It was an emotionally exhausting weekend, but it’s a brand new year (I’m just possibly-Chinese-or-maybe-some-sort-of-Pacific-Islander-slash-Aboriginal-and-Vietnamese enough to declare tradition and demand red envelopes) so I’m officially announcing my intentions to start fresh this morning: the Year of the Dragon (aka Year of the Creeper) starts NOW and it will be excellent, or else.

Among the changes that will be happening over the next few months is the relocation of all my stuff into the office. The room was set aside for Ed when we moved into Sparta, but he is rarely in there these days and also frustrated with all my things (I do have a lot of things). His frustration, lack of desire to computer and my overall feeling of homebaselessness (that’s a word now) have led us to agree on the change and the office will be entirely mine as soon as I can make this happen. It’s a fairly significant undertaking, but it’s eased by the fact that I am a bum who would better spend her time organizing the house instead of playing games on her iPhone. Stage One begins today, in which I acquire storage boxes and begin to sift through all of my stuff and sort it into three piles: keep, toss/recycle, donate. I hope that by this weekend, I’ll be ready to start moving actual furniture (although that is so lofty a goal it would not be inappropriate to refer to it as Mega Lofty) and then be able to hole myself up in my very own room of crafting/computing goodness.

All of this has led me to mull over the unique thought patterns that emerge from being an only child. There are at least a half dozen only children in my circle of friends, and we all retained different quirks from spending our formative years alone. My big one is needing my own space; an unshared area I can call mine and do with as I please. Ed tends to retreat into his own head and get lost there, only coming out when he’s forcefully reminded that other people exist. Other friends say they find it difficult to share, or get stressed out by too much “other people” time; needing quiet to be alone with their own thoughts. I can relate to all of this, and I’m sure all of us only children experience all the same idiosyncrasies one way or another, in varying degrees. Our parents basically RUINED US FOR OTHERS with their lack of reproductive ways – THANKS A LOT, MOM AND DAD.

I’m kidding, but it’s interesting to wonder how much of my perceived (self or otherwise) selfishness has a direct correlation to my singular childhood.

And in the end, who really cares – I’m getting MY OWN ROOM and I may have to throw a party to celebrate it.

Rooms like cake, right?

daydreams for one

I’ve drained the battery on my phone numerous times over the past week, all because of these:

Puzzlejuice

Universal
Genre: Brain punching puzzle
Price: $0.99 (sale price)

The opening screen of this game says it is going to punch your brain in the face, and it does not lie. Puzzlejuice is a bizarre hybrid of Tetris and Boggle, and is COMPLETELY AWESOME. It will give your brain a shake and make you swear and laugh and possibly even wet yourself. It’s challenging, hilarious, and one of the most original games to come out of the App Store in forever. Get it now while it’s on sale, and strap yourself in.

Squids

Universal
Genre: Turn-based action RPG (with squids)
Price: $1.99

I am IN LOVE with this game. I wish I had posted this while it was still on sale, but even the regular price of $1.99 is completely worth it. The gameplay is great and the characters engaging, and I’ve been playing it pretty much non-stop since I got it on Tuesday. Can’t recommend this title enough if you like action games or tentacled marine life.

Hero Academy

Universal
Genre: Swords with Friends
Price: Free, with optional IAPs

Hero Academy is a turn-based multiplayer game like Words with Friends, but instead of tiles with letters you get dudes with swords and spells. It’s free to play (with ads), or you could purchase one of the optional team packs to remove the ads and give you a different set of warriors to play with. It’s fun if you’ve got people to play with – I have anywhere from 5 to 15 games going at any one time – and it’s really fun. Grab it and play me; I’m in as DeeAy (and I’m terrible at the game; you will probably win).

Triple Town

Universal
Genre: Match 3 Sim City
Price: Free (with optional IAPs)

I’m still getting into this, but it’s got rave reviews and an interesting premise: place grass and bushes on a grid (your town), and match three items to upgrade it into a building or tree. It’s a fun twist on the standard match 3 idea, and there are bears. It’s worth a look – I’ve only played it once because I can’t put Squids down, but I enjoyed what I’ve seen and will go back to it as soon when I am tired of sea creatures and want some bears instead.

I am SO EXCITED .. about the towels and bedsheets I just bought.

