – I was careful not to make any grand gestures or talk with my hands, but even while doing nothing my arm would twitch and I could feel it do this icky painful THUNK as something in there jumped around and made me screech. I slept fitfully, and I’m not at all convinced of my ability to dress myself properly – I know from past experience that removing or putting on a bra can re-dislocate a shoulder, but I have to go out this afternoon and must be presentable. The shower I’m about to have will be nothing short of an adventure – wish me luck. If my arm gets worse this afternoon I may go out in search of something stronger than an Advil to deal with the pain (and then tie my arm to my torso so I stop moving around and hurting myself). In the meantime, I will not go down any stairs and give serious thought to not falling down any more at all.

Ow!

I have a nipple span of 15″.

Miranda and I took our measurements to order our dresses for Josh and Shan’s wedding today, and one of the required measurements was from nipple to nipple. In fact, most of the measurements had to do with our nipples – distance from shoulder to nipple, from nipple to floor, circumference of nipples, approximate colour when compared against a chart of differently-strengthed cups of coffee, if your nipple was a tree what kind would it be. I don’t really know why the site wanted such detailed information about our nipples – the dresses we’ll be wearing with Kris as Shan’s Lady Party do not show our nipples, regardless of their distance from our hip bones.

Truthfully, I’m not convinced this isn’t some kind of hilarious Chinese prank and now there are dressmakers in Asia giggling that we fell for it. Then again, I’m completely ignorant in the ways of dressmaking – is nipple span actually a thing? Like, are people going to compliment me on my excellent nipple span, or maybe laugh behind my back at my freakishly big/small nip-to-nip number? Should I be embarrassed or proud of my 15″? I know how this works for guys, but I’m not so sure when it comes to lady time.

Dresses are hard.

for future reference

I don’t particularly WANT to freak out and spit venom all over the house like an enraged Dilophosaurus taking down Dennis Nedry with a canister full of stolen dinosaur embryos, but I may not be able to stem the tide much longer. The very act of being nonchalant about my impending doom is an exercise in forced hilarity, and I’m starting to come apart at the seams. No one wants to see my messy insides – it’s fun inside my head but kind of a mess in here – so it would be BEYOND HELPFUL if things would change. Soon. Like, now.

I need my tax refund to come in (we did our taxes last week because we are KEENERS). It’s a large one; enough to keep me living this jet style playboy lifestyle of at least one meal a day and all the Diet Coke I can mainline for almost two whole months. There’s a mortgage payment due tomorrow, and the next influx of cash won’t arrive until next week, and AHHHHHHHHH.

When I got laid off, I set aside almost a third of my severance in a crazy dream of being employed before I needed it. It’s true that I’m inching ever closer to being a productive member of society again, but it’s definitely not going to happen before tonight at midnight, when I turn into the saddest pumpkin of them all: I’m going to have to transfer some of my Daydream Money over to the Real World account.

Ostensibly, the Daydream Money was earmarked to pay down some debt and do other boring, proper things. In my head though, that money is set aside for LONDON and it breaks my heart to think that I may have to be a fucking grownup about all this instead of fun and fancy free.

This September will be our Ten Slash Fifteen – ten years of marriage and fifteen years of carnal relations in highly inappropriate places. I desperately want to go somewhere fantastic and memorable with Ed to celebrate/dispose of the body, and ever since my trip to London last fall with Heather and Renee I’ve dreamed of going there with Ed. We don’t do a lot of big scale adventures like this together – maybe a road trip once a year or so. Hell, our trip to Cuba last year was the first time we’d been truly away on vacation together since our trip to Vegas after the wedding, ten years ago. If we’re going to do anything big, this year would be a great year to do it .. and I want to, badly. I’m pining to go back to Europe and have been frantically doing math to make it work – hell, the very second thought I had when I was handed my pink slip in December was “so, no immediate adventure? booooooo” followed by additional swearing. The longer I go without a job, the more of my Daydream Money I have to use to keep a roof over our head, and that makes me so sad and mad I could just spit venom into Newman’s eyes.

I know it’s frivolous and silly and not at all worthy of being a true crisis, but there we have it. My demands are simple, really: I need my tax refund to come in ASAP, and I need an awesome job I can kick ass at so I once again have a day-to-day purpose in life.

otherwise, we're all gonna start spitting.

– Ed, after dropping his skateboard on the cat.

the offensive lego mexican, dinosaur, and virgin mary may have been in my head only.