I’m not really sure what that says about me – that I enjoy the pillowy softness that bamboo provides, or I enjoy a good deal, or that I woke up this morning at age 85 and the thrill of new towels is about all the excitement I can handle. I’m sure if I thought about long and hard I’d be upset that something so ordinary – there’s not a sequin or corresponding iPhone app in sight – but honestly, NEW TOWELS! And satiny new bedsheets with no holes or mysterious stains! I am gonna bathe and sleep SO HARD.

For anyone who happens to be a) economical, b) wet, or c) easily excited about household goods, I suggest you get thee to a nood store as soon as you can. They’re sadly going out of business, but this translates into everything in the store being 50-70% off. I’ve often drooled over the furniture at nood, and it’s probably a good thing I technically can’t afford anything at all because I am a jobless drain on society, or I’d be coming home with a large number of things to assemble. Besides the furniture though, nood is chockfull of neat house items and their towels are fucking GLORIOUS. Shan, Miranda and I went on a towel spree years ago when nood first opened, and we’ve all taken advantage of the sale (um, and because they’ll be gone soon) to get some new ones. It’s really just a colour change for the thrill of drying ourselves off in different colours, because the towels we bought in the ago are still in perfect shape .. but there’s something just so sinfully fluffy about brand new towels that I for one can’t wait to drape myself in.

And if, while you’re buying yourself some delicious new towels, you wanted to pick me up the dresser of my dreams, I wouldn’t say no.

Last night I refused to cook dinner, so I dragged Ed Josh and Shan out to use some Social Shopper coupons we had picked up for Nando’s, which is quickly turning into one of our favourite places. Afterward, we went to Pinkberry (I still have mad ridiculous patriotic love for Qoola, but I would bathe in Pinkberry’s Blood Orange yogurt if I could), but for frozen yogurt and to use another coupon I had. Social Shopper is just like Groupon – emailed deals for local places – but they’re not fancy enough to have an iPhone app. I don’t have a printer, so I can’t print out my vouchers .. but it’s not really a big deal, because they just look you up by last name and cross out the voucher you’re using. Simple, right?

Except my Social Shopper account is tied to Facebook .. so every time I buy and use a coupon, I have to give them the last name of Wangzilla to look up.

It is surprisingly embarrassing to do. I don’t recommend it.

I do recommend a lot of other things like towels and chicken and frozen yogurt, so that’s fine – just don’t change your last name to something ridiculous in a misguided attempt at internet subterfuge, because it will come back to bite you in the ass in awkward yet comedic ways.

To hell with the internet! I’m going to go MAKE THE BED!

I HAVE PORTFOLIO’D!

I started a new site called Manual Labour (get it?????) (also, you Americans can go to Manual Labor if you prefer) to showcase my technical writing work. I wanted a respectable online presence that I can direct people to if they’re thinking about hiring me – not that I’m ashamed of Delicious Juice or anything, but I’ve noticed that I’ve been censoring myself SOPA style this past month for fear that the wrong people might see. Now that Manual Labour has launched (mostly – the Portfolio page is missing several documents I’m in the middle of preparing for your consumption), I can resume talking about my vagina for hours on end. Hooray! My vagina is back, and it has SO MUCH TO SAY!

Say, someone should hire me. Soon, because I can’t afford heat. It may be a matter of not knowing how to turn the heat on as opposed to paying for it, but the fact of the matter is I am COLD AS FROZEN BALLS and none too pleased about it.

Everyone occasionally wishes they were something they’re not. Even I, with my enviable lifestyle and oozing lesions of awesomeness, sometimes daydream of being even more ridiculous – having an even more inappropriate wardrobe – owning even more tubes of lipgloss – than I currently am or have at any given point in time. While I’ve long since trained myself to be more or less happy with my allotment in life, sometimes I can’t help but wish I a rock star, or a darling of the nerd brigade, or a famous author, or a social media guru. Daydreaming. We all do it.

There’s always been a common theme in my daydreaming – I want excitement and adventure and sequins and glitter. I want to go hot air ballooning over the English Channel; wear petticoats on a Tuesday; drive to Vermont for pie. At least, that’s what I normally want .. so imagine my shock when today, for the very first time in the history of my entire existence, I briefly wished I was the complete opposite of all things wrapped up and sold as Kimli.

I had a meeting today that wasn’t an interview, but a golden opportunity handed to me on a silver platter presented by a guy in a tuxedo wearing white gloves and a discreet smile.

I don’t want to share any of the details, because they’re not mine to share – all I can say is that the idea on the table was a really interesting opportunity for someone to become a vital piece of a specific industry, and likely make a heaping pile of money while they’re at it.

And as much as I love being vital, taking on challenges, and spending heaping piles of money, I know I’m not what they’re looking for.

I wish it were otherwise. I wish I had a little less love for the written word, so I could put my literary dreams (technical writing is still literary, isn’t it?) aside to focus on the big new. I wish I was disciplined enough to set my own price and product, and repress my native disposition to go above and beyond the call of duty, because that would just take away from my work. I wish I was capable of the kind of professionalism required to fit in with the image they’re looking for; a worthy ambassador for the brand and a shining example of old school establishment and decorum.

But I’m not.

I know myself well enough (and have been told I need to respect all that I am) to know that I’m none of those things – at least, not to the level they require. I’m professional, but in my own unique way. I have trouble charging people at craft shows, let alone asking them to pay hundreds of dollars for me to provide what comes naturally to me any way. I don’t want to give up my way with words and love of instructional materials to work entirely in video, and .. well, I don’t look good in a suit. I actually feel kind of bad about that last one, because Interview Kimli is NOT a true representation of 9-to-5 Kimli – I clean up well, but only under duress and never more than a day at a time.

I know what the company is looking for, and I understand the opportunity and potential – and I also understand that it’s not me. I hesitate to say that I’m not good enough, but that’s pretty much how I feel – and it’s like someone offering you  a wheelbarrow of gold bars if you can be Cinderella, but all you are is a magic mouse that makes her look good behind the scenes.

That’s me. I’m a magic mouse, not an indentured princess.

Most of the time, that’s fine – I don’t WANT to be the princess. Sure, most of that defiance comes from the sheer unlikelihood of my princess worth, but I’m okay with being a magical singing mouse. Most of the time. Today, I wanted to be the princess and take the wheelbarrow of gold .. but that wouldn’t be fair to me OR the company with the opportunity.

So I have to do what’s best for both of us, and keep looking for this mythical place that has wheelbarrows of gold for the crazy people who just want to make things a little more sparkly for everyone around them.

Sure would have been neat to be okay with being the princess, though.

A handful of pictures that live in my Dropbox folder found their way onto Google+ for people to browse at their leisure. I had no idea these images were up there, let alone set to public – so imagine my surprise when someone started commenting on one. There’s nothing more I love than someone being creepy all over me – guys, does that ever work for you? Am I supposed to be touched that this random stranger is so curious about my breast size; maybe even flattered? I’m a little out of the loop on this whole “flirting” thing .. is this where I offer the happy ending?

I haven’t had much luck catching up on my missing sleep, but my therapist blamed all my problems on all of you guys and also gave me some little tricks to try tonight. My brain refuses to shut up and let me drift off, and I’m worried that I’m giving myself a complex about it. I’m so worried about my NEED TO SLEEP that I  can’t concentrate on anything else .. which then keeps me awake with the thinking. I can’t even fucking NAP anymore, which sucks so much because I looooove napping. It’s my favourite thing after Diet Coke and orgasms.

Last night I had this really awesome plan to go to bed right after dinner .. but then my brain woke up, and I was full of inspiration. I ended at my working working until almost midnight, which did little for my brain health – but on the other hand, my portfolio is half done. I’m worried that it’s a little plain, but I can focus on the pretty after the content is up. I haven’t really touched it today other than to tinker with the name servers and domain pointiness, but I might actually have the whole thing done by Friday. Hooray! I am barely functioning, but I sure am productive!

Speaking of complexes, I’m hyper aware that I am boring as hell lately – sorry about that. I’ve been skipping posts because I’d rather say nothing than give another dull recap of my day: didn’t sleep. drank diet coke. did laundry. YEAH! I mean, today I went shopping and treated myself to some ridiculous in the form of purple ruffles, but that isn’t anything to write about. I do have half a rant brewing, but I need to check my archives to make sure I haven’t written about it already before I throw myself tits first into outrage. At the moment, I’m in some sort of hellish limbo – grateful that I don’t have to go outside into the frosty cracks of this cold snap unless I absolutely want to AND that my inability to sleep isn’t more than a pain in the ass instead of costing me sick days, but stuck in the tedium of the job hunt and eating all the banana bread. No one wants to read that, and I certainly don’t want to write it.

So, sorry. If I can actually sleep tonight and tomorrow, I may just have to take myself on an adventure to shake things up a little.

Oh, one more thing: in therapy, in between remembering every single mean thing each of you ever said to me, we talked about goals. Several different professionals are asking me to make a list of my goals and dreams and what I want to be when I grow up, so I’ve been thinking about it .. and I’ve realized there’s a running theme in everything I long for: freedom. Huh. Wonder what that’s all about. I’ll think on it some more, but hopefully not while I’m lying in bed desperately trying to fall asleep.

Then again, maybe it’s just this:

I can’t help but feel my complete inability to sleep is somewhat getting in the way of my life, as it is very difficult to do anything at all when your brain train refuses to stay on track and you’re staggering around like you ought to know all the best sea shanties on the waters today.

On the upside though, I am now completely caught up on what’s been going on in the Marvel Universe since I stopped reading comic books in 1990.

My week is off to an inauspicious start, which is directly tied to this delicious insomnia. I have a goal for the week, which is to get a portfolio of my tech writing work online. Today was supposed to be the kickoff of my Week of Productivity, but it’s hard to convince others that you’re awesome when you can’t think – I am fairly certain my molecular structure is beginning to break down because I am so .. whatever this is. It’s not good. Can I get a do-over on my Sunday night?

I need to leave the house. I don’t trust myself to drive on an hour of sleep, so I’m just going to walk to the gas station for Diet Coke. Finishing the last of it last night at 8pm in an attempt to force myself out of the house today might have been a good idea when sleep was still on the agenda, but right now I kind of want to punch Last Night Kimli in the box and steal her delicious juice.

Man, how about that House of M story arc?

Inevitably, talk turned to my job hunt. I answered truthfully – I’m pursuing a number of different leads, some more promising/interesting than others. Mom was quick to jump in with some good advice for me: TAKE THE FIRST THING YOU FIND OR YOU’LL BE HOMELESS!

I’m beginning to think my melodramatic tendencies were a learned behaviour.

Some of the things I’m looking into are more appealing than others, but mom thinks I need to accept the very first thing that comes along or no one will offer me anything ever again. I can’t help but be slightly offended at this line of thinking, because my mother has NO IDEA what I do for a living – how would she know one way or another if I’m hireable or not? I know she simply worries about my mortgage – I think she cares about it more than she does me – but my reassurances that my mortgage is FINE and being paid and I’m in no danger of being thrown out onto the cold, cold streets anytime soon do little to shut her up. I gave up trying to explain things to her and let her ramble on about jobs being hard to find and I need to swallow my pride and take the first job that comes along no matter how terrible a fit because it’s all about sacrifice and bills and money and lottery tickets – but damnit, I didn’t start out listening to my mother, and I’m not about to start now.

Everyone tells me that something awesome will come along; something that will be a perfect fit for my wordsmithy ways and technical wizardry. I want to believe them – it keeps the blinding waves of panic at bay – but when I’m not getting responses from these dream jobs, I start to think mom is right and I SHOULD take the very first thing that comes my way for the sake of my jet set lifestyle and continual home ownership. I’m torn between logic and the dream on both sides of the equation, and it’s giving me a headache. At this stage in my career, I don’t think that my looking for an excellent employment fit is really all that unreasonable – I work so much better when I’m enjoying myself, and it’s not like I ask for very much (other than complete creative freedom when writing dry documentation material). When things were good at my last job, I genuinely had a blast: when writing my recap of 2011, I was amused to see how many posts I made about the work I was doing, and how much fun I had while doing it. Wanting that again is not at all too much to ask .. and in that line of thinking, I want to hold out for a company that will appreciate all the awesome things I can do instead of make exceptions for the weird girl in the corner.

.. on the other hand, the threat of government cheese is all too real and fills me with illogical panic every time I pay the bills.

I’m even torn about the timeline of it all. I’ve been without a job for barely over one month (and most of that month was swallowed up by the holiday season) – surely it’s too early to start freaking out and accepting jobs that fill me with dread and depressions. I did receive severance and qualify for EI if it comes to it – but it’s too soon to worry, right? I still have the luxury of time to wait for the right offer to make itself available to me .. but how long can I keep this consuming panic locked away in a dark place where no one can see it? I don’t even LIKE cheese.

My goal for the upcoming week is to get a technical writing portfolio online. One step at a time, and all that – although now I’m second guessing my ability to do even that. What if my work is horrible and everyone hates it and me? OH GOD

This is why I should never THINK. Thinking is scary!

thinking gives you wrinkles

I was done visiting yesterday around 5pm – about 90 minutes in – but I sucked it up and held out. Getting some food in me helped, as I had once again forgotten to eat. I’d probably be a much better person if I could just figure out a livable sleeping/eating pattern .. I should work on that.

My mother appreciated her lacy underwear, and as predicted, she tried them on in front of me. I do not know why she does these things – I have vivid memories of her shameless public bathroom use; dropping trou when I was in there brushing my teeth or doing my hair – I am just glad that I picked up none of these mannerisms. I know I have enough of my own ridiculous to fill a small book, but she’s got me beat by so much I’m barely in the game at all.

Visits to Victoria aren’t all angsty teenage eye rolling and flatulence (so much flatulence – dear god, why), though. As the only child of my widowed mother, it’ll be my responsibility to deal with her as she ages – so when I’m not floating around in my happy little headspace, I try to look at things objectively and take stock of how she’s really doing. I was given power of attorney a few years ago, so if she ever does discover the internet, I can step in before she meets any nice Nigerian princes who want to share their fortunes .. so that’s good. She seems to be enjoying her retirement and is in pretty good health, but I still worry. She’s a couple of Rubbermaid bins away from being a horder, for starters. She seems utterly unable to pass up any kind of sale – it doesn’t matter what it is; if it’s a bargain she’ll buy it. This leads to her having a lot of really questionable stuff that she tries to pawn off on me when I show up – thanks, mom, but I really don’t need a 3′ high snowman filled with sand to act as a door stopper. No, really. You only paid $2.50? What a deal! No, I also don’t want a series of gift boxes with button on them and a head that sits on top. Only $0.99? How could they give it away so cheaply? Oh, you bought me another set of bedding because it was marked down to $9.99? Yes, that’s a very lovely pattern of dancing zebras, and what an interesting shade of orange it is. Clearance candles because the store was closing? How did you know I always wanted my home to smell like Ocean Sands?

I’m grateful that she thinks of me at all, but I really don’t need any more stuff. She says money is tight, but then shows me an entire rack of slightly hideous bargain basement yoga clothing she found somewhere for crazy cheap. I wish she would just .. you know, not buy stuff. Just because it’s on sale doesn’t mean it’s a killer deal; it usually means no one else would buy it and they were several days from just throwing it out anyway. I bet she’d find a lot more random money lying around if she didn’t buy so much random crap.

Of course, then she’d just buy more lottery tickets.

And YES, I’m aware of the irony of me being the person with the fiduciary sense in this relationship – but damnit, MY stuff is awesome (and certainly isn’t CHEAP). Shut up.

I’m an awful lot more like my mother than I’d ever dare admit, and that thought terrifies me. Who will buy my inappropriately fancy underwear when I’m old? That question keeps me awake at night.

Today was spent carting my mother around town, and it was trying. I had sort of hoped to get away for a few minutes on my own, but mom wanted to go all over the place .. so I drove, and listened to her talk about all the times she almost hit the big one in the past. Mom wanted to go see dad – she could bus up there, she said, but you never know. I asked what it was that I never knew, to which she trailed off and recited some more numbers like Rain Man. I should know better than to probe deeper when she says weird shit, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.

On the ride to my dad’s cubby hole, mom waxed some poetry about winning the lottery so she could buy a townhouse or condo because she hates her apartment. I let logic take over at this point, because I was beyond frustrated – I’ve been trying to get mom to move out of her stupid basement suite since day one, and she won’t listen to me. I poked holes in all her statements and told her I could help her move if she’d just LOOK for a new place; that she doesn’t belong in a basement suite (and shamelessly used the “dad wouldn’t want you in a gross basement suite either you know” card) and for what she’s paying monthly for this ridiculous hole she could have a lovely apartment with – wait for it – natural fucking light and no elephants living over her head. I’ve been offering to help her find a new place for years, and told her that now would be the perfect time because I have the time to basically manage everything for her – but when I’m working, I don’t. I picked apart her theory that owning a home would somehow solve all her problems, because everyone knows that once you buy a place that’s it you’ll never have to pay for anything ever again – and basically just lost it a little, because the whole situation is just so fucking ridiculous. My mother is SO STUBBORN. She’s as stubborn as ..

.. well, me.

Fuck.

We visited my dad’s cubbyhole, and mom got teary. She prayed to daddy for a while, then crossed herself in front of him – I don’t know what that’s about; we’re not Catholic and my dad is not the pope – then I had a little conversation with him. I don’t really like visiting my dad’s grave, because it’s all too fucking real there – and besides, I talk to my dad all the time. I don’t genuflect and pray at him like I’m apparently supposed to, but I definitely have little Wonder Years dialogues in his general direction on a regular basis – so I don’t see the need to visit the cemetery to do that, since dad’s memory is pretty portable. Still, mom wanted to go so we did – then to the mall for lottery tickets, Chinatown for BBQ duck, and Market Square for waffles. And a hat, and measuring spoons shaped like matryoshka dolls.

Okay, that last place might have been for me.

I’m going home tomorrow. Victoria is a lot more fun when Ed is around (and he keeps me from flying off the handle with my relentless logic), and I have Extreme Scooter Wanderlust – I’ll plan a visit back out in the spring, on Lola. Two wheels means no stuffed snowmen, and this can only be a good thing. I miss my cats and my bed and the internet – oh god, how I miss the internet – and I should really do something about finding myself a job.

One more night on the plywood. I can do this!

Maybe I’ll pray to daddy for some Tempur-Pedic memory foam.

ride the cyclo!

With the spirit of being thrifty in mind (and because my time is worthless these days), I had decided to take the bus to Victoria. It would save some money and be an adventure, see, plus all environmentally friendly and girl power and make love not war ban the bomb. However, I changed my mind last night at the 11th hour (okay, it was more like the 7th) for several reasons:

• I don’t want to have to depend on my mother’s car to go anywhere because it is a horrible car full of shoes and discount paper towels
• I like to have an escape plan ready to flee the bucket a moment’s notice
• I’m a strong independent woman who works on no one’s schedule but mine
• .. taking the car means I can indulge in some of my very favourite secret pastimes: driving way too fast, turning the music up way too loud, and singing along at the top of my fucking lungs

I started out a little later than I had intended, but I’m safely ensconced on the ferry and .. well, really uncomfortable. I came upstairs to write but had to move because the woman working the cafe had a voice like a particularly inelegant fog horn, and my second temporary home has no table and a gaggle of hipsters eating cat food across from me. I may go outside, because what’s a ferry ride without freezing your ass off. It’s also kind of gorgeous outside, and I could use the fresh air.

.. okay, maybe when we’re a little further away from Delta. The smell of fertilizer is not conducive to Adventure, even if it’s more or less disguised as busy work under the banner of Good Daughter.

My mother canceled her post-Christmas trip to Vancouver, so I’m bringing Christmas to her. It’s just easier this way, and it’s a chance for me to get out of the house for reasons that do not involve going to the post office. I’m trying to convince myself it’ll be a quiet little vacation, but I know that I’ll be lucky to make it to Friday afternoon – Ed isn’t along to act as a buffer, so my historically short mom fuse is going to be even more explodey than usual. In the end, though, the therapy-inducing horrible lacy g-strings I had to buy my mother will be out of my house for good, and this way when she inevitably tries them on and models them in front of me, only one of us will suffer the untold horrors. I’m taking one for the team and sparing Ed this injustice (but not the mental images OR the horror-stricken text messages I’ll be sending him later), because I am a good wife. I hope he appreciates this. I deserve a pug.

Oh, I just thought of one other bonus to having the Mazdabator with me – we’re out of household paper products. I will help myself from mom’s ridiculous stockpile – if I steal enough paper towels, toilet paper and laundry soap, this trip will practically pay for itself. Yeah! I am fiscally responsible!

And slightly hoarse from singing on the trip to the ferry!

i want a home made out of colours